Sunday November 15, 1981

 _.22nd Sunday after Trinity

Hungover at first but a few pills and a gallon of tea and a heap of breakfast pulled me round. Ally was very tender too. We were in bed until noon. 

We slumped on the settee all afternoon watching two dreadful films, unable to move to switch over. Eleanor Parker as an archaeologist in Egypt and Robert Taylor and Sophia Loren as Greek sponge divers. This duo of film classics took us through until 6:30.

We had chilled Martinis followed by pork cooked in cider. A delicious candle-lit nosh. 

Watched an episode of The Borgias. Pneumotelevisionitis undoubtedly.

-=-

Saturday November 14, 1981

 _.We lounged in bed until after 10:30 and took a leisurely breakfast and discussed the days proggramme. Dry, bright, crisp and sunny. We made our weekly pilgrimage into Bradford and were soon weighed down with fruit, vegetables and meat. The shops were packed out. The festive season looming. Collected my painting from the frame shop. We tired of the bustle and made for home. 

The oil paining is now hanging on the landing. Lynn, Dave and Frances came at 3:30 and spent a couple of hours drinking apricot wine and 'Clan Dew'. 

The baby has wonderful dark eyes and a head of fine, punk-rock like hair. They left at 5:30 and we were left amongst the cushions, clutching our sticky glasses and looking for some excitement. We phoned Susie but they are going out with Pamela and Pamela's Peter. Phoned Dave L, Jill, Tim, Karen, Steve, Diane and Paul, and all agreed to come over. Catherine and David were conned into coming too. They arrived thinking they'd be our only guests. A jolly gathering which included a dancing competition. Steve, Tim and Dave did a remarkable impression of The Chiffons singing 'Sweet Talking Guy'. Diane and Paul are getting engaged next week. Things fell through at about 1:30 when Dave left and Steve had a ferocious attack of wind. We ended the night using the cellar as an  'anti-Steve fall out shelter'.

At 3:30am we made eggs and chips.

-=-

Friday November 13, 1981

 _.Friday the thirteenth. Ally has spoken to Jack Andrews garage. The reply this time is that they are waiting for a new seat belt to arrive from the dealers. A simple three day job has escalated into three weeks.

YP: photographs of the royal progress in York yesterday show a pale and wilting Princess of Wales. Should HRH be carrying out such a bstrenuous 'meet the people tour' in these early and crucial weeks of a first pregnancy?

A cosy evening on our settee with our books [Stanley Baldwin and Daphne Du Maurier] with the tv droning on in the background. At 10:15 I shamefully went over the road for greasy fish and chips. We seldom have supper. We watched the tv until it disappeared into a dot. Adam, of Adam and the Ants, was the star on a late night chat show. He's obviously a boy with big and burning ambitions.

-=-

Thursday November 12, 1981

 _. We have been married for 138 days today. A wonderful compatible pair. And I'm not bad either. 

A cold, frosty morn. Busy at the YP. Kathleen is laid up with workitis, and Sarah decided to take a half-day to buy furniture. Just 'Mrs Slocombe' and I, and the phone rang like Hell all day. 

The Prince and Princess of Wales visited York and Chesterfield today . Vast crowds turned out to see the princess who, according to reports, looked pale and uneasy. 80,000 people gathered in Chesterfield Market place.

A tortuous journey home this evening. Three different buses. I deserve the Royal Victorian Chain, or something.

Ally spent the evening working out our finances, or lack of them. She likes nothing better than sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by bills and long dormant cheque book stubs. She took my wallet and removed all the notes from it. Whenever I have cash it is soon cruelly taken from me.

Phoned Dave G at 8. Confirm our visit for Dec 12. Garry, he says, is being made redundant on Dec 18. Poor bugger. Always impassive and without expression, I wonder how long his face is now?

I have just taken up the journal of Barclay Fox, a Cornish Quaker, who kept a diary from 1832 to 1844. Very amusing and interesting because I recall many of the places mentioned from our Cornish holidays 1969, 1970 and 1971.

-=-

Wednesday November 11, 1981

 _. Veteran's Day, USA. - Remembrance Day, Canada

Dark and unpleasant it was at 6:15 today when Peter Milburn on 'Pennine Radio' roused us from our slumbers. We bathed and had boiled eggs, bananas on toast, &c. 

Rain. At the YP I decided to take a half day. Back home at 1:30 I painted the hand rail on the staircase, then looked at my flower painting. Made some headway with the roses and brought them close to completion. Some of them look like cabbages, but I'm generally quite pleased.

Phoned Ally.  An inquest is under way at Bradford Area Health Authority regarding the disappearance of Derek's fan heater. He views everyone suspiciously, and Ally is his number one suspect. The man is insane. Ally has also had a very frustrating conversation with Jack Andrews garage. She is in a state of fury over the condescending attitude of the secretary there.

