20200327

Wednesday November 7, 1979

_. Sarah's 27th birthday. She refused to celebrate or be even remotely cheerful, but I gave a large card with a verse of my own composition. I can be quite poetic, you know.

Jennifer Myers, the wife of my cousin Derek [son of my mother's sister, Eleanor] gave birth to a son today. I believe the baby is to be called Oliver, but this has yet to be confirmed. Hardly an earth shattering event for me because my cousins, and half cousins number over fifty. My poor mother was a great-aunt at 28.

Adolf Hitler continues to provide great entertainment on these long, autumnal evenings. I don't despise the chap either, which is odd. No, I am no fascist or National Front supporter. Hitler may have been mad, but then so was the German population for tolerating him.

-=-

Tuesday November 6, 1979

_. Back to the grindstone. In fact the YP is nothing short of a labour camp. One might as well emigrate to Czechoslovakia and lend support to the Charter 77 malarkey, because my working conditions are no better than those of your average commie dissident in a cheap eastern bloc republic.

No work seems to have been done in the office since I left for my weekend break on Friday lunchtime. I worked from 5pm. Poor Gilberto is having trouble with the news desk. Chris Oakley, for all his south American wanderings, is making rude and heated noises in high places re Gilberto's command of the Queen's English.

My taxi driver this evening was a deaf mute.

-=-

20200326

Monday November 5, 1979

_. Took our leave of Chillandham Cross at about 11:30. Up to Oxford and then to Woodstock, where we had a couple of drinks in the empty pub there. Blenheim Palace is closed until March next year, not that we had time to inspect the Oxfordshire culture anyway. The northward journey saw a deterioration in the weather, and freezing rain pelted the car as we trundled along. We emerged from the car at Stratford-on-Avon to inspect the town. My first visit to the home town of the Bard since December, 1974, when I joined Dave L and his college cronies on a marathon pub crawl. We went round the town like Dickensian urchins staring into restaurants and breathing heavily on cake shop windows. Heading up the M1 at 6:30 we saw almost every bonfire north of Watford. Smoke drifted over the motorway.

Ally is a petal.

-=-

Sunday November 4, 1979

_. 21st Sunday after Trinity

To the Plough at lunch with Ally, Graham and Gill. It's an afternoon soiree for Graham who is resigning as barman to become an executive in Gloucestershire. Gill and I sat with pale and ghastly faces, gently moaning. A pity really because the salmon and hot punch looked very good. Ally ate like a horse and put away my share. I was very happy to quit the pub at 4:30 though.

The evening was weird and peculiar. To a dinner party at Graham Smith's place. [He was Ally's boss when she was employed at Wessex Area Health Authority]. We sat down to dine but only Ally and I ate. They watched, saying they were dieting. Who the bloody hell throws a dinner party and refuses to eat? Charlotte fussed over her cats, Oscar and Biggles, kissing them with nauseating regularity. Strange and odd, but aren't they all odd in Hampshire?

-=-

Saturday November 3, 1979

_. Today we went to lunch - the whole clan - and sat eating long overdue toasties next to a roaring log fire. Fiona is a miniature version of her mother. Ally and I then went supposedly shopping into Winchester, but having little money bought nothing.

This evening out with Graham and Gill to Tolworth near Guildford. After drinking in a couple of taverns we went on to a house party at the flat of Graham's friend, Richard. Crowded. The wine flowed. A revolting tart with a plum her mouth actually suggested to me that Hadrian's Wall ought to be demolished and re-erected at Watford. 'Good idea', quipped I: 'We don't want the likes of you venturing up north.' Drank far too much wine with Gill. Ally didn't drink because she was at the wheel of Mrs D's car. I was hideously sloshed. Home at 5am.

-=-

Friday November 2, 1979

_. Ally came to Leeds at 12:30 and we were soon on the road to Winchester. The car was packed and rattled along like Stephenson's Rocket. I was starving, not having eaten all day, but was banned from snacking until we reached the designated picnic site at Bladon in Oxfordshire. We arrived at 5 and inspected the church yard wherein lay the remains of Winston and Clem and various other Churchills. Such ordinary, mundane, unobtrusive tombs considering such great bones rot beneath, yet moving in a strange way. A pathetic looking white bouquet had been placed on Winston's white slab. I took a few photos but felt uneasy photographing gravestones.

