Saturday June 26, 1982

 Rose early and took up my paint brush and went off outside. The atmosphere indoors was frosty because we were having talks on the viability of going to Chippy's party in Leeds tonight. Obviously, it will be a disgusting affair, with Sunday exterminated because of it. I know deep down inside that it would be a mistake to go, but refused to admit it. Ally furious at the way I'm prepared to apparently spoil our first wedding anniversary in such a way. By 4:30 it was decided. I backed down. And no we don't go. I phoned Sue and told her. They are taking John, who must be making a big impact because he is now a regular Thursday night reveller.

At 5 we went to 'Cheap and Cheerful' and spent £55 on a delightful wardrobe [Sandalwood]. Exquisite. It has transformed our bedroom into the royal suite at Blenheim Palace. Home at 5:30. Pouring rain. The shop owner helped me carry the furniture to our bedroom. When he left we celebrated our purchase by reclining in a state of undress admiring our purchase. Ally reads me like a book. A fine polished wardrobe eases the pain of my missing out on a party.  Lasagne. Bed with Elizabeth I by Neville Williams.

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Friday June 25, 1982

 Went out and bought Ally a Minton Haddon Hall egg cup for our anniversary. Spent £3.30. 

YP: nothing momentous. YP dull. I spend all my time buried under my family trees to deaden the boredom of work. Ah well, only another 40 years to go. 

Home to my Pigeon at 6. We watched Glenda Jackson and the ghastly Vanessa Redgrave in 'Mary Queen of Scots', which I do not like. Still, it's better than the dreadful World Cup.

Dave L phoned and chatted for ages about nothing in particular. His South Yorkshire accent is becoming more pronounced. He's probably going to Chaplin's tomorrow with his Bradford teacher friends, and wants to know if Ally and I fancy a visit to the Warehouse on July 8 to see a band called 'Blancmange'. Ally turned her nose up at this. We went to bed and read our books.

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Thursday June 24, 1982

 Midsummers Day. Underwater. Downpour. 

Sat looking at our gas metre. I'm dumbfounded. Designed by the late Sir Basil Spence?

The infant prince was born on a day when no previous monarch entered the world. King Edward III departed from us on that day in 1377, and Richard II succeeded him. King William IV died on June 20, and Victoria was proclaimed Queen throughout the land on the following day.

Top of the Pops and bed. 

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Wednesday June 23, 1982

 Little Catherine is three today. We sent a card. ________. Hungover. Ally on a day off because of a NHS dispute. I took a half day and went home to Baby. The gasman came and made our pretty garden look like Port Stanley. We now have a hideous white box resembling a flight recorder on the outside wall. Ghastly. The car is knackered and won't start because of the damp. To the Co-op and then to bed. The infant Prince George remains un-named.

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Tuesday June 22, 1982

 The family tree I created for the EP back in March to commemorate the visit to Leeds by TRH the P & P of Wales was published in all its glory in this evening's EP. Fame at long last.

Ally and I went to Pudsey tonight at sat in the devastation of Wilsby drinking fizzy sherry and watching a World Cup football match. It's the 18th birthday of Paul [Edwards]. Out to the Beaulah, a pub near Tong. An unimpressive hole full of people devouring pork pies and mushy peas. Very disconcerting. The talk centred on John and Maria. Mainly rubbish and slop. Steve told ne the tale of a soldier friend who slashed his wrists becauser he couldn't keep up the payments to his straying wife. Very nice, I must say. Karen was drinking cocktails, all very reminiscent of Brideshead Revisited.  Hilda says the infant prince will be Alexander. 

Back at Wilsby I had a row with Paul's hideous little father, a Militant leftist. He began by asking me why I'd begun my published family with Henry VII at the top. I said it was as good a place to start as any. He let rip saying the royal family are parasites, and that the Queen is a 'rubber stamp'. Here we go. I did try to remain objective and attempted to walk away, but could not. He then introduced the Falklands into the argument, along with Ben Ford, the MP for Bradford North, and Wedgwood Benn's sanity, or lack of it. Eventually, with much spluttering he told me to 'piss off'. He couldn't have done better because this really played into my hands. Those in the lower intelligence bracket nearly always resort to abuse when all is lost. A grotty night.

