Moorhouse Inn
Long lost Uncle Harry is 62 today - somewhere in the wilds of Cumbria in the company of his disgustingly youthful yoga instructor. He is such fun.
We went to town after breakfast to collect Sammy's photographs from Boots. They are surprisingly excellent. He looks angelic. The portfolio of photos cost £25. Worth every penny. We long debated which images to share with our mamas.
On to Club St. Mrs Beale's house has been sold. I asked 'Nutty Norman' for the details. He said: "Oh, she's dead. They found her one morning. She made a will leaving me everything, and I've sold the lot." With that, wearing his dressing gown, he headed to the fish and chip shop. Poor Phyllis Beale. I remember going to tell her that Samuel had been born, and she was sat drying her hair with an old Morphy Richards hair dryer. Did old Norman inherit that too? We returned to Leeds at 2. A football crowd came in from Sheffield and for a moment I thought we might have some 'bovver'. Quiet evening. Dead really. I was shagged out. Ally helped out with Mavis and I sat yawning. Brian Pickup was in with Big Wilf from the Eagle.We cleaned afterwards but finished by 1am.
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