Monday January 21, 1980

_. Snow. Susan woke me at 7:30 with the chilling news that she had opened the door to take in the milk but couldn't close it because of the snowdrift. I leapt from the sanctuary of my sheets to offer snow-shifting services. Out on the lane at 8 with Jim R, minus Jennie, for the snail-like pace on the road to Leeds. By 10am we were still in Rawdon, and I didn't get the office until lunchtime.

Jim, who is chief executive of Leeds City Council of course, told me that Leeds has a secret nuclear fall-out shelter beneath Lawnswood Crematorium, and that he is the key holder. Who lives and who dies in the metropolis is down to Jim Rawnsley. Muriel has a duplicate key and he assured me that I will be invited to join his family deep beneath the scorched, desolate earth that was Leeds. I am resassured by this and no longer quite so afraid of Mr Brezhnev and his cronies.

Sarah had a revelation to make. She met John Holmes, the Leeds and England rugby league player at the Nouveau night club on Saturday evening and they are meeting again tomorrow. Is this the end of Mr Richard Burke? Is this the first step on the ladder to fame and fortune for Miss Collis?

Home at 6 on the train with all the cream of Ilkley society. I buried myself behind 'The Times'.

Sue and Peter are visiting Mr Booker, a solicitor neighbour of Peter's. So things are looking up.

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