_. Yesterday the Evening Post carried my article about Lady Diana's black dress at the top of the front page, including the pics of the Queen by Dorothy Wilding, and the recent one of Lady Diana. Impressive. Fred [Willis] winked, and said: 'You're on the list.' Whatever that means. It could be a death list. I simply don't know.
On to Club St at 6pm. The bus journey was hazardous because of the pollution caused by the smoking Bradfordians on the upper deck of the 72 Leeds-Bradford bus. By the time I arrived at Ally's I felt like one of those Beagles from an animal research laboratory, and covered in a thick layer of fag ash.
We had fish and chips from 'Mother Hubbard's' - not too greasy this time, and afterwards watched Top of the Pops and 'Brave New World', part one.
Ally spent the evening going over the house with a duster and the Hoover in preparation for Mum and Dad's coming visit. I did point out that they are my parents, not Mr & Mrs Peter Shand Kydd, but she didn't let up. At about 10:30 we both sat down before the 'snowy' telly to watch Sir Geoffrey Howe defending his Budget. Is it perhaps his last? By next year the occupant of No. 11 could well be a 'wet' and Mrs Thatcher might be on the back benches licking her wounds. Or am I going in the wrong direction? I do hope I am wrong.
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