Made a casserole, and we snuggled down this evening. A book arrived in the post from Associated Book Club. Gordon Honeycombe's 'The Royal Wedding', a special edition no less, and costing £17. Very plush.

Mum phoned for a chat. Watched the drama series 'The Borgias'.

-=-

Tuesday November 10, 1981

 _. At the YP. Gloom. Kathleen was sneezing and so the library was a major quarantine area. Surgical masks. I kid you not. 

Morning papers: The Princess of Wales has been 'under the weather' since her Cenotaph appearance. The EP is treating it very seriously - a tragedy in the making. I did some mournful research for them. Diana's great-grandmother, Margaret, Viscountess Althorp [1869-1906] died in childbirth. The baby survived and married Henry Douglas-Home.

Home at 6. Laid the stair carpet and made the place look a bit less like a Polish refugee camp, or an Afghan guerilla base in the foothills. I placed an old copy of the Times on each step to give the carpet added thickness. It's just like an Axminster now. 

At 11:30pm the phone rang. A voice said: 'Hello Sir. It's Buckingham Palace on the line. Will you accept a call?' It was Steve S. Tim then came on [pissed] to a background of noises reminiscent of Belle Vue Zoo. He was phoning to thank us for the birthday card.

Bed at 12.

-=-

Monday November 9, 1981

 _.To the Central Library at lunchtime. More art books.

No donkey jacket?

The brouhaha over Michael Foot's Cenotaph gaffe received marvellous coverage in the morning papers. One publication likened Foot to an 'Irish navvy' which as you can imagine has upset all the Irish MPs. Mrs Foot, defending her husband, is of the opinion that all great men throughout history have been generally of scruffy appearance. Unsure about this. Did we ever see Napoleon in a donkey jacket and wellies? Cleopatra in pre-shrunk faded jeans? [I was tempted to suggest snakeskin trousers, but that would have been unfair]. Louis XIV was always at home in a boiler suit too. [That's enough scruffy historical figures - Ed].

Home at 6. Continued painting flowers - a vast improvement. Still painting the hallway too. Dave G phoned at 8. He asked us to go to Stockport on Dec 12 to dine at Steak Kebabs.

Bed with Stanley Baldwin.

-=-

Sunday November 8, 1981

 _. 21st Sunday after Trinity - Remembrance Sunday

The phone woke us at 10:30. It was Mum reminding us to watch the remembrance service from the Cenotaph. We sat with eggs on toast watching the age-old ritual from London. The Queen laying yet another wreath. The Princess of Wales was in animated conversation with King Olav of Norway on the balcony of the Home Office. The Queen Mother always has a wistful, teary look on these occasions. The pin-striped Cabinet ministers had front row positions but it was Michael Foot's spectacular appearance upon which every eye focused. The Leader of Her Majesty's Opposition was wearing a shabby duffle coat, buttoned up wrong, and checked tie. And was he wearing Hush Puppies? If his appearance wasn't bad enough, he walked away from the Cenotaph after placing his wreath in the manner of a man leaving a parking meter. No court bow. No reverence. This is the Labour party for you. 

Harry.

Spent the day painting the hall and staircase. Broke off at 4:30 to watch an old film. Henry Fonda [aged 17] in 'Jesse James' [1939]. 

I must say something about Uncle Harry. Last week Uncle Bert went up to Whitehaven from Nottingham to see his brother [Harry], only to find he was away for the weekend with his 25 year-old girlfriend. Harry is 59 and he's apparently taken up with a comely Cumbrian yoga teacher. On finding Harry's mobile home unoccupied Bert didn't hesitate to break in and spend a solitary weekend on Harry's hospitality. Dad says we shouldn't put too much emphasis on Bert's version of events and details of Harry's new love. Uncle Bert isn't the most reliable news agency.

Dined on mounds of steak and kidney pudding, and collapsed afterwards. Ally phoned Bessie. They are going to Cyprus on Nov 11. Ally's cousin Kathryn Mogford gave birth to a son Adam, recently. Not an obnoxious name.

-=-

Saturday November 7, 1981

 _. A day spent on the staircase splashing paint everywhere. The drab pink undercoat on the woodwork has now given way to a shining poppy, giving a brilliance to the place which, quite frankly, is breathtaking. In my wife I have found a skilled 'brushwoman'. She can do a door far better than I ever could, and knows exactly the right amount of paint to lay upon her brush. I am prone to being runny. 

