Thursday February 5, 1981

 _. A very ordinary day. No Americans have been taken hostage. Ronald Reagan didn't die in office [yet], and the Prince of Wales remains unengaged. Sarah, a fashion guru, says that Lady Diana needs a new shirt. She'd have thousands of new shirts if only she'd say 'yes'. 

John Lennon is dead and it's very sad and all that but I think it's going too far putting his every record in the charts. I am now sick of Lennon and the media ought to be ashamed of the fact that they've destroyed my love of his music by constantly playing it for weeks on end. The man is being rammed down our throats.

Dave G phoned. He and Garry are motoring here tomorrow. Susie phoned too and said she and Peter are setting out at 6:30. 

Dad is no better and looks ghastly. His eyes are sunken and he's a shade of deathly white. Off his food too, and for Dad that is unheard of. 

Ally came at 8. We went to the Fox & Hounds, the Drop and the New Inn where we met up with Susie, Audrey, Janet Simon and Biffy. You know my views re this Thursday night quartet. Ally set off for home at 11:15 and I promised to phone her at 11:30 to check she was safely home but when I did I got no reply. I sat dialling until after 12. I retired to bed with Peter Sellers convinced that Ally must be dead in St Luke's Hospital, or at least mortally wounded. Sat reading Peter Sellers but didn't sleep.

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Wednesday February 4, 1981

  _. A glum day at the office. Since Kathleen's demise Carol J has taken it upon herself to rule the library in the fashion of Catherine the Great, or that peroxide wonder, Eva Peron. I despise dictators, especially female ones, and ignore her. It's best that way. Sarah finds it highly amusing.

Phoned Ally. She has had a tooth crowned and moaned about it. She also had a moan about Dave G's indecision about when he and Garry will be joining us at Grassington. I phoned him and told him to pull hus socks up. We joked about the Robin Hood [pub]. They [the lads] spend every available hour swilling ale in that hostelry now. He promised to ring me tomorrow. I didn't tell him about our engagement. I then phoned Garry.

Dad looks grotty [diarrhoea]. He made a brief appearance this evening and then crawled back into bed. I watched an episode of 'Sons and Lovers'. 

To bed at about 11 quite knackered. Whatever happened to the youth of yesteryear? Sat in bed with the biography of Peter Sellers. A sad man.

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