Tuesday March 17, 1981

 _. St Patrick's Day ~ Bank Holiday in N. Ireland & Republic of Ireland

After five years in the tiny bedroom at the front of the house I have returned to the back bedroom, which I occupied in the distant days of my early youth ~ those halycon days.

A most unsatisfactory day. I felt particularly violent this afternoon and could have throttled Carol J. 

Spoke to Ally several times. She's reading 'The Murder of Roger Ackroyd'. Home at 6 to find my bed in transit, and after dinner of dead sheep, I spent the evening midst the memorabilia and dust, but didn't discard anything. Mummy infuriates me at times like this. She was positively vitriolic.

Lynn and Dave made a surprise visit at 8 and stayed a couple of hours. Mum says Lynn has lost weight following her latest check up, peculiar for someone so close to confinement. They were both quiet. In fact Dave is positively mute these days.

Phoned Ally at 8. An endearing exchange. 

The Prince of Wales has succumbed to yet another fall. This horse will have to go. On the news tonight we saw the Prince and Lady Diana at a state banquet at Buckingham Palace for the President of Nigeria. Filing in to dinner ~ Princess Margaret linking arms with Lord Hailsham, and the Queen Mother cuddling the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Watched a documentary on Ernest Bevin, who was born 100 years ago this month. It's interesting watching old news reels to see how everybody in the 1930s, 40s and 50s appear to have been chain smokers. At the line-up of Attlee's Cabinet in 1945 it's hard to identify any of the ministers for the thick cloud of smog.

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Monday March 16, 1981

 _. Sunny start, but a slight fall of snow afterwards. A day closeted at the YP.

Up at 7. Ally drove off to a garage in Shipley where Audrey is to receive several days of treatment. She spent the evening cleaning her carpets, bottling ale, and of course knitting. We didn't see each other, but I phoned at 8pm.

Peter Patel, a grocer of Pakistani origin, and a good friend of Hilda and Tony's via the Liberal party network, was killed in a motor accident last week. Hilda and Tony attended the funeral on Friday, the only 'whites' amongst the 400-plus mourners. Hilda, it is reported, was ushered up to the open coffin to the sight of the unfortunate Mr Patel reclining with two coconuts, supposedly placed there as a sign of wealth. The poor man was only 39. 

The Conservative MP for Kings Lynn has fallen out with Mrs Thatcher over the recent budget and has crossed the floor of the House of Commons to join the Social Democrats. A little man, writing in a letter to the Times, suggests that Mrs T might not even be PM at the next budget. Poppycock. Who does he think might be at the helm if such a coup d'etat takes place? I see nobody of stature, other than Giles Shaw, the MP for Pudsey. Ha ha ha.  Another MP, Geoffrey Dickens, is to name a top ranking diplomat in the Commons tomorrow afternoon for an alleged cover-up with a paedophile organisation. One thing's for sure. He'll be a KCMG; he'll be Oxbridge; he'll live in Surrey; his wife will be clad in a twin set and pearls; he'll wear a fur hat, stink of cologne, and talk with a lisp.

The Prince of Wales was thrown from his new horse in a race on Friday as Lady Diana, the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret looked on. He really should abandon racing until his princess has sons.

They are sending the Queen Mother to Canada in July to calm the situation there. Things look sticky on the subject of the North America Act 1867. Some Canadians may want independence now but come July they'll be hurling themselves at the Queen Mother like Jeremy Thorpe at the Vienna Boys Choir. Crude, but true. 

Dined with Mum and Dad. Bed 11:30.

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