Friday September 14, 1979

_. Grotesque hangover, and close to death. Caught sight of myself in a mirror in the gents at the YP. Frightening. The years of dissipation have taken their toll. I look like a cross between President Carter and Gloria Swanson. I really should quieten down. I could end up like Richard Burton.

I stumbled upon Christine's phone number [mislaid in July]. Rang her at 3. She married on August 18 and is now studying at night school for a degree in administration to enable her to go with Frank to the United States. She turned down my offer to go out for a lunchtime drink, saying Frank would 'hate that sort of thing' and would 'sulk for hours' if he got wind of it. Blimey, it's not as though we'd be committing adultery. However, she seems very happy and full of her old exuberance.

Out to the Central Station with Jacq. Hair of the dog, and all that. We laughed a good deal.

At 6 Ally came over and we went with Susan to Burley-in-W, and loaded her into Dave's car for our journey to Stranraer. We had a couple of drinks in Kirby Lonsdale, and then motored up that long, dark road. Poor Ally was dead to the world. Arrived at Corner House Cottage at 1am. John so pleased to see us, looking thinner. Bed at 3am.

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Thursday September 13, 1979

_. Ally and I went out on the booze [again]. First to the Rose & Crown, then the Cow & Calf, and finally the White Horse in Bingley. Afterwards we ventured to Oakwood Hall. Very drunk. Consequently we became serious and nostalgic. Most odd, because we are seldom serious about anything. we spoke about poor Carole P, and John Pinder. Saw Peter, Frank, Gus and Chippy.______.
Chippy on the dance floor is like Lionel Blair. We are told that Peter and Chippy are heading off to Paris on Saturday for five or six days. Susan has taken this extraordinarily well.

Bed at 4:30 after heading back to Pine Tops.

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Tuesday September 11, 1979

_. Busy day at the YP. The Brabournes have left Ireland and are now in London hospitals. The new Countess Mountbatten is in the eye hospital, and Lord Brabourne is at the King Edward VII Hospital for Officers. Timothy Knatchbull remains in Sligo at Mullaghmore. Broadlands opens again to the public tomorrow.

Phoned Ally. She spent the day in Harrogate yesterday with Graham and Charlotte [Smith]. _______.

Ally isn't eating. She asked me to join her tonight, but I simply cannot. I am already minus 30p and I cannot afford the bus fare into Bradford. So, it's no meeting until Thursday.

Do nothing this evening. The BBC has produced a series entitled 'Prince Regent' - but it fails to impress. Was George IV really as affected as Bill North?

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Wednesday September 12, 1979

_. Mama got me out of bed at 10 because I had instructed her to do so. After toast and marmalade I took up an axe, a saw and a spade and headed for the garden where I executed a boring, dominating willow tree [not of the weeping variety]. I received quite a few blisters for my labours and was sweating like an Olympic marathon runner. The root was a bugger and refused to give in, but neither did I, and the human element won. We humans are much more intelligent than trees..... Or are we?
Do trees blow one another to pieces in Ireland? Do grown up trees batter their saplings until they are unrecognisable? Do trees drop atomic bombs on Japan? But on the other hand did the horse chestnut tree paint 'The Last Supper' or did a Scots pine invent the electric light?

Dave L phoned again. He asks me to get him a ticket for Marita to see Dame Edna in Leeds on November 27. It's going to cost me £3 on Thursday but I do suppose Dave will cough up with the money when I see him next. I haven't seen Marita for months.

To the YP at 4:30. Kathleen had been on her own all afternoon because Carol J and Sarah were at a YP Literary luncheon. Little Gilberto from Chile is a good lad really. Kathleen insists on calling him 'Al' for some reason. His name is Gilberto. Wendy disappeared at nine for a liaison with her boyfriend and I got the bus home at 10.

Took to my bed at 11:30 and could not decide what to read.  Blimey, it was windy outside.

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Monday September 10, 1979

_.Frantic day at the office. Just Carol J and I in. Carol never exerts herself. Eileen is in hospital having a lump removed. ____.

