Sunday January 23, 1977

3rd after Epiphany. Wake up at a late hour once again and Peter plays, loudly, an LP of military marches on his stereo. The three of us discuss Peter's bowels, &c. He tells us that his grandmother died at 4.30 this morning. I am embarrassed. What can I say? Should I dress in a black pullover and sing lamentations of mourning? Or do I ignore the situation? Mr Mather showed no emotion, and the whole family looked happier than usual. They seem to think that the old girl is better off out of it. At 80 she's had a good innings anyway.

In bed at Ty-Onnen

After a ridiculously late breakfast Peter, Chris, Lynne and I go to a remote forest (Dalby?) which seems miles away, and where Peter attempts to feed a bunch (or whatever the collective noun is) of ducks, over-fed ones too. To be honest, they didn't touch a crumb which was a bit 'off'' really because I expected more from them after we'd trailed half way across North Yorkshire just to see them.

Chris Ratcliffe, the Horsforth banker.

Back to Ty-Onnen for dinner and then on to Pickering cinema to see 'Josie Wales'. Yes, I've seen this one before too. Lynne stayed at home complaining of a headache and saying she was going to brush up on her Spanish. Christopher decided to return home tonight and I decided to accompany him. Fog. Back at Pine Tops for 12.30. Have a letter from Uncle Harry with details of his mother's birth-place &c, and details of the Upton family. Uncle H is brilliant.

Sunday October 24, 1976

19th after Trinity. United Nation's Day. Up at a late hour again and devour one of Mrs Mather's nice breakfasts. Lynne and I then set to and wash her car. One hell of a job. In the midst of this we go for a walk around Thornton-le-Dale parish church and then for a few miles down a quiet lane to a place the name of which escapes me [Dalby?] Back at 4pm to complete the polishing of the car. A lovely, autumn afternoon.

After [the] evening meal we watch TV all night but my allergy to the cat and dog renders me completely useless. Drink whisky but I'm so blocked up I can barely taste it. Bed at 12.30. Took a sneaky photo of Lynne compiling her diary sitting in bed. Should prove funny when results come through. I always enjoy muyself at Lynne's parents' house. When I compare them to Mr & Mrs Phillips it's quite incredible. Total opposites. Poor Carole. With a Mum & Dad like that why bother reading horror stories?

It's rumoured in the Sunday Express that the Duchess of Gloucester is pregnant. We shall have to wait and see.

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