Sunday July 27, 1986

 5, Club Street

9th Sunday after Trinity

Samuel went for a walk to collect the morning papers and to walk-off our enormous breakfast. I bought a Sunday Telegraph, but weakened and also bought the News of the World. We came back and sat in the garden midst the flower pots. Sam always talks to the neighbours ginger Tom cat and is very cross when it declines to answer back. Well, I am on holiday. One must be light-hearted every so often. The latter organ leads with an account of poor Princess Michael of Kent's supposed 'affair' with the Earl of Suffolk & Berkshire, the thrice married millionaire, who is 51. Inside was a tal
e of the Duke and Duchess of York's pre-nuptial Ball at Windsor where 'Fergie' introduced Paddy McNally to Prince Andrew. All good stuff. The Telegraph leads with a train crash. In other news, Averell Harriman has died aged 94.

A warm afternoon. We put a chicken in the oven and took Clemmie out in her pram. Her first walkies. We went of all places to Scholemoor cemetery where the roses were beautiful and where Samuel could run around unhindered. The dead don't mind, I'm sure. Looking at tombstones both old and new one thing emerges very clear and frightening. One is so very lucky now to reach three score years and ten. People are not living longer despite the NHS, Giros, British Rail, Concorde, PVC, penicillin, or Margaret Thatcher. Most disturbing. Bessie phoned. Ate an enormous dinner. Our washing machine went kaput. I phoned Dad who said automatic machines are too complex for the amateur and I will have to call in Philips. Sod it. Sue goes to Scotland tomorrow.

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