Thursday January 20, 1983

 Mama and Papa are in residence at ours and prepared a meal for us whilst we were at our daily labours. So obsessed I am with Patrick Anderson's novel that coming home I missed my stop and got half way to Clayton. I am within seven pages of the end. Could it be curtains for President Charles Whitmore?

Ate pork. Not my favourite roast. Wallowed in the bath and missed some of Top of the Pops. They're all so young these days.

Ally is quite fantastic about Mum & Dad. She usually detests having her 'privacy invaded, but not a murmur of disapproval.

-=-

Wednesday January 19, 1983

 Freezing, but sunny and crisp. We took cups of tea up to Mum and Dad, who have an appointment at the bank at 10:30. To the YP with my Patrick Anderson book. 

Geoff Hemingway gave me £4 for the Bruce Dundas tip. Home at 6 expecting fish fingers, but Mum and Dad say they're taking us to Pizzeria Mamma Mia for dinner - a wonderful surprise. Ally put on her little white and gold number and after a few pre-prandials we went off in the snow to Manningham Lane. We told them about writing to the breweries and they were favourable. Dad asked whether I'd have done anything different if I could wind back the clock ten years. I told him I wouldn't. 

The thought of teaching now makes me shudder, and the thought of general reporting has never been my scene even though I can spot a good news story at three hundred yards. 

Ally and I had seafood pizzas, and Mum and Dad had cannelloni and lasagne, and Papa took the bill. £18 for four with wine and a starter is excellent, I think. Back home in the nifty little Renault for post-prandial drinks of pernod and orange. Watched the beginning of a series about the Cleopatras. It's a bit like Coronation Street, or Crossroads, but with pyramids. Bed at 11:30. Mum and Dad much more jolly today. They had spent the day up at Ingleton and on to Horton and say that the hills look exquisite in snow. I wish them success and happiness.

-=-

Tuesday January 18, 1983

 We got up and Ally, looking out, said it was snowing 'badly'. I sluggishly climbed out of bed and formed my own opinion. She was half right. Boiled eggs with Ally's home made bread is like something sent from the Gods. Her bread cannot be beaten. 

To the YP reading my American thriller. I'm obsessed with it. After going out at lunchtime to post letters to the breweries I returned to the office looking like a snowman and sat reading my novel behind the filing cabinets. It shrieks of Watergate, but is so good. Ally phoned whilst I was hiding behind the cabinets and Margo came to find me. At 4 Mum phoned to ask to come over and stay the night, but said they's have the bunks. This is stupid. Why should they have the bunks when Ally and I can fit in the bottom one quite easily? I wouldn't give up myh bed for anyone, but Mum and Dad are the exception. Ally, slightly panic stricken at the news, rushed home to vacuum everywhere. They arrived like lost souls at 7:30. We had a few drinks and Ally toddled off to bed at 11. Mum revealed why they have landed with us in Bradford at such short notice. ___________. I consoled her and told her that they could stay with us until they go up to Horton-in-Ribblesdale (Jan 31). Ally is an angel about it all and tries to make them feel wanted. ________.

-=-

Monday January 17, 1983

 Strong wind. Took lashings of coffee (black), and ten seconds of 'breakfast TV' from the BBC which started today. Frank Bough at 6:30am is a ghastly thought, and so I'm sticking with the dear, old wireless. We do not have the time to watch TV at breakfast time. My God, don't we have enough of the box without getting it at dawn? 

Took a book with me on the bus. After nine years of looking out upon a grimy West Yorkshire I think I need a change. It's 'The President's Mistress' by Patrick Anderson. To and from Leeds I managed 80 pages, and seven chapters.

YP was hell. Ally phoned. We talked of sending for an application form for Viking Taverns at Hipperholme. Home at 6 and after a chicken salad I took to my typewriter and composed three letters to Timothy Taylor's, Websters and Viking Taverns. The dye is cast. It is exciting. OK, it will be hard and we'll be tied down but we'll be making money and working together. It will be a challenge.

Phoned John. I asked if he was coming over tonight. His reply was that he has no petrol in the car, and will come at the weekend because Janette will still be here. She wants a job, and I suggested that she might look in the YP or EP for vacancies. She is heading to the job centre tomorrow.

Ally baked bread and pottered in the kitchen whilst I watched an Al Pacino film about a bank robbery. I couldn't decide whether it was a comedy or not.

Now that I've written three silly letters I feel as though I have made some progress down the pathway to security and stability. Ally will hate leaving Ash Tree Cottage.

-=- 

Sunday January 16, 1983

2nd Sunday after Epiphany

A morning in bed. It's a rare thing these days. I cannot recall when I last climed out from 'neath the sheets after noon. Even on New Year's Day we were up reasonably. We eventually emerged and splashed in the bath and had breakfast, dressed scantily, to the sound of the washing machine going berserk. Had a Duran Duran session at full volume.

Got a bus to Guiseley and arrived at about 3. Blustery day to say the least. To Thorpefields and the Bakers. Sat nursing Katie who is like 'ET' and not at all attractive. Poor Frances, looking sturdy and very grown up, did a dive from the settee and cut her face. We all sat and watched. She seemed to be in the air in slow motion, and none of us could prevent the accident. Had a few beers and inspected Dave's double glazing. They have inherited the decor from the last occupiers. We watched Frances have her tea and then went to Sue & Pete's at 5:30. They'd just eaten. We told them about our census search. Christopher is in control.

Phoned John. He was playing squash with Chris but we went round all the same and passed him in the door. We sat with Janette for half an hour drinking coffee. _____________.

We left at 8:45. Home to chicken stew and Yorkshire puddings. Bed 11:30.

-=-

Saturday January 15, 1983

 Our alarm let rip at 7 and we lay in the darkened bedroom wondering whether we might be raving mad. We had a hurried boiled egg and went out at 8:15 for the bus to Leeds. We got to the city reference library for 9:15 and immediately tackled the 1881 census. I looked at Pudsey and Ally concentrated on Bramley in an attempt to find the elusive John Rhodes. My great-great grandmother Mrs Betty Wilson was still alive aged 66 in 1881. She was living in Chapeltown, Pudsey, with three of her unmarried children, and a granddaughter, Harriet E. Robinson, aged 17. My great-grandfather John Wilson was a 28 year-old labourer, living in Rider's Row, Chapeltown, with his wife Rella, 25, and two children, William 5, and Harriet, 10 months. Where was Mary, born in 1878? She must have been staying elswehere on the night of April 8, 1881. I found a couple of Fawberts but no direct ancestors. On the Bramley register Ally found John Henry Rhodes, 14, son of Samuel Rhodes, 46, a farmer, of Atkinson's Buildings, Bramley, and Eliza Ann his wife, 41, born in Horsforth. Could John Henry be my great-grandfather? It's the middle name Henry that has thrown us off the scent. She came across numerous Appleyards, all well-to-do brothers of my great-great-grandmother Mary Ann Appleyard (Mrs Ross). We finished for about 1:30 and made our way to the pub next door, Stumps, which is run by the Hartleys who employed Ally three years ago at what was the Belfry. We had one drink. Hideous. We went to Austick's and to Greenhead's to look at the books. Bought a YP. Lady Galway's obit is in. Not that they'll pay me. Dear me, no. Bought a Minton Haddon Hall tea plate bringing our collection to six. Home for 3:30.

I trussed the chicken and prepared dinner whilst Ally giggled at an Alastair Sim film on the BBC. Later she fell asleep on a large cushion. Alastair Sim again in 'The Belles of St Trinians'. Very amsuing.

We ate at 6:30. Ally's nap had done her no good, and she was too tired to eat. Sat reading afterwards. The Duke of Windsor was, if Stephen Birmingham is to be believed, an absolute horror. Ally on with Shirley Conran's 'Lace'.

-=-

Friday January 14, 1983

 New Moon

Everyone insists it is going to snow, but nothing happened. Mrs Slocombe came into the office looking like a trapper from the hills of north America. She was later sat sorting through a batch of photographs and asked: "Is George Bernard Shaw alive or dead?" I giggled nervously but was inwardly terrified. How can a 30 year-old woman with 12 years experience of working in a busy newspaper office not know that GBS died aged 90 in 1950?

Ally phoned and we talked of our future. We are definitely taking on a restaurant or pub one day. The drudgery of office life has hit me like a sledgehammer in recent months. Mum phoned. Sue and Pete have had their offer on a house on Fieldhead Rd accepted. Lynn went to Otley yesterday and she and Katie were photographed by Edward 'Ted' Winpenny. It seems that Katie was the first baby to have been born in Otley in 1983, and a local shop is presenting Lynn with a pram for achieving this amazing fete.

Lucia Viscountess Galway, of Serlby Hall, Bawtry, has died aged 92. She served as a Maid of Honour to Queen Alexandra from 1919 to 1922. I passed this amazing piece of information to Derek Foster on the YP newsdesk, and suppose that an obit will appear tomorrow.

Spoke to Michael Brown. He's thinking of spending a summer holiday in Ostend. Poor soul. We laughed at a picture on the cover of the Church of England Times of the Archbishop of Canterbury with the Russian Orthodox Archbishop of Kiev. We are told in the caption that the Russian is on the left and that Canterbury is on the right. Do the people who regularly take the C of E Times need to be told?

Sandwiches with Ally. The planned chicken hadn't defrosted, and Ally thinks it smells foisty. Surely, it's Friday? Sat with our books and no sound but the ticking of the clock and me making slurping noises with my whisky. Pub management? We are buying a pub now. Why not? 

Watched the nine o'clock news. The Prince and Princess of Wales, skiing in Austria, are being pestered to death by the British reporters, and the palace has asked for restraint. The princess is taking the intrusion very bady and is going around heavily camouflaged.

