Moorhouse Inn, Leeds
Driving lesson at 9am with Karen Hudson, who is very much into plastic jewelry. A personable young lady who puts me at ease. Driving instructors seem to be obsessed by chewing gum. Is it good for the nerves?
Frank Marshall phoned to say he will collect me at dawn instead of me having to find my own way to Ossett, which is good. We will be able to have a chat on the subject of our mutual predecessor, the ghastly Pirie.
Little Christopher is three on Wednesday and it is under debate as to whether Mum is capable of attending the birthday party. It will be riotous and exhausting. It is a tragedy that she no longer enjoy her grandchildren and that none, except JPH, will remember her. It is so hard to accept that her young life is to be stubbed out. It makes me want to go out and kick the first wrinkled old pensioner I bump into.
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