Monday August 27, 1979

_. Bank Holiday in England, Northern Ireland & Wales

Had a late breakfast and at 12 we left for London. Within an hour we were on the steps of St Margaret's Church, Westminster, having a photo taken. We peeped through the railings at the Palace of Westminster down into the car park where Airey Neave was murdered in March. Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park was amusing but the speakers today were not very articulate and were abusive and offensive. The police outnumbered the listeners by about 10 to one. Ally picked up a blister and with her feet hanging off we took the tube to Marble Arch to collect the car.

We headed for home but wanted food, and not wanting to eat in one of the motorway concentration camps we left the motorway near Birmingham in search of a Berni Inn. However, we were shocked and horrified by two words in large print on a Birmingham Evening News newspaper stand: 'MOUNTBATTEN KILLED'. We were stunned. Especially after our weekend visit to his home. How can this have happened and in what circumstances has he died? We gulped down rump steaks and head back to the car, but the radio was knackered, crackling, and we could not hear the news.

Up the M5 to the M62 and onto Guiseley. Home for 12. Mum gave us the dreadful details. Lord Mountbatten died instantly when his cruiser was blown up in County Sligo this afternoon. His grandson, Nicholas Knatchbull died too, and other members of his family are seriously injured, including his daughter, Patricia, and her husband, Lord Brabourne, the film producer. The IRA have claimed responsibility for this ghastly act of terrorism. The Royal Family will be in a state of turmoil. The Queen is described as being 'deeply shocked' at the news. He was of course her dear 'Uncle Dickie'. Philip and the Prince of Wales worship him as a father figure. The nation is in mourning.

-=-

Wednesday August 8, 1979

_. Margaret and Jim came here this evening instead of the traditional Thursday because they are venturing to Redcar tomorrow. They do not enthuse about the prospects of a wet day at the races. I bet they end up at the White Cross at lunch time.

I have neglected my royal deliberations recently. What with the Queen's victorious visit to Zambia and the escapades of the Prince of Wales and Prince Andrew with the Guinness sisters I have had ample opportunity to lecture, but have held back. You must forgive this boring patch.

I retired to bed at 12 full to bursting with pork pies and salad sandwiches. I will resemble Orson Welles before long.

-=-

Saturday April 21, 1979

._. Bournemouth. Her Majesty's fifty third birthday. Breakfast was served at 8:30. Sausage, bacon, eggs, and lashings of hot, flowing tomato, the tinned variety. Afterwards we congregated in the [dry] lounge to discuss tactics. Neil and his two stooges announced that they wanted to go watch an amateur football team by the name of Stockport County, who are playing at Portsmouth this afternoon. Obviously, I was horrified and dumfounded. I said: "leave me out" and immediately Dave and Garry followed. Billy, who enjoys a game of football said he would go along with the Portsmouth trippers, and that was that.

Garry, Dave and I wandered around the town and then went in the car to Boscombe Pier where we listened to Sooty and Sweep singing 'Teddy Bear's Picnic'. At 12 we met Alison near the Royal Bath Hotel. Her car was making a terrible noise and the exhaust was blowing out filth and choking fumes. Experts afterwards said it was probably the silencer, or lack of it. She leapt from her motor and we all took off in Garry's car to a pub on the outskirts of the town.  _________. It was as though Alison and I had never been apart. Garry announced that he could have grabbed hold of her and cuddled her tightly. It was great how the four of us got on so well. Garry, I am sure, fancies her. Things become very blurred. Pints of lager and Pernod make a lethal mixture. We took Alison back to our hotel and something must have been said because the bar door was unlocked and unbolted and Arthur, the toothless proprietor, was soon pulling pints like something possessed.

We drank until about 6:30 and then Alison drove us, in Garry's car, to the beach where, wearing only my underpants, I took a dip in the sea, and poor Dave vomited over the sand. Garry and Alison spent ages lobbing pebbles into the sea. Truly delightful.

Back at the Gainsborough we sobered up, went out for a pizza and then more drink. Alison went at 1:00am.

