We refused to get up until 7:30 and then it was a rush to get all the breakfast consumed. As you know it's an Edwardian repast every day. I went out and got a thorough soaking at 9:30 when walking in to town to enquire at the job centre about possible courses for training in pub management. They know of nothing other than writing to breweries, which is what we have done without any success. Back at home I wrote to Bass North and Scottish & Newcastle.
Ally phoned at 12:30 (just as the sun came out) and asked me to make a quiche. She has back ache. If she isn't pregnant then I'm Sir Harold Wilson. I had a bath, scanned the BMDs in the Daily Telegraph. I do not miss the YP, not even vaguely.
Labour want to 'Get Britain Back to Work'. I fail to see why. What is this obsession with work? Why should we sweat and labour until we drop? Surely, if we can survive until our three score years and ten without having to do anything it's all for the better.
I finished reading 'Dorian Gray' to the sound of rain splattering outside. It has been a dreadful May. Ally was home at 5 and we ate our peculiar quiche together. Later she reclined on a settee and almost leapt out of her skin when David B crept up to the window to peep in. He is always doing this. He tells us he is going ten pin bowling with the people from work next week. __________. Do we want a night out with him, Lynn and the Allinsons on Saturday? We shall see.
We watched the final episode of the current season of 'Dallas'. The place was burnt down with all the Ewing family trapped upstairs. We now have to wait until September for the fire brigade to arrive. To bed at 9:15. I read 'Lord Arthur Savile's Crime' - a bit of a laugh. Was snoring by 11.
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