Moorhouse Inn
We got up at 6:30 in the dark with every intention of busying ourselves but over our pots of tea I switched on the TV to look at Selina Scott to see with complete astonishment and horror that some swine has blown up the Brighton hotel where most of HM Government are lodged for the Tory party conference. A sickening sight. We watched poor Norman Tebbit being dug out of the rubble in paroxysms of agony, and Mrs Tebbit and the government chief whip John Wakeham. Some are dead, but as yet they're unnamed. The PM is safe, thank God, and was working on today's speech at 2:50am at the time of the explosion and her bathroom was demolished. Had she been on the loo then it would have been almost certain death. It is the work of the IRA. This afternoon I watched the prime minister's speech which was masterful and inspiring. For the survivor of a bomb, assassination attempt she was incredible.
I feel awful again. Cold, shaking and dull. Had a few slurps of whisky later. In the bar Vicky Pearson and Helen had a punch up, and then the Sovereign and lager pumps failed. Brian Pickup saved the day, locating the trip switch which had tripped off. A busy, toilsome evening. To bed shagged out.
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