Oh bugger the old English handwriting today. I feel absolutely revolting. Nevertheless, I crawled out of bed and attempted to make an effort at the YP, but by 11:30am I was dead. In fact, at that fateful hour I was compelled to enter the lavatories of the Yorkshire Post and did wretchedly vomit forth. It was ghastly. At 12 I 'signed off' for the day and returned homeward. The omnibus bearing my pale corpse to Guiseley was within seconds of inspecting the remainder of the contents of the above mentioned stomach.
At home the situation is cold to say the least. Mama and Papa are still considering closing their respective diplomatic delegations and to me it seems that nothing but an out and out war is inevitable. For the remainder of the day I sat ~ quiet as a mouse ~ armed with a gas mask and copy of the New English Bible. Oh, it's all very sad. But this is what marriage is all about I do suppose. I expect Mr & Mrs Thatcher (Conservative) often fall out in similar circumstances. Goodnight.
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The journal of a Yorkshire lad from the age of 17 in 1973 through several decades .... Transcribing from handwritten volume to blog may take some time ...
Showing posts with label gas masks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gas masks. Show all posts
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Tuesday January 22, 1985
Moorhouse Inn Cold and quiet. Dave Glynn phoned tonight but Ally and I were in the cellar, and when we phoned back Lily said that David has...
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Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11 Up at 6:44, or at least awake.Went down to clear the beer lines and left Ally with cooing Samuel. Blossom looked a ...
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Moorhouse Inn, Leeds Sat eating porridge at 7:30am I switched on the radio to hear the news that the Princess of Wales is at the Lindo Wing...