_. Peter finally sought parental consent to marry my sister in what can only be described as a dreadful, obnoxious and embarrassing scene this evening. He, the prospective groom, sat afterwards with the word Gloom engraved in capital letters across his forehead. A sense of strangulation hung over us. To escape the putrid atmosphere Alison and I decamped to the garden where we sat in damp deck chairs purporting to be searching for the poor, destitute missing tortoise. We went on a stroll into Guiseley calling at the off licence for a bottle of Martini.
No sense of excitement or joy was to be found back at home. Dave L telephoned to say he is moving to Folkestone. Is he on the run from someone or something? We discussed Christine B and her marriage and ended up on the subject of plastic buckets.
-=-
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 ...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Wednesday September 4, 1985
Moorhouse Inn Overcast - me and the weather. The alarm sounded at 7 but Ally switched it off for half an hour. Felt groggy and could have s...
-
Moorhouse Inn 2nd Sunday in Lent with dear Phyllis. Drizzle. Up for a full-English. Samuel is much better behaved without the influence of ...
-
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...
No comments:
Post a Comment