Wednesday November 23, 1983

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

Ready for dinner.

Frost. Biting cold in fact. Bessie was out at her dentist and so we waited for her and took her into Southampton for the afternoon. She rarely ventures there because she doesn't like driving on the by-pass. We trudged around a damp Southampton for hours. We spent too long in Mothercare, and amongst other things she bought a dressing gown in readiness for her stay at the BRI. Later, in Dorothy Perkins she bought a grey and black creation suitable for next week's dinner dance, that is if our invitations ever arrive. Bessie gave Ally a pearl necklace which will go nicely with the new frock. The Princess of Wales has brought pearls back into fashion. Not that they were ever 'out' but associated with old matrons on the platform at the Tory conference. Tonight we went back with F & B to Southampton and the Potters Heron (where F had left his briefcase) and we dined at La Margherita's, a noisy but pleasant place, like a plot of Italy on British soil. I had steak au poivre, and the others had veal marsala. Very good. Ally says I'm quiet. Reflective maybe. Back at 10:30 and to bed shattered. I had a dream about the Red Lion and everything going wrong.

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Tuesday November 22, 1983

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

Ally at Chillandham Cross.

Frost. Vast breakfast. Ally very moody when the mirror in the car fell off in her hand. She bit Bessie's head off and stormed around like Mussolini. We went to Winchester again, just the two of us. Looked at the shops but bought nothing. Spent hours looking at books. I do fancy Kenneth Rose's 'George V'. Were his last words really 'bugger Bognor', I wonder? I'd like to think they were. We went for a drink to the Market Tavern where the barperson spoke like Sybil Fawlty. Mind you, they all sound like Sybil in these parts. We resisted food in the pub and shopped until dusk. Home to Bessie who roasted a large piece of beef, too much for the three of us. Frank was out deputising for Richard Barclay at the Potters Heron and so he wanted no dinner. We three ate at 7. Yorkshire puddings courtesy of M.L. Rhodes, Esq. Twenty years ago this evening JFK was done in. I had just gone to bed, aged 8, at Goldthorpe, and Mum came up to tell us of the president's assassination. Ally cannot recall the event. Bessie seems to think she and Frank were out at a dinner, or maybe confusing JFK with Bobby 5 years later.

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Monday November 21, 1983

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas, Hampshire

Chillandham Cross.

Frost and cold. We had the usual vast Winchester breakfast and then, feeling guilty, we walked down by the river and through Easton before returning to Chillandham Cross. They are constructing a motorway just a couple of miles from the house and a great white scar of chalk and clay runs across Itchen Valley. The Transport Secretary should be castrated. Evidently, the monstrosity will slash three minutes off the journey from Bournemouth to London. I wanted to take a photo of Ally nestling in the bullrushes and mallard ducks but the camera went on the blink. Very annoying. We went with Bessie into town and spent hours in the shops. It's not something we've done for six months and so was something of a novelty. I took my erring camera into Dixon's (no relation) who fixed it in minutes. Ally can be very tetchy with her mother. My wife is wanting in tact and patience at times. I blame the bulge for this change in temperament. She must be so very uncomfortable at times. Roast leg of lamb with Bessie. Frank was out and when he returned he locked himself in his study.

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Sunday November 20, 1983

Last Sunday after Trinity - Full Moon 

5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Bessie & Frank.

Her Majesty The Queen's wedding anniversary. They are in Delhi for the Commonwealth Conference, where the poor sovereign is calming everyone after the Grenada fiasco. I do not know what to think about Mrs Gandhi. Is she very bad, or is she very good? We spent a restful morning 'neath the duvet and then took baths and packed suitcases. Bright, sunny and cold. We left jlust after 12 for Winchester and arrived after 4, after only one stop at Watford Gap, where Ally bought a glossy baby magazine. Frank and Bessie were just returned from Guernsey, and were knackered. We dined on braised pork chops and a pleasant white wine. They did not go on about Ally's 'bump'. I expected a little more excitement. Not a late night.

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Saturday November 19, 1983

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Tony.