We went into town on the bus at 4 and spent an hour around the shops. We bought Frances a Lucy Atwell book of Grimm's fairy tales, and a soup recipe book for Kathleen [99p], and a flan dish for Diane and Paul's engagement. We did much giggling. By 4:30 darkness had descended and the Christmas trees and glitter in the shop windows lent a Yuletide atmosphere to the place. Hideous really. It's another seven weeks until Santa Claus comes.

Margaux Hemingway.

Tonight I splashed about on a canvas for Mama. Quite pleased with the first few strokes but I have trouble with the sheep in the foreground. It's quite difficult to make sheep look like sheep, if you know what I mean. 

Had lasagne. Watched Margaux Hemingway in 'Lipstick' from 1976. Five years ago did I take Lynne Mather to see the film, or was it Sarah? Films are usually a let down after five years, and this is no exception. It hasn't aged well.

Mum phoned at 10:30pm just for a chat and pleading loneliness. Papa was out on constabulary duties between 4pm and midnight.

To bed at 12 with milky drinks and books.

-=-

Friday November 6, 1981

 _. Ally is exhausted and looks ghastly. She says she could sleep for 150 years. 

To Len's Bar at lunchtime with Sarah. Dismal.

The YP is all Charles and Diana. The papers all agree that it's the quickest royal pregnancy to follow a marriage for many years. The Duke of Clarence and Avondale was born in January, 1864, ten months after his parents, the then Prince and Princess of Wales, married. However, Queen Victoria gave birth to the Princess Royal in November, 1840, nine months to the day after her marriage to Prince Albert. If you regard all this as tenuous let's go back to the Prince Regent, later George IV, who married Caroline of Brunswick on April 8, and his only child, Princess Charlotte, was born on the following January 7. The royal baby will be the first baby born to a Princess of Wales since Mary [of Teck] gave birth to Prince John in 1905. The Press Association speculate about the possibility of twins. Diana's grandfather, the 4th Lord Fermoy [1885-1955] was a twin with his brother the Hon Francis Roche [1885-1958], and Diana's aunt Mary [her mother's sister] had twin girls in 1957 to her then husband, Anthony Berry, MP.

Home after 6. Pork chops and mounds of cabbage. Ally had left the AHA early, and gone on foot to Morrison's and then walked home.

Bed after 10.

-=-

Thursday November 5, 1981

 _. Off out into the cold at 7:45. Bounced into the YP with an air of unconcealable efficiency about me. Very pleased that Bob [Cockroft] used my piece about Davina Sheffield announcing her engagement to Jake Morley. I have always liked Davina, and out of all the Prince of Wales's ex-girlfriends I think she is the best. I always hoped she'd be the future Queen.

Queen Gladys?

My phone trilled at 11. It was an excited Ally. The tea lady had just been in her office and announced that the Princess of Wales is pregnant and expecting a child next June. At exactly that time there was a buzz on the newsdesk. Geoff Hemingway, somewhat unfeelingly I think, asked drily who the father might be. This is excellent news. A direct heir to the Crown and the first direct heir to be born since 1948. So, it's either Prince George or Princess Victoria of Wales. I'd be very surprised at Craig, Darren, or Shirley. They have to be so careful naming a future monarch because he/she gives his/her name to the era in which he/she reigns. Just imagine if Queen Victoria had been Gladys? The period of great change, industrial revolution, and progress, the British Empire, Disraeli, the aspidistra, would have gone down in history as the Gladysian era. Would Elizabeth I have held sway over Ye Olde England as Queen Mavis? And what about Elvis the Lionheart?

Home at 6. Ally beaming. We went out at 8 to look at a smoky bonfire. Had a couple of drinks at Mucky Willie's and came home at 9. Ally felt faint and was put to bed. I watched News at 10. We have had a good royal year.

-=-

Wednesday November 4, 1981

 _. The bus journeys to and from the office grow steadily worse. The Leeds-Bradford run is reminiscent of the Burma Railway, only worse. 

The State Opening of Parliament took place today. The first time that a Princess of Wales has attended since 1910. The poor Queen gave a crisp, and brief speech from the throne, but the dazzling Princess of Wales snatched the limelight, as of course it was intended she should. Diana, in a tiara, is clearly heading to the top of the polls, eclipsing even the Queen Mother.

I fell into the house at 6:15 quite jaded. Ally was preparing tea, or perhaps dinner of sausages and chips.

Lord Hailsham.

I am thoroughly appalled by the BBC. I sat down to view the pageant of the state opening but got nothing other than a brief clip of HM poised upon her throne. Poor old Lord Hailsham almost fell walking backwards. You always get one. I do recall Field Marshal Viscount Montgomery collapsing at the state opening whilst holding the sword of state and was very close to impaling a teenage Princess Anne. Earl Mountbatten, God rest him, was once taken all peculiar too, if I remember correctly. 