We sat giggling in the car eating edam cheese with some violence and tormented the village cat who came to investigate. I wanted to make a Martini, but it was hardly the time or place. On to Winchester for 6:30. Barbara and Frank are there with daughter, Fiona, aged 10.  Mrs Dixon fussed in her usual manner. On to the Ship at Alresford and then the Plough at Itchen Abbas.

-=-

Thursday November 1, 1979

_. November at last. The season of fireworks and falling foliage. I almost said tis the season for scarlet clad Yeomen of the Guard to file through the dark cellars of the Palace of Westminster in search of some foul plot, but Her Majesty is giving it a miss this autumn. One state opening of Parliament in June is quite enough for one year.

Ally came over and so does Lynn, without Dave, who is at home in bed with one of his headaches. Lynn blames the malady on the pork pie he had for lunch.

Jim and Margaret came later.

-=-

Wednesday October 31, 1979

_. I suppose I really should say a few words just to be sociable if nothing else. But no.

-=-

Tuesday October 30, 1979

_. I am an observant little chap, you know. Scanning through the Daily Telegraph BMDs I spotted the engagement of Sabrina Guinness's sister Julia, and then informed Claudia, standing in for Fred Manby on the People column. Miss Guinness is set to marry Michael Samuel, the Jewish nephew of Viscount Bearsted. The Prince of Wales attended a ball at Wilton House on Saturday where Sabrina and her twin Miranda were in the swing of thing. Some sad organs of the press were expecting an engagement announcement. People should be aware that royal betrothals are announced from Buckingham Palace in the age old tradition. The Prince of Wales doesn't turn up at a party and become engaged.

Spoke to Ally this afternoon. She had not spoken to Michelle [at WH Smith Travel] and our holiday is still in the air. It was a bad line. She sounded to be speaking from Apollo 13.

Peter came at 7:30 with a sheep's head in a polythene bag. Mum's eyes lit up with excitement, even more than the poor sheep's. We must be one of the few families in existence to devour the facial parts and brain material of that woolly, four legged moorland animal. For generations peasants in the area must have found it to be a delicacy, but now it is looked upon with derision and abuse. We are labelled pagan. Such a shame.

To bed with Hitler.

-=-

Monday October 29, 1979

_. Delia phoned to say that July 26, 1980, is her aunt's golden wedding party, and because of this she probably won't be able to do Sue's wedding flowers. This will be a serious break with tradition. She will let me know for certain later in the week when she returns from Kettering.

I spoke to Ally this afternoon. Nothing of interest to report here.

On the way to work this morning I had a lecture from Jim [Rawnsley] on the subject of women. I should not, he says, be put off by selecting a girl who is painfully thin. They can easily be fattened up to desirable proportions. I should steer well clear of ladies of a plump disposition. They will only grow fatter, and swell to obesity with the passage of time. She must, he stressed, be of a happy and amiable disposition and in my case should be no more than eighteen or nineteen years old. He also stated that I should cling on to my bachelorhood until I am at least 32. This is because Jim was himself 32 when he succumbed to Muriel. Of course, he went on, when one passes the age of 30 the suitable desirables can become very thin on the ground. Jim's splendid wife is of course ten years Jim's junior.

Meanwhile at home: messing about with the clocks [which we do without fail at the autumn equinox] brought about a peculiar phenomenon. I found myself in bed at the early hour of 10:30pm with a milky drink and Adolf Hitler.

-=-

Sunday October 28, 1979

_. 20th Sunday after Trinity

Bright and autumnal. Out of bed at 10:30. They have no Sunday newspapers at Lawn Road but Lynn is a splendid substitute. The Bakers really do need a little red cheeked baby to complete the scene.

