Full Moon
Moorhouse Inn
Friday the Thirteenth. A very busy day. Felt greatly recovered. Energetic, in fact. I made all those niggling phone calls I've been threatening to make. Oldham Signs, the cool shelf people, plumbers, &c. Spoke to Ken Gilbertson at Tadcaster about the '85 holidays and he told me only one manager had booked for next year so we should be OK. I went about afterwards with a spring in my step dreaming of the balmy breezes and golden beaches of Lanzarote in January. We do work hard and deserve a foreign trip. Ally looks so thin these days and her face is slightly pinched. Bless her, she has coped so well with the baby and the pub. People do comment on our rigorous lifestyle.
We have yet to have a visit from Fran O'Brien and suspect he is lying low until his blushes fade. Just Jane tonight. A busy one. Sammy slept and so Ally came down.
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