Monday April 11, 1983

 My first day as an unemployed layabout. In actual fact it was a day of great industry and activity. I wasn't bored for a second. Mind you, I am not the sort of person who could ever be bored. Some of my kinsmen might feel desolate and miserable when they are sitting at home, but not me. I was up at 6:54, and whilst Ally bathed I boiled the eggs and switched on the TV to avoid Steve Wright on Radio One. Selina Scott was presenting, but I switched off after three minutes. Ally went off to work at 8 and I went out and bought a Daily Telegraph to look at the BMDs. Not much really, other than the dishy Rachel Ward, actress niece of the Earl of Dudley, has married.

At 9:20 I phoned the YP and spoke to Paul Roberts in accounts. He told me that the mix up regarding my redundancy cheque is now sorted and so I told him I'd go in and collect it. I got the 72 bus at 11.I picked up a cheque for £4,788 from the pimply 17 year-old Mr Roberts, and returned immediately to Bradford. I made my way to the Employment exchange on Clifford Street where a cattle markert atmosphere prevailed. It could have been an acutely depressing experience for the sort of person easily depressed. Fortunately, I didn't let the place bother me. Queues of dejected 16 year-olds with holes in their jeans and with little hope of finding employment. I am to return tomorrow. I was dealt with by a girl with a very heavy cold, like a character from a Giles cartoon. I walked to the market - wonderfully empty - where I bought meat and vegetables. I returned home at 2 and prepared the dinner. I enjoyed putting the kidneys to marinade and mixing in the Yorkshire puddings, and making a strawberry jelly. Before you could say Robert Carrier it was 5:15 and Ally was home from her labours. I made her a dry Martini and fed her a good dinner. She smiled and said not many men could turn out such a repast. Later Ally wrote to Bessie sending her the £11 we owe for Anne's wedding present. Anne was Frank's secretary years ago. We counted the coins in the large whisky bottle which added up to £60.16. To bed after 10.

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Sunday April 10, 1983

 Low Sunday

Woke up in a sleeping bag on the floor at 10. Went to vomit. Janette went off to sell caravans whilst John, looking remarkably robust, washed the glasses and calmly swigged on a glass of beer. Ally and I climbed into John's bed, but didn't sleep. We both felt ghastly. I had to make several journeys to the bathroom to  vomit with great retchings and much grovelling. I blame it all on the lack of food. I ate none of the quiche, pies and other party sundries. When I did force myself to climb out of bed John gave me toast and tea which revived me. The paracetamols were out. Ally joined me about an hour later and we gathered our things together and headed for home, with John at the wheel, via 'Mother Hubbard's' fish and chip place were we all had a greasy lunch washed down with gallons of tea and piles of bread and butter. It was a cold, thankless day. John left us at home at 4:30. We sat in a heap watching Mastermind from Winchester. Later we snuggled blissfully in bed. There's nothing like a fresh made, crisp bed. We recall arranging to visit MM and Marita next Saturday, but forget the details. Will have to phone. Tomorrow is the start of a new existence.

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