Wednesday May 16, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Overcast day. Phoned Susan. Mum is on her way to us, she says, with a surprise visitor they are collecting at the station. It's Uncle Bert. They arrived at 2:30 having agreed to collect Bert at Leeds Railway Station but as usual paths were crossed and Bert is still at large, wandering the streets on his artificial limb. We had a traditional Mandarine Napoleon. Dad bounced Samuel on his knee and flew him through the air like a bird. They went at 5 to find Bert and take him to Horton. Somehow I cannot see this visit having a satisfactory conclusion. 

Marita.

We dressed hurriedly, packed baby into the car and went to Horsforth and MM and Marita's for dinner. Immediately, Samuel decided he didn't like the plush refinements of 12, Rawdon Road, and began to bawl. He cried like he was in pain, and yelled through the stuffed peppers, watercress soup, turkey in brandy sauce and trifle. He had lucid intervals but hysterics for four hours. It was a pleasant night despite Samuel's Maria Callas impersonation. They are going to Yugoslavia again this summer. They regularly buy cut glass in Dubrovnik. We left at 12, or so.

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