_. 12th Sunday after Trinity
Up at 9:30. Ally brought tea and toast to bed. Afterwards I painted the hooks holding the picture frames on the bedroom wall. They were annoying me.
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_. Extremely hot. Ally went off to Catherine's at 10:30 and I made my way to St Cuthbert's Church at Heaton, at 11:30, and sat alone in the church.
It was my first experience of a Roman Catholic wedding and Mass. Bridesmaid Ally looked like a peach, and I got a smile from her as she passed down the aisle following Miss Brook. Hard to believe she had been up most of the night supping with her in-laws. Roman Catholicism is so unwholesome. It looks fine in Turin or Castel Gandolfo, but seems a little out of place in Bradford.
We prayed for Pope John Paul. I do not object to that - he's a likeable old stick. The Irish priest went on and on, but at about 1pm Ally [clutching her bouquet] and I were taken away in something like a Peugeot to Steeton and the Currergate Hotel. Hot there and no good really because Ally was on the top table and I was with a party of comedians. Occasionally I caught Ally's eye and we beamed. I was partnered with a Miss Binns, in a pretty blue frock, who, because of the heat, became faint, and escaped to the garden, leaving her turkey sitting on the table. Sweat poured off me. A vast 'wedding breakfast' consisted of asparagus soup, a fish in mushroom sauce, then roast turkey followed by a fruit salad.
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| The Curregate Hotel. |
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| Mum and Dad. |
A peaceful day at the YP thanks to the absence of 'Mrs Slocombe', who has gone on a European tour with her boyfriend, the 58 year-old ex-president Jimmy Carter look-alike, Mike. Kathleen working 5pm-12.
Home at 6. Mum and Dad came here at 8 and stayed until after 3am. A very successful meeting. Dad went over the road to the Corner shop and came back with a bottle of gin and orange juice. I carried up chilled bottles of lager from the cellar. Don Cortez wine, and some of Dad's home-made wine completed the damp repast. We had prawns to start, then lamb chops [for which I have a passion], and a big salad. Cheesecake afterwards. Mum hit the piano and played Debussy's Clair de Lune, and Ally amused us with a quaint old piece. We sank some booze. Mum told us tales from north of the border _______.JPH keeps breaking Alec Clanachan's windows, just for fun, and Maria isn't eating. John says 'she's smoking instead'. Maria's friend from the village, Denise, is now living in their caravan at Lochans. Dad fell asleep after 12 and the three of us sat until 3 nibbling at the cheese. After they left Ally went off to bed and I did the washing up until 5am.
-=-
_. Mum Phoned: Susan, she says, has been to hospital and has undergone a 'scan' which revealed she isn't as advanced as she thought, and baby Nason is no longer due on December 28, probably four weeks later. We haven't seen Mum and Dad for a couple of weeks. They're coming to dinner tomorrow.
Meanwhile, this evening we paid a visit to Morrison's. No matter how sparing we try to be we always put £10 worth of shopping into our basket.
Had fish and chips at Mother Hubbard's, the standard of which has greatly improved since our last visit to that Harry Ramsdens-look-alike. On then to the home of Catherine Brook, shortly to be Alderson. We took our wedding present [Habitat tins], meeting David [Alderson] on the way who was having a spot of bother with his wheel trims. We spent a couple of hours at the Brook residence and detected no signs of panic or chaos. They looked at our wedding pics and Mrs B's verdict was that Ally looks like a fashion model. At 10 Catherine and David took us to view the Alderson marital pile, a semi. I prefer little Club Street any day. Their neighbours are either Greek Cypriots or Chinese.
-=-
_. Spoke to Mum from the YP. She's bright and cheerful again. She's having the three piece suite re-upholstered. A man is coming to take it away on Sept 18, and they go to Italy on Sept 20. The car has had a re-spray, and the kitchen is to be re-designed by David. This apparently in Plan B. Plan A was the Stonehouse Inn.
Home at 6. Omelettes and salad. Afterwards I was back to my painting, though I'm far from happy with a distant cottage, the colour won't come. Everything else of course is pure Stubbs. I insist that we frame my effort soon because a painting in a frame immediately becomes a good picture. How sad.
Dave G phoned to ask Ally to ask Frank if he can give a job in Guernsey to a girl from the Robin Hood pub. Frank of course, is now regional director for Barclays in the Channel Islands.
Tonight we read and watched TV. Trevor Eve in 'Shoestring' a very unconvincing private detective, and then, before bed, half an hour of a shoddy Liz Taylor film from 1974.
-=-
_. It's hideous getting out of bed. To the YP. Guess who phoned me at lunchtime? Yes, Christine Braithwaite, no less. She wanted some info from an advert in last Wednesday's EP.
I came home to a lovely surprise. Ally has bought me a canvas. I sat until 10 creating a landscape from a photograph. Bed early following the excesses of the weekend.
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_. Bank Holiday in UK [except Scotland]
I was ordered to the greenhouse to water the tomato plants whilst Bessie cast her expert eye over a knitting problem encountered by Ally. They're knitting baby clothes. Bessie chose some wedding photographs for her collection.
Bessie gave lunch for us and Graham and Gill. Salmon, lamb, and chocolate gateau. We left for home at 5:30. Back to Club Street at 10:45. Watched an hour of The Omen, starring Gregory Peck. To bed. Exhausted.
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_. 11th Sunday after Trinity
Up at about 10. We were denied the usual vast breakfast because were were going out to lunch. A great debate on the location took place first. Joined by Graham and Gill and Andrew [clad in his leatherwear, astride his gleaming machine] and off we went to the Plough at Sparsholt. Spent a couple of hours in the beer garden. A plastic ploughman's lunch, beer and gin. Graham is a delightful 'show off', and has been encouraged in this attitude for his whole life by his father. Bessie was drinking gin, and had the giggles.
