With the wedding of the year over, what do we have left to live for? No coal. No electricity. No gas. No heating. No June. No fuel. No cars. No turkeys. No meat. No bread. No unmarried princesses, and sexy with it. No oil. No lights. No fairies. No 18th century mahogany chamber pot covers (£75 from any mahogany chamber pot stockist). No bacon, sausages, or canned tomatoes. No electric tooth brushes, etc. Britain will come to a grinding halt by next week. And what's more, statistics just out show that by 1984 Britain will be polluted beneath a blanket of 800m back dated copies of 'The Guardian'. The roads, fields, sewers, and woodland areas of rural Britain will be buried beneath an 18ft rotting heap of Guardians - not including the colour supplements. The thought is quite nauseating really. But Anne and Mark won't be bothered. Nobody reads the Guardian in the Caribbean...
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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 guardian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guardian. Show all posts
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Wednesday September 4, 1985
Moorhouse Inn Overcast - me and the weather. The alarm sounded at 7 but Ally switched it off for half an hour. Felt groggy and could have s...
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Moorhouse Inn 2nd Sunday in Lent with dear Phyllis. Drizzle. Up for a full-English. Samuel is much better behaved without the influence of ...
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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...