Tuesday June 17, 1980

_. Mixed weather. Wet, but dry.

En route to Leeds Jennie kept hinting that tomorrow is her birthday, and so I am compelled to purchase a birthday card.

Kathleen continues to be nauseating. She flapped around waving the wads of paper [Honours List], and was generally hideous for the whole day.

Sarah left at lunchtime 'to get pissed' [her phrase] at Len's Bar with a man called Trevor. Returning from lunch I found them holding hands on Wellington Street. She requires a husband, and quickly. She has to marry, or at least leave home, within the next two years, because her father, a big noise in the Post Office, is due to retire and return to living at Ivory Towers. His presence will be intolerable. Delia says that she might have to find night work, of a dubious nature, just to escape his clutches.

Home at 6. Susan has 'blobbed' [to quote Peter] and had not been to work, and had concocted a delightful dinner for Peter and I. By coincidence Lynn phoned at 6 and said that she too had taken the day off, for some minor ailment.

Ally had a shift at the Belfry. Mum and Dad phoned from Rothbury. I joined Sue, Pete, Jim N, Lynn and Dave at West End Terrace, where I continued painting. Enjoying the feel of the brush and the whiff of emulsion paint I battled on until 11:15.

At home Sue and Pete were in bed within minutes. I watched the highlights of the first day of Royal Ascot on the BBC. Queen Mother fever is really taking hold now. She was cheered and applauded marvellously. No other Queen in our history has been more loved by the people. HM's 80th birthday celebrations next month really should be commemorated by a Bank Holiday.

Grand Duke Jean of Luxembourg is visiting the Queen at Windsor. Once again stories of an engagement between his daughter, Marie-Astrid, and the Prince of Wales, make the gutter press. No chance. Absolutely no chance whatsoever. I will put my shirt on it.

-=-