Monday July 7, 1980

_. Spent all day and most of the evening daubing biege paint on the kitchen ceiling at West End Terrace. No time for much else these days. Sue is tired and pale, and I'm sorry to say Pete is becoming something of a megalomaniac driving his workforce. However, it is falling into place. The predominant hue is brown.

Graham and Charlotte Smith are coming to stay with Ally from Thursday until Sunday because Graham is attending a conference at Harrogate, and isn't prepared to fork out for hotel bills. Ally broke this news to me with great care fully expecting an outcry of indignation. In fact I have taken it very well, and have agreed to join them for the 'festivities'. I was hoping to only spend a tiny amout of cash at the weekend because of the forthcoming stag night, the 21st birthday, the wedding, and the holiday.

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Sunday July 6, 1980

_. 5th Sunday after Trinity

Up at 9. Eggs on toast with Ally before she left for the Belfry at Bolton Junction [why  do I insist on telling you where the Belfry is?]. Mum has a bad stomach and claims it's a chill that's been creeping up on her all week. She spent the day incarcerated in bed.

The Sunday Express has another article re the Prince of Wales and Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg. All stuff and nonsense.

I sat watching TV all afternoon and my entertainment included a diabolical, yet entertaining, 1962 epic entitled 'The 300 Spartans'. Ludicrous dialogue. Dad joined me and we giggled from our armchairs.

Sue and Pete appeared in the evening for a subdued dinner. Mama was grumpy up in bed moaning that our 'squabbling' was upsetting her. Our 'squabbling' is a Sunday ritual where Susan witters on at me for not peeling the potatoes or laying the table.

We sat giggling again afterwards watching Frankie Howerd in 'Carry On Up the Jungle'.

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Saturday July 5, 1980

_. Up at 7. My earliest sighting of a Saturday in years. Busy morning at the YP. Just Carol and I running things. The only thing of importance in the news was a miserable explosion at Sherburn-in-Elmet. A reporter at the scene says a man was blown to pieces. Only his shoes were recognisable.

Home at 2. Mum and Dad were at West End Terrace all afternoon. I sat eating bacon and eggs watching Bjorn Borg v. McEnroe at Wimbledon on the BBC. Ally turned up with a bottle of Emva Cream. We watched the match together. Tennis, in normal circumstances, leaves me cold, but this match was gripping. The scruffy, narrow-eyed Swede won the title for the fourth year in succession. The workers returned from West End Terrace just in time for the climax.

Mum and Dad went to Cracoe at 8. Sue, Pete, Ally and I went to the White Cross to meet Chippy, Debbie and Dave W, and then on to to the Square and Compass. This place is a god send after the drab and deary WC and Shoulder. Joined by Ken, Olive and John Sumpton, hot from Paris, where he's been cultivating a head of hair. It's longer than Borg's. Slightly pissed back to Pine Tops where Mum was in bed with a headache, which cut short the evening. Cracoe had been crowned and seething, she said.

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Friday July 4, 1980

_. Independence Day, USA

I went to the YP from Bradford arriving at 8:45. A sunny, blustery sort of day. Frank Metcalfe blames the bad June weather on the volcanic eruption at Mount St Helena. Evidently we had similar atrocious conditions in 1815, after a previous blast. All I know about 1815 is that it was a good year for Wellingtons......  [Waterloo]... Oh dear.

Happy Birthday to HRH Prince Michael of Kent who renounced his claim to a place in the order of succession to the throne in order to marry his stunning Roman Catholic Baroness. I am struck with horror, nay aghast, at the fact that she, Marie-Christine, can never be queen, whereas Patricia Countess of Harewood, an Aussie, and former shorthand typist with a previous husband still living, can.

Rang Ally. She too is working tomorrow afternoon. I left the office at 12. Back at home I had to climb up the rose trees and into my bedroom window because once again I'd forgotten my key. Mum and Dad came in at 2 and I went with Dad to hang wallpaper at West End Terrace. Ally came at 4, with newly permed hair, and Mama was with her looking dejected. They been in Otley together scouring the shops looking for an outfit for Mum to wear at the wedding. Tales of hideous Crimplene skirts at £108, and all that. Ally to the Belfry at 6.

Marlene, Frank, the children, and Auntie Mabel arrived for tea, bringing a wedding present for Sue and Pete.

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Thursday July 3, 1980

_. Sunny. I agreed to go to Ally's after work because she came into Leeds on business for Derek Jenkins, and timed her departure for Bradford with my departure from the YP.

Sarah has been 'flashed'. I paid my union subs. Still writhing with my conscience over NATSOPA. Shazza thinks I'll be signing my own death warrant if I tell the FOC where to get off.

Met Ally at 5. I can picture Bessie sitting, smiling, in her deckchair, saying: 'She's just like Frank's mother.' On to Lidget Green. Drank lager and blackcurrant juice and had some horrible fish and chips. Ally has a calendar hanging in the kitchen and I laughed at Tuesday's entry. The word 'swine', presumably written there because I went to Delia's for tea.

Out to the Bod and discussed the rapidly looming holiday, and the gripping subject of Sarah's hair colour. Then back to 'Rue Club' for the night. I do think that despite some minor disagreements we are very much one soul. A fiery chemistry of muddled emotions.

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