Overcast. I called Ally 'darling' at breakfast and she squirmed and said it sounded insincere. We have a letter from Lynn. The usual chatty, scatty letter. I won't quote from it. No doubt you'll see it in the archives. Lunchtime saw the arrival of Fran O'Brien. He lives in a world of his own. He didn't commit about anything and he went away leaving us none the wiser. He was very irritating when he went down to inspect the cellars and advised me to swab them occasionally. At the time we were ankle deep in clean, hot water. Bloody fool. He inspected Ally's bump and says he agrees with Les Gledhill that we're having a girl. Ally phoned Ken Gilbertson at the brewery who says we have nine days holiday to take before the new year. We will take them after we leave here. The sight of F.O'B had the pub buzzing. The rabble assume that we are leaving this week, and someone asks whether the 'nice man' from York is taking over. A mob barred out by me went on a coach trip to the 'Top Hat' at Spennymoor and wrecked that place too. It was a case for police dogs, and all that.
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