Monday March 7, 1983

 Up at 6:44 and into our tub. This redundancy stuff is heavy on my sub-conscious.

At the YP I have a note from Anne (night staff) saying 'no miracle has occurred' whereby she can find the files for the news cuttings I insist on leaving her. Furious, I penned her a note quoting John Eliot, saying something to the effect that miracles 'will not get things done, get up and do it yourself and the Lord will be with you'. I expect an acid reply tomorrow, or even the sack because you know how Kathleen is overly devoted to the night staff. I think that perhaps Anne might be one of the three per cent. (It's company policy for three per cent of the work force to be of low intelligence).

Phoned Ally but didn't say much because someone came to see me and stood hovering. Carol J might be changing her mind. She was in a foul mood all day. Sarah came in to report on her Scarborough visit. They spent their evenings swilling Martini and playing cards.

I phoned Horton-in-Ribblesdale and Lynn answered. We sent her a £5 note for her birthday and she is going to buy perfume. Spoke to Mama. They had a couple stay for the weekend from Cheadle Hulme who have a niece who lives near the Hollywood. She laughed. Frances cannot understand why strange people have been eating breakfast in grandma's house. David in the dog house. He forgot to include Katie's name on Lynn's birthday card.

Tonight we had breast of lamb, and wrote letters to breweries. Tetley's, Matthew Brown and Bass North. Let us hope to God we hear something.

Coronation Street is dull. Ken and Deirdre are still in Malta. Ally is tending to her plants and a James Mason film is on the telly. I've seen it before. It's the one about the Roman Catholic boys school where evil is lurking in the shape of a demon English master who is possessing the minds of the boys. Ally not impressed. We also watched part one of 'My Cousin Rachel' starring Geraldine Chaplin.

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Sunday March 6, 1983

 3rd Sunday in Lent. Last Quarter.

Slept in David's bed. The slaves downstairs seem to begin work at dawn. Up at 10:30. We sat knee-deep in Sunday papers and had a massive cooked breakfast. Definitely fragile. David G fighting fit becaus his drinking capacity has been drastically curtailed in recent years. He drinks half pints, you know. Ally played us a waltz on the piano, now downstairs, and Dave took me down and showed me the barrels in the cellar, and just how to change them. He talked with great pride about his 'dear old dad', who taught him the rudiments of running the Hollywood. After breakfast we walked back to the Armoury. (It seems that the lads have stopped coming to the Hollywood on Sundays. Lily is quite upset about it). The pub was busy and I wanted to sit down and so we crossed the road to the Grapes. It's always the case that I just begin to feel human again when the bar shuts. Much reminiscing about Bournemouth '79 and our antics. Ally suggests a weekend at Blackpool. What fun that would be. Back to the Holly at 2. Chicken. I think we all had a chicken each. Sadie the dog is still looking at me as though I have three heads. We sat with grandad and watched the football and part 48m of 'Dombey and Son' and left at 6:30. Dave promises to visit in a couple of weeks. We were home at 9pm. Exhausted. We watched a programme on the Duke of Wellington's tenure of No 10 Downing Street. A cheap production. To bed at 10:30. Lynn was 25 today.

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