Moorhouse Inn, Leeds
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| Bert. |
Cold. The over enthusiastic woman from Kenmar (fruit machines) bustled in and talked none stop for half an hour about gas boilers. Yawn. Mum phoned with news of the Uncle Bert saga. They waited for him to arrive at Horton, but he didn't appear. Eventually they phoned Nottingham and he was there. It seems he came by train to Leeds, but was late, and so made his way to Guiseley and the Station Hotel where he phoned every Baker in the phone book, to speak to Lynn, without success. After an hour he hobbled back to Leeds and took the train back home to Nottingham. She says he was very angry and 'more or less put the phone down on me'. He spent £17 on rail fares. What a cock up.
At 3:30 we went to Linfood Cash & Carry and spent £40 on gigantic jars of tartare sauce, &c. Bulk buying is fun. To Club Street for half an hour where we ate bars of chocolate and sipped lemonade. Samuel, sitting on my knee, smells like an old sheep. He had eaten braised lamb splodge for lunch. Such a cute boy he is. Back to the Moorhouse for 6:30. Dog tired. I could sleep for a week. One needs the stamina of an ox in this game.
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