-=-

Thursday January 13, 1983

 Up at 7. Trying to be helpful I fried three sausages which we bought on Saturday last. Ally came down and moaned about the burning fat and ghastly smell and as I poked at the sausages she related to me the tale of the Clerkenwell Sausage Poisoning epidemic of 1867. By the time they were laying brown and greasy upon our plates we had both lost our appetites. I just pushed mine around with a fork. 

Off to Leeds on my faithful No. 72 and sat near to some 12 year-old chaps smoking like chimneys. They were with a friend, aged about twelve and a half, who was furiously sucking on Polo mints because, he explained, they helped him take his mind off the cigs. What a sorry state of affairs. They are sniffing glue before they can walk these days. And what about the under 5 alcoholics?

At home we sat in the bath together and then went to bed _______________. At 8 we had lasagne preceded by pâté and toast. Frank phoned. I didn't recognise his voice. I'm a biff. He is coming up on business on Jan 28 and will take us back to Winchester that night.

We watched Top of the Pops, and went back to bed at about 10. I sat reading Stephen Birmingham's book about the Duchess of Windsor. The man says that Queen Mary's first language was German. This is not so. Queen Mary was born at Kensington Palace the daughter of an English princess and was as English as I am. Ally has started 'Lace' by Shirley Conran. Lights out before 11. 

-=-

Wednesday January 12, 1983

 Up at 7. Sluggish. My face still aches. I had the distinct feeling yesterday as I lay in the dentist chair that his assistant was laughing behind my back. They found it amusing that all my teeth are filled, each and every one of them. Dad said last night that I really should have wonderful teeth because I've been a regular in the chair since the age of three. No son of mine will be allowed to set foot in a dental surgery until he is at least 36.

We had toast and left a note for Mum and Dad. We crept out at 8 to our daily toils. Went to Greenhead's at lunch to look at the books. I also paid £5.20 for the advert announcing Katie's arrival.

Mum and Dad signed for Waltergarth in Otley today. They could be homeless for three weeks yet. Sue and Pete have put there house up for sale and have made an offer for a semi on Fieldhead Road (£26,000).  It's close to Jim and Margaret's. We are, to be sure, a family on the move.

At home Ally has sandwiches ready. A book 'Wallis Warfield Windsor' by Stephen Birmingham has arrived from our book club. Ten years ago I was furiously pro-Windsor. It was my opinion that King Edward VIII had the right to make anyone he wished his wife and subsequently Queen of the United Kingdom. I now realise that Mrs Simpson would never have made the grade. However, I do question the right of the authorities to withhold the style and title of HRH from the Duchess and will always regard her treatment by the Royal Family as shabby and shameful. The old girl cannot have long to go.

Ally took to her bath after a marathon ironing session. She spoke to Bessie yesterday. Andrew came off his motorcycle and banged his head. A policeman brought the news to the door and gave her a nasty turn. He really should get rid of the bloody thing.

I am considering liquid refreshment. I deserve a good stiff one.

-=-

Tuesday January 11, 1983

 Our alarm clock pinged at 6:30 but we didn't stir until 7. I climbed down to visit Ally in the bottom bunk. Downstairs on tip toes to avoid waking Mum & Dad. Brewed tea and made toast. 

The specification for our grant for the roof arrived on Friday. It looks complex. I keep taking it out of the envelope and looking at it. Mum is going to give us a hand with it. We'll contact Steve O'Connor for an estimate.

The EP carried my tip on the Dundas engagement. I phoned my contact at Debrett's for the date of birth of Alexander Lascelles, Lord Harewood's heir of line. He told me. 

To Rawdon and my dentist at 5. I've been climbing those stairs there for 16 years. Tortuous. The moustachioed little dental person gave me an X-ray and three fillings and put me through an hour of misery. I was laid back in the chair reciting the order of succession to the throne to myself to take my mind off the goings on in my mouth. I never seem to get past Princess Margarita of Rumania. I left at 6:15 minus £13.

Didn't get home until 7:30. Ally looking dishy in one of my old T-shirts and Mum and Dad, cutlery in hand, like starving Third World people. I have no appetite because of my face ache. A pie, peas, and chips, followed by two large, stiff whiskies. A documentary about Alastair Sim helped to cheer me.

Mum and Dad say they will move on tomorrow. They sign for Waltergarth at 11am.

-=-

Monday January 10, 1983

 Mum and Dad hear from their solicitor that Horton-in-Ribblesdale is going to have road improvements and that a major development is going to take place within 200 yards of Waltergarth over the next 15 years. This is a grievous blow. Mum thinks the current owner of the house knows all about it, and has kept quiet. Well, he would, wouldn't he? Dad rang a county councillor at the local pub there who assured him that nothing serious is going to take place, but they'll have to wait for official confirmation from Northallerton which could take six weeks. You know what bureaucracy is like. 

A frantic day at the YP. Mondays are obscene. Lord Bruce Dundas, youngest son of the Marquess of Zetland, has announced his engagement to Sophie Lascelles, 24, a fourth cousin of Lord Harewood. Her mother is a Baring, and so she's also closely related to the divine Diana. I passed it on to the EP newsdesk, but they didn't do anything about it today. They can be very slow at times. I'm going to keep a record of my tips to Geoff (Hemingway). 

Home at 5:40. Ally and Dad were making a fish pie. We all sat watching tv and then it was back to the bunks. Mum and Dad will have to rename Waltergarth 'The Tarmacs', or something else appropriate to the construction industry.

-=-

Sunday January 9, 1983

 1st Sunday after Epiphany

Out of bed at 10:30 to sausages and eggs and beans and things. We haven't had a proper 'full English' since we were both struck down with food poisoning last summer.  A day of furious industry.

I went outside and cleaned all the windows and swept up the dead leaves on the path. Ally did the house from top to bottom. I told her she gets more like Mrs Ford every day. __________.

I splashed around in a luke-warm bath, and afterwards I set about a geranium plant and hacked it to pieces. Is this intricate description of my mundane every day a toil for you? I know I would dearly love to be able to read of the daily activities of my great-grandfather. All I know about any of my 'greats' is their names, and a few dates of birth and death. It is sad that whole lives have disappeared, unrecorded for posterity, with no details of their Victorian existence. I don't want to go the same way. 

Mum phoned from Skipton to say they are on the way over. They stayed in Settle this weekend and spent today in Horton-in-Ribblesdale inspecting their new home, Waltergarth. They arrived at 5 and we dined at 6. It is strange having lodgers. Our house is so small. We gave them our bedroom and slept in the bunks, both in the bottom one, until about 4am when I climed up to the top. Mum and Dad are really ready to move now and want to be in Horton by next week.

-=-

Saturday January 8, 1983

 Ally was tired and subsequently ratty throughout the day. As I've said before she'd make a very good psychopathic world leader.

We lay in bed until well after 11 and went down to 'breakfast' scantily clad. We ate crumpets in semi-darkness and discussed our plan of action for the day. Provisions are low and so we got a bus to the market and came back at 2:30 heavily laden. 

I went outside and planted the Christmas tree now looking so drab after its Yuletide trimming of glitter and lights. Inside we played hunt the Christmas decorations box which was nowhere to be found. We had lasagne and a couple of glasses of red wine.

I wrote to Edna and Nellie. They wrote to us before Christmas and I do want to keep in touch. We are condsidering going to look at the 1881 census next Saturday. 

John phoned this evening to see if we fancied going over for a few drinks. Janette arrived at 6 o'clock this morning. She got a lift from a sister who was travelling south and is staying until Wednesday or Thursday. Obviously, we were not in a fit state to go anywhere. ___________.

Saw on the news that the Prime Minister has arrived in the Falklands on a surprise visit. I sat day dreaming about the flags fluttering in Port Stanley. We tuned in to a dreadful American soap called 'Dynasty'. Ally is like Papa in the way that they sit and pull tv programmes to pieces. To bed at 11:45 after bathing in Ally's pink bath salts.

-=-

Friday January 7, 1983

 Frank Metcalfe's snow didn't come, but it's cold and very wet. Laid beneath my Oasis quilt until almost 7:30. Ally skipping around like a young lamb. (All lambs are young - Ed.)

Ally's plea for an electric typewriter must have had some effect because today they removed the ancient machine from her desk and made off with it. By 'they' I mean the eight old men in blue overalls who are paid by the NHS to carry one typewriter between them. 

YP chaotic. Sarah still off tending to her ailing mother. Mum phoned. She and Dad are going off for the weekend and will come to Bradford - if it's OK with us - on Sunday to stay for a couple of days.Susan and Peter have had them for a month, and it's about time we had a bash. It will make a pleasant change. Ally says, laughing, that I will now have someone with whom to stay up late at night with watching TV until closedown.

Tonight we watched ten minutes of Channel 4 and then switched off. We didn't fancy the Spanish Civil War. Speaking of Spain, King Juan Carlos has broken his pelvis while skiing.

Mrs Thatcher has reshuffled the government. John Nott has resigned and will receive a knighthood, and so does Neil Marten. Michael Heseltine has gone to defence. I think Michael Heseltine will go far. Lord Bellwin, a Leeds lad, has been promoted to minister for Local Government. When will the election come? Some say May/June, but I think the old girl might hang on until the autumn.

Ally still battling through 'Penmarric'. She says it's a diabolical book, and yet she's buried beneath it at every opportunity. 

I sent a 'happy New Year' letter to Edna and Nellie. Its difficult writing to someone you've never met. Sixty seven year-old spinsters too - not likely to appreciate jokes about the Pope and Bo Derek.

