Tuesday March 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Why I write so much I do not know. Bloody Hell, I must be so boring. Tuesday is of course 'dray day'. The delivery came at a reasonable hour and I check everything so very carefully now. They won't swindle me out of Bacardi again. 

Samuel loves playing. He sat riding me knee as I sang 'Galloping Major'. Where have I got this from? Somewhere in the past dear Papa must have done similar to me and it has laid dormant all these years. Samuel squealed as I bounced him around. He is all gummy.

Ally opened up again and I bathed the lad after which he conked out and slept until 7. I think his bath water was too hot. He emerged like a lobster.

Joan Parkinson-disease phoned and announced her resignation because she says she is 'getting trouble from all sides' and wants no ill-feeling at work. I am gleeful because she is a barmaid I have wanted to see go. _______. Jane tonight. I sat with Reg (who was born Feb 14, 1901). Poor man.

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