Friday August 14, 1981

 _. 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.

Stonehouse Inn: £80,000

Saw in the YP that a Mr Ian Taylor, of Skipton, has bought the Stonehouse Inn for something in the region of £80,000. I was my hideous and painful duty to phone Mum and tell her. The solicitors working for my parents are incompetent. It's a bloody disgrace to have to read about the pub malarkey in the morning papers when one is paying a bloody fortune to lawyers to keep one informed. At least now it's all over other plans can be made.

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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Thursday August 13, 1981

 _. 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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