Lord Halifax is asking for a personal secretary and Ally wants to apply. The applicants for the job have to be over 35 and live at Garrowby. Camilla Halifax is the pretty heiress daughter of Colonel Younger of the brewing dynasty.

-=-

Thursday January 6, 1983

 Epiphany

Could quite easily have reclined in bed this morning. Snatched a bit of breakfast. Ally bouncing around full of glee. She is going in to the office to ask Derek for an electric typewriter, just to be awkward.

To the YP: Busy day doing stuff for the diary. Viscount Melgund is engaged and so is Lady Julia Percy, the Duke of Northumberland's daughter, and Henry Tennant, son of Colin Tennant, has married on Mustique. Surprisingly, Princess Margaret wasn't at the nuptials. It was Charles Tennant who caused a stink when he stole photos from his mother's album and sold them to the Daily Mirror. Oh dear, yes.

Went out at 12:30 to buy some shoes in the sales but couldn't find a decent pair. I despise the 'January sales' and do not usually associate myself with them. I am wearing the shoes I married in, and my toes are almost through at the end. I feel damp and shabby. Pass me a bottle of meths and I'll really look the part.

Drank a mug of chicken and mushroom soup on my bench in Park Square and noticed that the daffodils are pushing up. It was a warm day but Frank Metcalfe says we are due for some snow. Frank is something of an expert of weather patterns. 

Didn't speak to Ally. Was too busy. I'm working through the honours and have all the MBEs to look at. I'll be still at it in July. Daley Thompson got one. That man is big headed enough already.

Mum phoned to say she has bought us a Minton dinner plate in the sales for £7. They are thinking of going off somewhere for the weekend. They are all piled up in the cramped space of West End Terrace. She is a little upset that Lynn and Dave haven't invited them to stay at Thorpe Lane. You know just how temperamental Mum is. However, it would have been nice of them to invite the refugees over for the odd night. I know they have a new baby and all that.

At home I had fish and chips, but Ally just had a bit of toast. Poor Ally has put on a stone in weight over Christmas and is now eight and a half stone. 'Top of the Pops' then 'Superman' which I saw at the cinema when first out. The (Christmas) tree lights are still burning. Is the tree supposed to be down tonight? Will it bring bad luck if it remains up? I suppose I'd better go dismantle the thing.

Ally demanded a gin and tonic and kept peeping at me over the newspaper, passing comments on the days news. The dog which fell off the pier and Blackpool resulting in the death of several policemen is a Jack Russell. How hideous. 

We retired to bed at about 10:30. Both washed out.

-=-

Wednesday January 5, 1983

 Oh yes, I forgot that in the chaos on Sunday night Uncle John E. Rhodes phoned  to wish a happy birth day to Mum and Dad whilst they were at Sue's. He thanked us for the present.

On the subject of John Rhodeses, all is now well with my brother, John P. Rhodes, ___________.

YP: Busy day. Margo says I'm a swot. Policemen have drowned at Blackpool whilst trying to save a dog from the sea off the pier. I am eagerly  awaiting the PM's re-shuffle. Michae Heseltine is expected to get Defence.

The Queen has been giving riding lessons to the Princess of Wales at Sandringham. The poor girl had a nasty experience on horseback years ago and has hated equine beasts ever since. This won't do.

Phoned Lynn at 2. She was let out of hospital at 10:30 and loving being home. Frances was stunned to see her mother breast feeding Katie, and ran away at the sight of a dirty nappy.

Went to see Jacq at lunchtime. She saw the birth announcement in yesterday's YP. 'Where did they get Davina from?' she exclaimed, pulling a face. I like Davina. Surely, it's the feminine of David? People can be very dull and conservative when it comes to names. Ally and I laugh. They will have a blue fit when we come to name ours.

Fish fingers tonight too, drizzled in cheese sauce. Played with my typewriter. Ally still reading 'Penmarric'. I poured another late gin and tonic. Two years ago we decided to get married. Bliss.

-=-

Tuesday January 4, 1983

 The Lada goes away. We are carless once again. To the YP. Slept soundly on the bus to Leeds. Felt even worse than I did yesterday. The phlegm is no better, and am coughing it up thick and green throughout the day. Hideous.

Sarah's taken the rest of the week off to nurse Delia who is very ill with influenza. She hasn't seen daylight since Christmas Eve.

Geoff Hemingway is giving me some tip money for Christopher Ussher's engagement. He's a godson of Princess Mary, the Princess Royal.

News: a maniac is on the loose in West Yorkshire. He's raping and dumping women, tied hand and foot, into canals. Not nice.

Home to find enough Yorkshire puddings to feed and army. To bed at 9:30 with a gin and tonic. A pleasant change from cocoa.

-=-

Monday January 3, 1983

 We sat at the flat in the early hours watching American basketball on BBC2. Ally, bored, reading the Dalesman. I nodded off but kept waking with a start. Finally, at 2:45am I phoned Mum. Lynn had been gone for a couple of hours. We went back to Thorpefields. Our phone call woke Frances, who sat with her grandad singing. David rang at 4:20 to say baby was on it;'s way. He phoned again at 6, and Mum took the call. It's a girl weighing 5lb 14oz who is 51cm long and is to be called Katie Davina. She was born at 5:03am.

Ally took me to the YP for 9am. A quiet, gentle day. Only Margo and I. Escaped at 3 when Ally picked me up. I wrapped a present for Katie as we drove to Otley. Saw my new niece for the first time at 3:45. Mum, Dad, Sue, Audrey and Henry were at the hospital. Baby is tiny, and like a peach. 

To Sue and Pete's. We wanted to go out and eat but couldn't because of Christopher. John, just back from Scotland and without Janette, was telephoned and he reluctantly agreed to babysit. Ally and I took Sue and Pete to the Fox and Hounds, joined by Mum and Dad. We had Porterhouse steaks. It was £18.50 a couple, and we wrote a cheque to Mum, who paid the bill. We sat in the bar until after 11pm. We told them all that we want to pack in our office jobs and do something together. They all agreed and said we should do it immediately. It's good to know that people share our point of view. I am very tempted to go into the office tomorrow and pack the whole lot in. Home at 12. 

-=-

Sunday January 2, 1983

 2nd Sunday after Christmas

Papa is 49 today and Mama is 48. I have it on good authority that Mum was born after 11pm on the night of the 2nd, whilst Dad was born at about 12:30am, only just into the 2nd. They thought Dad, the sixth child, was stillborn when he was delivered, and he weighed well over 10lb.

We were up at 10 for scrambled eggs.The phone rang. It was Mum who said that Lynn has been up since 4am and is probably in the early stages of labour. The soirée planned for this afternoon is therefor postponed. Can one have a soirée in the afternoon anyway? How about mêlée?

We drove over to Guiseley with our birthday presents. (A black visitors book for Dad to use for his guests at Waltergarth, and Quartz perfume for Mum). Sit and had a drink in John's very cold flat. He is still celebrating Hogmanay with Janette in Lochans. Lynn, Dave and Frances came. Baby was tetchy. She knows something catastrophic is about to happen to mummy, poor thing. Lynn looked flushed and nervous. She loathes the thought of hospital. Jim and Margaret come bringing cards and good wishes. They only stayed a while. By 5pm it was just Mum, Dad, Ally and I. The fish and chip shop across the road was open and so we ate. Then we sat watching 'Songs of Praise' from the Falkland Islands. So bloody boring.

Later the phone rang again. It was Lynn having contractions. Mum and Dad went off to Thorpefields telling us to lock up the flat and join then after Lynn's departure for Otley Hospital. We did as asked, but on arriving at Thorpe Lane Dave's car is still sat on the drive. I got out for a closer look only to see David opening the door. Lynn understandably didn't want an audience to watch her labour and so I bolted like a rabbit back down the garden path and into the car and we took off at speed. We went up and down Thorpe Lane about eight times. It was great fun.

Went to see Susie and Pete. Hilda and Tony were there and they said they were heading to Lynn and Dave's with birth birthday cards for Mum and Dad. Sue tried desperately to delay them by topping up their glasses, but couldn't delay them long. They went at 9. I imagined the scene at Thorpefields. Torn sheets, hot water, all the relations sitting around the writhing expectant mother, like a peep show. We went on to John's flat at about midnight.

-=-

Saturday January 1, 1983

 New Year's Day

The first day of another year. I suppose I ought to pen something quite stunning which will grip you and hold your attention for the remaining 364 days. What can I say? I'm only a simple Bradford lad so you'll have to get used to being thoroughly bored.

We breakfasted with Karen and Steve. It lasted about two hours. We kept draining the coffee and then filling up again. Ally lingered in bed longer. _____________.

Karen and Steve were gone at 2. We, feeling remarkably fit, packed up and went to Guiseley via Shipley where we bought some provisions and on to Lynn & Dave's. They were entertaining Dave and Elaine Allinson. Frances is a beautiful little girl who will sing and recite anything.She knows a baby is coming into the family and beams at the mention of it. They are all coming to Bradford tomorrow. On to see Sue, Pete and Christopher for an hour and on to see Mum (at John's flat). They were out. Home. Had steak and chips. Ally to bed at 10. I sat watching a Barbara Stanwyck film until 2.

-=-

Friday December 31, 1982

 YP until after 2.The New Years Honours list published. Nothing spectacular. The lower ones all seem to be water authority chairmen or old ladies who have worked in a Glamorgan canteen since 1914. I wouldn't touch an honour with a barge pole, except for the Garter.

Ally came running down the path after me and bundled me into a car with Mr Taylor and Patricia from the AHA. We went to a fuddle at Chestnut House. Other peoples offices are strange places.

