 |
Moorhouse Inn
Jolly holidays are upon us. The stock taker Rob came in and we had a good time demolishing that Dalison chap, who apparently makes a general balls up of wherever he goes. Ron Brook came, wearing red trousers, looking like a maniacal golfer, and spent hours on the phone after bring in all his luggage. Twenty three suits and a tie rack worthy of the Duke of Windsor. Silly bugger. We left after 12. Very low key. Said goodbye to nobody. We had a stock deficit of £35 or so. We knew we would. The last stock take was £99 up and the imbecile made a cock-up then. Ally is blissfully resigned to ignoring stocks. I worry more.
Down the M5 to Coleford. I made Samuel giggle so much that he was sick all over himself just as we crossed the border into Wales. Ally was cross. I think I was holding my nose and making ridiculous noises at the time. To Mile End for 4:30. The house was very pleasantly chaotic. The children, the dogs and Gill all look well. ______. Graham came in and the two of us went to Coleford and the Angel Hotel for a few bevvies. Needless to say the Gloucestershire air took hold of me and I returned to the house quite pissed and hiccoughing. Samuel came down doing his Placido Domingo routine and Ally went upstairs to get the boy settled and didn't come back. Similarly, Graham went for a wee wee and was never seen again. Gill and I were left with a bottle of Chateau Mablethorpe. Our conversation ranged from Aids to church dogma. And so to bed.
-=-
No comments:
Post a Comment