Tuesday August 21, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Lord Fermoy.

Happy birthday to Princess Margaret and her reprobate cousin Gerald Lascelles. No Baker delivery. Margaret Rose Baker would have been so apt and sweet too. I stood in the bat tittering at Jim and George's Daily Star (I presume it's a shared copy). It describes Lord 'Eddie' Fermoy as 'Princess Diana's favourite uncle'. He's her only chuffing uncle. Well, only bllod uncle. Her aunts Lady Anne Spencer and the Hon Mary Roche have husbands but they don't count. The Roche aunt is something of a nymphomaniac going by the list of husbands in Debrett's Peerage.

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Monday August 20, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Yes, Lord Fermoy uncle of the Divine Diana blew his brains out yesterday at his Berkshire home. He has suffered from depression for years, they say. His mother, Ruth Lady Fermoy, is currently with the Queen Mother at the Castle of Mey. Royal bank holidays seems to be always peppered with sadness.

Lynn was due today (baby no.3) but nothing happened. We had hoped it would happen yesterday when we were sitting in the garden,. Lynn's other babies were both born on a Monday.

Am I perhaps swinging towards the left? Have you spotted SDP tendencies in my entries? I say this because I have begun to find the Sunday Telegraph a trifle boring and dismal. Of course I never get chance to read the Sunday papers until days afterwards. Does this account for my lethargy? I am 29.

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Sunday August 19, 1984

 9th Sunday after Trinity

To Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

To Horton in time for breakfast at 9am which we ate with the Harwoods. Mum and Dad acting as servants. Samuel looking superior in his high chair. We retired to the garden afterwards and spent the day horizontally sinking wine. John, Janette, JPH, and Catherine came at 11. Both children well behaved and sweet. Debbie is a nice girl with an infectious giggle. Gave Mum a cup and saucer (picturing Trinity Church, Hull - £1.50 from Cheap 'n Cheerful). Stayed until after 10. An idle day. Ten litres of wine consumed. Barbecue, &c. Scottish dancing and various outdoor activities. 

News at 10: Lord Fermoy has committed suicide. Home dead at 11:30.

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Saturday August 18, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot. Shopping in town for watch straps. Ally complained about the strap costing more than the watch. Looked in at the new Austicks and at the Ann Morrow biography of the Queen Mother. To the railway station where we sat in a booth and had our passport photos taken. I look idiotic, and not unlike Adolf Hitler. Ally's photo makes her look much older than she is. Back at home over coffee Ally suggested spending the day at Horton tomorrow. What a good idea. Phoned Mum who was pleased. Marlene and Frank are staying with them, but our arrival will add to the party spirit. John is also going to do some double-glazing. Rhodes and Ettenfield is almost over. John spends more time now with George Waite.

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Friday August 17, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

We went out to forms for new passports.

The King of Spain has been over here in a private capacity shooting with Lord Strathmore at his Teesdale estate. Lord Strathmore is of course a cousin of HM. Watch this space. Are they perhaps contemplating  making a willowy Bowes Lyon lady Queen of Spain? They do make good queens.

Recent arrival: a son to the Countess of Erroll.

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Thursday August 16, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot. Mum phoned to say Benjamin's heart is on the blink. A murmur, or something. The lad is under observation. Poor Sue. I phoned her - she wasn't too worried. They are now looking at a house on Thorpe Lane but it's too expensive. Ally phoned Lynn for a bulletin. She has been having the occasional 'twinges' and restless nights, but no nearer delivering. I would like a Baker nephew. It would be too dreadful for David to spend the rest of his life surrounded by women. To Linfood and then Club Street. We have another leak. A communication says we finish paying for the house in November, 1989. Phoned Lanzarote and got no joy. They were out. It's Sheila's birthday today and I guess they are at the Vic having peppered steaks. I am looking forward to a holiday in the sun. Ally was made to be brown. 

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Wednesday August 15, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Ally stayed upstairs cooking. Our food supplies were extinguished after the locusts here this afternoon. (We took £31!) The aroma of curry drifted down on the night air. Just Audrey and I worked 8-11.