Home at 5 sozzled. Fish and chips. Frantic arranging. Sue and Pete were first in at 8 followed by Patricia and Marcus, Dave L (looking like the 'principal boy' from 'Dick Whittington' in tight trousers and very long suede boots). MM and Marita. Poor Marita is bandaged and yet looks splendid in what looks like an Emanuel gown. To the Coach House. Joined there by Karen, Steve, Jill, Tim, Jacq, Lynne (Jacq's friend), David & Jean Watts, &c. I'll hand it to the Coach House, it was an excellent atmosphere. Balloons, party hats, loud music. We were all thrown into a state of festive euphoria. I had a secret ballot among the revellers which resulted in our return to Ash Tree Cottage on foot at 11:30. The streets were full of drunken people hurrying home to 'see in' the New Year. Cars were driving past us horns a tooting. I supplied everyone with a glass of something gripping and we took up our positions. At a few minutes to 12 we locked MM outside (one has to be tall and dark to fill this role) and we heard the chimes of Big Ben down the air waves courtesy of Radio One. 'Auld Langs Ayne'. 

We formed a conga line and danced out of the house, down the street, and in to Mary's, and then further down the street and back to ours having collected some neighbours, including Mary, into the chain on the way. One of Mary's friends, Rose, a comely Mrs Mills type, seated herself at our piano and banged out old tunes for over an hour. We stood around singing like the Vienna Boys' Choir. Mary attempted a Charleston and fell over and required assistance back to her place. Food magic. Music magic.

Everything went off remarkably well. It was one of our better parties. So good having MM and Marita with us. She always says that to see a Rhodes on New Years Eve brings good fortune in the coming year. New comers to our house express admiration for our interior design ability. I don't they say this just to be nice and for something to say. It happens far too often.

This was our first New Year party at Bradford. MM says that when George Orwell wrote '1984' he hadn't taken Margaret Thatcher into account. I couldn't agree more. We both agree that Mrs T will win the next general election when it comes.

Di and Paul didn't come. Paul has had a fracas with Tim. __________. Sue was all in black and thank God is back to her old self. Her face has given up that sickly look which I found terrifying.

Dave L had his usual dance with Steve and then slipped into a coma on the settee. He later found his way up to bed complaining he was feeling sick. All went home except Dave L, Karen and Steve. The Sandersons slept in a sleeping bag downstairs.

Ally and I went up to bed at 5am on January 1, 1983, feeling happy and moderately sober. God give us 70 more New Years.

--=-

Thursday December 30, 1982

 Full Moon

Nothing really. YP dismal. Michael Brown was fretting about the New Years Honours list this afternoon. Apparently none of the recipients this year could be found in our files. I could not be bothered looking at the list, embargoed as yet.

Ally and I went to Morrison's in the Lada. I felt lousy all day. Headache. Thick phlegm. Bought the usual party things. My aches and pains didn't help my temper, but the peasants jostling for fish fingers and toilet rolls reaffirmed my belief in the sanctity of mankind and I emerged from the supermarket beaming , and humming a Beethoven sonata. Bumped into Catherine and David Alderson.

Made smoked mackerel pâté, profiteroles, &c. Watched Top of the Pops. To bed late. Exhausted.

-=-

Wednesday December 29, 1982

Uncle Albert.

 On this day I always think of my Uncle Albert Wilson (Nov 1895-Dec 1969).

To the YP. Felt ill. Dry throat and sniffles. We are all looking 'off it'. Typical.  I did obituaries. Lord Sherborne died on Christmas Day and is succeeded by his 85 year-old kinsman who lives in Alresford.

Tonight Ally stood ironing by the light of the Christmas tree. I poured a few gins with bobbing ice cubes, and floating citrus fruits. Yes, lemon. Phoned people to make sure they've remembered our party. Spoke to Dave L and MM who says Marita fell over outside the Black Bull on the Monday before Christmas and broke a bone in her foot. The poor girl crawled for 50 yards down Horsforth Town Street and nobody stopped to assist. Talk about the Good Samaritan. Phoned Jackie Myers, Jacq Sate and Denise Akroyd, but had no response from this trio. Unfortunate. Is Jackie M in Torremolinos with Barry?

Bed after a whisky.

-=-

Tuesday December 28, 1982

 Bank Holiday in UK & Republic of Ireland

Up with the larks. Ally and I spent the morning cutting sandwiches, making sausages on sticks, &c. James, one of the godfathers arrived, and an order came through to the kitchen to make sandwiches for him. Am I am a servant, or what? 

The Cricketers.

Matthew Frank Graham Dixon was baptised at Kingsworthy Church by his maternal grandfather at 3pm. Baby bawled throughout which was fun. Tea and sandwiches back at Chillandham Cross afterwards. We did have sparkling wine to toast the infant. Ally and I had a lift back to the house with Dr Gaffikin, the GP who 'looked after her' several years ago. He's a little man in a double breatsed waistcoat._________. 

Afterwards we decamped to the Cricketer's Arms at Easton just for a few, and left at 8:30. A good journey. Home to Bradford at 12. Bessie will miss us. I think we have helped this Christmas.

-=-

Monday December 27, 1982

 Bank Holiday in the UK & Republic of Ireland

Vast breakfast was followed by 'Ben Hur' and a swift one at the Plough. Tony, who is a godfather tomorrow, is now at York University, and now realises that the north of England isn't all mill chimneys and scenes reminiscent of Coronation Street.

At dinner tonight we had roast lamb and I caused a sensation by making Yorkshire puddings. Why do folk think they can only be eaten with beef?

James Bond afterwards. I cannot cope with Bond and went and did the washing up. The Rev and Mrs Matthew Lynn called in. Ally and Bessie prepared a table for the baptism tomorrow. Forty eight million sandwiches to cut tomorrow.

Andrew and I watched 'Convoy'. It is one of those dreadful films which would be funny if it wasn't trying to convey some sort of message.

-=-

Sunday December 26, 1982

Cart & Horses.

 1st Sunday after Christmas

Food in Edwardian proportions yet again. Massive fried breakfast. Frank is very good with the baby, and seems to be one of the few people capable of calming him. He looked at our Lanzarote photos and talked about his holiday at the end of January. He fancies Madeira.

Spent only half an hour at the Cart and Horses where numerous members of the Lynn family were assembled. Trevor Lynn, Gill's brother, and Teri Weymes announced their engagement yesterday. Back at Chillandham Cross at 3 Frank and Bessie went out for a stroll and I raided the drinks and poured us all an enormous one. Watched Peter Sellers in 'Two Way Stretch'.

Enormous dinner. Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding. Ally wore one of my old shirts, and her mother's ruby necklace. It is rumoured to have cost £5,000. Afterwards we were unable to move. Graham slept on the floor behind the settee. Coincidentally we watched an Agatha Christie play on the telly about a body behind a settee, starring Penelope Keith. Eerie. The only difference was that our body was snoring very loudly, and occasionally breaking wind.

-=-

Saturday December 25, 1982

 Christmas Day

My first Christmas Day away from my parents. Up at 9:30 drinking tea. I inspected the Christmas tree. Not good. It has no lights since they fused several nights ago. A very disappointing specimen. Presents and wrapping paper everywhere, like 'Sale of the Century' (a dreadfully low TV programme designed for the old and greedy). Phoned Mum.

Chilland Barn.

To Chilland Barn for drinks with Freddie and Avril Hargreaves. I'm jealous of the house. Bessie became merry on the wine. At 1:30 we returned for lunch which Ally and I helped to organise. Bessie does get herself in a fluster. The full works. Poor baby Matthew wailed throughout and consequently Gill was absent for most of the meal. Our plates were piled high. It is Graham's theory that you are not greedy if you manage to eat everything, and only become so when when food is left on the plate. We had the pudding in the sitting room after The Queen, who talked about Frobisher and Drake and the Falklands and, for the first time in many years, from Windsor Castle. We all dropped off to sleep beneath our paper hats and our snores drowned out the TV which was awful anyway. Graham and Gill went to the Rectory for 5. We watched Agatha Christie's 'Death on the Nile'. Felt sproggy, no doubt caused by the burning logs. Bed by 1am.

-=-

Friday December 24, 1982

 The eve of Christmas. To the YP for the age-old tradition of present swapping and merriment. We always sit behind the filing cabinets being hideously cheerful with each other. Kathleen especially is like Mother Teresa of Calcutta, and other wrinkled saintly persons. I gave Mrs Slocombe the soaps that she had given to Sarah. It all went off splendidly. I'm hoping for an Oscar. The Asti Spumante saw us through to 12:30 when we drifted away.

Ally came to collect me in the little yellow Lada and we left immediately for Winchester. I clutched a bottle of Dry Martini all the way, sipping leisurely. Ally was bright as a bobbin (or is it a new pin?), and nearing the journey's end she serenaded me with carols. At Chillandham Cross for 6:30. Saw Matthew for the first time. He is such a tiny person. Everyone says he looks like Frank, but all babies look like Frank. Little, bald and sleepy.

Ally was shagged out and didn't want to go out which upset Graham. We sat with Bessie and Frank and retired at 12.

-=-

Thursday December 23, 1982

 Festive. Cold. Went to Denton's at lunch and wrote a cheque for £36. for the amethyst and gold ring I've had my eye on for Ally for weeks. It was a relief to see it was still on the shelf. Bought Asti Spumante for the office fuddle tomorrow, if that's what it is. I often think it's more like a funeral.

Met Ally at Rackham's at 6:30 and we spent two hours walking around the shops. They stayed open until 9 tonight for the maniacal, hysterical shoppers. Bought napkins for Bessie and a dressing gown for Frank, &c. Home. Pork pies by the fire. Mario Lanza warbling in the background. Ally gave me a typewriter! I never guessed. She loves the amethyst ring. A perfect fit. Duran Duran's LP. Exhausted. 

