Moorhouse Inn
Absolutely ghastly. I woke up at 7:30 ____________. Ally told me that I am a pig. I vaguely recall asking the Baileys to attend a thrash here next Wednesday. Hollywood Days & Hollywood Nights is a disco and yet it isn't, and has had £50,000 spent on lighting and music centres.
A day spent in a twilight existence. I went to vomit with frequency throughout the lunchtime session and left Audrey until after 2pm. Ally showed no sympathy. Not that I expected any.
Dad went to Horton with John but they could do nothing with the roof at Waltergarth because of the ice and frost.
This evening I walked out out and bought fish and chips leaving Ally propping up the bar with Archie. A bitterly cold evening. Later I sat watching Victoria Wood, a comedienne of growing distinction. Pub quiet.
The dear PM has been leading the (Tory) party for ten years on Monday. Who would ever have thought that she could have held such a powerful grip?
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