Wednesday February 2, 1983

 The alarm clock made mournful salutation to the hour of six o'clock. We lay amongst our bed clothes softly moaning and calling into question our sanity. Had our usual breakfast of eggs and bacon, and at 7 we were on the London road which was a stupid thing to do because we met thousands of commuters heading in a similar direction. We crawled into the bustling city by way of Chiswick bridge and on to Hyde Park Corner where we deposited Vanessa (the Triumph) in the underground car park at £4.50 a day. We walked down Oxford Street on a bright and sunny morn. We asked a 16 year-old police constable directions to WC2, and he stood for a full 5 minutes looking vague before eventally waving in the direction of Trafalgar Sq saying 'you want the city'. ______. 

We found St Catherine's House at 10:30. I can think of few things more exciting than rummaging in the files for long lost ancestors. My grandmother Ruth Ellen Upton was indexed as Ruth Allen Upton, born at Lewes, Sussex. The marriage of my great-grandparents John Wilson and Rella Fawbert in 1874 took place  between January and March. It must have been a shotgun wedding because their daughter Frances was born in the following August. I come from a long line of accidents. St Catherine's House was full of scurrying genealogists. We had a break and sat in the bar at the Waldorf Hotel eating beef and ham sandwiches and drinking gin and tonic. Peeping through the palms looking for famous people. Ally once saw Anouska Hempel near Harrods in 1973, and would like to imrpove on this. Refreshed we went on to Alexandra House to look at the deaths, but by 2 we were wilting. We took the tube to Knightsbridge and looked at Harrods, and had a fruit juice. The place seems to have lost its superiority. We walked back along Oxford St without spending a penny and at 5:30 went into a pub to rest our weary legs. The barmaid pulled a face of horror when I asked for a lager and blackcurrant for Ally. Why so bizarre? We sat for an hour to avoid the heavy traffic and set off home on moderately quiet roads. Found ourselvles in Fulham, and then circled back to Chiswick. We stopped to relieve ourselves at a motorway services.

Back for 8:30. Fish fingers.

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Tuesday February 1, 1983

 A restless night listening to the howling wind.

Up late and Andrew was still in his room. He says he isn't going into work because he has an upset stomach. However, he was busily eating a tub of ice cream at 11 last night.

We went to Salisbury arriving at about 12. Sadly, a disappointing place. We looked for a decent pub, and spent an hour marching around the streets peering in dull, empty, unfriendly hostelries. The King William IV had the atmosphere of a crematorium. Eventually we found a pub with a sizeable log fire, and we sat astride a bench warming ourselves. We spent two hours criticising the bar staff. The heavily pregnant landlady looked like a hitman for the Gestapo. 

Afterwards we looked at the shops. I bought a maroon coloured sweater for £6, reduced from £12. Sent ridiculous postcards to everyone including one to the YP featuring a badger. Ally gorgeous in her new green boots. We wandered around the cathedral inspecting the tombs covered in medieval graffiti. A couple of women at our heels insisted on hiccoughing and the noise echoed violently around the Gothic erection.

Back at 8 after looking at the antique shops at Stockbridge. Roast chicken for dinner. Fireside scenes.

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