Tuesday October 27, 1981

 _. New Moon.

Pepys.

Why do I keep a journal? They say it's done for reasons of vanity, and so I certainly must be vain. I remember feeling such a thrill last August [1980 that is] when I returned from Ibiza to be told that Uncle Bert had stumbled upon my journal whilst staying at Pine Tops, and found it enjoyable reading. Most people would feel affronted or embarrassed to have had their journal discovered and read, but because Uncle Bert had found it interesting I felt quite the opposite. This is vanity. And of course I love wallowing in the past and what better way can one do this than by keeping a journal? I have undertaken a mathematical exercise. Selecting a typical day in July I counted all the words of the page and multiplied them by 365 and then multiplied that number by 9. It transpires that since January 1, 1973, I have have written approximately 1,235,160 words. Looking at the introduction of the Pepys Diary I see that in nine and a half years old Sam wrote approximately 1,250,000 words. I have spent nine years writing about nothing and Samuel Pepys had such great tales to tell. What have I had to offer? I repeat the same old complaints year after year, and tell the same tale of drudgery with increasing regularity.

Today the office was slightly more tolerable. Sarah slightly better. Took a brisk walk at lunch time. Traversing Park Square. 

Home in one piece, which was almost not the case when two Bradford lasses started brawling on the upper deck of the bus. Handbags were flying. Some of these Bradford girls are like rugby prop forwards.

We had a stew and dumplings and watched 'Brideshead Revisited'. Read Baldwin. 

Spoke to Mum at 8:30. Still no word from Lynn. Dad is marvellous about Jack Andrews and says he will go alone one afternoon.

The Prince and Princess of Wales are in Wales on a three day tour of the principality. The princess seemed overwhelmed. They had a tumultuous welcome, which included a visit to Carnarvon Castle and a meeting with Lord Snowdon.

Bed by 11.

-=-

Monday October 26, 1981

 _. Bank Holiday in the Republic of Ireland

Unspeakable day at the YP. You have no idea how hideous it is working in an office full of women. I'd love to get out, but in these days of 27 million unemployed I'm in no position to quit. 

Saw Jacq in town. She's coming to ours on Saturday.

Ally phoned Mum, back from Northumberland, and was caught in the act and reprimanded by Derek [Jenkins] for making a private call. Ally has asked Papa to accompany her to Jack Andrews garage and look savage and menacing. He has agreed, but first he wants us to draw up a history of the saga of our dealings with the Citroen garage. It makes frightening reading. Frank has been consulted. Audrey has got to go. We are going to be carless. Is this the start of our fall into mediocrity? Are we to be trapped in Bradford 7 forever?

Home at 6 to a depressed Ally. She's sick of Derek, sick of the car and sick of Lynn's behaviour. We had chicken [again]. Phoned Mum and Dad at 6:30.

News: a terrorist bomb in London's Oxford Street has killed a bomb disposal PC. Diana starts work tomorrow with a visit to Wales. The poor princess has received her first bad press with the recent stag killing mularkey. She must be a worried girl with such responsibilities at 20. How many people could withstand it? Mrs Thatcher is still PM. I have no idea where the snake Geoffrey Rippon is lurking tonight.

-=-

Sunday October 25, 1981

 _. 19th Sunday after Trinity. British Summer Time Ends

Jim.

Up at 10:30 after shall we say a 'restless' night in their single bed. We had toast. Sue is such a simple girl, and by simple I of course mean uncomplicated, and not stupid. I have always found her sensible, and light, amusing and thoroughly Wilson as opposed to Rhodes.

On to Fieldhead Road where Jim looked at Audrey's bottom. Our suspicions were confirmed by him and Pamela's boyfriend, Peter. Both were on their backs beneath the car gasping at the horrors of the cunning of Jack Andrews. We are advised to 'get rid'. 

Back at Club St we painted the hall and landing a shade of pale jasmine until after 7. We had a roast chicken.

Watched the final part of 'Churchill: The Wilderness Years'.

-=-

Saturday October 24, 1981

 _. United Nations Day

Up late, 10:30. After a greasy repast of sausages and eggs we walked, yes walked, to Whetley Hill garage and collected an ailing Audrey recently fitted with new king-pins to the value of £78. We drove, quite illegally, to Morrison's for our weekly provisions. I say illegally because the MOT expired over a week ago. 

