Saturday June 4, 1983

 Bessie is 61 today. (She phoned last night and I had a good chat with her). Graham and Gill are supposed to be going to the rectory for the weekend.

Sunshine. Up after ten. Bright and cheerful. If Sam Smith's give us the push we'll go off on a residential course and get a diploma. We shall not be defeated. We are made of the stuff which sent Hitler packing. Vera Lynn and all that. 

Boiled eggs. We book tickets on a fast bus to London and back (£25 for the both of us) and can now tell Lynn and Dave that we'll be at Winchester from June 11-19 and if they want to join us they can do so. Feeling bright and optimistic today. I was so proud of Ally yesterday. She interviews remarkably well and turns on the charm. People are always impressed by her independence and the way she returned to Yorkshire in '79 and bought a house. __________. We went to market but were driven home by the sights and smells which turned Ally's stomach. Walking through the fish market proved to be a test in self-control for poor Pig, and we had to walk hurriedly through the stalls of red, dripping meat. An arduous shopping excursion to be sure. We returned home and had strawberries and cream. We dined early on soup, trout (grilled), new potatoes, garden peas, and more strawberries and cream. Ally finds it hard to hold on until evening and has to eat to ward off feelings of nausea. She went to bed early missing 'Dynasty'. I stayed up late watching a '73 movie based on the life of John Dillinger, the gangster of the '30s. Seen it before, of course. I had seen every film ever made at least twice by 1976. Just imagine how bored I'll be by 2017? Crept stealthily to bed so not to disturb Ally but it is quite impossible.

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Friday June 3, 1983

 Overcast day. Ally in a groggy condition and moody. _______. Poached eggs. Her sense of smell has increased and she hates the aromas from cupboards and drawers and thinks that everything she eats and drinks tastes 'off'. It must be ghastly. Workmen are digging up the road and everything in the house is vibrating. Ally went off to the AHA looking peaky, yet resolute. 

Denis Healey has apologised to the PM over his 'glorifying in slaughter' remark. It was beneath contempt. Princess Helen of Roumania is engaged to an English professor. The mother of the Duke of Roxburghe is dead. She was married to a Hambro. I phoned enquiring about coaches to London on June 11, and worry because it is the official birthday of the Queen on that day and packs of tourists might be cluttering up the transport heading south to witness the Trooping the Colour. A bad tempered receptionist at Wallace Arnold told me that they 'haven't turned anyone away yet' for bookings on that day.

Ally came tearing in at 12 and after splashing in the soapy depths we left, once again, on bus, boat and train for Tadcaster. The train part of the journey was quite peaceful until a band of Vietnamese refugees carrying screaming babies came and sat close to us. We were deafened by the time we hit Leeds. To Tadcaster for 3. We were ushered up to the top floor to see Mr Tyne. It was clear from the outset that we were going to be offered a position. Ally was sensational. She did something which immediately captivated this middle-aged executive. He said he could picture Ally behind a bar more than he could picture me, and added that I am the youngest looking 28 year-old he has ever set eyes on. However, he approved, and said that we can begin training in Middlesbrough on July 18 after Ally's one month notice to the AHA. We left in a state of shock and discussed our plan of action. We did not mention the baby but will go back to see Mr Tyne after having written confirmation of our appointment. Everything is falling into place. Will the baby bring a halt to our ambitions? This Tyne person was very reasonable and very Geoff  Hemingway-ish. Are we mad? Is our point of view completely crazy and we cannot see it? We shall not be downhearted whatever. Life has taken on a whole bright future. Home. Ally to bed at 9. I watched the news and a ghost story and went up to bed at 10:30. Denis Healey is shit of the week.

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Thursday June 2, 1983

 Ally's first ante-natal session with Dr Duck (can that really be her name?) at Paternoster Lane. A sunny and warm morning. We went together hand in hand. I sat in the garden of the methodist chapel until she emerged after about 20 minutes. She is still too early to be inspected and the doctor put the date of confinement at January 8. The birth can probably take place at the Bradford Royal Infirmary, and Dr Duck sees no impediment in our taking on a pub though advises Ally to give up work before the birth and earlier than she would have to do working at Chestnut House. We walked back to Club Street and I saw her onto a bus. 

Denis Healey, now grasping for survival, has accused the PM of 'playing in slaughter' in her reaction to the Falklands victory. This really is lower than anyone has ever stooped in pre-election muck raking. Mrs Thatcher has never, to my mind, taken on a gloating, victorious attitude at our defeat of the Argentinians, and always looks incredibly sad at the very mention of the Falkland isles. Labour is doomed. I'd love to see the SDP in second place, and Roy Jenkins says Labour will poll the lowest vote since 1922. I have told Ally that if a disaster somehow catapults Michael Foot into office then we will be taking the first boat out of the country.

Ally came in this evening close to collapse. The afternoons are not her best time she says, and she rapidly goes off at tea time. We had pork pies and peas, but Ally only had a sparrow's portion. She sat afterwards reading about stretch marks and baby feeding problems. Her condition makes her glum and emotional and at the slightest excuse she'll weep. She could easily get into a state about childbirth. It's so easy for me, isn't it?

Her Majesty was crowned 30 years ago this day. Watched a programme on BBC2 about coronation day. I always find the newsreel of the solemn anointing to be incredibly moving, and if anybody thinks that the Queen will one day abdicate they should take a look at the film because she could never lay aside that crown after making such vows and dedications before God and people. We are not Belgium. Bed at 10 o'clock.

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Wednesday June 1, 1983

 Thunder, lightning, rain. Sit looking out at the poor garden, yet to be touched this year. Ally out of bed feeling sick, but she went off to the AHA for the first time since her birthday. It was odd having nobody to talk to, and I passed the day bottling beer and tidying around. You'd be surprised just how long it takes to keep this humble yet comely house in a decent shape. Ally came home looking wan with a juicy piece of red steak in her handbag. I ate it like a wolf. Ally had a well-done morsel (rare meat being banned now for her, of course). She is nervous about seeing the doctor tomorrow and we lay in bed discussing the past, the present, and the future. ________. TV miserable. Coronation Street drama. Hilda Ogden is battling for her deceased brothers fish and chip shop. We also watched a documentary on contraception. In Thailand millions of eight year-old schoolchildren inflate condoms like balloons as part of their sex education. Odd.

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