HRH The Princess Anne is 34 today. What a little grafter she is. A much maligned princess who, at last, is getting a fair deal from the press - except for the divorce rumours which are ridiculous, &c. I do wish HM would give the princess a peerage and thereby elevate the children from the gutter. Master Peter goes to a Dorset prep-schoool next term. The children are with grandmama at Balmoral with Princess Margaret and a solitary Prince Andrew. What became of Carolyn Herbert? Koo Stark marries the Green Shield Stamps heir this week (sigh of relief). Poor Andrew must be lonely.

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Tuesday August 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Ally, Marnie & Samuel.

Extremely hot. Very busy lunch. We packed up at 2 and rushed to Tadcaster to the so-called Sam Smith's 'Family Day' at the Bowling Club. I took a football kit but had no intention of playing. We almost ran over Mr. Oliver (Smith) at the brewery. That would have caused a stink. The awful Pirie family were in front of us with Tracey Egan. We found the bar and hid in a corner with Roy, Marie and Marnie. Leslie Gledhill came looking for me to play football but I hid and avoided the tortuous, sweaty and ridiculous exercise. Roy wasn't himself, but Marie bright and bubbly. They are having William trouble again. We ate roast pig and kept ourselves to ourselves. The arse lickers are nauseating. Fran O'Brien was prancing around in shorts. Silly little prat. Home for 8 quite pissed. We stood at the bar. Margaret and Karen worked.

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Monday August 13, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Maureen returned from her holiday. Ann Wilkinson, 70, can be painful, and so it was good to see dear, lumbering Maureen. I phoned the brewery and spoke to Ken Gilbertson about our holiday days for this year and he said we cannot take any days until October 29. Sigh, gasp, pant. We shall have to take our three remaining weeks then. When Ally and I were discussing this at lunch Samuel began to choke on a crust of bread. The poor boy turned blue and we plucked him from his high chair and dangled him upside down. This did the trick. Quite a panic we had, but the boy didn't seem to bother.

Olive came in pissed tonight and was too vocal in the sedate lounge. Big Brian likens our panelled lounge to the House of Lords.

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Sunday August 12, 1984

Orpheus & the leopard, Harewood.

 8th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot and indecisive. Just where can we go on our day orf? In a flash I exclaimed: 'Let's go to Harewood'. After all it was here at the seat of the reprobate Lascelles family that Ally and I spent hours of courtship on illicit days off from the YP. Our journey to Harewood was a smooth one. Sammy beaming in his car seat, the wind blowing through his top knot. We fell upon the Harewood Arms and that did it, we sat there in the garden with a tray of sandwiches. Bliss. Howard Rose, the wiry landlord, said hello but didn't come to chat. We didn't care. Sammy wearing a cap like Jackie Coogan. 

Later, back here, I sat with my feet up watching a Joan Crawford film. Didn't go downstairs. The girls managed. A hot, roasting day, and sweaty night. Children in car park made the place sound Belle Vue Zoo. Roll on wintertime and inclement weather.

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Saturday August 11, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

A full Moon, but I fear no ill effects. The sudden and indiscriminate growth of facial hair and teeth did not occur. We went in to Leeds with Samuel and took Ally's locket to a jeweller (Samuel having recently dislodged it from mum's chain). It was a sticky afternoon really. We did the usual rounds of Mothercare and Boots, &c. We went on to Cheap 'n Cheerful to see Mrs Whitehead, who dotes on Samuel. We wandered around debating buying £300 bedroom furniture, but came away with a Compton Mackenzie novel and the Universal Home Doctor (Illustrated), and a book, 'The Corpse in the Constable's Garden'.

We lunched with Jim Ellis at the Nags Head and sat outside. Our barman has resigned 'for taxation reasons'. Who does he think he is? Earl Jermyn? I am very dubious about the worth of his YOP scheme. It might be worth a memo to Mrs Thatcher. Phoned Mummy. John and Peter Mather on the Three Peaks Walk and lodging at Waltergarth.

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