Monday May 7, 1984

 Bank Holiday in UK

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Bitterly cold. A bank holiday instituted some years ago by a Labour government. May Day indeed. It all shreiks of Joseph Stalin to me. 

Samuel woke at 5:30 wailing in his cot. Ally and I squabbled about who loves him the most and who should pick him up. Needless to say, I do. At 7:30 I went downstairs and came up for breakfast an hour later. Frank and Bessie had slept heavily and B thinks a cold is about to erupt. They were at Susan Hellier's wedding on Saturday and endured a meagre reception at the Potters Heron. Sausage rolls, &c. The aristo neighbour on Chilland Lane is now identified as Robert (Robin) Napier, heir to a baronetcy. Frank says he's a drip.

See in the Daily Telegraph that Ronald Reagan is related to all the crown heads of Europe. They always seem to link US presidents to the old Irish kings ~ you know, Brian Boru, and the likes. Our Sovereign lady is is one of George Washington's nearest living relatives. Beat that.

A flat lunch. ______. A miserable crowd all wrapped up like sherpas. As you know our boiler is defunct. Poor Samuel will be blue. F & B left at 4:30 or so. Good old Frank did his usual chores, fixed the vacuum cleaner and hung pictures, &c. Bessie bought Samuel a pelican and enough knitting to clothe Samuel until he's 5. A quiet Bank Holiday extension until 11:30pm. So many of our customers are OAPs who go home to bed at 9:30.

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