Monday January 9, 1984

 5 Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

My cold persists. Ally says baby will not come because he can hear me coughing, sneezing and sprogging. I got up early and went out into the frost to buy a newspaper and then made breakfast for Ally and climbed back into bed until 12. L. Gledhill phoned at 10 and spoke to Ally. He cannot understand why the baby hasn't arrived and asks whether we have our dates right. Ally responded 'yes', to which he replied 'Oh you can recall the night in question, can you?' Well, of course she can . (It was an afternoon actually). He says D.Tyne sees no impediment in our taking the Moorhouse, but we have to see the chief first. 

Rachel Ward.

We pulled up chairs closer to the fire. Ally buried beneath a Wilkie Collins book and I looked at the diaries of Harold Nicolson, but only half-heartedly. Watched the news. The Prince and Princess of Wales are in Liechtenstein skiing surrounded by 48 million photographers on the slopes. They will never be allowed any privacy. The heat from the fire put us both to sleep and we lay beneath our books until after 3. Auntie Hilda phoned to say she is thinking of us. 'The first one can be two weeks late, you know', she said. I winced. Looking ahead this week I see that we have a Friday the Thirteenth. Oh God. Will baby come then? We ate salad and I sat chewing like a rabbit. This cold will never go. A night in front of the TV. Watched Coronation Street. Most of the cast seem to have disappeared. We also watched another episode of The Thornbirds with Richard Chamberlain as a randy, unconvincing priest. Rachel Ward also stars. Miss Ward is Lord Dudley's niece. A bonnie lass. Watched a profile of John Wayne by Barry Norman. He was the epitome of the American man. Big, pushy, promiscuous and vulgar. They struck a Congressional Medal of Honour for him. He died the day Ally started working for Derek. To bed at 11. Ally sat reading The Moonstone, and I buried myseld beneath my quilt.

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Charlotte & Graham Smith with Oscar.

Sunday January 8, 1984

 1st Sunday after Epiphany

5 Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

The cold continues. I mean my cold and not the weather. Ally brought me tea and toast to bed and I remained beneath the sheets until 1pm. Felt rotten. Like gallons of water in my head. Downstairs in my dressing gown I sat dribbling in an armchair. Watched a film starring Peter Ustinov and co-starring the ghastly Melina Mercouri, who is now attempting to steal our Elgin Marbles. 

Susan phoned to ask about Ally's progress. She says Peter cannot stop worrying about us. It isn't like Peter to become excited about a baby. Feel honoured. Charlotte Smith phoned quite out of the blue to ask 'today is the day, isn't it?' How peculiar, they haven't answered our letters or tried to contact us for a long time. Ally spoke to Graham S and she could hear Isobel in the background. Ally phoned Bessie who snatched up the phone after only one and a half rings. They dined with Peter Gaffikin last night and played silly party games. For one game they had a name pinned to their back and had to match up with a partner. Bessie was CLEMENTINE and had to match up with 'satsuma'. I think I would have looked for Winston. Is this an omen? Ally came away chuckling. We haven't told Bessie of any of our chosen names, of course. 

Ally has a touch of back ache. We sat later watching The Thornbirds. Ally has just finished the book of that name by Colleen McCullough which she started reading at the Linthorpe. Have you noticed how my brain slips from one thing to another like a bee in a rose garden? To bed at 10 to escape Esther Rantzen on the BBC. Felt slightly better.

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