The Bakers were here at 9:30 to collect Mum's wood. The girls looked tatty and pink. They went off with the girls waving frantically in the back. We drove to Pudsey to find the Gadsby clan assembled in readiness for their weekly onslaught on Asda. Hilda went off with Jill, and we sat with Tony and Diane, who is 20 today and looks like Pamela Ewing in 'Dallas'. It's the hair. We went on to Karen's to inspect Hayley, a bonnie 12 week-old. Karen, obviously, is over the moon. After a few hours at Stanningley we went on to see Auntie Mabel, eating lunch, and then back to Wilsby for a buffet supper. Auntie Eleanor was there too. We returned home at 7, or 8, after the feast. At home we watched a Kennedy programme and went to bed.

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Friday November 18, 1983

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford 7

Ally in a large yellow robe looking like a monster egg custard came down at 10:20 to make cups of tea and spied Mum and Dad coming down the garden path. They came en route to MFI where they were heading to buy cupboards and so we had breakfast together. They went off at 11:30 and Ally and I went to her dentist where she had her teeth cleaned, polished &c. I then went to the barber's where I was suitably clipped. It was hideously long and I was beginning to look like Oscar Wilde. We arranged to go out tonight for a pizza with John, Lynn, Sue, &c. We haven't all been under the same roof for ages. Mum and Dad called in again at 2 and then went off to Horton. We splashed in the bath and went to Guiseley for 6:30. We all met at Lynn's and went on to Peppermint Place, a new restaurant owned by Frazer Hines, and we sat around a large round table (I was in between Ally and Janette). Wine flowed like water. The food was not brilliant. On to the Old Ball at Horsforth and then the Station. It all seemed to be over much too quickly. Sue looked happy and well and sweet, as always. Have Lynn and Dave got themselves too deep in debt with Thorpefields? Back to theirs for coffee. Katie hadn't slept and was sat red faced on Julie (Baker's) knee. Home to bed at 2:30am.

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Thursday November 17, 1983

 Why Not, Hemlington

Our cottage.

Fran O'Brien was here early and snooping around in the lounge and getting in the way of the cleaners. He asks whether the bedding is ours or his. It's ours. He went off to court in Middlesbrough with Tim and as I was packing the car I ceased to be the licensee here. I felt rotten. Ally chatted to the stocktaker as I attempted to get a grip of myself. Tim, poor boy, was on edge, and when Joe Battle came in shouting and swearing he went for him like a wild beast, and punches were exchanged before noon. Brenda was hysterical with laughter. Roy and Marie called to say goodbye. Marie said that drink makes Mags 'go loopy'. I don't think the demon drink does Roy much good either. Tim says poor Roy has been going through a bad patch lately. William has left home, &c. We left Hemlington at 1:30 and I was violently sick as we hurtled down the A1. Shaking like a leaf too. Ally drove via Pontefract (!) to see Sister Matthews who said she has a large, fine baby. Back to our cottage where we sat by the fire in a complete state of shock. Bed.

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Wednesday November 16, 1983

 Why Not, Hemlington

Mags.

Warmer and wetter, and so is the weather. We rushed out to the car, as Ronald Reagan would do if ever his secret service agents had a day off, and made our last drive to that dead hole, Thornaby. I forgot to say but we visited Roy on Monday but they were absent at a furniture sale. Tonight was dead as a doornail. Anna asked to work in a different bar to Carole, but gave no reason. Went upstairs at 11 screaming with glee - our torture at the Why Not is over. Praise be to God. Ally and I changed and went over to the Linthorpe where we all went in taxis (Roy with us) to the re-opening of Mandy's disco. It's called something else now.There until late. We sat with Mags (who secretly loves me), JT, Roy, Marie, trainees, &c. Roy was very pissed and he attempted to thump Macca, who was paying too much attention to Mags. They all ended up outside squabbling. Roy disappeared in a taxi trapping Mags in the door and we chased them in another vehicle back to the Linthorpe. Mags, wet and wearing velvet, was hysterical. I was drunk too on whisky, and only Ally was sane. Back to the Why not for our last night under that hideous roof.

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Tuesday November 15, 1983

 Why Not, Hemlington

I got up at 7:30 and did my 'bottling up'. I went out to look for bullets, or shell cases in the garden, but found nothing. I'd like to kill the bastard who is terrifying my poor wife. Ally though is unscathed and sat sipping tea and reading a magazine. I attempted to have a bath which isn't an easy thing when living in a pub. One is forever on call.

