Saturday September 27, 1980

_. Maria's arrangements with the slovenly proprietress of the Marine guest house, Stranraer, saw Ally and I sharing a room last night. We have not previously paraded this aspect of our relationship before Mum and Dad before, and I felt uneasy. They ignored our cohabiting and didn't even venture near to room 9, the scene of the crime. The 'guest house' leaves a lot to be desired. The fellow inmates at breakfast, in the main suspicious Irish characters chewing on their fatty bacon and making noises over their greasy pots of tea. It was not the happiest sight to start the day.

Out to the shops at 9:30. Bought John a Barry Manilow album. He likes that sort of thing. Meanwhile at the cottage he and a slave named Bertie were busily building a brick wall around the property. No doubt to ward off gangs of local brigands. Dad was roped in and Mum was busy cuddling babies and making the caravan quiver. We escaped to Port Patrick and the Crown Inn. Had scampi again. Joked about Ally's drink problem. She drinks gin like water, and with little effect. More food at the caravan and then we ventured into Stranaer. On to the Coachman's, for loud, pulsating music. Back to Lochans at 12. All jolly.

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