At 12 we set out and walked to Burley Woodhead, and an enjoyable stroll it was. We haven't had a morning ramble since we were in Martyr Worthy.

In the afternoon Lawn Road was a hive of industry. Lynn took to the kitchen to bake pies and tarts, Dave laid a fire in the grate, and Ally knitted away at an obscene canary yellow woollen object. Watched an old film on the TV. Gary Cooper in 'Marco Polo' [1938]. Chris Baker and Julie came to tea. Ally and I left at 8:30 and we had fish and chips before she ejected me from her automobile.

-=-

Saturday October 27, 1979

_. Breakfast at Burley. Dave went off to Pine Tops to help Dad work on the car. Lynn, Ally and I went to Otley supposedly shopping but found the Black Bull a more attractive proposition. Drank pernod, &c. Rick Ryder and fellow work-mates joined us. We were very bawdy and uncouth.

Ally went to Curlew Pottery to buy some hideous crockery for Charlotte Pavier.

Out tonight to the Queen's in Burley and then the Red Lion. Dave had returned by this time. Back at Lawn Road we all sat on Lynn and Dave's bed watching an Alec Guinness film.

-=-


Friday October 26, 1979

_. Ally came at 8:30. She was miserable and dull. Out with Sue and Pete to the White Cross. She said she is sick of the place and so we moved on to the Chevin Inn, and crammed into the sardine-tin shaped bar. Ally's mood did not improve. She snapped and growled like a wounded Jack Russell terrier. Her attitude only provoked me. From the Chevin we went to the Red Lion at Burley-in-W.
We went on to Lynn's at 11:15 [where Ally is booked in for the weekend]. drinks and sandwiches here.

-=-

Thursday October 25, 1979

_. Dave G and Garry are very happy with the Es Pla. I thought they would go along with whatever we decided. The holiday situation for next year is a joke. It's only October and most hotels are fully booked.

Ally and I went to the Drop. No Oakwood Hall, or fancy drinks. We need £20 for deposits for the holiday. This seriously interferes with our social life.

Home at 11. Mum and Dad are at Hilda and Tony's until the early hours. A Jim and Margaret match away from home.

-=-

Wednesday October 24, 1979

_. United Nations Day

Does this mean that Kurt Waldheim and friends stagger to a New York bar and drink themselves unconscious in party hats and festive regalia?

I wanted to have a summit meeting with Sue and Peter on the subject of Ibiza '80 but they successfully and I hope unintentionally avoided me. Pete came at 7 and waltzed Sue, Mum and Dad to Yeadon on a shopping expedition. Dad is stranded without a car, don't forget. I waited for them until 11pm when they decided to crawl back in. They'd been in the Regent in Guiseley since 7:45.

Ally came over with glossy and useless travel brochures and sat in front of the tv until the others came back. Michael Palin's 'Ripping Yarns' gave us a giggle. ITV is back on the air for the first time since August.

Sue and Pete are not enthusiastic about full board at the Es Pla but will take it if nothing else crops up. It cost us £190 as the Galfi this year for bed and breakfast, and so all we are arguing about is an extra £50.

-=-

20200324

Tuesday October 23, 1979

_. It's no good. I'm going to have to give up the practice of reading Hitler in bed every night. I now have a recurring dream where I am a high ranking officer in the Wehrmacht. Far from pleasant.

Daddy woke me this morning with one of his dreadful cups of tea at some time close to 11. Downstairs I boiled a couple of eggs and chatted with Mum, who is in a better frame of mind. It's odd how she suddenly goes into a decline for days on end. Is it her age, do you think? Afterwards I went into the garden and played silly buggers with the privet hedge. I am a real little Percy Thrower.

Ally summoned me to the phone to discuss the 1980 summer holiday. Have I mentioned that Susan and Peter want to honeymoon with Ally, Dave, Garry and I? This may seem very weird to many but knowing Sue and Pete as I do I think it only natural and right. They are perhaps the most un-romantic pair to walk the earth since Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson. Ally became quite irate on the phone and was close to blowing her top. The whole of Ibiza is fully booked for next summer by the look of things with possibly the exception of the Es Pla [near the Marco Polo] in San Antonio, which unfortunately is full board and will cost £248 before the traditional airport surcharge, insurance and the like. I told Ally that we ought to take this option, but of course Sue and Pete are the most important and should be consulted first.

