Fog, ice and murky weather generally. Could really do with a few months off work. It seems like a lifetime ago since I had any holiday. If the International Commission for Human Rights got to hear about my working conditions they'd all go collectively grey. I'd make a good Russian Jew.
It is indeed a sad week. On Friday the Times newspaper disappears for an unspecified period of time. God knows just how I will cope without it. It's the only decent national newspaper and the workers are doing their utmost to destroy it. Send in the tanks, that's what I say. Flatten bloody Fleet Street and hang the National Graphical Association rebels by the ankles from which ever newspaper building is the highest. Swines. I'm going now. I have nothing sensible to say and so I might as well just go to bed.
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The journal of a Yorkshire lad from the age of 17 in 1973 through several decades .... Transcribing from handwritten volume to blog may take some time ...
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Saturday August 31, 1985
Moorhouse Inn Hilda: blue. Wet day. The marriage of Diane Gadsby and Paul Anthony Edwards at Pudsey St Lawrence. Ally went off at 8:30am to...

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Moorhouse Inn 2nd Sunday in Lent with dear Phyllis. Drizzle. Up for a full-English. Samuel is much better behaved without the influence of ...
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Moorhouse Inn Cold and quiet. Dave Glynn phoned tonight but Ally and I were in the cellar, and when we phoned back Lily said that David has...
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