Lynn is 24 today. We were out of bed at 8:30 drinking tea and talking to the birthday girl on the phone. David is taking her and Frances to York for the day. After breakfast and baths we went into Shipley to collect our wedding video and then headed down the windswept M62 to Stockport. By 1:30 we were sitting around the snooker table at the Hollywood swilling lager. Lily, a brave woman, looked slightly emotional when she saw our wedding video.
Hot pot for dinner, then out to the Armoury pub at 8 and on to the Ring 'O Bells, where Glynnie phoned Sue and Pete and was hilariously explaining to them the rudiments of breast feeding. On to the Robin Hood. Pissed. We were joined by a new boy, John, a neighbour of Steve's, who is a PhD, and hails from far off Tewkesbury. He was a silent chap until the pils lager got to him. We clowned around like an episode from a 1957 Goon Show. He ended up wearing my boots, and I had his shoes. Garry had my blue pullover, and I had his. Back to Anne's [mother of the Robin Hood publican] for supper and wine. Deeply pissed. I insisted on referring to her Jack Russell terrier as a 'rat', 'cavie', and 'micro organism'. Greatly intoxicated.
Ally, who hadn't touched a drop of drink, was in perfect health and drove a wobbly Dave and I back to the Hollywood.
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