Tuesday July 21, 1981

 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.

I lay in bed, burning up. After Ally left for work I phoned the doctor. Ally took an early lunch and drove me to the surgery. The doc took one look and proclaimed: 'Ugh. Tonsilitis'. He told me to go home to bed for the week, and packed me off with enough medication to see me through until 2067.

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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Monday July 20, 1981

 _. 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. 

Ursula: grappling.

Ally came home for lunch at 1pm and she brought mugs of tomato soup upstairs. I lay there in a sweat all afternoon. Ursula Andress was on the telly in the film 'She' based on the novel by H Rider Haggard. In my delirium I was grappling with the comely Miss Andress as she dragged me to the fiery pit.

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.

-=-

Sunday July 19, 1981

 _. 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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