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Tuesday October 7, 1980

Queen of Denmark: more my size.
_. Constant rain. Wind. Like winter. What ever happened to the Indian Summer?

At the YP: discussing my outfit for the fancy dress party Sarah suggests I wear a bra. Isn't that going a bit far? Michael Brown thinks I should attend as a crowned Head of Europe, and not as Dame Edna. I did give this some thought. Perhaps Queen Beatrix of Holland, or the ex-Queen of Italy? Mind you, the Danish monarch is perhaps more my size.

Scratched around at lunchtime, quite penniless and destitute. Carol J and I hid when a bespectacled Marxist wench from 'downstairs' came collecting money for our trade union. After the Labour conference I do not want to give them a single penny. I am, however, a coward.

Derek Naylor has given me a biography of the Prince of Wales which doesn't seem up to much. I probably won't even look at it, but it is good of him.

Spoke to Ally at 3. Derek Jenkins is driving her mad. His brooding, Welsh persona is suffocating all at Daisy Bank. We are not seeing each other until Thursday.

It's all so boring, isn't it, dear reader? And it is hardly likely to improve with the passage of years. You have had my best years already, and all I can provide now are the pathetic thoughts of an ageing nonentity. On the up side I have a fine head of hair, no grey as yet, and I am writing without spectacles. I do not look too broken yet.

Mum and Dad went to see Lynn and Dave. They returned at 10:30 saying Dave has spent a riotous day terminating his employment with Thompson & Spencer. He starts his new job tomorrow.

-=-

Home at 6. Got another soaking. Mum and Dad seem quiet, and the sitting room has taken on a grim atmosphere. Perhaps nothing is amiss, but I am super sensitive in this area.

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Saturday May 19, 1984

A warm, gentle day. Ally and I took off to town with Samuel at 1pm. We didn't take the pram and I carried baby for two hours, by the end...