Tuesday November 22, 1983

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

Ally at Chillandham Cross.

Frost. Vast breakfast. Ally very moody when the mirror in the car fell off in her hand. She bit Bessie's head off and stormed around like Mussolini. We went to Winchester again, just the two of us. Looked at the shops but bought nothing. Spent hours looking at books. I do fancy Kenneth Rose's 'George V'. Were his last words really 'bugger Bognor', I wonder? I'd like to think they were. We went for a drink to the Market Tavern where the barperson spoke like Sybil Fawlty. Mind you, they all sound like Sybil in these parts. We resisted food in the pub and shopped until dusk. Home to Bessie who roasted a large piece of beef, too much for the three of us. Frank was out deputising for Richard Barclay at the Potters Heron and so he wanted no dinner. We three ate at 7. Yorkshire puddings courtesy of M.L. Rhodes, Esq. Twenty years ago this evening JFK was done in. I had just gone to bed, aged 8, at Goldthorpe, and Mum came up to tell us of the president's assassination. Ally cannot recall the event. Bessie seems to think she and Frank were out at a dinner, or maybe confusing JFK with Bobby 5 years later.

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