Wednesday October 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Overcast and quiet. Samuel slept with us all night because Graham banging around disturbed him and he wouldn't go back. Graham left early because he is having a working breakfast at the Windmill Hotel. He is about to seal a contract with Marks & Spencer, which will be sensational. We went over to dear Club Street at 2:30 via Duckworth Lane. We deposited a pile of old clothes onto the counter at the Oxfam shop. Visited several building societies before going on to the cottage. The garden was muddy but we let Samuel dig around. Ally went for a trim (hair). I had my haircut in Hunslet yesterday. I'm like Al Pacino again. Our dusky "barperson'" Miss Janet Samuels has resigned and defected to the Broadway (pub), that large barn of a place up Dewsbury Road. We are so gleeful. _______. A usual evening of repose and solitude. Samuel slept in our bed and we watched TV and ate bars of chocolate. Watched a good documentary on Queen's College, Cambridge. We returned here to Ye Olde Moorhouse Inn at 11:30pm. Ton bed with books. Just who is this John Updike? His book (The Witches of Eastwick) is a deep, heavy experience, and he is either stoned out of his mind or a genius. He's a Melvyn Bragg sort if you ask me.

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