Thursday November 3, 1983

 Why Not, Hemlington

Yasser Arafat.

Graham is twenty eight today. Heavy rain and a slight fog. We went for a drive around Cleveland in search of a Daily Telegraph. Bought one in Marton, a place famed as the birthplace of Capt James Cook, who discovered America in the 1490s. Or was that the Cabot brothers? My knowledge of history isn't what it was. Mum phoned. Sue has seen Dr Glass and he is happy at the fact that she is once again with child. She saw the infant on the scan machine (why hasn't Ally had similar?) The baby is due at the end of May or early in June. A man came and put coat hooks in our cupboard. We ate roast lamb and flat Yorkshire puddings. It was my fault. I made too sloppy a mixture. A quiet night. No feeling of impending doom and no riot. Thursdays are usually horrible. It's reminiscent of the Middle East and I 'm Yasser Arafat. I'm even beginning to look like him. I seldom shave and have that war torn look about me. Ally is precious. She sat upstairs with her magazines.

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