_. Independence Day, USA.
Praise be to God. I've found my fountain pen. June bought it for me in April, 1973, and I've used it every day since. That was until I mislaid it last week.
What can have befallen the sweet June Bottomley? She became engaged to a large, flabby accountant and has probably disappeared into Shadwell and obscurity with two delightful children and a £9,500 mortgage. No doubt they have a caravan and go whenever possible to the Lake District. June will be dabbling in French at night school and attempting dressmaking because children's clothes are such a price these days, aren't they? And Horace, the husband, whatever his name is, will smoke ready rubbed tobacco, wear baggy Arran sweaters. Early in the relationship he bought a few Pink Floyd LPs but now he's into James Last and his Orchestra. "Oh, we saw him live in Manchester last Christmas. He's absolutely fantastic...."
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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 ... -
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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