Tuesday October 20, 1981

 _. Woke up, and to my horror, see that the alarm clock is blatantly proclaiming 7:58am. I fled from the house and arrived at the office at 9:15. They cannot complain. Since my marriage I haven't turned in late.

Argued with Sarah on the subject of so-called 'blood sports'. This was brought on by the Sun 'exclusive' which stated that the Queen, like Diana, goes out and kills deer on her Scottish moors. I thought it was common knowledge that the Queen is an expert shot. At one time she regularly shot two stags a year [according to the Evening Post, 1958], and the head of one of her 'prize' executions hangs on a wall at Balmoral for all to see. She was taught how to shoot by her father, reputed to be a brilliant marksman. Anti-blood sport people are usually in the main boring, bearded, Left-wing city dwellers who take the Guardian, and lecture at the local polytechnic. This is why I am so surprised by Sarah's revulsion. She tries so hard to be 'county' and is let down badly by this. Surely, most rural people think nothing about going out and killing anything that moves? The nearer one draws to suburbia the more misguided and sentimental people are regarding animals. Thank God for a sane wife. When I asked for her opinion on this subject she sighed, and looking up from her book, said: 'Let them get on with it.'

I was home for 6. Phoned Mum. Still no word from Lynn. I would never have thought that Lynn could be so horrible. If I was one of those modern thinking types I could put it all down to post-natal depression, but that would put me of a par with some feminist Guardian columnist.

Paint flowers. Bed at 11pm.

-=-

Monday October 19, 1981

 _. A black, wet morning. Up at 6:30 to a wintry dawn. Breakfast with Ally and Dave. Malt loaf of all things, as we had forgotten to buy a loaf. We left Ally at 7:45 and got the bus into Leeds where I said goodbye to Dave at the YP. He did say, en route, that he cannot understand Lynn's behaviour to Mum.

YP dull. Sarah had lowered herself to collect my mail. Phoned Mum. She has had no word from Lynn.

Flower painting.....

News: The Princess of Wales has been killing deer at Balmoral. That's one in the eye for those boring wildlife preservationist types. It also illustrates quite admirably that Diana isn't the retiring shrinking violet that Fleet Street columnists would like us to think she is.

Ally should have seen Dr Glover today, but he seems to have forgotten. 

This evening I made a start on a flower painting for Bessie for Christmas. Got the idea from a flower arranging book. Bed at 11:40.

-=-

Sunday October 18, 1981

 _. 18th Sunday after Trinity

News: Sir Steuart Pringle, 10th Baronet, has had his leg blown off in an IRA attack. Moshe Dayan, the one-eyed Israeli general, is dead.

We had sausages for breakfast. Had no word from Lynn. 

The Fiddlers Three.

We walked to the Fiddlers Three at Clayon, at 12 for a couple of hours. Ally has told Dave of her miscarriage. Home at 2 for steak and kidney pudding.

Bus tonight at 8 into town to Duke's Wine Bar where a 'wet t-shirt' competition was in full swing, if you pardon the pun. Hundreds of randy males howling at three flat-chested Bradford girls being publicly humiliated standing in a cold shower in the bar. Dave, clamouring for a good view, stood on a table. Ally was far from happy.

Bed at 12:30.

-=-