Passion Sunday
Moorhouse Inn, Leeds.
Lay long in bed. We get worse. Ally is of the opinion that we should pretend we are in our old office jobs and emerge at the same time every morning as in the days when the alarm clock always sounded at 6:44. It is a difficult thing to do though. Scrambled eggs and baked beans. The Sunday Telegraph, &c. Read Al Haig's Falklands reminiscences.
Samuel has said goodbye to many of his baby ways already. Ally went to the bar and worked with Margaret at 12. I played with Samuel and he eventually fell asleep in my arms. I went down briefly to see the darts lads about Tuesday's fiasco, but the team leader is away in Bridlington. Taffy was snooping around.
Later watched Erroll Flynn and Flora Robson in 'The Sea Hawks' and Ally made fish for lunch. Spent the remainder of the afternoon cleaning the deep fat fryers. A revolting job. Watched the Tv but we tend to use it as a backcloth to our chattering. Ally opened up again at 7 and stayed down until after 9. I went down from 9. Looked at snapshots of the recent wedding of Frank and Bernie's daughter. We saw the vicar who said yes to July 22 though it is the date he expects to become a grandfather and so he may be nervous and jittery. We don't want him dropping Samuel in the font. Bed at 12.
-=-
No comments:
Post a Comment