Jill was fun and Tim remains crippled. Tony still clinging to his Liberal party. Mrs Edwards looked very reminiscent of a Coronation Street character, but twice as rough.

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Monday June 21, 1982

 Longest Day - New Moon

At the YP I sat glumly looking at the Guardian. Feeling dull after the festivities of yesterday. Stephanie Ferguson came in and asked quite calmly to which hosiptal they have taken the Princess of Wales. What could she possibly mean? My curiosity very much aroused. Action stations. Early editions of the EP say the baby will be born this evening. I left at 4:45 and fully expected to find a gleeful Ally at home with royal news. However, no change. Disappointed newscasters throughout the evening missed out on making the historic announcement, which came at a few minutes to 10. The Princess of Wales gave birth to a son at 9:03pm at St Mary's Hospital, Paddington. I hoped that the birth would take place at the palace. So tremendously relieved that it's a prince which finally kills Michael English's dreadful succession bill. This 7lb 1 and a half ounce child will, God willing, be reigning in these Isles at the close of my days. We had a gin to celebrate. Mum phoned. To bed after 12 after watching the Prince of Wales leaving the hospital looking very much like the proud father.

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Sunday June 20, 1982

 Father's Day - 2nd Sunday after Trinity

Breakfasted with the Dixons of Chandler's Ford, and later of Coleford. The usual vast fried extravaganza. Then to the Fire Brigade pub for a few pints of Tetley's. We laughed at the plastic tulips and the framed photos of a factory burning down.

If the Dixon baby is a boy he may be Matthew. The 'Rev Lynn' is of course Matthew. On to Willy's Bar. A fat woman sat fanning herself with a makeshift fan made from a paper bag, whilst blowing her nose on a toilet roll. We found this amusing. Back to Club St for coffee and cake and they left at 3.

We went to Guiseley supposedly for a barbecue but found that the meal was now to be indoors so that Peter and John could watch a World Cup match on the TV. I was violent and shouted when they said the Stockport venture is now abandoned. Played with Frances. She's luscious. We had steak and salad. We offered up some fine Father's Day presents and drank some fine rum.  Home at 8:30 hungover. Lawrence of Arabia was on the telly, but switched off. Too tired. Bed.

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Saturday June 19, 1982

 Mum and Dad's 28th wedding anniversary. Drizzle. Worked 9-12. Indexing in the YP just like in the old days circa 1976/77. Sarah glum. I blame the weather.

Graham and Gill went off to Oldham. An old friend there is Martin Sutcliffe, whose grandfather is Lord Rhodes of Saddleworth, KG. 

Ally was waiting at home reading a dreadful book by someone called Susan Howatch. We ate beefburgers and then went to Bingley and poked around the antique shops. Went into Prestos supermarket where we bumped into the world-famous northern newscaster Brian Baines who was looking at frozen peas. Odd.

An evening in front of the TV. Phoned Guiseley. Mum and Dad were at the Fox [and Hounds] with Sue, Pete, Jim and Margaret. Poor John was babysitting for Christopher. He says the baby is sitting there giving him funny looks. Gill and Graham came back at 11 fed and watered. All to bed.

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Friday June 18, 1982

 Ally phoned at 9 as soon as I arrived at the office to say that Gill phoned at 8 to say she and Graham will be with us in Bradford this evening to lodge in our spare room. They are going to a wedding in Oldham tomorrow. 

Exhausted all day.  Dead on my feet. Home to a similarly wilting Ally. A long night sitting, waiting for Graham and Gill. They arrived at 11:15 and we had fish and chips and tins of ale. A horrible, greasy repast. As soon as it was decently possible we took off to bed. Gill could not be talked out of the name Siobhan. It's too posh for me. Lady Scrymgeour is called Siobhan. Giggled in bed for no apparent reason.

Work tomorrow - aarrggh.

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Thursday June 17, 1982

 Ally went shopping at lunchtime to save us making the journey tonight. Home at 6. 

Ally like a beaver in the kitchen. I sat like a slob watching 'Top of the Pops'. 

Mum and Dad came at 9 with Jim and Margaret. A fine evening. Looked at lots of photographs of Yugoslavia, blurred and headless but good all the same. Got the gin bottle out and sat swearing at Wedgwood Benn on the TV. Mum looked thinner, but it may be just her clothes. Often she fails to wear the right things. They left at 2am.

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