Ascension Day
Moorhouse Inn
Sun, but windy. Breakfast. Samuel sucking his brown bread fingers in egg yolk, but he doesn't touch the white.
Arthur Scargill's arrest dominates the news. It is what he has been waiting for of course. The man loves telling us that we live in a police state and the coverage of his arrest only gives the publicity he craves. Mrs T is behaving admirably and will not become involved in the coal dispute - yet.
The Queen Mother is in Guernsey. The Princess of Wales has now finished her last public engagements before the birth of her September baby.
Lunchtime was busy. Just Margaret and I. Ally did food of course. Maureen opened up at 5:30 and I slept on the sofa like Stan Ogden of blessed memory. Or is he still with us? A domestic evening. Ally did some ironing and we watched 'Crossroads', 'Emmerdale Farm' and 'Top of the Pops', &c. The sound of cracking pool balls from the tap room below, the slapping of naked flesh and raucous, drunken wails. One becomes accustomed to it after a while.
Samuel's bathtime has become an increasingly wet experience and so tonight we put him in the big bath. To bed with toasties.
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