Saturday March 6, 1982

 Lynn is 24 today. We were out of bed at 8:30 drinking tea and talking to the birthday girl on the phone. David is taking her and Frances to York for the day. After breakfast and baths we went into Shipley to collect our wedding video and then headed down the windswept M62 to Stockport. By 1:30 we were sitting around the snooker table at the Hollywood swilling lager. Lily, a brave woman, looked slightly emotional when she saw our wedding video.

Hot pot for dinner, then out to the Armoury pub at 8 and on to the Ring 'O Bells, where Glynnie phoned Sue and Pete and was hilariously explaining to them the rudiments of breast feeding. On to the Robin Hood. Pissed. We were joined by a new boy, John, a neighbour of Steve's, who is a PhD, and hails from far off Tewkesbury. He was a silent chap until the pils lager got to him. We clowned around like an episode from a 1957 Goon Show. He ended up wearing my boots, and I had his shoes. Garry had my blue pullover, and I had his. Back to Anne's [mother of the Robin Hood publican] for supper and wine. Deeply pissed. I insisted on referring to her Jack Russell terrier as a 'rat', 'cavie', and 'micro organism'. Greatly intoxicated. 

Ally, who hadn't touched a drop of drink, was in perfect health and drove a wobbly Dave and I back to the Hollywood.

-=-

Friday March 5, 1982

Ivy, Duchess of Portland

 To the YP tired and hideously unconscientiously. Saw Geoff Hemingway who told me I'm to receive another £10 next week, and of course Malcolm [Barker] will pay me for the family tree after it appears. Could this genealogical stuff be my lucky break? Am I destined to end my days as Garter King of Arms?

Sit with a coffee hiding behind a copy of The Times. Ivy, Duchess of Portland, has died aged 94. She was the widow of the 7th Duke, and was a Maid of Honour to Queen Alexandra from 1912-1915. They don't make 'em like that any more. The Duke, a Cavendish Bentinck, was of course a kinsman of the Queen Mother.

Worked without a lunch break and escaped the office at 4. Sunny and spring-like. Ally was knee deep in soap suds at Club St cleaning Audrey, but she downed her wash leather to come inside and kiss me.

We ate late, a lamb and pepper creation which tasted good but was greasy. No TV. Beethoven instead.

Susie left hospital at about 1pm today and went home to West End Terrace with Christopher. Mum had deposited a bottle of something bubbly in the refridgerator. We didn't go over because everyone else decided to go, and the last thing they need is a crowd on this essentially private and joyous day.

Edison's the estate agents have valued Pine Tops at £37,500. Mum is happy at this. Who wouldn't be?

Bed at 10:40.

-=-

Thursday March 4, 1982

 Sure enough, the dead dog had gone this morning and we could safely take breakfast without it disturbing our charming view of Lidget Green. We debate who might have removed the canine corpse. Put it this way, it's the last time I eat a curry within a ten mile radius of Necropolis Road. 

Hectic lunch time. Went out to buy rosé wine, films, flash cubes, wrapping paper, photo album, stylus, and greeting cards, and all in a 45 minute period. Home heavily laden at 6. Splashed in the bath. Wrapped David's Pierre Cardin after shave lotion, and Lynn's lasagne jar and got over to Burley-in-W for 8:45.

Found Mum, Dad, Lynn, Dave, Jim and Margaret assembled there. A quiet night though Mum was amusing and on top of the world. Somehow things rarely go with a bang at Lawn Road. No sign of Frances. They now have a very large dresser, from 'Cheap 'n Cheerful'. Margaret is insane. Lynn continues to behave peculiarly and seems to be permanently upset about something. David seems to become more and more dull. Ally is choked about the way people have changed. But then we all change, don't we?

Home and bed after 2am.

-=-

Wednesday March 3, 1982

 'Spring' is in the air. Spoke to Mummy. She told me that a man from Edison's estate agents is coming tomorrow to value Pine Tops and have a 'for sale' sign erected in the front garden. A poignant moment. What will life be like without dear Pine Tops? Mum and Dad had been to Otley [hospital] to see Sue & Christopher, both fighting fit.

Home to Baby. We sat cuddled together eating macaroni cheese, mounds of it.

Had a spot of culture later on BBC2 when we watched Her Majesty the Queen opening the Barbican Centre and afterwards attending a concert of Beethoven's fourth piano concerto. The Queen viewed some hideous French paintings which looked as though they were the creation of the inmates of a top security institution for the criminally insane. And weird Canadian sculpture. HM had a glint her eye throughout. They must surely roar with laughter when back at Windsor surrounded by Leonardo cartoons and equestrian oddments by that nice Mr Stubbs. The Queen looked very chic in a flowing pink and silver creation, but is looking her age.

A dog was knocked down and killed at 11:30pm at the junction of Cemetery Road and Necropolis Road. The canine couldn't have picked a more appropriate place to die. Ally was slightly overcome at the sight of the tragedy, and I did my good citizen bit and phoned the police. All very disturbing stuff on which to go to bed. I attempted to cheer Ally by telling her that the dog is now out of its earthly misery and now resplendent in Glory in the arms of Jesus, but it didn't do any good.

-=-