Thursday October 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

White slob in a hole.

I am rapidly sinking towards corpulence. Gone is that sylph-like figure of yesteryear. The adonis is no more. Looking at our holiday snaps it was a shock to see a large white slob smiling up from a hole on the beach and having to admit 'God. It's me'. Something will have to be done. It is a hideously unhealthy 20th century. We live in one of the most unhealthy countries in the world. People bulging everywhere. More fibre is what we need. Wholemeal flour and apples and fresh vegetables. I blame the rise of the supermarket. A dreadful killer. We are still reeling from David's vasectomy shock horror. Dad was very non-committal about it and almost embarrassed when I phoned last night. 

Rose at 7am. To the cellar. Light breakfast at 8 and then up to Grandways with Samuel on foot at 9:30. We stood and laughed at the window display at the wool shop on Dewsbury Rd which had a clockwork grandma knitting in a rocking chair as a window piece. Such a giggle. How delightful toddlers are. So innocent and amusing. Totally priceless. These days should never be forgotten. Last week at Budleigh Salterton an OAP approached Sam and I on the cliffs , and gasping with tears in his eyes he said: "treasure these days, my love, for these are the best days of your life". _____. Quiet lunch. Ally ironing. Nothing on the TV but Neil Kinnock. Poor Auntie Hilda and Kinnock have the same birthday. How awful.

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