Monday February 15, 1982

 Washington's Birthday Observance

Andrew [Dixon] is 18, and so a man, today. 

I do resent the way that WH Smith lick up to the Yanks by printing 'Washington's Day Observance' at the head of the page. It is an English diary. Do American diaries print Her Majesty the Queen's Birthday Observance every April 21? At least they avoid Leonid Brezhnev's birthday, which falls in December, I think.

Amateur dramatics at Burley-in-Wharfedale. Lynn phoned Ally in a state of turmoil this morning and said that she and Dave had given backword on the house at Pool because of Ally's criticisms of the place to Mum yesterday. Obviously, Ally was upset to think that her comments had led to such a drastic decision. It is apparent that Lynn has been torn with indecision here. Mum was flabbergasted because the Bakers were at Pine Tops yesterday likeneing the Pool house to Nostell Priory. Lynn is such a changeable little thing. I can picture her laid awake last night night chewing the whole thing over. Dave is strangely quiet on the whole business. 

Home at 6 for a liver creation washed down with wine and then at 8 we went over to Burley, armed with a couple of bottles of wine, to have it out with the Bakers. Lynn was pale and they look to have been squabbling. Dave exclaimed that he doesn't know where 'the bloody hell' he stands. No sight or sound of Frances. It was a baby-free night in fact. We left at 11 but a tyre burst at the bottom of Hollins Hill, and we walked back in the cold to the Shoulder of Mutton. Ally's bladder was bursting and so I helped her over a stone wall so that she could pee in the long grass. Comical to say the least. Dad came down and showed us how to change the wheel. Then man is a saint. Home, exhausted, at 12:30.

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Sunday February 14, 1982

 Valentine's Day - Sexagesima

Sunny and bright and spring-like. Do I detect daffodils poking out from the leaden earth? We were awake at 8:30 and I gave Ally a card and a chocolate heart. She gave me a card with a pig on the front. As you know, we are very fond of pigs. We sat in bed, the room flooded in sunshine, eating cake and supping coffee. Love is a wonderful thing.

Up at 9:30. I brewed ale, and Ally, armed with a bucket and soapy rags, went out to clean poor Audrey.

To avoid 'Carry on Spying' on the BBC we went off in the car in an attempt to locate the grave of John Rhodes [1866-1948], without success. A witless little woman took us to the wrong end of the cemetery which misled us completely. Most people in Bramley seem to have died from cholera.

On to Pool-in-Wharfedale to inspect the house which Lynn and Dave are buying. We sat in horror before the hideous 1950s erection. It may have splendid views of Wharfedale, but it's ugly, inaccessible, and over-priced. On to Guiseley for a coffee, but left after half an hour. They were having Peter for Sunday dinner before going on to Hyde Terrace.

Back at Ash Tree Cottage we had steak by candlelight, seated at the new table. We were dining for two hours. Listened to the radio afterwards. Richard Strauss's 'Don Quixote' [he really shouldn't have bothered], and then a nice piece for two pianos by Brahms. Bed at 10:30.

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Saturday February 13, 1982

 Sunny and Spring-like. Breakfast on scrambled eggs and beans with the wireless thumping away in the background. Ally took a very hot bath [again] and used all the hot water.

We went out to the Co-op at 1, and then went, quite on impulse, to Thackley and bought a mahogany drop leaf dining table and a bureau from 'Cheap and Cheerful', spending £73. Great excitement. We had to make two trips to fit them in the car and after polishing and positioning them it was after 6. At last we can dine in style.

Mum phoned at 7 to say Sue is now on valium tablets and is probably going to be induced tomorrow. Her blood pressure remains very high. So it looks like a Valentine's Day baby for Sue and Pete. Mum says the poor girl was laid in bed chattering away non stop. No doubt the effect of the drugs. Isn't valium supposed to be for nerves?

We dined upon our new table this evening. Steak and kidney with dumplings, followed by chocolate 'Angel Delight'. Felt bloated afterwards. Ally, observing my protruding belly, suggests that perhaps we should have more salads to prevent me swelling to Cyril Smith proportions.

Ally was in bed by 11, but I was wide awake, and sat with a mug of coffee watching an old Margaret Lockwood Gainsborough picture, 'The Wicked Lady'.

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Friday February 12, 1982

 Rain. Tea and toast again with Kitten. The Prince of Wales was on the radio at 7:30 talking about the Mary Rose salvage, and he quipped that the royal baby may well have to be Princess Mary Rose or Prince Henry Charles. I do not like the idea of King Henry IX. However, King Terry would be worse.

Worked until 2 and walked up to Hyde Terrace. Blown around like a wet rag in the wind, I was. At Hyde Terrace I met Papa parking the car and found Lynn, Mum and Frances inside. Mum brought me a prawn sandwich and half a pork pie from home. Susie, still sitting on top of the bed, looking a better colour, but was feeling sour and snappy. I don't blame her. Frances sat on the bed inspecting the ward. I got her clapping and gurgling. With her rosy cheeks and wispy hair she's definitely a Baker.

Back to the YP at 3. Home for 6. Knackered really. We had beefburgers and watched Sherlock Holmes on the TV. Afterwards we sat writing and Ally made a luscious chocolate cake.

Thoughts of the week: the succession to the throne should perhaps be altered to make Freddie Laker heir to the throne. Well it's either that or declaring him a saint. The sun shines out of his arse, if the Press is to be believed.

A future Duke of Somerset was born on February 3. He'll be head of the Seymour family one day.

Tonight Ally and I behaved like lovers in a French film. At about 10 we climbed into a hot, soapy bath together. It was the first time we'd done this, always assuming it was too small .... the bath, that is.

Later we watched Bette Davis in 'The Anniversary', and finally went to bed at 1am.

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Thursday February 11, 1982

 I don't want to write. It's one of those days. Toast and tea with darling Ally. We never seem to be together. It's all sleep and breakfasts. Off to Leeds. Dismal.

Couldn't visit Sue because they clean the wards on Thurdsays. I suppose she will be down in the dumps. It's a week since she was taken into Leeds's answer to Colditz.

Wrote to John Stokes, the MP for Halesowen. I read that Baroness Young is also in opposition to the dreadful succession [to the throne] Bill.

I bought Ally a chocolate heart inscribed with the words 'to Ally with love'.

The Prince and Princess of Wales are heading to the West Indies next week for a holiday. The poor princess is having a hard time with her pregnancy, I fear.

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