-=-

Sunday February 18, 1979

_. The news is going around that a thaw is underway, but I don't believe a word of it. [Is my handwriting going down hill. Bear with me, said the raccoon]. Is a raccoon a bear? No, I don't think so. It's probably related to a bear. Half cousins probably. Like the Queen and the Marquess of Cambridge, or me and Sharon Kirk. However, this drivel is getting us nowhere. Precisely.

Over breakfast Mama suggests a trip to Auntie Hilda's after luncheon, and I add that we should go out - en famille - for a quick dose of alcohol first. It is decided upon. Mum, Dad, Sue, Pete and I head out to the Dog and Gun at Appperley Bridge. It's a long time since I went out for a drink with Mum & Dad. We discuss all going to Stockport together. It is my considered opinion that my parents do not go out enjoying themselves enough. They spend all their time home brewing and have become virtual recluses within the space of a few years.

At 2:30 we went on to 6, St James's Crescent, Pudsey [Sue and Pete having gone home]. Had a boozy, pleasurable afternoon with the Gadsbys. Joined by Steve & Tim. I am told we stayed to dinner, but don't remember this. Hilda's Yorkshire Terrier, Pepper, is a delight. Uncle Tony [the Liberal candidate] is more sensible these days and remained calm and collected when I frequently, without warning, dropped 'Jeremy Thorpe' into the conversation.

-=-

Monday February 12, 1979

_. Thick, deep snow fell today. Sod it. The white stuff had just begun to clear, and now we are knee deep again. Ah well, I suppose we are better of than those in Iran. The Ayatollah Khomeini is now at the top of my assassinations list, along with Anthony Neil Wedgwood Benn, Willie Hamilton and Dame Gracie Fields.

Trouble at mill over Miss Jacqui ______________________________.

It seems that the brief affair between Sarah and John MacMurray is o'er. She tells me that he will no longer be called upon to escort her to Leeds RL matches or performances at Opera North. I didn't say much about this because I fail to see why she can go off with Richard Burke every weekend, whilst Mr Mac is doomed to a life of fidelity lightened only by the occasional excursion to the Leeds Grand Theatre every few weeks or so. ________.

Sarah says that she has heard from Marilyn Wheeler who has told her I was bored stiff on my recent lunch date with Delia at Len's Bar. Me, bored? Marilyn was sat like a heap of rotting fish on a dock side! Delia phoned Sarah and I passed on my regards telling Sarah to send love from her 'bored nephew'.

Home in a snow drift and ate everything in sight. The house was filled with the aroma of Karen's wedding cake, all three tiers of it.

Watched the news. The Queen has made history by being the first British monarch to visit Kuwait. It is unprecedented for a woman to be formally received in an Arab state, and one Arabic newspaper has described Her Majesty as being "a highly honoured honorary gentleman". Quite ridiculous.

Bed at 12:37am.

-=-

Monday January 22, 1979

The NUJ decided to come out of hibernation today for the first time since the beginning of December. The country is grinding to a halt. I can name the industries that are not on strike on the fingers of one hand. Mr Callaghan will have to go.

Callaghan: shitting himself at No. 10...

Read Richard Crossman's 1966-68 diaries and find his comments on the Queen interesting. Look them up for yourself if you are at all interested.

One of the Sunday papers did an article on Crossman's relationship with Callaghan, who was Home Secretary and then Chancellor (of the Exchequer) from 1964-70. Quite disturbing, and I bet that the PM is now shitting himself at No. 10. He (Callaghan) is not good in a crisis, is one of Crossman's statements.

John Edward Rhodes.

We have received a letter from John & Sheila in Lanzarote. We can go out there for £30 at three days notice which sounds good. By the sound of things they are the only English speakers on the island. John is doing a lazy, pleasurable job whilst Sheila runs around the volcano fifteen times a day driving holiday-makers from the airport to half-built hotels. She has always carried John through life. I know I have delusions of grandeur, but I think John Edward Rhodes is an even bigger dreamer.



Back from the YP at 5:30 to find Sue, Lynn and Alison with Mama. The girls had been at the Black Bull in Otley all afternoon (market town pubs open until 4pm) celebrating Monday. Lynn had consumed eight pernods. Mum said afterwards that she worries about Lynn drinking.

Watched the telly until 11:30 then to bed with a mug of Ovaltine and the Rt Hon Richard Crossman, Lord President of the Council.

-=-