Moorhouse Inn, Leeds
Ally is in a terrible state with this bloody cold. Red nose, &c.
Sarah and Eileen appeared at 12. It was as though time has stood still. I don't think that either of them actually believe that I am making a 'go' of being a pub landlord. They have heard nothing of Carol Oldroyd (aka Mrs Slocombe) since she rose to fame by marrying that craggy TV salesman with a strong resemblance to the late President Eisenhower, or perhaps Woodrow Wilson. I took the girls upstairs and Samuel clung to his mother as though a pair of ghouls had walked in. Eileen exclaimed: "Oh, doesn't he have an old face?" After lunch off they went into the drizzle.
Ally took to her bed at 2. I spent the afternoon with Samuel, gave him tea, and put him to bed. I worked with Audrey from 8.
-=-
No comments:
Post a Comment