Noel! Our second married one.

-=-

Wednesday December 22, 1982

 Shortest Day

I'm not feeling 100 per cent. 

Hasn't 1982 been a momentous year? Prince William, Koo Stark, the Falklands War, Princess Grace of Monaco, the loss of Arthur Askey, tumbling inflation, 76,000,000 unemployed. I had no dental treatment all year.

To Guiseley at 7:30 with a sack of presents. Mum and Dad have a new car, a Renault 5, which is four years old, and formerly the motor of Mr Webster, a YP printer. John made a flying visit and beat a retreat, after looking at his presents, to see Chris and Pete. Carol J saw John last night in the White Hart at Pool with an unidentified lady, clearly the mental nurse Janet. (She's a nurse who looks after mental patients at High Royds Hospital, not mental herself of course). He is a lad, my brother.

Swapped gifts with the Nasons and devoured pies and sandwiches. We kissed goodbye until after the festivities. On to Thorpefields where Lynn and Dave were listening to Christmas carols around the plastic tree. I would never have thought it of them. The tree that is. Swapped gifts here too and left at 12. Shattered. Despite all the criticism I think that the Pantry (as I call the Lada) goes very well.

Tuesday December 21, 1982

 Thrilling luncheon with Sarah, Margo and Carol J at Da Mario's (as usual). Devoured the usual panzerotti and gallon of wine. The dark, Latin waiter took a fancy to Margo and she got extra cream on her Black Forest gateau as a result. It was a sombre affair quite in keeping with tradition. I only hope I'll be gone from the library by this time next year, though I cannot see how.

I am going to have to bring all my very great acting powers to the fore on Friday at the annual exchange of Christmas gifts twixt the library staff. I am giving Mrs Slocombe the Bronnley soaps which she herself gave to Sarah on Sarah's birthday only a month ago. We believe that Marilyn Wheeler gave the soaps to Mrs Slocombe, who then passed them on to Sarah, who then gave them to me to give back to Mrs S! So wonderfully wicked and fun.

The Lada estate is here. We went over to Pudsey at 8 with our cards. Jill and Tim came and Di and Paul brought a video recorder and we watched our wedding tape. Home at 12 after two glasses of cucumber wine.

-=-

Monday December 20, 1982

 Yes folks, it's Christmas time and once again Michael Rhodes is going down with pneumonia. It's the same every year. Santa brings presents for everyone else but me. Oh no, not me. I get the snots.

We are laying our hands on a motor car as from tomorrow for the two weeks until the end of the festivities. A Lada which is costing us £103. J. Paul Getty all over again. It will please Precious, who secretly despises being car-less, and we can play at Santa Claus without the use of public transport.

-=-

Sunday December 19, 1982

 4th Sunday in Advent

A day at John's flat. Struggling with cold. Joined by Mum and Dad.  Drinking, and eating pork pies until 6. Mum doesn't know that Janette is coming down for Christmas and for an indefinite period afterwards. This news may not be well received. I will be glad to be out of it in Winchester. John drove us home at 7:30 and then went off to play squash with Chris Ratcliffe at Harehills. Ate at 10. Bed afterwards.

-=-

Saturday December 18, 1982

 I was awake at 8:30 listening to Dad pottering around. We emerged for breakfast. We regret last night's excesses, but I didn't feel too bad. Brewed coffee (we have a new coffee-maker from Bessie). I cannot write. Everything is so bitty.

Over to Guiseley at 10. To Thorpefields, Lynn and Dave's new home. A good, solid family-sized house which they'll be able to fill with babies. Spent the whole day travelling between Burley and Guiseley in a large van, loading and unloading. Ghastly. 

To Sue's afterwards, and then out at 8 to the Station (Hotel). Felt shattered. We consisted of: Ally, I, Dave L, John, Jill, Tim, Sue, Pete, Lynn, Dave B, & Chris and Peter came on in at 10:30. Mr & Mrs Brotherwood too. Tony in a trilby. To the flat afterwards. Not a large turn out, but fun. _______ came with her tiny, yet perfectly formed Duran Duran friend and thery proceeded to copulate on the settee. It was great viewing. Spent the evening avoiding toad-like people. John's neighbour, a nurse from the asylum, by the name of Janet, arrived and grabbed hold of John and held his attention all night. A very forward young lady. 

Dave L, Tim and I went across the road to a flat above the fish and chip shop to investigate reports of another lively party taking place, but found nothing but a very old woman tucked up in bed. Felt like Michael Fagan, the intruder who entered the Queen's bedroom.

Back at John's: Sue was in good spirits, and brought the house down. (Peter) Lazenby arrived late and stood cuddling Ally asking me to 'take care of her'. Jill informs us that my cousin's wife, Jennifer Myers, is expecting her third child next summer. Janet took John off to her flat to inspect her Beatles LPs, and the party drifted away into the ice and snow. Ally and I found a bed.

-=-

Friday December 17, 1982

 Go to the market. Very festive. Buy wrapping paper and some cards. Horribly wet day, utterly miserable.

Left the YP at 4 and stood for 45 minutes waiting for a bus, again. By the time I arrived home I was depressed. Very unfestive. Ally looking pale. She says she feels odd ___________.

Mum and Dad came at 7:30 from John's and we cheered up considerably over dinner. Scampi, profiteroles, &c. Dad messed around with the clock and managed to get it going again. Drink flowed. Mum drank liqueurs like water. Cointreau and Tia Maria. After midnight we gave them their Christmas presents and they were delighted. Mum sat fondling her Lanzarote tablecloth, and beaming. The scene reminiscent of Christmas day. Torn wrapping paper and broken Brazil nut shells everywhere. We finally retired to bed at 4am.

-=-

Thursday December 16, 1982

 Hail, the lot. The gales have calmed down but snow is now on the way. By evening it did come, and the skies were white and threatening.. It looks as if my green wellies are going to be put to use after all.

We have a Christmas card from the anonymous man at number 12, who signs himself 'Charles Eyden'. A grand sounding name, I think.  Poor man, he sees no one.

YP: No Kathleen or Sarah today. News: Michael Heseltine is increasing our rates next year. Ian MacDonald, the MOD official and spokesman, has been slated for his angling of the Falklands thing. I thought he was brilliant. He made our so-called broadcasters on TV news today look like pantomime dames. The BBC news has now stooped to employing an Irishman as political editor. I strain to understand what is going on, and occasionally grasp the word 'Thatcher' and the phrase 'back bench rebels'. Nine new life peers were announced today. Welsh solicitors, &c. The Earl of Crawford's daughter is engaged to the son of the librarian at Windsor - one for the diary.

Mother phoned this morning whilst on 'Christopher watch'. Dad was out with Susie shopping. They had a cheque yesterday for £31,000 for the sale of Pine Tops. It was hurriedly placed in the bank. They dined afterwards at the Damn Yankee.

Home to Ally. We had sandwiches. Bake afterwards. I made a batch of profiteroles and Ally some mince pies. The smell of food is driving me insane. Watched sweaty 'Tenko' again. It's a real fun-packed show, that.

Sir Robin Day, &c.

-=-

Wednesday December 15, 1982

 New Moon

90 MPH gale force winds throughout Yorkshire - a dreadful day. Ally had a second day off to put the finishing touches to her Christmas preparations. The house is looking excellent. Last week it resembled an Afghanistan bomb site. Poached eggs. 

YP: Sarah off. Worked through lunch listening to the wind howling outside. Mrs Slocombe coughing over her typewriter like at inmate of St Gemma's Hospice. Margo is rapidly becoming the office comedian. 'What is the number one record in Heaven?' she asked. My curiosity aroused. 'Wide Eyed and Legless', she answers, ' a duet by Marty Feldman and Arthur Askey'.

Home at 6. Ally looking like a rugby player in a striped shirt. We had dumplings in mince and a rice pudding. We have had some Christmas cards from my great-aunt Anne (Kirk) and Uncle Tom in Barrowford.

Ally sat watching 'Dallas'. I'm astonished that she finds it entertaining. Dave L phoned  and was abrupt. He wanted to come over last Thursday but we were out dining with the Wattses. He asked whether John's party is still on. I told him yes. He also enquired about ours at New Year. Will he bring his punk pals? We have a new carpet. To bed at 9:30.

-=-

Tuesday December 14, 1982

 Somewhat wintry. The usual sort of day. Worked through lunch and left at 4:30, but didn't get on a bloody bus until 5. Met Ally in the interchange and we got an 88 (bus) to Pudsey. To the home of Auntie Mabel, matriarch of the Wilson family. We dined on tuna salad, roast chicken, apple pie and cream. Because we are ruled by the buses our stay was short, and we swapped Christmas cards and looked at the photos of Lanzarote. The gas fire, belting out heat like a furnace, reminiscent of one of those steelworks before they all closed down.

We had a good dig at some of our relations, including her 'posh' niece A____ W. Auntie Mabel sat reading the Court Circular - out loud. We left at 9:15. Home at 10. 

Saw Peter Firth in 'The Flipside of Dominick Hide' - the sequal. Brilliant. Then to bed. A very cold night.

-=-

Monday December 13, 1982

 Fun on public transport. A bus inspector climbed onto the No 72. This little chappie was a real little mobile Alexei Sayle. He addressed the passengers with a tale about a less fortunate traveller whom he said he thought had fallen asleep, and journeyed between Rodley and Leeds eight times before the bus driver discovered he was dead. 'He just missed seeing Santa Claus', he added.

