Dear Diary ... continued

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Saturday ...
Lord knows if I shall ever get the time this year, but, fingers crossed, Hugh and I are determined to start thinking about holidays.  Our dreadful inflation is the guilty culprit when it comes to going abroad.  Even the prices of package holidays seem to have shot up over the last year or two, so it begins to look like a stay-at-home holiday.  Of course we are very lucky here.  I've always been the first to boast that, when it comes to beauty and splendour, Britain can take on the best.  The weather is, of course, sometimes a little unpredictable, but if this summer turns out to be anything like as hot as last year's we won't have a lot to worry about.
Well anyway, to start with Hugh was very keen on the idea of us going to Rumania.  He never tires of telling me about the time he had there some years ago.  Apparently the Carpathian Mountains are quite spectacular with their ski-slopes, lakes and green valleys and forests.  He stayed in a mountain resort called Poina Brasov and was quite taken aback by the overwhelming hospitality of the people.  Apart from the extra expense, though, there is of course the question of Hugh's health.  He really won't be able to exert himself in the way he used to a few years ago and so eventually he had to agree that, all things considered, Scotland or maybe Wales would be a better choice this time.
Sunday ...
Jill, Stan and Sarah came by the motel this afternoon.  I am so pleased that they seem to have worked out their problems and Jill is going ahead with her plans for a home dress-making business.  Stan is, understandably, an independent young man, but as I told both of them, now times have got difficult, it only makes sense for Jill to be earning too, if she's sure she can find the time to be able to do it.  As I said to them, I don't believe that my running the Crossroads Motel has affected my relationship with Hugh in any way other than good.  In fact I'm sure we both appreciate each other all the more for it.
On the lighter side, Stan tells me that he has just joined the ranks of the amateur home wine-makers.  He went on at some length about traps, racking and floggers till it was all starting to sound to me rather like the plot of some medieval drama.  Mind you, I can see the appeal behind it all.  Not only do you (hopefully) end up with some pleasant and quite inexpensive wine, but also I'm sure, like fishing, there is something very soothing about the hours of inactivity ... just sitting and looking, in this case into a bubbling jar.  Stan's first effort, he tells me, is banana wine but, sad to say, it'll be almost a year before anyone is able to pass judgement on his efforts.

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