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| Ally at Avington. |
Ally and I went for a walk in the grounds of Avington House, in the village, and drifted inside to be given a guided tour around the impoverished mansion by the owner, a Colonel Hickson, who has been there since 1953. He's a bluff old boy trying desperately to keep the place afloat. It's a fine 17th century pile built by the Duke of Chandos, and, according to the colonel, Charles II and Nell Gwynn stayed there.
Afterwards we went looking for blackberries, and whilst midst the brambles Ally suggested going to dinner at Salisbury. Such a good idea. Off we went to the County Hotel [a Berni Inn] for a rump steak. A group of very noisy Americans were at the next table. Salisbury Cathedral, floodlit, is one of the finest ecclesiastical erections I have ever encountered.
Back to the Plough, Itchen Abbas, at 9:45 to join Graham, Gill, her brother, Peter Lynn, and his heavily pregnant wife, who are moving to Ayr on Monday, or Wednesday.
-=-
_. After breakfast we took off in the Triumph Dolomite, at speed, with Bessie to Southampton. We went to Habitat to buy Jill and Tim a decanter and glasses, and some tin boxes for Catherine and David. We went to Woolworths for some wire and then back to Martyr Worthy for 1:30.
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| Chilland Barn. |
To Southampton with Graham and Gill at 10 to Lalupa's for a moderate pizza. Back to Graham and Gill's at Chandler's Ford for whisky.
-=-
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| John and Raine Spener at Althorp. |
After a three hour drive we were in Martyr Worthy [our only other stop was at Brackley, where we had 'flat' lager in a pub there].
Bessie was in her usual state of high fluster and Frank was in his study, and this too is undergoing some renovation. Graham and Gill came in from a night at the Plough. He is more delightfully silly than ever.
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_. We are both becoming weight conscious. This morning Ally [naked] weighed in a 7st 5lb, whilst I [naked] weighed in at exactly 12 st [that's 192 pounds]. I think this is the first time I have committed my weight to paper. In fact, I rarely ever weigh myself. I recall that in the summer of '77 I was a feeble 10st.
As I headed out to the office today Ally mumbled something about seeing a solicitor today to cite Delia as 'the other woman' in her expensive divorce case.
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| Auntie Delia. |
Mum phoned to say she and Papa were just about to leave for Scotland.
Home [82 degrees farenheit]. Went out for fish and chips at 8 o'clock. Phoned Dave G. Jim sounds to be fading. Lily was very depressed.
I packed the suitcase tonight in readiness for my first visit to Chillandham Cross as a member of the family.
-=-
Mick Jagger on 'Top of the Pops' looks so healthy for his 63 years.
_. Extremely hot. YP. Too hot to work. 'Mrs Slocombe' went off home early with a 'cold'. She has always been very bronchil.
After lunch Ally phoned. Gillian is driving her to distraction. She is so sick of work at the AHA.
Delia phoned suggesting we meet for lunch tomorrow. Does Auntie have lustful designs on my firm, youthful and nubile form?
Home at 6 and spent some considerable time in the bath watching Ally paint her finger and toe nails. We then went to Lynn and Dave's at 7:30 for fish pie - too much food. We peeped in on Frances slumbering in her cot. We marvelled at the little miracle which gives lovers such fruit. [Blimey, that sounds almost poetic].
Home after 11. Bloated.
-=-
_. Up at 6:30 and out to inspect the blackened street. It wouldn't have been such a loss to have lost Audrey in a ball of fire last night. The insurance money would have been nice. Over toast and syrup with Mrs Rhodes I discussed the possibility of bringing the youths back to finish the job properly.
The YP was abysmal yet again. The office is becoming deader and deader. The only excitement came at 3:20 when Margot swatted and killed a particularly annoying fly.
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| John & Maria. |
Ally had created a marvellous tea. Succulent sandwiches including prawns and cheese. We cuddled on our little settee. We watched part two of the drama about Charles Dilke, and the scandal of 1885. Good, but not very convincing. Charles Dilke stood about much chance of becoming prime minister as Jessie Matthews, if you ask me. To bed with Charles II. We had eaten too much. I feel very 'Falstaffian'.
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_. St Bartholemew's Day
The anniversary in 1572 of the slaughter of 30,000 Huguenots by King Charles IX of France and his infamous mother Catherine de Medici.
Abysmal day at the YP. I use the word abysmal because Graham, my brother-in-law, uses it constantly to describe virtually everything from my green SAS-tyle trousers to his cold corn on the cob at the Connection restaurant. I spent the afternoon reading about Ronald Reagan's attack on Libya, and wholeheartedly agree with his decision. He may wear too much Brylcreem, but he's no fool. Articles about Joan of Arc in the Guardian and the Sunday Telegraph magazine. There's a rumour going about that Carola Godman Irvine is to be the Princess of Wales's lady-in-waiting. She's currently one of the Duchess of Kent's ladies.
Sarah has gone on holiday for the week. Phoned Mum and spoke to Lynn, lunching there with Frances. We are dining at Burley on Wednesday. Mum is thinking of going to Scotland for the Bank Holiday weekend.
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| Audrey. |
Home at 6. Had kidneys and rice. We discussed going to Hilda and Tony's but decided to go tomorrow instead. Ally disappeared outside with a bucket of soapy water to give Audrey a wash. The car hasn't been touched with a wash leather since we entered into Holy Matrimony.
Watched a drama on the life of Sir Charles Dilke, 2nd Baronet [1843-1911]. Quite good.