Ally is like a baby at Christmas time. Her eyes gleaming as she skips around smelling at the pine branches of the tree, and shaking presents like a little gnome. She spent lunchtime buying presents and we spent the evening wrapping them and writing Christmas cards. We send horrible cards with pictures of dogs and mice to the neighbours. It's our theory that they are all old and blind anyway. How's that for Christmas spirit? We played our only Christmas LP which is Mario Lanza singing carols. He has trouble singing the word 'Israel'.

Coronation Street: the cast is now growing so old it is hard to understand what they say. 

Sunday December 12, 1982

 3rd Sunday in Advent

Ally and I slept in John's bed, and he slept on his ghastly settee. We were awakened at 12 by Lynn and Dave with Frances, and a roll of carpet. I got up to vomit. Ally (so cruel) laughing in her bed at the sounds of me heaving and David banging around laying the carpet. All too much for me.

Eggs, bacon, sausages, then we left left John's building site of a flat to go to West End Terrace, now the Nason/Rhodes residence. The poor people are all sitting round, almost on top of each other, but seem happy. Christopher was everywhere. I don't think I could cope with him. I'd go mad. John brought us home at 5, and we dug up the Christmas tree in the garden and erected it by the fireside. Ours is such a romantic, cosy house. The epitome of Yuletide. Fish pie and carrots.

-=-

Saturday December 11, 1982

 Lounged in bed for hours on end. Bliss. We spent the afternoon dragging our feet around the shops. Town was packed out. Bought John a blind, Lynn and Dave glasses, and Sue perfume.Back at dusk, heavily laden. We ate something or other slumped on the settee. Ally was gloomy at the thought of a party and sat with a long face. I taped Duran Duran as she splashed in the bath, and at 7 we went to Guiseley. Ally was frozen in her peep toe shoes and we arrived blue and frosty at Victoria Road. John was watching a John Wayne epic on his new colour tv. At 9 we went over to the Station (Hotel). A packed house. Joined by Sarah, Trevor, Carol, with the President Carter look-alike, Stephanie, &c. Denise, with her bearded fiance, was in the pub and so was Christine Braithwaite. All on to [Peter] Lazenby's. A blur. Denise and I were all over each other - but just in fun. Ally enjoyed herself. It was all a bit too much for Sarah, who left disgustingly early. Carol Phillips there too. Another night of nostalgia, but no regret. I spent the whole night in a corridor. Big Jill and I played suggestively with a banana. Late on I misplaced Ally and instigated a major search. Crossed the road to John's flat and found him alseep on the settee. No sign of Ally. Back at Lazenby's I found her sitting in a bedroom with Denise solving the world's problems. To the flat at 4. Punch-drunk.

-=-

Friday December 10, 1982

 YP: Prince William of Wales is to accompany his parents on their Commonwealth tour next Spring against my expectations. I think perhaps he should stay here, but it must be heart-rending to part with children for weeks on end. The Press say it's Diana putting her foot down, but the Prince of Wales is a great softy, I bet.

To Rawdon at 5:30 for a session with the dentist. I need a couple of fillings, which he'll do next month. Whilst waiting to go in I sat looking at tropical fish in a large tank. Very theraputic.

Home at 6:30. Ally has a spiffing repast laid out on my arrival. Roast pork, apple sauce, roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, &c. Exquisite. Flickering candles too. 

Phoned Sue at 9. She had spent the whole day in hospital with Christopher who had his tongue clipped underneath. I had mine done at six weeks but the doctor did it with a pair of scissors in his surgery. This runs in the family. 

-=-

Thursday December 9, 1982

 Cold. A thin layer of snow. Pay day. Made my usual pilgrimage into town. The ring I've spotted for Ally is still in the window at Denton's. I must go and put down a deposit - sod the expense. Spent £3 on a Christmas card for Ally and three sheets of wrapping paper. The picture on the front of the card is of a burning log fire in a 3-D form which looks as though it's burning. How romantic.

We sat this evening (after baths) with a pre-prandial drink. David and Jean Watts came at 8 and took us to Haworth for a pizza. Didn't bump into Emily Bronte, but in true tradition it rained. Haworth is always wet. A reasonable meal, but Ally's corn on the cob was cold, and my pizza was lacking in cheese. Surprisingly, David footed the bill when it should have been me, and would take no money. We moved on to a pub where I got us all a drink. Discuss photography. Back to the Watts pile at Wilsden, where we had mead and a coffee. David reminds me of Ian Appleyard. He drove us home after 12. A very pleasant evening.

-=-

Wednesday December 8, 1982

 Cold. Phoned Sue who was cheerful and pleased to be at home. It's Christopher's turn next. He's having his tongue snipped on Friday.

To Guiseley for a nostalgic evening at Pine Tops with Mum and Dad. Our last visit. Packing cases everywhere. We sat and watched 'Minder'. Dad drove us home after 12. We took their house plants. No great sadness, but not a dry eye in the place.

-=-

Tuesday December 7, 1982

 Lashing rain. To the YP after boiled eggs. Photos of Lanzarote arrived in the post and we sat over breakfast looking at pictures of camels and PC (Sheila's tiny dog). PC is short for Pipe Cleaner.

Sarah hated the course upstairs. She had to endure hour after hour of Austin-Clarke droning on and on. He explained to her, and to anybody else who listened, how he arrived at the YP in 1966 in the nick of time to save the ailing company. Sarah brough an old pine towel stand into the office and I fell for it for £20. She's in no hurry for the money. It will form part of Ally's Christmas present.

Lord James Crichton-Stuart, who was first married to the current Begum Aga Khan, has died. She's a bit of all right is the Begum.

Went looking at rings for Ally at lunch. Saw a pretty one for £36. 

Thought about Sue all day, but can do nothing. She's having some sort of procedure. Mum phoned at 7 to say Sue is satisfactory, and back on the ward, but was awaiting a full report from Peter. Mum added that Christopher has enjoyed helping them pack today. 'It gave him something to do'. He isn't even one year-old. He isn't 16. 

John slept at Victoria Road last night. I bet he hasn't told them about Janette.

Didn't get home until 6:15. Carrying a pine towel stand onto public transport was interesting. I hid it from Ally, who was wide-eyed with curiosity.

-=-

Monday December 6, 1982

 Up late. Not enthusiastic. Miserable journey to the YP. My 72 (bus) didn't materialize. Found Margo looking peeved. Carol is off with a cold and Sarah is upstairs in personnel being brainwashed. Kathleen is of course Christmas shopping.

Busy day. From the diary pages of the tabloids I see that no royals turned out for the wedding at the weekend of Georgina Butter, kinswoman of Prince Philip, and cousin of Sacha Abercorn and Natalia Westminster. The Daily Express reveals that Lady Romsey has given birth to a daughter. I didn't know that the lady was pregnant. I must be losing my touch.

Phoned Auntie Mabel. We are going on Tuesday. Phoned Mum. Dad pranged the Toyota in the ice this morning, an accident which has signed the car's death warrant. He wasn't hurt. 

This evening Bessie was on the phone - the christening saga again. She is getting in a state about it. Phoned Susie and wished her all the best for the op tomorrow. Spoke to Mum too. Pine Tops is upside down and she's seriously thinking about phoning the Samaritans. She's going through all her possessions and becoming nostalgic.  We are going on Wednesday to say farewell to the old place. Lynn had a dizzy turn on Saturday night. Dad is doing too much, &c. Life here in Bradford is so tranquil in comparison. Dave L phoned and I told him about John's flat warming party. He is a fool.

-=-

Sunday December 5, 1982

 2nd Sunday in Advent

Brothers: John & Lawrence

Slept until noon. Our Lanzarote photos arrived yesterday and we took them to Guiseley. Mum commented that Uncle John looks older than Dad. Wrong. 

I laid the floor covering here in the kitchen. I almost called it lino, but that would be wrong. There was a 3-D film on the BBC but we don't have the specs to view it and so the picture was blurred. We had lamb again. 

Look at Harold Nicolson's diary. Such a mixed up little man. I must read Nigel Nicolson's book about the marriage of Harold N and Vita Sackville-West.

We went to bed at 9:30 to avoid Esther Rantzen.

Saturday December 4, 1982

 Crumpets in bed with lashings of tea. To town afterwards to pay our carpet installment, and to buy a few Christmas presents. Got John and Sheila an Aynsley vase. Other odds and ends. Back home at 2:30 to find a van outside and Papa and John in the house. John had slipped his hand into the letter box and unlocked the door. We really must make sure we lock up properly. 

John drove us to Guiseley, almost piling the car up on route. He can be a very worrying driver. Move furniture from Pine Tops to Victoria Road, where John has found a large flat. Dave B was sulking because his removal date has been put back a week. He was positively furious. 

John drove me to Horsforth to collect his velvet curtains. He told me that Lynne Mather has become engaged to her boss, who has two homes here and one in New Zealand. Good for her. Chris Ratcliffe is going out with Judith Lea, and Christine Braithwaite is back in Yorkshire. 

Had a Chinese take-away with Mum and Dad. Frances is an angel but screams the place down at the first mention of bed. Lynn's health visitor says there's something wrong with the child because she hasn't walked yet.

John, itching for a drink, took us to the White Cross, the Woolpack and the Dog and Gun. Home later for drinks and a Lon Chaney film. John offered us the use of his car for Yuletide. We couldn't possibly accept. Janette is coming to Yorkshire for the festivities. That will certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons. He hinted also that Dad is going to give us the Toyota. Ally wouldn't take it.

-=-

Friday December 3, 1982

Fresh bread for breakfast and then out into the cold.  YP. Nothing thrilling.

News: Labour won another by-election. Well, they didn't win it, they held it. 

Sarah is back. The decorating must have reached a happy conclusion. I did nothing this afternoon and skulked around the office like a rat.

