_. The first of bleedin' June. To the YP with my suitcase because after work I begin my pilgrimage to the shrine of St David of Stockport, patron saint of warm beer.
I phoned Mother this morning. We had a fiery exchange on my arrival home last night over the 'new' bed I have acquired from the Baker residence. She thinks it's an atrocious piece of furniture but I stood firm and demanded my right to keep it, pleading for my civil liberties, human rights, and all that. At times dear Mama plays President Brezhnev to my Russian Jew.
A hot day. Left at 5. Sat in the coach depot until my coach left at 6. By 8 I was languishing in the Hollywood with a glass of heavily polluted lager. Dave was in fine form. Joined by Billy and Garry. Poor Dave fancied a night on the town, but once again he was trapped in his own pub. Jim Glynn didn't look well.
--=-
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Saturday March 21, 1987
Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ As you have no doubt fathomed by now our plans to move from the Moorhouse have grounded on the rocks of apath...
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