Kilmacolm
3rd Sunday after Epiphany
Lynn is very flippant about Aids. "Oh, it's no concern of mine." She tore up the government leaflet on the disease without reading it, for instance. I do not subscribed to this. In ten years time she will have two teenage daughters, juices flowing, and open to danger. It's no joke. We went to the park in Kilmacolm. Not like Scotland in the Stranraer sense, more like Harrogate. David has selected a good spot for his new erection, surrounded by mature Scots pines. However, a council estate looms at the rear. "I suppose they have to live somewhere", said Lynn, in a Marie Antoinette sort of way. She isn't a snob in the way that I am. She doesn't approve of private education, for instance. "All that gingham", she sniffed. We bid our farewells and left at 1pm. A long journey. Samuel wet his pants and walked around Alston, legs akimbo, in obvious discomfort. Back to the cottage for 5 o'clock after several stops for milk, papers, &c. Ally totally exhausted took to her bed at 8:30 after "At Bertram's Hotel" part 1 by A. Christie (Dame). I lingered with the Sunday mags and a drink. Clemmie did her 'Sarah Bernhardt routine' well into the small hours.
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