Wednesday March 28, 1979

_. A revolting wet day. It's blowing a gale at the moment [12:15am 29/03/1979] .

Auntie Hilda is 43 today. Mum phoned her this morning. Mum suggested that they team up and go to Ruby and Arthur's together at Easter. H seemed to think this is a good idea.

Sarah has been a cow all day. ______________.

Susan and Peter went out for an Indian meal to celebrate their recovery from gastroenteritis. Oh God!

I have excellent news to relate here. At 10:30 tonight the government was defeated in the House of Commons on a vote of no confidence, by 311 to 310 votes. Old Callaghan will have to go to the country at last. The Queen will be asked to dissolve Parliament in the next few days and the general election campaign will begin. April 26 and May 10 are possible dates. It looks like Margaret Hilda Thatcher will be the first woman prime minister. One Labour MP missed the vote due to illness. I'd be interested to know who that was. His vote would have resulted in a tie and the Speaker would have cast the deciding vote with Her Majesty's Government. Angela Rippon was obviously beside herself with glee whilst reading the late news. It's obvious she is a 'true blue'. No government has been defeated in this way and subsequently fallen since Ramsay MacDonald's first Labour administration in 1924, and he was succeeded by Baldwin. Poor Jim Callaghan's 'Zinoviev Letter' is the failure of devolution ~ such a pathetic subject on which to risk all, don't you think?

Things will now hot up at the YP and the build up to the general election will be all good stuff. It's an exciting time. I really pity the poor people of Paraguay or Argentina, where elections of any kind are strictly taboo. They don't realise just what they are missing. ________.

Went to bed with Agatha Christie at 12:25am.

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Tuesday March 27, 1979

_. Didn't sleep too well , and was awakened at 4am with something of a start. Pottered around in the kitchen and went back to bed with a blackcurrant juice and continued with Agatha Christie. Slept until Dad woke me with a start at 7:45, To Leeds with Jim and Jennie.

I am horrified by the news that the horrid Welsh Nationalists are to vote with the government in tomorrow's vote of confidence. It would be so typical of Jim [Callaghan] to hang on by the skin of his socialist teeth until death finally catches up with him in October. I cannot stand another six months of this administration. Administration? That's a laugh.

Sarah is acting in a peculiar manner. I put this down to the malevolent influence of Richard Burke - a shady character.

I have been delving into the background of Princess Michael of Kent. Her grandfather, Prince Szapary, or something, was the last Austrian ambassador to St Petersburg before the revolution of 1917, and her great-grandfather was Prince Alfred of Windisch-Graetz. So, in fact, she's of royal blood and most acceptable. [Snob - MLR].

Home in heavy rain at 5pm for dinner with Mum and Dad. Susan is out at Peter's which is unusual for a Tuesday. Horribly bored. The TV is a dead loss. Is it a surprise that so many people avoid paying the tv licence when so much Yankee trash is hurled down to us from on high? We may just as well opt out and become the most recent US state [was Alaska the 50th or 51st?]

I am resolved to save money for my family tree fund, purchasing certificates, &c. I did make a start with £10 before Christmas, but this went on presents and alcohol. For the sake of my unborn, perfect grandchildren I must provide something of a genealogical table for posterity.

Mum phoned Alison and gave the go ahead for moving to Pine Tops until she has established a pent house of her own. Won't it be fun, I ask myself? If I don't watch it I'll be marrying the poor girl before the month is out. I've always had a very soft spot for Ally and now it seems I'm going to have ample opportunity to kindle the old, abeyant flame.

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Monday March 5, 1979

_. I spent all day looking for something to buy Lynn for her birthday and finally settled upon a 'Toulouse Lautrec' Parisian-style poster. You know the one I mean. An old French tart with the top of her corset open, her tits hanging out and swimming in Pernod,  being ogled by bloated old gents in frock coats and top hats, monocles hanging everywhere.
I'm sure she'll like it. It will add to the bistro-effect of her dining room.

Saw 'Fawlty Towers' tonight. Someone should really persuade John Cleese to continue churning episodes out. So sad, isn't it, that all good things come to an end?

The dear Labour administration is five years old this week. Five wonderful years of prosperity and growth with round, fat children, all with well preserved teeth, dancing and openly rejoicing in the streets. Five years of giving so much money to old age pensioners that even now, as I sit here pen in hand, I can see a group of merry geriatrics dashing down the lane all pushing large wheel barrows crammed with crumpled old fivers. No doubt all having a Monday trip to the local rubbish tip. It's more convenient for them to dump excess cash than try and spend it. Most OAPs are too settled to become tax exiles in Juan Les Pins and St Helier.






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