To bed at 11:15 but, dear me, the night was far from over. At 11:30 I heard the noise of a fracas outside and looking out I saw three youths, obviously intoxicated, urinating upon Mrs O'Connor's gate. [sorry, I mean Mrs O'Brien]. The boys had pushed a broken down car into Club Street and then went off with a can, laughing, to find petrol. I then went back to bed only to be rudely awakened at 12:15 by Ally screaming. Outside the lads had set fire to the car and the flames were licking around Audrey, threatening to blast our car and the whole of Club St into oblivion. Ally, in floods of tears, answered the door to Mrs O'Brien, who was worried about our car. I phoned 999 and the fire brigade and police were soon here. It hadn't been a deliberate attack. One of the drunks, pouring a can of petrol into his tank was also smoking a cig, and ignited the fuel. Sorry, I cannot give you a tale to match Pepys's account of the Great Fire of London.
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_. 10th Sunday after Trinity
Hot day. Not that we saw much of it. In bed until 11:30. No ill-effects from last night. No time for cuddling, the pub opened half an hour later.
Had a fry-up with David. Sat reading the 'Sunday People' - utter claptrap.
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| with Billy. |
Back at the Hollywood at 3:30 for lunch - turkey. We collapsed afterwards but recall seeing Burt Lancaster as Moses, and Harry Belafonte on the Muppet Show.
Our last sighting of Jim Glynn was when he hobbled off for his evening bath. I do hope he pulls through. We had a final drink with the lads at 7 and arrived home at 9:30. Bed.
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_. Sunny morn. Up at 8:30. Both into a very hot bath. Breakfast: eggs, sausages, &c. We squabbled over the toast and marmalade. Ally was in something of a foul mood.
We left for Stockport and 11:00 and amazingly we were in the Hollywood pub at 12:15. It was wet and cold in Stockport, as usual.
Lily is a mass of brown curls, the blonde
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| The Armoury. |
We drank at the Hollywood and then went on to the Ring 'O Bells with Billy, Garry and Steve. Out this evening to the Armoury at 9, with the lads, to an 18th birthday 'Pyjama Party' at the Robin Hood. We frolicked until after 1 and then returned to the Hollywood. Ally went straight to bed and I sat bemoaning life's dreary outlook with David. He is cheesed off with his lot and needs a kick in the right direction.
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_. A day of bliss at the YP today thanks to the absence of 'Mrs Slocombe' who is attending a golf tournament at Wetherby with her boyfriend who is the double of [President] Jimmy Carter. Such a dead ringer in fact that people stop him in the street and ask for his autograph. Kathleen did a night shift and so just Sarah and the new girl, Margot [who has replaced 'Shazzo'], who is becoming more and more quiet as the days roll on. Quieter than a mouse.
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| Club Street. |
Home at 6. Marlene phoned asking me to get her some news cuttings from tonight's EP where Mark is mentioned doing something in the Peak District. ________.
Dave G phoned just to confirm the weekend orgy. Watched 'Casablanca' with Bogart and Bergman. Exquisite. I'm still on with Antonia Fraser's Charles II. I went to Lidget Green library and took out a biography of the Duke of Edinburgh [just to look up one particular fact]. It's a painful volume actually. Ally is buried behind another Agatha Christie.
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_. Brought back to consciousness by the drone of the radio alarm at 6:30. Putting my head under the pillow as the BBC informed us that President Reagan has shot down a ghastly Lebanese aircraft [Oops] I of course mean a ghastly Libyan aircraft. I sincerely apologise to all Lebanese followers of this journal. In other news, the railwaymen are to strike and today sees the Fermanagh and South Tyrone by-election. Obviously, another IRA hunger striker will be elected.
Had a very large breakfast and left my gurning wife at the door. YP dull. Kathleen went home at 12.
Phoned Mama. She spent yesterday afternoon in Masham. They've booked a coach tour with Wallace Arnold to Alassio in Italy for two weeks from September 20. They haven't had a foreign holiday since Spain in '74. The warm Italian climate will do them good. I told her the sad news that her friend, the landlady of the Miner's Arms at Greenhow, has been killed in a car accident. She told me that Mr Bradbury from the White Cross Post Office is dead and was buried yesterday.
Had two phone conversations with Ally who laughed hysterically throughout both, for some reason. Derek Jenkins was the cause of much of her merriment.
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| Ban smoking on buses. |
Home at 6. Ally was waiting for me in a white shirt. Red lips. Tomato soup, then liver and onions. An evening of tranquil domesticity reading. I'm on with Antonia Fraser's Charles II, and Ally is 37 pages into Queen Victoria's correspondence with her granddaughter Victoria of Hesse [later Marchioness of Milford Haven] by Richard Hough.
Some old crone by the name of Jessie Matthews has died in Pinner. I can't see what all the fuss is about. I don't think she's done anything since 1923.
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_. The YP is becoming intolerable. My job is slowly being phased out because Kathleen is convinced that I will soon be quitting. She thinks that within twelve months I'll be gone. Much of my routine is being done by the night staff. I spend most of the day reading the national newspapers and filing the interesting stuff, pondering over the troubles in the world. Keeping a watchful eye on the current state of emergency in Sri Lanka.How many people out there are mourning the loss of Jack Coia, the Scottish architect of Italian extraction?
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| Black Hole: |
Can I discuss Ally's face-pulling gurning ritual? Each morning my darling wife accompanies me to the door and kisses me goodbye, and then, when I look back over my shoulder, I see her face, pressed up against the little bottle-bottomed glass window in the door, hideously gurning, her face contorted in some horrific grimace. And with each passing day the facial postures grow steadily worse. I lay awake in the night, sweating, my mind racing: what horrific apparition will send me to my daily labours in the morning?
