Moorhouse Inn, Leeds
I sat this afternoon, late on, bouncing Sammy up and down and watching the Labour party conference on TV. That Kinnock fellow needs pyschiatric treatment. He cannot see that the vast bulwark of the Maoist left will soon gobble him up. Silly little pillock. All this 'comrade' banter is nauseating.
Just Ally and I tonight (at work). Quiet. Old Tom says Andy is having morphine injections and has only 48 hours left. Poor bugger. Upstairs at 11 I woke Sammy. I was banging around in the kitchen. A furore followed.
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