Wednesday June 15, 1983

Bournemouth.

 Ally climbed out of bed in a vile mood and banged around for the morning taking chunks out of me and poor Bessie. After breakfast I made twenty profiteroles, much to Bessie's amusement and Ally's chagrin, and by 11 they we standing in splendour oozing with whipped cream and chocolate sauce upon a wire tray. I took Ally out to stop her attacking her mother (verbally). She is so vicious at times. We went off in B's car to Winchester to collect photographs of baby Matthew. Ally then suggested Bournemouth, and off we went at about 80MPH down the by-pass. We were only half an hour away and we parked on the sea front and strolled along the crowded promenade and laughed at the flabby ladies in their beach huts drinking tea on Calor gas stoves and looking superior. We had another ploughman's at another Berni Inn and sat under an umbrella in a car park full of workmen. 

On the lawn: June 15th

Read the Daily Telegraph. Bernard Weatherill is the new Speaker of the House of Commons. The PM asked Pym to stand but he declined telling her that the office of speaker is not in the gift of the prime minister. Quite right. We went to lay on the beach next to a fat couple listening to the radio. Ally, in her blue and white stripes, resembled a deckchair. At 4 we went back to Winchester to avoid the crush of day trippers, and got back in 50 minutes. In the garden with Bessie, who had me messing with a hose pipe. We dined on steak pie.

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Tuesday June 14, 1983

 Up at 9 today. We ate mounds of toasted currant tea cakes and sat with the Daily Express in the cathedral-like kitchen. Labour is in shambles. (Michael) Foot is going in October and Neil Kinnock is leading the field. Roy Jenkins is standing down to make way for David Owen. The opposition already discussing tactics for the 1988 election. Bloody fools. 

Andrew: secretive

Andrew's motorcycle has broken down and for some peculiar reason he dare not tell his parents. He is such a queer, secretive person. Bessie cannot understand him and he seems to come and go living in a solitary world. At one time he seemed to come out of himself a bit with his sister, but now we don't see him. Occasionally we hear his Winchester accent drifting over from another room.

We went to town for a stroll around the shops and escaped from the heat into a cavern-like hostelry where we sat in basket chairs with lager. Ally has a hungry look about her and suggests lunch at the Berni (Inn) and before you can say Norman Tebbit we were bounding through the crowded streets in the direction of the restaurant. On entering Ally was immediately recognised by Doreen, the ancient waitress. We had rump steak with salad and no wine. A large satisfying lunch. At 3 we returned to the garden at Chillandham Cross. On the way to car I spotted a pastel-type print of King Edward VIII in a dark frame and had to have it. Blimey, it was only £2.30. We sprawled on the lawn. Bessie slightly peeved because she has put a chicken casserole in the oven and we are too bloated to appreciate it. I did manage to eat only a fraction of it at 8. Ally was in bed by 10:30 and Bessie and I were alone. Frank was out at a headmasters' dinner and was late.

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Monday June 13, 1983

George & Falcon

 We got up at 7:30 after listening to Frank banging around in the darkness. The man gets up and goes off to work in the middle of the night. I had the usual fried repast and Ally her egg. A warm bright morning. We took the car into Winchester and looked at maternity wear in Marks & Spencer's. Clown-like checks seem to be in. Laura Ashley was next on the agenda. All her dresses look like tents and I think of Charlotte (Smith). For refreshment we went to the George & Falcon at Warnford, where Ally dined on her 21st birthday. We were disappointed by the small, insignificant ploughman's lunch. Two fat, old ladies were served bowls of cold soup and apologised profusely to the bar staff. Shouldn't the apologies have come from the staff and not the customer? A Pekingese dog was coughing up it's dinner in the lounge bar. On to the West Meon Hut at West Meon where we sat next to a heavily pregnant woman who was sipping coffee. Ally, smiling, said it was hard to believe that she too will be in that state shortly. We returned to Winchester suitably refreshed, to buy Andrew a bulb for his motorcycle headlamp and was home for 4:30. Wrote to Sam Smith's accepting their offer and Ally slept upon the bed, fully clothed, after dictating the historic epistle. Frank was out at Rotary until after 10 and we dined with a tired Bessie on over cooked pork chops. Again, Andrew was nowhere to be seen. To bed at 10:15 after watching the news. More Cabinet changes. The Times implies that the Speaker will also be made a viscount on his retirement, but he too has no son and heir. The Times adds that future hereditary peers include Sir Keith Joseph and Lord Hailsham. However, the 1963 Peerage Act prevents Hailsham from receiving a hereditary peerage because he disclaimed his own viscountcy to return to the Commons. I am absolutely delighted that the PM has revived the hereditary system. Ally to bed with Agatha Christie.

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