Thursday November 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Not too bad a hangover considering. Lots of staff were in and so I did no work, other than the lunches. Mum and Dad were enjoying it, and decided to stay on again tonight but Mummy has a shortage of clothes and so tonight she wore one of Ally's maternity dresses. Mum has such good hair for her age. No grey. We sat downstairs and joined by cousin Samuel. The boy is something of a religious maniac and sat quoting chunks from the Old Testament to a fidgety Papa. They spoke long about the old days and I think Mum has a particular affection for him. Samuel asked for a pen and in the hustle and bustle of our dark, little lounge he penned a poem which I had to read out straight faced. I have an aversion to poetry. I have never been able to stomach the stuff. Yes, Rupert Brooke's 'The Soldier' is pleasant to the ear, but nothing much inspires me. Sam's poem is 'Journey of a Tear' and I'll slip it between the pages here for your quizzical 21st century gaze. He left at 10:30 and we sat with Mum and Dad until after 12. Lynn and David the topic of conversation again. Mum says they will 'come a cropper' one of these days and I tend to agree.

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