Bitterly cold. The snow has gone but it is here in spirit. Eleven days to go at the YP. It's hard to believe that I am finally escaping. You, dear reader, must be relieved too because I've groused on and on about the place since I started 10 long years ago. As they say on Coronation Street 'You are a long time dead'. Why spend life doing the mundane. I am going from unemployed library assistant to an unemployed author, or rock star.
Ally phoned. She has got £160 'back pay'. The swines at the AHA may be down grading her from higher clerical officer to personal secretary, but her salary is supposedly guaranteed for five years. However, if she is there at Chestnut House in 1988 something will have gone hideously wrong with our plans.
I told Sarah that I am leaving to go work in a bar and she smiled weakly in disbelief. Home at 6. Ally cooking. Mum and Dad came at 6:30 from the Queen's on Daisy Hill Lane where Dad had been engaged in conversation with a former military policeman who had been at the training academy with Dad in Surrey in 1954. Dined on Yorkshire puddings and a liver thingy. Saw the second bit of a film about Saints Peter and Paul, like Monty Python's Life of Brian. Raymond 'Perry Mason' Burr played Herod Agrippa. Farcical. Papa slept throughout. We afterwards studied my grandmother Rhodes's birth certificate. Ruth Allen Upton. Could the father have been a Mr Allen? Sadly, we'll never know. We surrendered our room and retired at 12-ish. They have had a couple of _______ from Magdalen College Oxford staying at Waltergarth. A case of Waltergarth Revisited.
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