Linthorpe Hotel, Middlesbrough
I went downstairs and found the cook, draped in black, mourning her mother, and she gave me a tray with cornflakes and cups of tea. Ally had her cereal and then we slept until 10. I felt useless and dead to the world, any Ally was no better. The rain was teaming down and our day out to Redcar was abandoned. Later I went down to make boiled eggs and was laughed at by people all over the hotel. Mags reminded me of my solo musical performance. Far from sounding like Nat King Cole Ally says I was more like Bernard Manning, or one of those dreadful, pissed-up club acts. Ally sweet in her dungarees. We went out in the drizzle to the bank and then the supermarket where I almost fainted. Back in bed this afternoon. A Chinese take-away on trays watching a film. I have almost finished the latest Ken Follett. Another gripping tale. This boy will go far.
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