Thursday March 17, 1983

 St Patrick's Day - Bank Holiday in N Ireland

I got up with Ally and saw her off on her way. I watched her at the bus stop and we waved over the traffic.  I sat with a coffee and typed a letter to Jim Rawnsley asking if I can use him as a reference. My typing woke Glynnie who came downstairs with the little hair he has left standing on end. He was bemused at my secretarial skills. We ate scrambled eggs, beans and toast. Looked at photo albums and had more coffee. We cannot decide which was the funniest Ibiza holiday. Laughed about Billy. I posted the letter to Jim and met Ally at the hospital. Raining. Went to the Travellers Rest for lunch. Scampi and beer. Phoned Lynn. Audrey is on the mend, but for some reason is irritated by Henry, accusing him of 'wittering'. Phoned Janette and asked her and John to join us this evening. I slept after dinner and missed Top of the Pops. John & Janette came at 8 and we all went to the Bod. Glynnie, drinking pints, was hilarious.Listened to music and made merry. Dave insists he isn't going bald but has had a 'Phil Collins haircut' that's gone wrong. Back to our place for more ale and music. John is throwing a retirement party in my honour on April 9. Hee! Hee!

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Wednesday March 16, 1983

 A hysteric day at the YP. Arrived to find a cheque for £25 from Derek Foster. I think I have Bob Cockroft to thank for this. I went out to Carlo & Jeffrey and had my haircut for £4.50. I was 'seen to' by a silent person strongly resembling Eartha Kitt. I am happy with it. I bought the 12' single of Michael Jackson's 'Billie Jean'. 

Back at the office I have a note tucked into my typewriter reading: 'Armageddon, April 8.' The date of my severance. Austin-Clarke phoned Kathleen whilst I was under the scissors and he asked her when I wanted to go, and she said April 8 because it was the first date that came into her head. I will be so glad to go, I have had enough of the whole business. 

At 5:30 I went to Bradford and met Dave G in the interchange. Through the drizzle to Lidget Green. Ally has bought Michael Jackson's 'Thriller'. She seldom buys records. We had a chicken and mushroom pie washed down with our own apple wine which was very acceptable. Dave was itching to go out and at 9:30 we walked up to the Fiddlers' Three for a few post-prandials. The wind was blowing like hell. We discussed pubs, bars, breweries and beer. Ally has a logical brain, and I have not. Home for cheese on toast and coffee. We watched the football. Liverpool were beaten.

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Tuesday March 15, 1983

 Ally had an egg and I didn't. Eggs can be repetitive. I feel very proud to admit that I haven't yet watched Breakfast TV. I saw Frank Bough for five seconds on the day it all started, but since then we have resisted the urge. It will never catch on. 

Today is Budget Day - a day I find chronically boring. At one time I would have found some interest in the chancellor's little shuffle with the economy but I have grown now to realise it means nothing. I object to the sight of a little fat stockbroker from 'the City' coming on the evening news to tell me that I am going to be 63p a week 'better off'. Who cares? However, one so-called pundit said with some confidence that the general election will take place on June 16, 1983. Poppycock. If Mrs Thatcher goes to the country before October then I am the Earl of Euston.

Kathleen was a bit of a pain. Getting in a state I think about the soon-to be-decrease in her work force. She says she wouldn't be surprised if Irvine Crawford was to take over the Library operations one day, after she has gone. Mike Hickling came in and asked when the 'piss-up' is to take place to celebrate my departure. Michael Brown says he might join me. He is sick of writing about church unity. He has been writing about it for ten long years, and Rome is still no nearer. Carol will be freed on March 25, and I can leave after that. Mrs Slocombe's 'Nancy Reagan-like' surgery hasn't had the desired effect and she's now more like Margaret Lockwood in The Wicked Lady, only fatter. 

I left at 12 and took a half-day. Piglet had made a stew. The newspapers are full of pictures of the Waleses with the infant prince, some in sickly technicolour. Ally thinks the lad is like his mama. They go to Australia on Friday, and if the thought of bush fires and and starving packs of singed marsupials isn't enough, they will have to contend with Mr Hawke and his revolting Labour administration. Diana will win 'em all over, though. Ally went upstairs to prepare Mr Glynn's suite and I was left twiddling my thumbs. I did have some ale bottling to do. I have chipped the enamel on the sink again. We shall have to have it seen to. Ally gloomy about this.

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Monday March 14, 1983

 Lynn phoned Mum today to say that Audrey is conscious and talking to the boys but is very quiet. She was in collison with Simon M______, son of the owner of R_____ P____. It will be something of a miracle if Mrs B recovers.

To the YP. Saw Geoff and gave him my particulars. He raised his eyebrows in amazement when I told him Jim Rawnsley is an old friend and a possible referee. He tells me that Jim is in Jullundur at the moment discussing the twinning of the Indian city with Leeds.Poor Jim. I bet he hates it. Mrs Slocombe was straining to hear what Geoff and I were discussing. Bashed on until four and left in the sunshine. Home for 5.

I phoned Glynnie this morning. He says he's probably coming her on Wednesday and leaving on Friday. I arranged to collect my pay on Wednesday,  so that I'm not financially embarrassed during the royal visit. Ally came in at 5:10 and I already had the trussed chicken rotating in the oven. The spuds were peeled, veg washed, and Yorkshire puddings mixed.

Ally sat with the newspaper reading bits to me.  The infant daughter of Lord and Lady Romsey was christened Alexandra Victoria Edwina Diana at Romsey yesterday. The Princess of Wales stood sponsor. Two years ago the prince acted in a similar fashion at the dipping of the Romseys son, Nicholas. Ah yes, Nicholas and Alexandra, no doubt named after the last Tsar and Tsarina , close relations of earl Mountbatten. The Waleses go to the antipodes on Friday - all three of them. Read in the Sunday Telegraph that Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester, is writing her autobiography and the first installment, in the paper, dealt with the eccentric Dukes of Buccleuch, who lived in far greater splendour than the monarch who became her father-in-law.

After our chicken feast we watched TV. Ken and Deirdre Barlow are back from Malta with a plan of action to prevent Ken becoming boring again. She ironed. I watched a Western starring Lee van Cleef.

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