Home at 6. We had a peculiar quiche with some chips. It wasn't quite like Ally intended. Later, wallowed in the bath. Ally, wearing my pullover, doing the ironing. Afterwards we shared an orange and watched an American disaster movie. The characters in these films are always so vile you want them to die anyway, and so some of the suspense is diluted.
Are you bored of reading this? Gone are the days of spice and degeneracy. You heart no longer pounds at my tales of bawdy exploits. It's gone from depravity to homely regularity. Goodnight.
-=-
Wet first, dry later. Dead at the YP. Home at 6. Dumplings.
[As I write the above gripping entry Ally is sitting on the floor, atop a large cushion, thumbing through The Times passing remarks as she does so, such as : 'Shelley Winters is fifty nine today', and then, taking up the Yorkshire Post she giggles at a leading article entitled 'The Irish Albatross'.]
Later: we watched two films, the names of which escape me. One featured Jack Hawkins, in ancient Egypt. An epic from 1955 co-starring Joan Collins. Then Burt Lancaster and Virginia Mayo in a Robin Hood-type swashbuckling drama.
Ally took a volume of P.G. Wodehouse to bed with her.
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_. Up at 7. Sat dangling my legs out of bed whilst Ally tempted me downstairs rattling the pack of crunchy oat puffs. A sort of Pavlov and his dogs routine.
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| Sophie: low profile. |
Sarah is being driven insane by the behaviour of 'Mrs Slocombe'. The latter is constantly humming some indefinable and nameless tune as she swans around the office like Madame de Pompadour. Just a nasty habit, or a mental disorder?
Phoned Mum. Sue was violently sick this morning. And no letter from their solicitor. Gloom. She has, however, phoned Wallace Arnold today, and they have two spare seats on a coach tour to Yugoslavia. I do hope they go. She told me that Christine Airey is expecting a baby in February.
Phoned Ally from behind yesterday's Observer, but Derek Jenkins was 'playing up' and so she left in a hurry.
Home at 6 to a fish concoction preceded by a decidedly weak carrot soup. Dave Porritt came at 6:30 and collected the wedding video. He is always so nervous and hyperactive. He scurried around and fled to his car still quietly talking as his car sped out of Club Street.
Dave G phoned this evening. Jim is out of hospital and confined to his room at the Hollywood [Hotel]. Dave is relieved to have him home. It's all on for next Saturday.
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_. 9th Sunday after Trinity
Warm & sunny. Ally was awake just after 8. She says it's impossible for her to move in bed without me noticing.
I ate my oat puffs for breakfast and then continued with the painting activities until noon. The sitting room [which is in fact the only room] is now bathed in a golden glow.
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| Savile: dreadful. |
Over to Guiseley at 3:30 with a bottle of sherry and box of 'After Eight' mints. It was good to see Mum, who was looking well and tanned. Papa was out on constabulary duties hunting down 'hit and run' drivers on his bicycle.
We lounged in deckchairs in the garden. Sue & Pete came at 5. She looks better and larger. Dined at 6. Roast chicken, Yorkshire puddings, broad beans, marrow, &c. All washed down with wine.
After dinner Dave Porritt arrived with his video machine and we watched the glorious events of June 27. More than a little nauseating to hear our own voices. We watched the 20 minute epic three times.
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_. A day of activity. We were awakened at 9 by the postman delivering a batch of photographs. We nestled beneath our quilt inspecting the snaps. For breakfast we had sausages, eggs and toast, &c. I was somehow cornered into demolishing a bookcase, and after a hideous re-assembling session which was reminiscent of a Laurel & Hardy film, I was daubing gold/oyster paint onto two of the walls. Painting is such much needed therapy.
Phoned Mum this evening. She is annoyed, or at least sounded so, that Ally and I haven't been to Pine Tops in two weeks. She's very touchy. When I referred to Pine Tops she snapped back: "Why can't you call it home?" I have never called it 'home' and always call it Pine Tops. Dave Porritt is bringing the wedding video to Mum's tomorrow evening so that we can have a 're run' of our great day. We're dining at Guiseley. I didn't repeat any of Mum's negativity to Ally.
Later we had fish and chips and gallons of tea. I'm unsure about the decorating. It's like being inside a giant banana.
News: More riots in Liverpool. Shoot the buggers, that's what I say. The Prince and Princess of Wales flew to Scotland from Egypt to join the Queen at Balmoral.
Later: watched two horror films that took us through until 1:30am.
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_. I didn't feel too good all day. It took me until 5pm to recover. Kathleen gave me a couple of paracetamol tablets. Raging headache until 6.
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| Stonehouse Inn: £80,000 |
At home Ally cooked sirloin steaks with salad. The sight of her shifted my headache. She wasn't too good this morning [the wine] but picked up later.
News: Lord Drogheda has died. The Prince and Princess of Wales entertained President Sadat on board the Royal Yacht Britannia. The couple looked bronzed and radiant. It's refreshing to see them smiling from the pages of newspapers when the rest of the news is gloom and disorder. The YP and EP simply don't know how to style her despite my protestations. Today they were 'Prince Charles and the Princess of Wales', then 'Prince Charles and his wife'. In an article in the Sun ['Diana captures Egypt'] they were 'Prince Charles and Lady Diana', whilst the Daily Mirror said 'Princess Diana'. Oh dear.
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_. Pay day. Still no tax rebate. I expect a handsome windfall now that I'm a married man.
Home at 6 to find Ally draped, all in black, on the sofa looking sultry and mysterious. It was very obvious that she wanted to be wined and dined, and so we motored to the heart of the Bradford metropolis to the Pizza Margherita [opposite the Telegraph & Argus building]. We were the sole diners until Rachel Judson and Garry came in. It was refreshing to see them back together. When we saw her last it looked like curtains for this friendly, rounded Yorkshire chef. Dear Rachel was dressed like a dog's dinner. Our pizzas were only adequate, but we did manage to knock back a litre of red wine after which Ally's eyes went 'glassy'.
