Moorhouse Inn
I have a horrible, heavy cold. But work must go on. We were visited by John, Janette, Jill and Tim. A pity really because I was in no mood for such revelry. Baby talk basically. Jill says they might have a Jonathan. Janette said that a son might be Simon, at which John replied: "I'm having no Simon under my roof." They all hung around until 1am saying how tired and ill I looked. Ally kept dropping hints and yawning theatrically, but it didn't work.
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