At seven in the morning, Dad took Mum out driving to Royden and back, and after that nothing at all happened. I lazed about reading, eating, doodling and whiling away the hours, and I could’ve just as well been dead for all the good I was.
Nanna P., who came yesterday, has been in fine form, tactlessly talking about running sores, skin cancer and green-mould at the meal table and boring us all with constant references to Kenneth and the clan. She was hauled back to her house at seven, and I spent a classic evening in the bath listening to Alexis Korner and Peter Clayton.
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