On to the Bod. It was full of tarts. Felt bloated and ill-humoured. Ally, however, was playful and boisterous. The music was abysmal. These compilation records are ghastly. Why are they so popular?
Home and to bed at 10:30.
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_. The Glorious Twelfth. To the YP carrying my wedding photographs for the girls to gaze over. No catty remarks.
Some wag has placed a large cardboard cut-out of the prime minister in the middle of the office, which was a target for ridicule and abuse throughout the day. That fixed and steadfast gaze and resolute smile exuded confidence and pride. Is the Conservative government doomed? The majority of those in the office seem to think so.
Phoned Mum. Dad had an accident this morning and almost cut off a couple of his fingers whilst cutting the hawthorn, and then Mum smashed a window in the sitting room as the kettle in the kitchen exploded, sending choking fumes into the atmosphere. What a hideous week they've had. Jill and Tim visited them last night, leaving wedding invitations for us for Sept 19.
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| Reagan: working wonders. |
Home at 6. A clammy, overcast evening. We ate fish fingers swamped in parsley sauce and new potatoes. A domestic evening in front of the smouldering TV. Ally knitting with gusto. Coronation Street followed by a horror film about a maniacal plastic surgeon cum circus owner, starring Donald Pleasance, but he died ten minutes into the movie. It went on until 12:30.
We have arranged to go to Winchester on Aug 28 for the bank holiday weekend, my first visit to Chillandham Cross as a son-in-law.
-=-
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| Princess Diana? |
At the YP I got onto my 'high horse' about the title of the Princess of Wales. No royal bride is ever afforded the honour of becoming a princess in her own right. The wife of the Prince of Wales is the Princess of Wales, and never 'Princess Diana'. The Queen Mother was never 'Princess Elizabeth', and the wives of the royal dukes of Gloucester and Kent are not princesses in their own right either. The Queen mother, as wife of Prince Albert, Duke of York, became Princess Albert, Duchess of York. Let us suppose that Diana is made a princess in her own right as 'Princess Diana'. A dangerous precedent would be established. In 5 years times, Princess Diana could go off and divorce the P of W, and marry Arthur Evans, and remain HRH Princess Diana. Retaining the present style Diana takes all her styles and titles from her husband, and at the dissolution of this marriage [God forbid] she would have to drop the royal appellation. The only fly in the 'royal ointment' is Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester. On the death of her husband, the first duke, in 1974, Alice became HRH The Dowager Duchess of Gloucester. However, the Queen, in a court circular announcement declared that her widowed aunt would henceforward to be known as 'Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester'. No Royal Warrant or Letters Patent. Quite incorrect, but I cannot argue with the personal wishes of Her Majesty. However, until and if the Queen issues a ruling about the style and title of her daughter-in-law we can call her nothing but HRH The Princess of Wales. The Duke of Edinburgh was married to the Queen for 10 years before being granted the style and title of a prince of the United Kingdom. Until 1957 he was HRH Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. He ceased to be Prince of Greece and Denmark when he took British citizenship. A lettter in the Times from a Peter Cash includes the quote: 'The Princess of Wales sounds more like an aircraft carrier than a human being! It is too impersonal for her.'
I phoned Mum and received no reply. Has she perhaps joined Lynn & Dave on holiday at the Baker caravan in Norfolk to recover from the Stonehouse shock?
Spoke to Ally. She came through to Leeds at 3 to deliver something for Derek Jenkins and picked me up at four in Audrey [with the roof rolled back] and on we went to Bradford where a casserole was bubbling in the pot. We dined at 6:30. Afterwards, the evening being exceedingly hot, we went for a walk and found ourselves in the cemetery among the grave stones. We did remark that people are continuing to die at obscenely early ages, despite the advances made in medical science. Depressing really. We walked back hand in hand.
Finally made contact with Mum. They have been to Burnsall with Lynn and Dave for the day.
Dave G phoned. Jim Glynn is in hospital and sounds to be on his last legs. A suspected heart attack, &c. We are going to Stockport on Aug 22.
Watched a documentary about Cecil B. De Mille. To bed, quite beaten, at midnight.
-=-
_. Day of gloom. I did not want to climb out of bed at the sounding of my alarm at 6:30. I wish I'd stayed 'neath the sheets because nothing pleasant occurred later.
I phoned Mum from the office. She sounded so off-hand and dismal last night that I had to get to the bottom of it. Immediately she explained how upset she had been last week when I canceled a Thursday night dinner. Bloody Hell. Ally was feeling unwell and exhausted and so I thought postponing the dinner for a week would be best. Evidently not so. She asked me to phone Oswald Lister [auctioneers] at Hampsthwaite. I did. His posh secretary informed me that 'contracts are being drawn up at the moment, and the Stonehouse is to be advertised as sold in next Saturday's Yorkshire Post'. I felt dreadful. I had to phone Mum and break the news that her dream was now shattered. She took it very well and was relieved that she can now put 'plan B' into action. This probably means booking a holiday to Yugoslavia, or something. She went off to get Dad to contact their solicitor. I suggested they come for dinner tonight instead of tomorrow, but didn't get a decent answer. They'll be so upset and disillusioned. I cannot see them getting over this for a long time. I sat brooding for the remainder of the day thinking what might have been.
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| Letters: for posterity. |
I spoke to Ally a couple of times and concocted a few letters. I fully intend resuming my letter writing shortly because our letters [Dec 1979 to June 1981] are a complete record of our 'courtship'. We would like a sturdy chest of some kind in which to store our letters and journals for posterity.
