Saturday February 4, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

with Samuel.

A horrible night. We got no sleep. We snatched only a few minutes sleep after 5. I was laid amongst my pillows listening to a cock crowing. Who has a cock in Martyr Worthy? (You don't have to answer that one). I had a bath at 9 and left Ally sleeping and went down for breakfast with Bessie. We sat watching the young gardener digging in the mud. Poor sod. Looked at the Daily Express. Sir Geoffrey Howe isn't going down too well. Bessie is right when she commented: 'he should have stuck to looking after the money.' The man lacks the polish that's required for the Foreign Office. Samuel stirred at 10:45 and I took him down to his grandmama. Rain outside. Frank and Bessie seem lost for something to do. We are told that Andrew has sought Dad's advice about becoming engaged to Lorraine and Frank told him straight that he didn't think much of it. They have only known each other for 10 months and have no money and both are so very young. She's only 18. Andrew was 'hot under the collar' at his father's advice and relations have been strained since the conversation took place last weekend. They have decided that this is all Lorraine's idea and that she is pushing Andrew. They do underestimate the poor lad and I cannot help feeling sorry for him. He will do exactly what he wants in the end no doubt and I hope he'll be happy. A bit of responsibility and the love of a good woman might just give him the impetus to pull his socks up. 

Keeping the log fire stoked is a full time job which helped to pass the afternoon. Frank bruised his face chopping logs and gave himself a black eye. We watched the sport on the BBC. Skiing, &c. Boiled ham and chips for tea followed by more fire stoking. Ally and Samuel retired at 9:30 and Bessie, Frank and I watched Olivier in The Boys from Brazil - Gregory Peck playing Josef Mengele. Remind me never to have a Doberman Pinscher. Bed at 11:40 after gins and tonics.

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Friday February 3, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas, Hampshire

Their is nothing quite like sitting in bed at 5am with a TCP mouthwash and the June 1983 edition of Homes and Gardens draped across ones knees, and sweaty knees at that. Feel 'throaty'. Bloody typical. I always go down with something in Hampshire. I got up and crept around making pots of tea at dawn but bumped into Frank heading towards his study. The man is a workaholic. What will he do when he retires?  ______. In bed until 8:30 and then I washed my son and bedecked him out in a peppermint creation and passed him on to his mama for breakfast. The usual fried repast for us. Bessie, unwell, is like a ghost. We sat around the log fire. I continie with Homes & Gardens reading about how the top 2 per cent live. 'Bubbles' Rothermere's flat, &c. 

Winchester Cathedral.

We took Samuel to see Winchester Cathedral - a thousand years old and still unfinished. Little men in overalls with baskets of cement whistling along to Boy George on Radio 1. Back at 4 and slept in the chair before the blazing inferno. Chicken for dinner which seemed to cook for hours and hours. The kitchen was like a Turkish bath. Ally phoned Graham who was dashing out. Bessie asked vaguely whether Graham still 'plays games'. Eh? 'Does he still go out and play that game where you roll things at something', she vaguely inquired. 'Skittles', she decided. Frank came in at 9 from a bank leaving do. He frowned. The bank manager who was leaving had a peroxide wife who was pissed and wearing polka dots. We watched a Channel 4 programme on childbirth. Bessie sat with her hand over her eyes, a little embarrassed. As an 18 year-old St John's Ambulance worker she saw the very first baby born in 1940 in Colne. To bed at 11:30 and looked at a Nancy Mitford book. Ally was half asleep waiting for Samuel to wake, which he did at 12:45. He was hot and red like a lobster. Exquisite.

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