Saturday January 7, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Club Street.

After a sweaty night I woken up with a cold. Sneezing and spluttering everywhere. Ally washed a batch of nappies and I hung them out on the washing line to dry. It is a sight I thought I would never see. We have run out of food supplies and so we ventured out to Duckworth Lane at 12:30. Wet, windy and cold. I spent £1.95 on something to dry my galloping mucus. Back at home I fell asleep in an armchair watching John Wayne play Genghis Khan. Ally made a lasagne. I didn't enjoy it. It was like eating cardboard. My sense of taste and smell has died. Ally's emotions are all haywire. At the slightest excuse and with (illegible) encouragement she bursts into tears. It is a traumatic time for poor Piglet. I was still collapsed in the chair at 8pm and so I decided to go to bed. Ally needed no prompting either. Just as we retired Gill phoned from Coleford. It's so good to know that everyone is thinking of us. She says Matthew was in hysterics on Christmas Day. I took a pill and had a large glass of rum. According to Dr Duck tomorrow is the day.

Oh yes, Auntie Mabel phoned this morning (as I was hanging out the nappies) and she had a long chat with Ally. Uncle Jack (Paine) would have been 68 tomorrow. She says that babies are like apples and they only drop when they are ripe.

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Friday January 6, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Epiphany comes and goes without any signs of the baby. Ally is agitated. She isn't the type to wait placidly and now the due date has arrived she wants the whole business over with. Frayed tempers. People phone throughout the day to enquire about developments. Sarah phoned to say that Kathleen is in a flap about it. Lynn phoned too. She says the best way to bring the baby on, according to Dr Jacques, is to have furious sexual intercourse. No chance of that. Instead, Ally polished the brasses and heaved the vacuum cleaner around, to no avail. We ate liver and onions on trays in front of the fire. Bessie phoned to say they are at the Lyndhurst Park Hotel tonight and dining with the sickly Dr Gaffikin tomorrow. She leaves phone numbers where to contact her. Gaffikin knows too much. He's in the Rotary Club with Frank. Sat down to a quiet night at 8:30 when the door opened to David and Jean Watts, who want to see how the baby bump is developing. David looks extremely nautical with a 'full set'. They want Samuel too, but David fancies 'Ian'. Ugh. We don't reveal Clementine. That is to be a surprise. They stayed until 11 and we discussed genealogy, the NHS and yes, christian names. They went, and we watched the beginning of a film, so old - John Gielgud looked like a 17 year old. Bed. Read Harold Nicolson's diaries.

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Thursday January 5, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Ally is much better. No longer niggly and tiresome. No signs of impending motherhood. We were up early and out in the rain at 9:30 to Paternoster Lane where Ally saw Dr Duck. She came out in perfect health and has been told to wait patiently. The doc says Ally will not be allowed to wait longer than 13 days. It seems like eternity, but we know our child will come before January 21. At home I sat buried beneath my newspaper but the peace of the day was shattered by the telephone. It was Les Gledhill who asked to see me at the Red Lion at 2:30. Quiver, quiver. Is our destiny secured? I went out and cleaned the car after sweeping up the leaves that have clogged the pathway since autumn. In fact the garden looks horrible. It's like Greenham Common. Cheese and biscuits. My wife says I am a sloppy eater, but then she loves to criticise. 

We went to the Red Lion at 2:30. Felt most uneasy. The Willses kiss, cuddle, suck and chew and sit upon each other all for public display. I really think that Elaine thinks she's a latter day Brigitte Bardot or Pamela Stephenson. He (Chris) is like one of the dogs they possess and jumps at the snap of her fingers. L. Gledhill came and took us into a corner and told us that the Moorhouse Inn is ours. He only has D.T.N. Tyne to see and give the word, and we can have the place when our baby is about three weeks old if everything is ok. I find Les G such an easy man to get on with. He has treated me very well and I cannot complain about my Christmas break. However, he has to justify my name on the payroll and so we have to take a holiday from Sunday when hopefully Samuel/Clementine will be thinking about putting in an appearance. Ally is over the moon. Samuel Smith's have been very good to us and we can not have wished for better, fairer treatment. Chris and Elaine were lurking in the background and after L.Gledhill's departure they came to glean information. Chris says, somewhat cruelly, that Pirie at the Moorhouse was thumped, or 'done over' last week. Hardly the most tactful thing to say to Pirie's successor.  We left at 3:30 after seeing Jean and Enid - always pleasant. 

We sat at home with a drink looking at the Christmas tree (yes, it's still up) discussing our good fortune. Phoned Horton. Mum is full of cold and has been in bed since we left on Monday. She sounded awful. Phoned Glynnie. He and Lily leave for Acapulco (?) on Monday. He is calling in here after his two weeks in the sun. Ally spoke to Lily. Sue phoned for a bulletin. Her baby is now due on June 10. It's another 12 month pregnancy. Marita phoned to see if we fancy having a gathering before Dave L's return to South Elmsall on Sunday. Awkward. Pleasant chatter. I have so much in common with Marita. She never changes. Dave L is taking his mum to see them tonight. The Matthews residence is like Chatsworth. 'Horatio Hornblower' . Bath & bed at 9:30.

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Wednesday January 4, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Ally: grizzly bear.

Fine, yet frosty. Ally was in a tetchy mood all day and we put it down to nerves. She was unbearable this morning. It's like living with a female Neil Kinnock. Quite intolerable. We were awake at 5am and by 6 I was compiling a letter to Les Gledhill asking 'please could you give us the Moorhouse?'  By 8 the letter was posted. I ventured out in the snow at dawn like Capt Oates to find a newspaper. Cecil Parkinson's mistress has given birth to a daughter. The Rev Jesse Jackson dominates the news. He clearly copies the late Martin Luther King and is very theatrical. Breakfast was volatile and eggs were almost thrown. We went out and sat in the car where I demolished the inside mirror. More Shakespearian tragedy. We sat there with a large tube of glue (like so many young people today), and managed to secure the rear view mirror back in place. We went to town and came back two hours later with sanitary towels, nappies, feeding bottles and cotton wool balls. Ally wore a very large brown pullover and looked like a grizzly bear. We had some funny looks. If you want to go out and get noticed take a gigantic, pregnant woman with you. She slept in her bed from 3 until 6:30pm. I sat and finished Margaret Thatcher by Penny Junor. Recent biographies, or those of the living are seldom very good. Who was it that advised 'never read a book that is not a year old?' Was it Ralph Waldo Emerson? Fish for dinner. Ally only ate it because I enjoy it. Feet up afterwards. The baby kicked away viciously, and Ally sat with her orange juice splashing around in the glass. We have, so it seems, created a rugby prop forward. 'Coronation Street' - Elsie Tanner has left and gone to live in Portugal, saying goodbye to the cobbles forever. Saw the wonderful (Alan) Whicker. I could watch him until the cows come home. This week he was on the QE2. Ally would hate it - the social climbers abound. Bed by 11. Ally is calmer and all is forgiven. She is sitting in bed with a smile upon her face.

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