To the YP at 5. Home by taxi with a driver who is a leading expert on the subject Leeds Jews and their activities.

-=-


Monday October 22, 1979

_, Gossip columnists are becoming desperate and hysterical on the subject of the Prince of Wales and his future princess. It's getting beyond a joke. Following the wedding of Lord Romsey on Saturday the Daily Mail were laying bets this morning that Charles's bride will be Edwina Hicks, daughter of David and Lady Pamela Hicks, and of course a granddaughter of the late Earl Mountbatten. The Daily Express, on the other hand, says the P of W will marry Lady Amanda Knatchbull, youngest daughter of Lord Brabourne and the new Countess Mountbatten. It is clear to me that the prince will not marry either of these delightful ladies. On the one hand they are both too closely related to Charles, and on the other neither of them are fair or buxom. The Prince of Wales is on record as stating that he likes his ladies 'big and blonde'. Lady Amanda is quite the opposite and endowed with a large Knatchbull hooter which rules her out immediately. The next Princess of Wales must be stunning and sensational. These are the only attributes I can certainly confirm she'll have.

-=-

Sunday October 21, 1979

_. 19th Sunday after Trinity

A day of recuperation and relaxation. Janice took Dave G off to Goole at about 8:30am. He cannot have been happy.  Lynn [looking ghastly] and Dave left at about 10, and Karen, Steve, Jill and Tim followed soon after. Sue, Pete, Ally and I idled around the house, and then went over the road to the pub [the Second West?] for a 'hair of the dog'. Lidget Green isn't such a bad spot really. Peter glowers at the sight of so many colonial residents but I harbour no ill will to our Commonwealth brothers. Indeed, I'd very much like to be dark brown myself.

-=-

Saturday October 20, 1979

_. Sunny day, and warm. Mum remained in bed for most of the day with her 'cold'. She was really miserable. I went into Guiseley to buy a film for the camera and a plant to cheer Ma up. Back home at 2.

Dave G and Janice arrived at 7 as did Karen and Steve, Lynn and Dave. We went in convoy fashion to Lidget Green. Janice was quiet, but pleasant and exclaimed: "Oh Michael. You haven't changed have you?" Oh dear. Jill and Tim joined us at Club Street and we went on a pub crawl, including 'Mucky Willie's'. Drank whisky in vast quantities. Back for a house party. Sat in the cellar with Steve S and Pete discussing the Territorial Army. Ally banged away on the piano, and somebody went out for a huge order of fish and chips. Dave G and Lynn had a 'heart to heart' on the steps and Janice wasn't happy [so I've been told]. In usual tradition Lynn was in tears and Dave G was in a similar condition.

-=-

Friday October 19, 1979

_. Ally chauffeured me into Leeds at 8am. She's having another day on the skive. Having no change of clothes I wore one of her old sweat shirts with 'Plough Inn, Itchen Abbas' plastered across the front. This made me a figure of ridicule for the whole day.

At 1pm Ally returned and we went to Len's Bar which they have ruined by recent alterations, and then the Central Station. YP and YEP staff are packed in the bar including John MacMurray and Michael Brown. We argued about the current debate in the Church of England regarding homosexual priests. I don't understand the problem. Why just pick on queer vicars? Why do bent butchers, bankers, boxers and barristers slip through the net?

Home at 5 [I had been half an hour late back from lunch and Kathleen appeared peculiarly unconcerned]. Mum is ill and their car has broken down.

Out at 7:30 to the White Cross, the Drop and then the Cross again. Saw Patrice Saunders but couldn't understand a word he said. Home at 11:30 and saw Sir Harold Wilson as the host of a new repulsive chat show.

-=-

Monday January 20, 1986

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ If I miss the YP for anything it is that daily morning scan of the national newspapers. I do not have time fo...