Wednesday June 13, 1979

_. Peter finally sought parental consent to marry my sister in what can only be described as a dreadful, obnoxious and embarrassing scene this evening. He, the prospective groom, sat afterwards with the word Gloom engraved in capital letters across his forehead. A sense of strangulation hung over us.  To escape the putrid atmosphere Alison and I decamped to the garden where we sat in damp deck chairs purporting to be searching for the poor, destitute missing tortoise. We went on a stroll into Guiseley calling at the off licence for a bottle of Martini.

No sense of excitement or joy was to be found back at home. Dave L telephoned to say he is moving to Folkestone. Is he on the run from someone or something? We discussed Christine B and her marriage and ended up on the subject of plastic buckets.

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Tuesday June 12, 1979

_. I am seriously considering abandoning this journal once and for all. I am just a pathetic mess who has great difficulty in making interesting observations on any subject, either of domestic or national importance. Indeed, you'll find no reference here to President Carter's SALT 2 summit with that nice Mr Podgorny. I am a dead loss. A vast waste of time, ink, and energy goes into this and I really could and should be doing greater things.

Isaac Newton gave us the combustion engine; John Wayne gave us over six billion cowboy epics; Ngaio Marsh gave us all those wonderful 'Poldark' books and the Queen Mum has currently completed 55 years as head of our great Royal House. Just what have I achieved? Precisely, bugger all.

But stop this wallowing, Michael. Think what the neighbours are going through. Kenneth the tortoise has been missing for three days.

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Monday June 11, 1979

_. A very historic day. I came home from work at 5pm and almost immediately Susie told me that she and Peter are to become engaged on her twentieth birthday and that they intend to marry next summer. I'm not too startled because it was obvious that the events of last week showed it was either make or break between them and things could not continue at stalemate and five years of courtship. They say they made this decision at Cracoe on Saturday, but Peter doesn't wish to make it public just yet. He, the coward, is terrified of coming straight out with it and seeking the consent from Mum and Dad. So we are all in the ridiculous position of knowing the news, but that it cannot be discussed openly.

So, this evening when Lynn and Dave came here for dinner we could talk of nothing but Ally's new job and the merits of mother's apple pie. Peter came here at 8 and stayed until after 10, and silence - dreadful silence - reigned. At 8:30 I escaped the cloister-like sitting room and paid a visit to Jim Rawnsley's house (No 50 Hawksworth Lane). I took him some information on George Cattermole, a Victorian water colourist. Jim bought a Cattermole picture at the weekend and he was intrigued by my findings. The precocious Jennie was on top form. Had a beer and looked at his collection of antiques. I do believe that Jim is a very shy man. Shy people make me very uneasy. I am only ever uneasy with shy people or archbishops. Back at home the silence continued. Alison and I kept looking at each other in that pathetic, helpless fashion more characteristic of sheep on moorland slopes. Peter left at 10:30 and I departed to bed.

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Sunday June 10, 1979

_. Trinity Sunday

I am now out of the deck chair, but it is Sunday. Well, er, no. Actually we are fifteen minutes into Monday. Anyway, you probably can imagine what occurred today in the sun-drenched garden at Pine Tops. I sat in a heap reading Queen Mary (Bloody Mary, not Mary of Teck or Mrs William of Orange) and occasionally I dropped from a tree onto an unsuspecting Alison. Sue and Pete continue to play at dislocating each others hip and shoulder joints, and pounding each other with tennis balls. Mum and Dad had the good sense to avoid us completely by sitting at the front of the house and only communicating with us through the open dining room window. Very sensible.

Evidently, Alison and I disturbed Motherdear when we came in at 1am. She blamed my 'low pitched voice' which she said carries more than anyone else's. I'm quite happy and relieved to know I sound like Sir Geraint Evans, and not some revolting soprano.

At 6:30 to Lynn & Dave's for nosh and gallons of alcoholic refreshment. Lynn is positively blooming and glows like a little fluorescent light-bulb. She concocted a salad and we all joked and howled until nearly 12. Peter and I tend to become somewhat lewd. Alison and I sat together like an old established couple. It is as if we have always been together. A boy called Mark from Martyr Worthy has called her twice since she arrived on Friday. I feel jealous, yes jealous.

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Saturday June 9, 1979

_. Up at about 10:30 and waved goodbye to Mum and Dad who went off to St Anne's for the day.

Sue & Peter now 'very much in love' and slobbering over each other, were pelting tennis balls at each other in the garden with all the fury of Ukrainian shot-putters. I put it down to the frustration of the past couple of weeks. They departed to Cracoe near Skipton for luncheon.

Alison and I had breakfast together and then went to look at a house in Haworth. I have never been to inspect a house before and it proved embarrassing. The house (£5,000) had been decorated by a family with the imagination of otters, and the interior resembled Windscale Nuclear Power Station. They, who were selling, seemed terrified, and stood wide-eyed, like rabbits in the headlights, nervously nudging each other. We went into the Black Bull for a few drinks and to discuss the property. I am as knowledgeable on this topic as I am on early Italian literature.

At 3pm we went on to Oakwood (not the hall) and then to an estate agent in Keighley. Ally is definitely bitten by the house-buying bug. It felt good dashing across the countryside with Ally in her little car. As you know, I am almost totally besotted  by her.

Home for 5pm and sat with Sue & Pete the love birds. Susan without Peter is like lager without blackcurrant or Hitler without Eva Braun. The four of us went up to the Cow and Calf where I spent over £2 on a round of drinks. The girls were on massive port and lemons. Half pints of port at 90p a gulp! On to the Red Lion at Burley-in-W and then, as a grand finale, to the Prachee Indian at White Cross. Did a good deal of laughing, observing the other drunken diners. Home at almost 1am.

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Friday June 8, 1979

_. Sarah and I went to Len's Bar and drank gin and tonic in the gloom of the crypt-like wine bar. The prices are quite ridiculous. £1 for two miserable drinks! We talked about Jacq. Evidently I am labelled 'the Iceberg'.

Tonight: Susan hadn't heard a word from Peter and so at 7 Ally and I went to Morrison's so that she could cash a cheque for £25 and then we had a quick one at the Crown in Yeadon before collecting Sue at 8 o'clock. We intended going to the Drop Inn but half way down the lane (in the Spitfire) we passed Peter driving in the opposite direction. Sue immediately joined him and we went to the Drop together. Back home at 11:30. Mum held her silence and tripped off to bed shaking her head.

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Thursday June 7, 1979

_. I cannot write much because I'm slung between two deck chairs in the garden and it doesn't encourage me to scribe in any way. (By the way, it isn't Thursday. I left this page blank and have come back to it a few days later. In fact, it's the weekend and that's why I am in a deck chair).

I met Jacq at lunchtime at Len's Bar. I told her of Sarah and Richard's split, and a gleam appeared in her eye. Will Mr Burke, now free, escape Jacq's grasp?

Alison arrived at about 6pm to take up her new existence in Yorkshire. Mrs Dixon phoned Mum this morning and was quite upset by her daughter's departure. It is all for the best. Lynn and David B came a couple of hours later and so too did Jim & Margaret. ([Papa just walked past with a box full of lawn clippings and I am now a sticky mass of green. Some people have an odd sense of humour, don't they?)

Back to Thursday: Susan was out with Janet Simon at the Fox until about 10. I felt exhausted and by midnight and made my exit from the company. As I went I overheard people saying 'he has no stamina' and that 'it must be his age'.

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