I just don't know what to sling down on this page today. It was such a mundane, ordinary day that the very thought of filling an entire page is horrific.
Sat and watched the hot, over-worked TV until smoke bellowed forth from the appliance. Saw part III of 'Rebecca', but David G phoned in the middle of this & frightened me with news of a financial nature. "We've booked the Bournemouth trip" he casually said, "and can you bring me the £10 when you come over next week?" Oh God. Destitution once again.
I may have to abandon my Stockport trip planned for February 9 and just post the money to David instead. Blimey, I'm not John Paul Getty III.
To bed at 11:30 with a mug of Ovaltine. Just like a bloody old lady.
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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 September 7, 1985
Moorhouse Inn Ally was in a collapsed state all day and did her 'Sleeping Beauty' routine on me. Poor Samuel was motherless. A happ...

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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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