Home at 6. Eggs and chips. Washed the windows whilst Ally ironed the blue washing. Phoned Mum ~ no response. Phoned Sue to get the story of their Stranraer sojourn. John gave their car a re-spray, but otherwise they didn't venture out into the wilds. She now says she's five months pregnant, narrowing down the birth of 'Jason' to somewhere between Christmas and Easter. Susan is consistently entertaining. She always makes me smile. I have never known a moment where she she has aggravated or niggled me. She's the sweetest thing.
Later: sit with a coffee watching 'Coronation Street'. I eat too many biscuits. I read a Dorothy L Sayers novel. Attempted to phone Mum until 12, and gave up. Couldn't contact Lynn either.
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_. 8th Sunday after Trinity
Up at about 9:30. Graham phoned. We arranged to meet them at Wilsden at 12:30.
Meanwhile, Ally decided to wash a heap of shirts in the new machine and, to our horror, everything came out a dirty shade of blue. Her pretty yellow t-shirt was green, and my Hawaii-style shirt, bought in Ibiza, was unrecognisable. She sat very glumly as I explained how every novice housewife, entrusted with a new device for washing, makes the mistake of dyeing everything pea-green and Queen Mother powder-puff blue, and that it is all part of life's glorious tapesty, and a murky blue one at that. She didn't accept my findings, and I was almost the victim of a washing machine murder.
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| Dali: The Great Masturbator. |
On to the Middlebrough/Middlebrooks where Anthony told us tales of a recent holiday with his aged parents in Paris. His mother, he says, vomitted off the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Home at 4. Ally slept on top of the Union Jack cushion. Finished Agatha Christie's 'The Pale Horse'. Minced beef for Sunday dinner. Phoned Mum who was miserable. 'I thought you'd emigrated' she moaned. I only spoke to her on Thursday. I thought they'd be happy getting rid of me. Apparently not.
Watched a film based on the life of actor James Dean. Bed at 12.
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_. Awakened at 9am by the postman bearing a book from the book club entitled 'Book of the Countryside' including 1,000 days out in Britain. I could have knocked him out with it. Felt quite horrid and returned to bed until 12.
Lynn phoned to see if we fancied a day out. We had to say no because we have to wait here for the delivery man from Vallance's with our WASHING MACHINE. Yes, a Phillips WO82 automatic. They carried it in at 12 and within minutes it was filled with my soiled underpants and socks. We sat eating to the sound of our new toy bashing away in the kitchen.
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| Auntie Mabel. |
We dined on steak and kidney pudding with cauliflower cheese. Ally is an admirable cook.
To Auntie Mabel's at 8:45 armed with wedding proofs and honeymoon photos. Marlene and Debbie came to view the photos. We sat with auntie until almost 1am, had sandwiches for supper, then drove the ten minutes back to Club St.
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_. Rain continues. Some areas are completely submerged. At the YP Sarah was back, surprisingly enough. Out at lunchtime and I had a salad sandwich beneath the overhanging concrete monstrosity of John Poulson's international swimming pool. It ought to be demolished, it really should.
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| Graham & Gill. |
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_. A deluge. Rain from dawn until dusk. Out into a grey, Bradford morning brandishing my umbrella.
At the office Sarah left early. She's ill. Busy morning. At lunchtime I strolled into town beneath my rain shielding implement. Spent some time in a book shop speed reading Anthony Holden's 'Their Royal Highnesses', the story of the romance between the P of W and Lady Diana Spencer. Back at the office I penned a pathetic letter to Ally, the first since our nuptials.
Phoned Ally twice and Mummy once. Poor Mum sounded dismal. More people have looked at Pine Tops, and always seem thrilled with the place, but go away and afterwards - silence. So frustrating. Nothing runs smoothly in these toilsome times.
Ally met me at the station at 5:30 and we went up to Morrison's for another minor shopping spree. The place was seeithing with cretinous hags with over-ladened trollies. Dave L joined us 8:15 until 10. We discussed pianos. He wants to buy his Mum a second hand piano at Yuletide. Ally can of course play one, but she knows nothing about the instrument. We drank lager and lime, and wine. Dave quite amazed by the vast number of wedding/honeymoon photographs.
Graham Dixon phoned. Bed 12.
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_. Another scorcher. Up at 6:30.
Worked through lunch, sat at my desk until 5. Gloom. Home for 6. Lasagne. Bobbin looked better and has colour in her cheeks.
Industrious later. Weeding the garden, then bottling lager. Dave L phoned for news of the honeymoon. He's coming over tomorrow evening to catch up.
News: the Pope has had another operation on his intestines, supposedly successful, but will he regain his old vigour? Viscount Quenington is to marry a Brazilian. Sir Geoffrey Howe says the recession is over.
TV: Elizabeth Taylor and Michael Caine in X,Y and Zee [1972].
Weather: thundery this evening. Tomorrow, cloud and thunder.
_. Hot, sticky, and uncomfortable. Up at 6:45 to the radio alarm clock blasting out the rousing national anthem in honour of the Queen Mother's 81st birthday. What will we do without her when the time comes?
To Leeds at 7:45. Phoned Mum from the office. The deadline for the Stonehouse Inn is tomorrow. She sounded depressed. It looks like the end of the line.
I'm researching Diana's pedigree for something for the YP. Thumbing through the 1956 edition of Burke's Peerage. The new princess has a second cousin, Mrs Foster, of Oswaldkirk, near York, and another cousin is Mrs Robin Compton, of Newby Hall, Ripon. Diana is also related to Bessie's neighbour in Martyr Worthy, old Mrs Seymour.
Home at 6. Fish cakes. Ally is pale and exhausted. To bed .
Footnote: will Michael Heseltine be PM one day?
