Thursday November 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale.

Rose at 6:30. An early stock take at 8:30 with Ronnie Simpson, for a change. Paul turned up at 9 o'clock. It was a bad stock. We have already written off £154 with the returned OBB, but other losses put it up to £300. Sod them, anyway. We went away at 11 joking that this holiday might be a longer one that we at first thought. Paul says we'll have LG on the doorstep when we return. I don't give a monkeys. For Christ sake I want peace of mind and a quiet life. I might take that old Welsh witch up on one or two points and go to the country, Devon or Cornwall, and breed pedigree cats. We went to Horton via the Anchor at Gargrave, where Ally indulged in steak and kidney pie. I phoned Dad from here. He has a cold and is weary. To Horton for 2pm. A lovely crackling fire. Dad was tired, run down and emotional. He marks the weeks since mum's death on a calendar on the wall. 27 weeks. We told him our news, but it didn't seem to make an impact.I think he suspects we are a little premature in celebrating. Ally is also exhausted and done in. Dad and I went to the Crown Inn at 10pm when Ally and Sam took to their beds. Samantha Fox, with her huge tits, was on TV. We sampled the Theakston's. It was a dark walk home and we went and sat in his bedroom until 2am. He spoke of things I have never heard him talk about before. His national service days in the '50s. He looked over at his typewriter and said he is considering putting down all his thoughts and memories of his life with Mum to leave a last record of his life. He says he has volumes to say which will otherwise die with him. He spoke of his life insurance details and when he saw a look of concern on my face he said: "don't worry, I won't do anything silly." But added: "but I should have died with her". I encouraged him to write. It will do him good. _______.

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