Wednesday August 27, 1980

_. Heavy mist. Hot later. Three billion Britons are now officially unemployed, or is it two million, one thousand, two hundred and 80? Whatever, it's the worst unemployment figure since the Relief of Ladysmith. Can't say I'm moved to tears. What would St Francis of Assisi have had to say about the situation?

Industrious day at the YP. Spoke to Ally. She's been ripping off wallpaper in her bathroom, for some reason. I'm venturing to Rue Club tomorrow with gifts of pans and beads, rather like David Attenborough does when visiting remote South American tribes.

Delia phoned this morning to discuss a Lit. Lunch. She said Sarah had been dreading going on holiday and almost had to be carried onto the plane at Manchester. She does share my cruel sense of humour.

Getting off my bus at 6 I collided with Lynn. She had walked from Yorkshire Light Aircraft to Guiseley.

Jacq phoned enquiring about an Elvis [Presley] bites the dust EP supplement. I told her I'd find her a copy tomorrow.

Festered in front of the TV tonight. Devoured a hot beef curry and was incapacitated thereafter. Watched a programme about the dreadful Gracie Fields.

Earl Mountbatten died a year ago today. A new book claims that Lady M had an affair with Nehru. Pull the other one, Mr Hough. And I suppose the Queen Mother was having it off with Mr Bhutto.

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