Tonight Ally sat and wrote me a wonderful letter addressed to Santa Claus setting out her demands. I roared with laughter. She wants an Afghan (a dog of course, and not one of the sweaty rebellious humans). She'd call him Clarence.

Glynnie phoned to talk about Tenerife. He sounds to have had an excellent time on the bottle. He met up with a pack of landlords from Bristol, or somewhere.

To bed very early.

-=-

Thursday December 2, 1982

 Cold, frosty morn. Have I mentioned Auntie Mabel? She phoned the other day and invited us to lunch on Dec 12. It is the day after Lazenby's (party) and so today I phoned her to cancel. We'll go some other time, obviously before Christmas.

Sarah still off. Must be having trouble with her wallpaper paste. YP abysmal. Kathleen cannot grasp why we want a day off in lieu for Christmas day. She says Christmas day falls on a Saturday, and we do not ususally work on a Saturday, so why are we entitled to a day in lieu? Silly cow. 1983 is going to have to be bye bye YP. I'm going to become a rock star, a leading author, or just a simple sex symbol. Ally's a little sex symbol already.

Out at lunchtime and purchased Molly Keane'sbook for Ally, which I stumbled upon quite accidentally in Austick's. Put £3 in our building society account. I'm hoping to buy a derelict Georgian vicarage with a minimum of 20 rooms. Club Street is all very well but one must expand.

Tony Benn has been shouting his mouth off about the Royal Family. He's unhappy with the Regency Act and says that should Prince William be jetitsoned onto the throne before he is 18 by the premature deaths of the Queen and Prince of Wales, then he will be quite unfit to reign, and that a Labour government would have no dealings with Prince Andrew as regent.

Ally had fish and chips waiting when I arrived home. Bliss.

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Wednesday December 1, 1982

Charlie Cairoli.

Ally better but not 100 per cent. Because of this christening business we may have to hire a car. The thought of public transport all the way to Winchester just isn't our style. Car hire people are such robbing bastards though. To the YP with a red spot on the end of my nose reminiscent of the late Charlie Cairoli. 

YP poor. Sarah still off. She must be having trouble with her plumb line. The Queen Mother is back in circulation after her op. We'd be a dull nation without her. Spoke to mother. She says Pine Tops looks like 'Steptoe's yard' and is upside down. John's things are everywhere too, and they are living out of packing cases. Very sad. Twelve years in one spot is a long time for Mum and Dad.

Home cold. Eat like a wolf. We are both sick of the drudgery of work. What is the point of it all? Working for the money to keep a house which we rarely see because we are always working. It's an odd sort of world.

Coronation Street: Stan Ogden cannot go on much longer.

At the earliest opportunity we go up to bed and read. Harold Nicolson at war. Lights out by 12.

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Tuesday November 30, 1982

 St Andrew's Day

Brighter, but bitterly cold. Ally is feeling weak ____________. She wrapped me up in a scarf and packed me off to the YP. The days are gone when I could often be seen walking around in shirt sleeves well into January.

Diana: unhappy

Sarah is off. 'Pneumogettingthekitchendecorateditis'. We all do it though.

(Nigel) Dempster says (for the first time, I think) that the marriage of the Prince and Princess of Wales is unhappy. She (Diana) doesn't share Charles's love of the great outdoors, and Nigel insists that 'sources close to the Royal Family' worry about the amount of leisure time they spend apart. We'll have twenty years of divorce rumours now. Poor souls, they'll never be left in peace.

News: The oldest peer Lord Rathcavan has died aged 99. The next in line for 'oldest peer' is Lord Citrine, who led the TUC at the time of the General Strike. Next after him is Fenner Brockway, the old fool. Vote Labour, Live Longer. Perhaps the next Labour party political broadcast could show Michael Foot surrounded by lefty centenarians. It would work wonders.

Still no reply from Guiseley. Are they still at Ruby's? Seems odd.

Bessie phoned us by mistake thinking she was ringing Graham. They are going to fix the time of Matthew's christening around our travelling arrangements. Gill phoned too. Matthew is over 9lbs. She thought Lanzarote was nothing more than a volcano. 

Went up to bed at 9:30. (I got in the bath and Ally got into bed).

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Monday November 29, 1982

 The frost continues. We were cheerful at breakfast and sat eating home made bread and jam. Ally takes too long eating and dropped jam everywhere then blamed me saying I make her laugh too much.

To the YP. Sarah's last Monday until after her librarian exams. Quite gloomy really. Went out at 1:30 and ate a sandwich in the park. I regard Park Square as my own. A silly woman was covered head to foot in pigeons.

Phoned Guiseley but got no response. They must still be in Norfolk. Phoned Ally. We are dining with David and Jean Watts on December 9. 

Queen Helen of Rumania, a first cousin of the Duke of Edinburgh, has died aged 86. She was the second wife of the lecherous King Carol II, and the mother of King Michael.

Tonight we had sandwiches and pots of tea. Poverty stricken we are after last week's jaunt to the Canaries. Still, it was worth it. At the office they are jealous as hell of my winter holiday and it's hardly been mentioned since I got back. 

Coronation St. Ally irons and reads 'Penmarric' by Susan Howatch. She tried knitting but gave up. She has bought baby clothes on Duckworth Lane for Christmas for Frances and Christopher. We switched the TV off at 8. Millions of people just sit watching like cabbages every night. We carried sandwiches up to bed and read our books. Finished Ken Follett. Slept near 12.

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Sunday November 28, 1982

 Advent Sunday

Refused to set foot out of the house all day. I did carry some egg shells to the dustbin, but that was all. Scrambled eggs and baked beans for breakfast after which we broke out into furious activity of a domestic nature and re-arranged the bedroom furniture. John is collecting our spare wardrobe at the weekend and we have a mass of paraphernalia to sort out. I half watched two films on the telly and played with the demijohns of wine.Bottled some apple wine which we started in January. Joyful domesticity, no less.

Auntie Mabel phoned to invite us to Sunday lunch on December 12. It's the night after Lazenby's (party) so I doubt whether we will be in a fit state to go. I will phone her next week. 

Bessie phoned at 7. Graham and Gill have been to see them with Matthew. It's Dr Gaffikin's opinion that the baby looks like Bessie. The Lynns think he looks like Frank.

Ate a vast dinner and collapsed afterwards. Saw the final part of the RSC's 'Nickleby' on Channel 4 which took us to bedtime at 10. Looked at Harold Nicolson's diary 1930-64. 

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Saturday November 27, 1982

 Freezing. The cold is unbearable. After breakfast we wrapped ourselves up and went out into the wilds to find a bus to Guiseley. Mum and Dad have gone with Hilda and Tony to Bunwell in Norfolk for Ruby and Arthur's golden wedding celebrations which take place tomorrow.

Christopher.

To West End Terrace. Christopher is romping, and it took all four of us to entertain him for the afternoon. Sue made a casserole which we all ate at 4. John came in and was very quiet. He'd been out with David B on Thursday and had put away eight pints. He's playing squash tomorrow. He took us to Burley-in-Wharfedale at 5. Our last visit to Lawn Road. Frances was in the bath, quite the little girl flashing her eyes. We had roast chicken with Lynn and Dave and post-prandial drinks. Their new home 41 Thorpe Lane is called Thorpefields. Ally and I marvel at the Baker capacity to afford a £36,000 house. It must be a frightening experience. At 10 we went out and got on a frosty bus. Bradford at 11. Bed at 12 with cocoa and hot water bottles.

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Friday November 26, 1982

Queen in Leeds.

 Frost. To the YP. Busy. Kathleen, 39 yesterday, took a half-day. No great news to report in my absence.The Queen Mother and the saga of the salmon bone, of course, and then Princess Michael of Kent confided in someone at a dinner that baby Prince William has 'tufts of red hair'. This has been strenuously denied by the Princess of Wales who says her son is blonde, big and blue-eyed. Her Majesty the Queen was in Leeds today to open the Henry Moore extension. Muriel Rawnsley was presented. I went to look at the bunting but missed the spectacle because the visit fell outside my lunch hour. I am told the Queen wore a fur coat. Good for her. That's one in the eye for the boring mink conservationists.

Mrs Slocombe found out yesterday that Sarah is going on the management course. She was furious. Apparently, I am next on the list. Blimey, just two heart beats from the chief librarianship, and by-passing the ridiculous Mrs S. Fun and games.

It's incredible to think that Mum, Dad, Lynn and Dave, and John will all be moving house within hours of each other. Utter confusion. Christmas will be a peculiar disjointed affair. We told Mum last night that we would be going to Winchester this year, and she seemed cool about it. She cannot expect us to go to her every Christmas, surely? 

Home at 6 for veg soup. Lots of books arrived including a damaged 'Royal Heritage' which must go back. To bed early.

Thursday November 25, 1982

 A day of waiting at Arrecife airport. In the morning (we were up at 9) we had bacon sandwiches with John & Sheila. John is such a typical English eater, even after five years of exile. Sheila drove us to Puerto De Carmen and left us for a couple of hours. We bought perfume and a couple of tablecloths at £10 each. I don't think wer were robbed. Sat in a German bar drinking Campari sodas mocking a bloated character with an enormous, sickly ice cream. 

Sheila & John.

At Macher we said goodbye to the dogs and went with John to the airport. We sat at a dining table for three hours playing with an omelette and gin and tonics. It's fascinating to watch John 'wheeling and dealing'. Sheila ordered chicken for lunch, but got rabbit.

Our flight was an hour late at 4:30. John stood watching as we flew away. A long flight. Read Ken Follett, but not seriously. Landed at Gatwick and then flew at 9:15 to Manchester, arriving about 20 minutes later. Just had time for a coffee and biscuits. Met by Mum & Dad. They'd been falling out about something. Mum was not herself. They are leaving Pine Tops on December 8, and will be homeless until January. 

