Sunday June 3, 1979

_. Whit Sunday

Up at 11:30 for one of Dave granddad's greasy breakfasts. Quite exceptional they are. At 12 we were transplanted from the dining room to the bar for the ritual of Sunday drinking. Joined by Garry and Steve (from a game of tennis) and then Neil (the Hulk) and Willy. By now I'm in the embarrassing position of being out of cash and have to rely on charity. Dave didn't give me the £2 he owes me until the second before my departure because he says he knows what I am like with money. Only the Prince of Wales and I can  go out into the world without a single penny piece in our pockets.

At 2:30 we ate one of Lil's Sunday dinners (lamb) and then went for a walk in Alexandra Park and collapsed, sweating upon a park bench for almost an hour. Then, on to Garry's where we sat in his garden with cups of tea. Garry's dad is something of a joke, and we sat sniggering. Garry was sprawled upon a camp bed virtually naked.

They (the boys) came with me to Manchester at 7pm and we had a few more pints. Then it was bye bye, and over the Pennines and back to Guiseley. Home by 11. The family are sitting around looking quite miserable.  Uncle Arnold called to see them yesterday after a lapse of almost 5 years. Upstairs my old bed had disappeared and the Victorian article, from the Baker family, is erected in place. I'm now going to try it out.

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