Friday July 24, 1981

 _. 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. 

Garter for Diana?

At home I slumped on the settee watching Sid James and Hattie Jacques in 'Carry On Cabby' [1963]. I must have fallen asleep because Ally woke me at 5:30. I continued to lay in a semi recumbent posture for the duration of the evening, which aroused nothing but sympathy and love from my dear wife.

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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Thursday July 23, 1981

 _. Rained all day. Lounging with a book. 

Diana: a little flat.

Ally came in at 12:30 weighed down with 'just a few things' of shopping to the value of £9. Money goes nowhere these days.

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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Wednesday July 22, 1981

 _. 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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