On at 1:30 to the Hermit at Burley Woodhead to have a couple of drinks with Jim Nason. He says he will inspect the holes in the car floor, but the rain puts off the inspection until tomorrow. Sank a couple of lagers. On to Sue and Pete's. We decide to dine with them at the Hare & Hounds tonight. We left them at 4 and drove to Burley, but there was no sign of the Bakers. We went back to Club St, bathed, changed, and then drove back to Guiseley. Lynn, Dave & Frances were at Sue's. Lynn very sheepish and peculiar. Similarly, Dave was non-committal. I showed my annoyance and I think Lynn got the message. She made some remarks about us going out tonight, and planted feelings of ill will. She must have some form of depression. The long hours she spends alone with the baby must be having an adverse effect and getting her down. 

At 7:30 to the Hare & Hounds. The four of us had steaks. Pete was thrilled. They under-charged us for the wine. We paid £2.20 instead of £4. An animated, pleasant dinner. Afterwards we went down to the Fox and bumped into Diane and Paul. They're coming over to ours on Oct 31.

We slept at West End Terrace.

-=-

Friday October 23, 1981

 _. The car is a thorn in our side. Obviously Jack Andrews sold Ally a wreck on Sept 23 last year. The floor is seriously corroded to the extent that Ally has been precariously close to disappearing through the bodywork, and it's so obvious now, but too late. The vehicle was bodged by Jack Andrews to sell to an innocent lady buyer. 

Mum and Dad go to Northumberland. We had a mince concoction for dinner. Reading of Baldwin's early life up to 1920 he seems to have been unambitious. Watched a bit of telly, but programmes were abysmal.

We have decided that tomorrow we will go to Guiseley to see Jim Nason, and then to Sue's and finally to Lynn's at Burley.

-=-

Thursday October 22, 1981

 _. At the YP _________ is becoming more and more schizophrenic. Maniacal, in fact. 

Baldwin: devious

News: All the western leaders are at a conference in Mexico and Geoffrey Rippon is left behind in London. Could he be plotting a bloodless coup d'etat this weekend do you think? The Queen would not approve. Our poor monarch returns on Sunday from a month in Australia, New Zealand and Sri Lanka, where she's had a heavy cold and coughed and spluttered her way through speeches and toasts. Record crowds turned out to see HM 'down under'. Abdication? Ditch the Queen? Never.

Home to Piglet at 6. Walked to the local library. Back at 7 with a biography of Stanley Baldwin by H. Montgomery Hyde. I have never taken to Baldwin always having looked at him through the eyes of the Duke of Windsor, and he painted Stanley as a devious, sinister, pipe-smoking vole, with a cunning and shifty gaze. Obviously, Edward VIII bore a grudge.

We had fish and chips. Mum and Dad go to Northumberland tomorrow, and still haven't heard from Lynn. Horrid girl.

-=-

Wednesday October 21, 1981

 _. Out of bed at 6:30 for a leisurely breakfast. We eat a lot of boiled eggs and toast these days. ________.

Lively at the YP. Amused by an article in the Times which states that the blood sucking leech is now on the list of endangered species. People are actually worried about this and plans are to be set in motion to preserve the lives of these revolting worms. Perhaps they could all be grouped together in a leech game reserve? Before you know it they'll be accusing the Princess of Wales of slaughtering them in the Scottish heather. Surely there's a Chinese leech over in Peking that they could ship over to London Zoo to impregnate our beloved, and last surviving giant leech?

The ridiculous family feud continues. I phoned Mum at 10:20 [I tried at 8 but she was out at Sue's] and she is still waiting to hear from Burley. Since Saturday Lynn has cut us all off. Bloody hell, you'd think David would use his common sense and make contact. Ally disagrees. David, she says, will have been blinded by his all consuming wife, and made to think that his mother-in-law is the vile ogre responsible for the break in diplomatic relations. Lynn's behaviour is thoughtless and cruel. She has always been a willful girl and always said and done everything without thinking about anyone else. Oblivious to her own pitfalls she is very quick to pin-point the faults in others.

Susan is in bad with a bad cold, and Mum and Dad visited her tonight. She left work on Friday, and was hoping to celebrate at the White Cross.

