Sam 60 to-day. He celebrated by going to the Ear, Nose and Throat Hospital to check whether he had polyps in his nose. I went with him, getting up at 7.30 am to do so, and schlepping Maxie with me to Ambrose Avenue, where Mum had been staying over Pesach.
The doctor said Sam didn’t have polyps, but that he was allergic to colds, and that the Hospital doctor was prescribing a course of treatment which he would communicate to Dr Ross.
Business is once more good – Sam said he had 5,000 bags in the pipe-line, i.e., bags for which he has orrders.
Meno male. It was pretty depressing crawling along to-day; but on reflection, even before his attack he had to walk slowly-slowly. As he himself wrote to Yetka, one prays only that things should not get worse.
He tires easily, but he was supposed to have an angina, anyway, before he went to County Hall, and if he can get through the year with a £10,000 – £12,000 turnover, and can see the kids once a week, it will be enough.
Philip has had an upset tummy to-day. It is difficult to get all three in bed before 9pm these days and asleep before 10pm.
E. has interrupted to bring me coffee. A Suivre.
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Joseph Witriol's Writings 