 In the columns of the Daily Telegraph I see a poignant piece of news which nobody else will have noticed. The infant son of the Duke and Duchess of Abercorn was baptised yesterday with the names Nicholas Edward Claud. The duchess is a god-daughter and kinswoman of the late Lord Mountbatten, and we of course know that the late earl had Nicholas among his Christian names, after his own godfather Tsar Nicholas II. And of course Mountbatten's grandson, murdered with him last month, was Nicholas Knatchbull.

Maria , JPH and Catherine came this evening. The baby has changed since I last saw her and is obviously thriving. Her hair is slightly rust coloured. Doctors say her heart is healing naturally,  and by next month she will be quite normal and free from her condition. John, in Scotland, phoned Maria here.

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Sunday September 9, 1979

13th Sunday after Trinity.

David Lawson phoned recently, but I forgot to record it here. He asked when Christine is getting married! I had to tell him, with heavy heart, that the nuptials took place two weeks ago. The Lawsons now have some kind of Setter so I presume, without mentioning it, that Toscanini, the poodle, is no longer with us. Gone to that great kennel in the sky, &c. The poor lad is dog sitting and mopping up piss night after night.

Got up at 12. Ally came down to breakfast in not a pleasant frame of mind. After her toast and marmalade she left for Bradford saying: "see you next Friday, then". _________________.

I sat pasting Mama's photos into an album and watched 'Horatio Hornblower, RN' on the BBC. A black and white film shot in the thirteenth century BC. The heroine on the film [Gregory Peck's tart]  was supposed to be Lady Barbara Wellesley, sister of the Duke of Wellington. The duke's sister wasn't Barbara, she was Anne, who married a son of Lord Southampton.

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Saturday September 8, 1979

Made strong coffee and lounged in bed until 11. We went to Guiseley and had fish and chips, then bought a wedding anniversary card for Lynn & Dave. On to Pine Tops where the inevitable had occurred. Uncle Harry had been a complete nuisance at Wilsill, near Pateley, and had left at midnight in a cloud of exhaust fumes and ill will. We escaped the muggy atmosphere and drove over the hills towards Burley-in-W stopping at the Hermit pub at Burley Woodhead where eagle-eyed Ally spotted David's tiny car. They were having a sly drink with Jim Nason in a dark corner. Lynn didn't look too good, saying she's 'off colour'. They say they are going on holiday to Malta next June, which I find staggering because Sue & Pete have yet to decide upon a wedding date. Perhaps the holiday arrangements could have been made after the wedding is booked? Mother is fuming about this.

Out tonight with Ally, Sue and Pete to the Drop, the White Cross and the Prachee. Saw ________ who thinks he's either Napoleon or Gary Glitter.

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Friday September 7, 1979

Poor Uncle Harry. I knew he wouldn't last for long. He rose at noon and told Mama he was 'going to the bank', but he did not return until 3:30 and his balance was far from steady. When I arrived home at 5 I could sense an atmosphere. By 7 they were all gone for something called 'a basket meal'.

I opened a few bottles, switched on the stereo and waited for Alison. She arrived at 9 and we went to the White Cross where we were joined by Gus and Frank. Ally was sinking pints of lager and blackcurrant as if she'd spent eight days and nights in the Gobi Desert. In came Kathryn Chaffer with her husband Peter [Harrison?], and they came over for a chat. At 11, weighed down with bottles, we crossed the road to their little terrace house. They have only been married for five weeks, and so on entering the house we were required to remove our shoes ['the carpet is new']. We were also told that the wallpaper on the chimney breast cost £38. Yes £38 for just the one wall. Zzzzzzzz. Mrs Harrison proudly proclaimed: "the carpet just doesn't stop there ---- it goes all the way up the stairs". Isn't that what a stair carpet is supposed to do? Ally, so enthralled, fell asleep on the new sofa, snoring gently upon my shoulder. Kathryn and I did however see eye to eye on most things, including the monarchy. Peter, her husband, took me on one side to show me his Pirelli calendar collection. He seemed to be quite aroused by the crumpled 1973 edition.

We left the Chaffer residence at some obscure hour after consuming vast amounts of whisky. So much so that my chain of thought is now a rusting pile of scrap metal. We drove back to Bradford and fell in the door at something like 3am. Coffee and Emmerson, Lake and Palmer's 'Pictures at an Exhibition' playing full blast.

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