Tuesday, April 5, 1983


I got up at half-nine this morning and Mum, Dad and Andrew had gone into the Dales. I wouldn’t have minded going myself, but I declined because “I have too much work to do.”

I made notes on Reconstruction, 1877-1901 (“The Nadir”) in the latter part of the afternoon, then watched TV for a while and mooched about inside. Outside it was bright and sunny with a clear sky.

They returned at seven-thirty, tired and tanned. I wished I’d gone. Time is slipping away, the holiday’s winding down. . . .

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