Young Peter Phillips is six today. It's a scandal. The boy really should be given a peerage.

Barmaids from Hell.

Ally has been packing our suitcase.We cannot wait for the moment when we drive away leaving the Why Not behind forever. It is quite alarming how we have grown to accept gratuitous violence without even thinking. Neither of us lost sleep last night after the gunshot drama but if such a thing had taken place at Club Street we would have been in uproar. I only hope that we can leave without Mandy Metro being attacked. I wouldn't put it past the pigs around here to let down our tyres ... or burst them. I opened up at 11 and Carole came in at 12. The place like a mausoleum and I had to endure the ramblings of Tommy 'Voicebox' , such an old bore. Brenda, the barmaid, told me at the eleventh hour that Carole is the viper in our midst, 'the one what's pilfering'. All I can do is tell Tim to keep an eagle eye on her because when she left at 3:30 I rejoiced in the knowledge that I will never have to survey her craggy countenance again. I hope she rots in Hell. Brenda informed me of this treachery and then asked for a sub, which I refused. Maurice says it is a paradox. He wants us to go for our sakes, but then he doesn't. He was aghast when I told him that Ally had been the victim of an assassination attempt. 'Get out', he says, 'Oh get out'. We are doing. We sat in bed watching a TV programme about Greece. Memories of Ios came flooding back. The nights of passion 'neath the starry heavens.

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Monday November 14, 1983

 The Birthday of the Prince of Wales

The Why Not, Hemlington

A dark start to the day at 7am. We stayed abed listening to BBC Radio 4. It is the Prince of Wales's birthday. He is 35. Ally gasped when I said that when Diana is 60 the prince will be 72. I went downstairs and scrubbed the cellar, re-hung the curtains, 'bottled up' - all this for less than £80 a week. I must be a madman. We had breakfast at 10. Creamy porridge, eggs for Ally, but I abstained. It is ten years ago today since Ally scaled Pen-y-Ghent with Martyn Cole. Ten years ago today I was squat in front of a smouldering TV watching Princess Anne marry the young army captain. The cleaner, Gail, asked me for a £2 sub and I refused. If bar staff cannot have subs then why should the cleaners? Sunshine, but cold. When Miss Smarty Pants came in at 12 we went off to Thornaby and banked the takings. In Woolco we were nauseated by the sight of Christmas decorations and we shopped to the piped music of 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing'. Too early for this sort of thing don't you think? Back at the Why Not Ally made a chicken stew and dumplings. Felt sleepy and sprawled on the bed after dinner listening to the news. Cruise missiles arrived at Greenham Common today. A jolly good thing too. At 9:40 I was in the lounge downstairs talking with Lol Wilson about the Clissold pub in Muswell Hill when Ally phoned down for me to go up. Upstairs we have a bullet hole through the kitchen window which cracked the double glazed panel. Ally was on her way to the kitchen at the time of the gunshot. I shudder to think what could have happened. I am quite convinced that many people in our society are unfit to live. Cocoa in bed at midnight.

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Sunday November 13, 1983

 24th Sunday after Trinity

Remembrance Sunday

Ally is sweet. We switched on the TV whilst having breakfast and her eyes filled with tears at the sight of the ex-servicemen parading past the Cenotaph in Whitehall. The Prince of Wales laid the Queen's wreath because she is Kenya at the Sagana Lodge where she had learned she had succeeded to the throne in 1952. It is exactly 50 years to the day since the last Prince of Wales deputised for the sovereign. Horrible afternoon. The beer pumps stopped flowing and I couldn't locate the fault. I managed to stay calm. The rabble had to drink bottled beer and thereby cleared some of the old, slow-selling stock. The two hours at lunch flew. I spent much of the time in the cellar trying to sort the problem. I thought it wise not to tell Ally of the crisis. She was oblivious upstairs. At 3 I joined my wife for a roast chicken. Afterwards we sat in bed. She marvels at my ability to do three things at once, i.e. talk to her, read the Daily Telegraph and at the same time watch the 1950s epic 'Alexander the Great' starring a 19 year-old Richard Burton. Slept then until 6pm. Quiet night. The maniac female Joyce tore down the curtains in the back bar. I blame our very strong Cider Reserve. To bed.

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