Home for 11.

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Wednesday November 24, 1982

 The sirocco arrived. I hadn't realised that we were only 60 miles from the Sahara. Anyway, the sky was overcast with a sandy wind blowing over, blotting out the sun, on this our last day. Sheila is furious and thinks we have had a terrible week.

To Puerto Del Carmen and into a shop and asked to see tablecloths. The little man showed us one for 14,600 pesetas (that's £70). We laughed. Of course we cannot afford this. The price was immediately reduced by 25 per cent "because you are tourists and go home tomorrow". I didn't like the way that a shopkeeper knew of our travel arrangements. He reduced the price again and again, finally halting at 4,000 pesetas. We told him we only had 3,000, and walked out. He stood at the door yelling "bloody English".

Ate pizzas and drank mateus rosé in a tatty German café. We decide that we'll open a restaurant one day. What else can we do other than cook? I think that together we'd make quite a creative team. A newspaper stand caught my eye. The Daily Star announcing that the Queen Mother is in hospital having a fish bone removed from her throat.

Out with J & S to the Vic. John paid. The Norwegian lady is a bore on second meeting. John and Sheila have endured her for five years. Ally and I went to the Waikiki afterwards. Pena Coladas. Back to the house in a taxi at 1:30.

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Tuesday November 23, 1982

 Sheila packed us off on one of those terrible 'touristy' trips around the island. We went for free, thank God. A coach took us up a mountain or should I say volcano, where we had a camel ride. The woman sat behind us described Timanfaya as 'a slag heap', suggesting that the National Coal Board should perhaps do similar trips in Wales. Bumpy, but fun. Our beast didn't spit or urinate and was very well behaved. To a bodega. Salt mines. El Golfo. Had lunch in a great hall at Yaiza. I had the very peculiar feeling that at any moment the door would be kicked open and that we'd be mercilessly machine-gunned, like the Nazis did to innocent French villagers in the last war. Odd, I know.

We dined out alone tonight. Had lasagne and Mateus rosé. To the Waikiki and Banana disco, then the Joker, which was all mirrors and claustrophobic. Taxis everywhere. Back at 2:30. We never dance. A jolly good evening.

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Monday November 22, 1982

 To Puerto Del Carmen with Sheila at the wheel of her finy Fiat. She deposited us in the centre of things. Had a few drinks with John at the Bagatelle Bar. He wants to buy an apartment costing £16,000. Sheila looked nervous as he set out, cigar in mouth, to see his bank manager. She says life is always like this. John really should be a millionaire, but isn't quite there yet. We left Sheila and went off and had lunch in an open bar. Me grilled prawns and Ally a fish salad which she poked at. Not good. Back for a siesta. 

At Macher, Lanzarote

This evening we dined at La Finca with J & S, Julian and Hilary. Steak again. I don't mind Julian with his university style sense of humour. I expected a whoopee cushion at any moment. Hilary however is an absolute cow who mocks our Yorkshire accent. Why do people do this? Do we fall about in hysterics when we meet someone from Wiltshire? John, sensing the disapproval, got his own back and asked her where she was born. She went red and after a pause said 'Virginia Water', which was of course a lie. She's obviously from Manchester. She said Virginia Water just to impress John with whom she flirts terribly. Sheila sat looking daggers across the dining table. John really shouldn't encourage the woman. The most amusing thing about La Finca was the singer providing the background music. Horrendous stuff which had us in hysterics. A lousy singer slaughtering all the classics. We asked the waitress for the singer's identity and she says 'Peter Hoffman'. None the wiser. Hilary wanted to dance, but we didn't. Home and to bed.

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Sunday November 21, 1982

 Last Sunday after Trinity

Up at 11:30. John and Sheila left to see friends for lunch at a distant hotel. We were invited to join them but dropped out when Sheila offered us the use of her car for the day. Ally drove to Puerto Del Carmen down a dusty cactus-lined road covered in picon [?] She didn't drive into the town but parked outside to avoid the law. We are not insured on Sheila's car, and Ally hasn't brought her driving licence. On the beach there for a couple of

hours. Hambugers and beer at a beach-side cafe, and then returned to the villa at 5 for a siesta. John and Sheila are back. Lunch was £12 and not spectacular. The dogs lick round us as though we've been away for six months. Drank tea on the terrace. They ar not great boozers. Siesta until 7:30. We lay whispering in bed. Dined at Caspar's (down near the harbour). The proprietress is a German baroness who looks like the girl in Abba, Frieda. Excellent dinner. We dined upstairs. The ferns however, were plastic. Pleasant chatter ranging from abysmal TV to the genius of Peter Sellers, and the adolescent-style behaviour of the adult Spanish. It's John's opinion that in a business conference with a Spaniard once they start playing with their genitals it's a sign that you (the Englishman) is heading for a victory in the negotiations. On to the Waikiki cocktail bar. Sheila insists the place is a homosexual haunt. Pina Coladas. Then the Beach Club disco. J & S left us at 3am. We had a few more drinks and walked back at 5am. Exhausted.

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Saturday November 20, 1982

 Sheila drove us to Puerto De Carmen this morning so that Ally can look at sun glasses. They are all far too expensive and in the end she borrowed a pair belonging to Valerie (my cousin).  They took us to the north of the island for lunch, and I'm almost asleep. We lunched on a mountain top. We all had prawns in garlic - delicious. Afterwards we must all have smelled very anti-social. I settled the bill - 2,800 pesetas. Then on to Mirador Del Rio, spectacular views, and the caves of Jameos del agua, a very relaxing spot.  Home tonight quite buggered. We sat watching films on John's video recorder. The first was an Australian creation 'Mad Max', set in the outback after a nuclear holocaust. Then Richard Burton in 'Villain'. Roast chicken around the grand table. Ally is stunned by John's likeness to Papa and she giggles and exclaims in wonderment every time he opens his mouth to speak. Sheila flits about like a bird, and is clearly very much in love with John.

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Friday November 19, 1982

 The weather is quite amazing. I don't think I will ever forget the feeling as I stepped off the plane yesterday. Up for eggs and bacon in the kitchen. Inspect the house. It's built around a central courtyard filled with exotic plants and trees. Our bedroom has a beamed ceiling and impressive headboard. The sitting room is large and cool with a fireplace worthy of Blenheim Palace for its size. The dining table is twenty feet long and a crystal chandelier hangs above. Sheila took us to Playa Blanca, a quiet spot to the south of the island. Her car took us through some amazing scenery. Very prehistoric and haunting. John says the island attracts lots of ESP types. Ally and I had sangria. Sheila drank only coffee because she's taking anti-biotics for a septic tooth. Joined by John and his Spanish business partner, Prudencio, at lunch where we ate fish in various shapes and forms. Ally and I left them afterwards and went to lay on the beach until 5. To the Victoria Inn for dinner. It's owned by an Englishman with a Norwegian wife. Pepper steaks, &c. Ally has the runs and the Scandinavian lady gave her a pill. Back at Macher John and I sat in the courtyard with a bottle of brandy. The ladies retired. We sat looking at the stars and attempted to solve the world's problems. John tells me he has a 'Rhodes index'  - similar to the IQ test - but based on personality, charisma and humour, &c. He believes in green men from outer space, ghosts, reincarnation, the whole damn lot. Bed, pissed, at 2am.

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Thursday November 18, 1982

 Funeral over we can now think about the holiday. Out of bed at 5. Frantic packing in the dark and rain. Well, it wasn't raining indoors, but you know what I mean. Dave B phoned and arrived at 7. He was in one of his serious moods, and sat drawing on a cigar contemplating the ceiling. To Manchester Airport arriving at 8:45. Ally had to pay an extra £10 to travel with a passport named as Dixon when her flight ticket is named as Rhodes. Gin and tonics. We flew at 10:15. It was like a flying Berni Inn. We drank like fish. The plane was half full of babies. Must tell Sue and Peter about this. Arrived at Arrecife Airport, Lanzarote, at 2:30 and met John and Sheila, lurking behind potted palms. He is tall, tanned and extremely distinguished. I suppose he's a streamlined version of dear Papa. Sheila is thin and well-groomed and just as affected as she was 10 years ago. Little changed. John, with an enormous 10 inch cigar, drove us to their vast villa surrounded by giant palms and set in the scorched countryside. Everything inside is on an enormous scale. Hugo (the labrador) is alive and well. Out for a pizza with John and Sheila and a couple called Julian and Hilary. He's a Peter O'Toole look-alike. Garlic. Raging thirst. Home and to bed at 10:30. Ally is brown before we start.

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Wednesday November 17, 1982

 Hideous wet day. Howling wind and rain. Furious activity. Ally up and out to the hairdresser at 9. I made the house look respectable, and dressed in my blackest clothes. Ally back at 10 looking beautiful. Frank & Bessie came at 11 and went went directly to Colne. To Uncle Tom's house for 12. Frank insisted on driving around for 15 minutes to shorten the stay in the home of the deceased. Inside, everyone stood grouped in the kitchen, some hideously cheerful and others near to collapse with grief. Met Ally's cousins Steven and David. Poor Hilda was lying in an open coffin in the sitting room, and we all had to file in for a prayer before leaving for Burnley Crematorium. I avoided looking at the corpse, but Ally caught a glimpse and burst into tears. This also upset Bessie who had been calm up to this point. Cremation over. I think I must be turning atheist. Ham sandwiches afterwards at Uncle Tom's. He is stunned and numbed by it all. Poor Auntie Hilda was only 47. Back to Bradford at 7. Ate at the Pizza House after having a drink at the Norfolk Gardens Hotel. Bed.

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