Moorhouse Inn
I am disgusted. We had to post Samuel's birth certificate to the passport office at Liverpool and it has been returned torn, and stuck together with cellotape, and wrinkled. I treasure my family documents and regard this as a disgrace. Samuel is only eight months old and already his personal documents resemble the Dead Sea Scrolls. I am going to compose a snotty letter.
I am not going to bore you with the details of life here at the Moorhouse Inn on this September morn. All I will say is that it is busier. Tonight we had a good response from the pool playing people and think we'll have some success. John is 28 tomorrow. Will he make a honest woman of Miss Drysdale? He certainly could do a lot worse. His card is in the post. I will soon require £246 from him for Lanzarote.
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