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_. Up at 6:30. To the YP for 9. Oliver Everett has been appointed Comptroller to the Household of the Prince and Princess of Wales and Private Secretary to the princess. He is her first appointment. It is rumoured that the honeymoon will take them to Kos, ideal for windsurfing and sailing..
Phoned Ally at 11. _________.
The 9 o'clock news: Ronald Reagan seems to be doing very well over in the USA. Er, that's it.
Had a long talk with Dave G, who is twenty seven today and back from San Antonio. He has missed us. Garry isn't the riotous type is he? Ibiza sounds to be more crowded than ever.
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| Rachel. |
Hot summers day. We laid in bed until about 10 looking at a map. We were seriously thinking about going to Chatsworth, but the time of day put us off. I suggested driving down to Althorp to look at Lady Diana's bathroom. But no.
Rachel Judson came knocking on the door at 12. She said her car was 'leaking' and could I possibly put a stop to it? Oh, dear. I went over the road with a bucket of water, and managed to top up the radiator. I think that poor Rachel really just wanted to speak to somebody. She told me that she and Garry have 'finished' and that she was still pissed from last night. Rachel was clad in her black, silky disco gear and clearly had been in them all night. She bombed off in her MG, blond hair flowing. Poor Rachel. She looks at me in that naughty, dangerous way. Nothing can come between me and my precious Ally, not even the blond siren Rachel Judson.
We drove up to the Goose Inn on the moors above Halifax. Sat with a lager curiously watching the barman. Is he perhaps my long, lost cousin? I went over and enquired: "Are you Graham Rhodes?" To which he replied: "Are you Michael Rhodes?" Great fun. Graham is the son of my Dad's older brother, Arnold. His younger sister, Miss Alison Katherine Rhodes [!!] is the waitress and brought our ploughman's lunches. Isn't it a small universe? We promised to see him again. Ally found him a very attractive youth, carefully addding that he was obviously of the same gene pool as her attractive husband. On at 6 to Haworth and then to the George & Dragon on Apperley Lane for a steak. The bill came to £14. ______.
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_. Up at about 9. We had breakfast watching the royal stuff on the telly. The departure for Gibraltar of the Prince and Princess of Wales. Rain at Broadlands but the crowds were dense and good humoured, as they have been all week. The public interest shown to this couple must make them the most popular pair in history. The prince piloted the Andover of the Queen's Flight to Oporto[for refuelling], then on to the rock of Gib and eventually to the peace and quiet of HMY Britannia for 2 weeks.
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| The Commercial, Esholt. |
Ally was feeling clammy and uncomfortable and so we left for home and bed. She gnashes her teeth in her sleep, you know.
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Ally had a day in bed feeling lethargic. _________. I came home at 5:30. She looked very pretty.
To Morrison's [a few provisions]. They have a record section. I spotted Beethoven's 'Emperor' concerto and snapped it up. I also enrolled at the local library. Ally took out a couple of Dorothy L. Sayers novels. Back at home we sat drinking coffee, eating chocolate buns and listening with rapture to Ludwig's piano concerto No. 5. Spent the evening 'cuddling'.
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| Diana: unmade bed. |
This evening Ally came downstairs only briefly. She looked horrible.
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| John & Maria. |
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| Ally. |
We left Guiseley at about 10. A good family gathering.
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| Nancy: fish out of water/ |
There was a Hyde Park fireworks spectacular tonight for the 'crowned heads of Europe'. Fireworks are very nice if you like that sort of thing. They sat Nancy Reagan next to a Mandingo chieftain. She looked like a fish out of water.
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_. Back to the YP. Sarah, it seems, lost the 'royal wedding ballot' and is working on Wednesday. She isn't all that bothered about looking in on the royal nuptials.
Ash Tree Cottage this evening almost buzzed with activity. After eating I bottled almost 20 bottles of lager, then brewed another gallon. One never knows when cousin Steve might drop in for a slurp.
Watched 'Far from the Madding Crowd' starring Julie Christie and Peter Finch. Such a depressing take of woe. Thomas Hardy's books always have an aura of melancholy which is quite unique.
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| Crowds on the Mall. |
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_. 6th Sunday after Trinity
Warm. A morning in bed with the sunlight hurtling in through the curtains. We took a leisurely breakfast.
Slumped on the settee watching a John Mills film Ally remarked upon my indolence. Taking this as a hint I took up a bucket of hot, soapy water and gave the car a good clean. It cannot have been touched since the Spring.
We lunched on lamb chops, cauliflower cheese and new potatoes. Absolutely delicious.
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| Sue & Pete: anniversary. |
To Pine Tops at 7, first calling at Sue and Pete's with an anniversary card. It's their first today. John, Maria and the children were with Mum and Dad. Catherine was eating a banana like a tiny chimpanzee. Maria was complaining about her throat - another case of tonsilitis.
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| Diana: tears. |
Royal wedding trivia: Poor Lady Diana is giving in to her nerves in these final, gruelling days before the royal nuptials. At a polo match in Hampshire she burst into tears following a harrowing experience with ardent photographers and she was led away, quite desolate, by Lord and Lady Romsey. She didn't stay long enough to see the Prince of Wales strike a ball. Obviously, news coverage of the event are taking the angle that the bride is about to call off the greatest royal event since the restoration of King Charles II.
Bed followed the lasagne.
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_. At 10am I went to the office and collected my wage packet, snatched the money and left for Bradford straight afterwards. Back there for 12. Having a relapse. Felt hot, clammy. Met Ally in 'Sir Jasper's' wine bar, but felt diabolical and didn't finish my drink.
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| Garter for Diana? |
At 9:30 she crossed the road and bought me fish and chips, and afterwards we took to our bed. My recovery is very slow, don't you think?
