Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ
Up feeling groggy at 8:30. Much too late. Had a headache until evening. Cold out. The Sunday Telegraph was frozen solid on the doorstep, and had been there since yesterday. The writer Robert Graves has pegged out aged 90. A good innings. Ally was a lot better. She got some ironing out of the way and was up and about more. She is beautiful. My wife has gorgeous hair and particularly stunning eyes. She can melt anything with those peepers. Later I used the downstairs phone and sat by the lit Christmas tree. Lynn was infuriated that we might not be going to see them at Christmas. She cannot come and see us here tomorrow because she is 'nipping out to Morrisons' and similarly on Wednesday she is 'nipping over to Macro with Pam'. It seems we have come second to frozen veg and packets of Typhoo tea. Phoned Sue. They will probably come here on Boxing Day - all of them - and might stay the night. She has morning sickness too. She cannot walk into a butcher's shop without throwing up. Phoned Dad. He has had a liquid lunch with Arnold which had carried on into the evening. Good for him. Phoned Hilda & Mabel, but in reverse order, to tell them of our baby news which had already been leaked by Papa. Hilda seemed low. Thomas, she says, 'has a funny neck'. Mabel spoke of Mum. It being December and all that, and the theme of her sermon was 'because you have a wife and almost two babies to consider.' She did mean well. 'We will all miss her' she concluded. Liz worked. It was quiet. Ally was poorly tonight. Even at midnight she was bilious and propping up the bathroom sink.
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