Bed at 10:45.

-=-

Tuesday October 20, 1981

 _. Woke up, and to my horror, see that the alarm clock is blatantly proclaiming 7:58am. I fled from the house and arrived at the office at 9:15. They cannot complain. Since my marriage I haven't turned in late.

Argued with Sarah on the subject of so-called 'blood sports'. This was brought on by the Sun 'exclusive' which stated that the Queen, like Diana, goes out and kills deer on her Scottish moors. I thought it was common knowledge that the Queen is an expert shot. At one time she regularly shot two stags a year [according to the Evening Post, 1958], and the head of one of her 'prize' executions hangs on a wall at Balmoral for all to see. She was taught how to shoot by her father, reputed to be a brilliant marksman. Anti-blood sport people are usually in the main boring, bearded, Left-wing city dwellers who take the Guardian, and lecture at the local polytechnic. This is why I am so surprised by Sarah's revulsion. She tries so hard to be 'county' and is let down badly by this. Surely, most rural people think nothing about going out and killing anything that moves? The nearer one draws to suburbia the more misguided and sentimental people are regarding animals. Thank God for a sane wife. When I asked for her opinion on this subject she sighed, and looking up from her book, said: 'Let them get on with it.'

I was home for 6. Phoned Mum. Still no word from Lynn. I would never have thought that Lynn could be so horrible. If I was one of those modern thinking types I could put it all down to post-natal depression, but that would put me of a par with some feminist Guardian columnist.

Paint flowers. Bed at 11pm.

-=-

Monday October 19, 1981

 _. A black, wet morning. Up at 6:30 to a wintry dawn. Breakfast with Ally and Dave. Malt loaf of all things, as we had forgotten to buy a loaf. We left Ally at 7:45 and got the bus into Leeds where I said goodbye to Dave at the YP. He did say, en route, that he cannot understand Lynn's behaviour to Mum.

YP dull. Sarah had lowered herself to collect my mail. Phoned Mum. She has had no word from Lynn.

Flower painting.....

News: The Princess of Wales has been killing deer at Balmoral. That's one in the eye for those boring wildlife preservationist types. It also illustrates quite admirably that Diana isn't the retiring shrinking violet that Fleet Street columnists would like us to think she is.

Ally should have seen Dr Glover today, but he seems to have forgotten. 

This evening I made a start on a flower painting for Bessie for Christmas. Got the idea from a flower arranging book. Bed at 11:40.

-=-

Sunday October 18, 1981

 _. 18th Sunday after Trinity

News: Sir Steuart Pringle, 10th Baronet, has had his leg blown off in an IRA attack. Moshe Dayan, the one-eyed Israeli general, is dead.

We had sausages for breakfast. Had no word from Lynn. 

The Fiddlers Three.

We walked to the Fiddlers Three at Clayon, at 12 for a couple of hours. Ally has told Dave of her miscarriage. Home at 2 for steak and kidney pudding.

Bus tonight at 8 into town to Duke's Wine Bar where a 'wet t-shirt' competition was in full swing, if you pardon the pun. Hundreds of randy males howling at three flat-chested Bradford girls being publicly humiliated standing in a cold shower in the bar. Dave, clamouring for a good view, stood on a table. Ally was far from happy.

Bed at 12:30.

-=-

Saturday October 17, 1981

 _. Hangover. Dave B came and collected Mum at 10:30 and off they went. But first he fixed the light fitting on the stairs.

Poor Mum always comes out of these squabbles the loser. We heard nothing from Lynn all day. Embarrassed that our guest Dave G should witness this family fracas, but he is a honorary member of the family. 

The Flying Pigs.

Ally, Dave and I got a bus into the town and bought veg in the market before spending two hours in Duke's Wine Bar, sat like three monkeys on a comfortable sofa in the corner. The liquid refreshment helped restore my faculties. Back to Club Street for 5pm. Out again at 8, in the frost, and by bus to Mamma Mia's pizzeria on Manningham Lane. A lasagne and two drinks. Couldn't manage any more. 

Bed at 11. Dave slept in the pigs room [so named after the flying pigs on the wall]. He says he was awake all night counting the passing cars. By morning he'd counted 48,645.

-=-