Monday August 6, 1984

Bank Holiday in Scotland & Republic of Ireland 

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Burton: Welsh tippler.

That old soak Richard Burton popped his clogs in Switzerland yesterday and I scowled at the Daily Telegraph, who splashed this earth shattering tragedy as its page one lead. Silly season is upon us I know but surely something somewhere in the world is of greater importance? Am I perhaps underestimating the genius and the loss of this craggy, Welsh thespian tippler? Blimey, Dame Flora Robson's recent passing barely got a mention and I doubt whether she ever touched a drop, was married eight times, or made third rate films for vast fees. 

Susan and Peter appeared with the boys at 4 o'clock. She phoned earlier and so we hurriedly booked Audrey to open up and Mavis to do 8-11. I wasn't 'on form' at all and wanted nothing but to collapse into a chair and snore, which I couldn't do. Samuel loves the company of his cousins and was glued to Christopher's every move. We went down to the bar at 8. Mavis had buggered the till. A quiet night and Ally kept going behind to assist. I discussed the pitfalls of vasectomies with Sue. Doesn't it speed the ageing process? She giggled. Peter isn't seriously considering having 'the snip'. They went to buy a Chinese take-away from near the Blooming Rose which we ate at 11. Saw a horrid, dull film 'The Amityville Horror'. Bed 1am.

-=-