Saturday February 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Waltergarth.

To Horton. It was a fine, crisp day but our peace was shattered on arriving at Waltergarth by the sound of running water - a furious torrent in fact. A downpour coming through the kitchen ceiling and the whole bungalow was awash. It was to be expected really because recent temperatures have been in the minuses. Dad didn't panic or fluster and was very casual about the disaster. Why worry? Frances (neighbour) caem dashing in and found us a plumber who fixed the pipe in the loft and I spent the afternoon drying the kitchen and emptying the cupboards of damp, soggy food. Dad was soaked to the skin and blue with cold. Frances took us in for hot soup and a warm which was a God send. She really is a thoughtful lady. I phoned Ally and spoke to Mum about the leak. She said: "I wish I could sell the bloody place." Home in the dark to a glum reception. We had Chinese food.

-=-