Royal news: It is rumoured that Lady Diana Spencer is to become a Lady of the Garter after the wedding on Wednesday. Princess Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh were both appointed to the order on the eve of their wedding in November, 1947, and so a precedent does exist. However, Queen Alexandra, Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother didn't receive the Garter until they became Queen Consort.
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_. Rained all day. Lounging with a book.
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| Diana: a little flat. |
Ally was home at 5. We had sandwiches and watched the news. Bryan Organ's portrait of Lady Diana Spencer, the first official one, was unveiled at the National Portrait Gallery today. It's a little flat, or lifeless, if you know what I mean. Certainly, Peter Paul Rubens wouldn't rate it.
To Pine Tops tonight to see Mum, Dad, Jim, and Margaret. Joined by Sue for a couple of hours. She has been back to the doctor. He says he's 'made a mistake' in his calculations and that baby 'Jason' is due on December 28. Pete was of course out with the lads. Hot. Didn't drink too much. Home after 11.
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_. Another hot, sweaty night but my throat has eased. Poor Ally didn't want to get out of bed today, and clung to her pillows. Boiled eggs and coffee, then she was gone until 12:15. She returned skipping like a Spring lamb.
I made several phone calls this afternoon. Phoned Mum, spoke to Dad, and Lynn. Jacq and Paul are dining at Burley tonight. Mum is feeling slightly better. It's her nerves, you know. The deadline for the Stonehouse is just two weeks away.
Read 'The Murder of Roger Ackroyd'. I first read it years ago. One of Agatha's best. It's quite eerie how Agatha can make one suspicious of grey haired old ladies behind lace curtains. Old Miss Whincup over the road was peering at me from behind her nets this afternoon. A Miss Marple sort of thing.
Petal came home at 5. We had corn on the cob, and fried fish and chips, then made pancakes from the left over batter, soaked with lemon juice and sugar. We do eat very well.
Royal wedding fever grips the TV news. This Gibraltar furore is a shame. We don't want diplomatic incidents at this joyous time. The Prince of Wales had a 'stag party' tonight at White's Club. He and 12 friends noshing from 8 until 12, swilling Bollinger champagne [his favourite]. The royal wedding postage stamps went on sale today too. But, alas, the Queen Mother is in bed with a temperature, they say, after a leg infection.
After our sumptious dinner we sat reading until 11.
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Susie Nason, my baby sister and mother-to-be, is 22 today. I phoned her this evening. She and Pete are entertaining Lynn and Dave tonight.
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Ally went out looking at washing machines. The day in nearing when Ally's smalls will be a spinnin' and a tumblin' in our little kitchen. She has survived without this 20th century invention since 1979.
Tomato soup for lunch. I sat reading Agatha Christie's 'Nemesis'. 'Sleeping Death', which I read in Ios was excellent. This isn't up to standard. My medication has had an immediate effect. My throat is relieved.
Mama remains in bed with her tummy problem.
News: The King of Spain is to boycott the royal wedding because the Prince of Wales and his bride are starting their honeymoon on Britannia sailing into Gibraltar. Stupid sod [The King of Spain that is].
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_. Up at 6:45 feeling weak and wobbly. Burning throat. Foolishly I took the bus to Leeds where Sarah took one look at me and packed me off home. I staggered back in at 10 clutching a damp copy of the Times, and fell into bed where I remained for the rest of the day.
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| Ursula: grappling. |
Ally was back at 5 and we had scrambled eggs on toast, followed by strawberries and cream. It was all I could manage. Phoned Mum. She is also in bed, but with an upset stomach. She says she eats too much. I agree. She was at Giovanni's on Saturday, followed by a large lunch then dinner on Sunday.
Ally came to bed and we watched Coronation Street. I resolved to go see my new doctor tomorrow. I have a raging temperature, and cannot swallow. We've only been married for three weeks and already I am like a cabbage. A hideous night. Sweat.
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_. 5th Sunday after Trinity
Feeling ill, and steadily worse as they day progressed. A cold. Full of dreadful resignation that I'm smitten with pneumonia. My throat feels like a kangaroos armpit. And, it itsn't because of booze either. I laid in a heap on the settee watching an old film. Ally prepared the dinner for Lynn, Dave and Frances. They came at 7 o'clock, and the baby screamed until 11. We dined at 8:30, carrot soup, goulash, etc. Lynn provided the wine. I gave Dave the £20 I owed him from last year. A dreadful lapse on my part. He did say he thought it was a write-off. Lynn found it hard to relax with Frances's constant wailing. Babies are so trying. Lynn has a hard, short haircut. Not as hideous as one would imagine. Less glamorous, but still Hayley Mills. To bed at 12 feeling atrocious.
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_. We stayed in bed until noon. Ally fixed the breakfast and I phoned Sue and Lynn. I arranged to meet Sue and Pete in the Woolpack at 9, but Lynn cannot make it. They're going to York.
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| Wedding proofs. |
Our wedding photos are magnificent. Jack Simon has even managed to make me look like something verging on human. Ally is gorgeous. Like a doll in the best wedding dress.
To Guiseley at 8. The house was deserted. Mum and Dad were dining at Giovanni's. We left a floral tribute inn the kitchen. To Sue and Pete's. They looked at the wedding proofs. To the Woolpack but we left without having a drink. It was too crowded. To the Dog and Gun. That was crowded too. Back to the Fox & Hounds. Saw Andy and Linda Graham there. We finished off at the White Cross. Poor Sue looked ghastly all night. Skin like alabaster. She has been told that her baby isn't due until February 24, but she seems to have early January in mind. After leaving Sue and Pete at 11 we went to Oakwood Hall for a couple of hours. Our first visit in 6 months.
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Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, &c Still dull outside. Who cares? Our alarm clock is on the blink and refuses to sound off. Samuel laid patiently...