-=-

Tuesday November 3, 1981

Cousin Pam Obermeyer.

 _. Ally is having fun and games on a morning. In recent days, in the absence of Audrey Citroen, she's been walking down to her office at the AHA, and has been befriended by a mental patient, an inmate of Lynfield Mount asylum, who now waits for her. She now spends some time hiding behind trees, and climbing over walls to avoid these dawn dalliances with this potential mad axeman, who at the moment appears inoffensive and only wants to talk about his wife and card games.

Tonight I tackled my oil painting of flowers and made some improvements but regret starting the work so high up the canvas. There's a blue expanse at the foot of the picture that I must do something with.

'Brideshead Revisited' on the TV. It's improving slightly, but Ally watched with interest.

Pam Obermeyer, the actress daughter of my Auntie 'Eddy', was the star of 'Play for Today' on the BBC. All tits, sex, and bad language, but they are very proud down in Nottingham.

-=-

Monday November 2, 1981

 _. Ally had a hard time on the phone with the blood sucking leech Broadhead at Jack Andrews. He twists everything and makes out that they are doing us a favour putting a floor back in the Citroen for £50. You know what Ally is like. Everything hits her with twice as much force as it does me, and she came off the phone close to tears. 

Home at 6. Mum and Dad came at 7 and we had drinks before dinner at 8:30. Mum brought a pack of photos of their Alessio holiday. Both looked happy and well. Dad singing the praises of Northumberland too. Why is that county ignored and almost a 'no go' region for us Yorkshire folk? People talk endlessly of the Dales and the Lakes, but why not Northumberland?

We discussed Princess Margaret who is back in the news this week. [Nigel] Dempster has completed his biography, and I am pleased to see that he has clobbered Lord Snowdon, for a change. Dempster informs us that in November, 1974 the princess took an overdose of sleeping tablets. She was suffering from depression and he says it was a cry for help, and not really a suicide attempt. Snowdon is a lecher, a womaniser. Poor Princess Margaret is the most maligned woman in the history of the world. 

Charlotte phoned. She is pregnant and expecting a baby on or around June 1, 1982. The dinner was going cold whilst this joyous news was related. Mum and Dad left at 11. Exhaustion.

-=-

Sunday November 1, 1981

 _.20th Sunday after Trinity

Up at about 9. Our visitors were making good their escape. Steve is watching football at Kippax and they couldn't stay for breakfast.

Ally, in a dreadful state, regrets accepting an invitation to lunch with Jill and Tim. She found a black dress she bought last year. Tim came and collected us at 2 and took us to Valley Rd, Pudsey, a nice, solid terrace house. There until 9:30. We had roast pork. My eyes felt like lead. Tim drove us home.

-=-

Saturday October 31, 1981

 _.Hallow'een

Bright, brisk and cheerful day. Up at 9:05 precisely and into a hot bath after which I filled a bucket with soapy water and went out to clean the windows.

Lidget Green is like Burnsall or Hawes today and I wouldn't swap Ash Tree Cottage for Haddon Hall or Chevening combined.

We had toast and then took Audrey back to the licensed bandits that are Jack Andrews. Car salesmen are a revolting species. Why did God create them? I put them on a par with the shortly to be extinct blood sucking leech.

Onward into town to buy vegetables, meat, and the gallons of booze for tonight. Home at 4 and spent some time making the place look party-like. Ally looking glorious in her yellow knickerbockers and black 'boob tube'. Paul phoned from Rodley. He and Jacq can't make it. That's two down.

Sue and Pete were first arrivals, followed by the Bakers, Gadsbys, Sandersons and Elmers, and Mr Lawson. A humorous, pleasant night. Lynn and Dave seemed cheerful but we were told Frances-talk had been banned. I didn't get helpless, and recall most of the jokes. Dave L brought a turnip lantern with him. I do like cousin Jill. She is so quiet and oozing with motherly kindness. Karen spotted my 'Caligula' book and gloated over the pornographic Roman photography. She said that both her and her mother are avid porno readers. Everybody danced wildly without any casualties.

Dave L and I found ourselves upon the settee [like Kissinger and Arafat] discussing politics and the next SDP government. He thinks that Shirley Williams is the greatest thing since Cleopatra, and doesn't seem to mind the idea that Cyril Smith might be foreign secretary. Poor boy.

The party fizzled out at 4-ish. Karen, Steve, Di and Paul had the spare room. Ally and I did the washing up and listened to Rachmaninov. We finished off with bread and cheese, Bed at dawn.

-=-

Friday October 30, 1981

 _. Up at 6:30 and plunged into a hot bath. Ally remained in bed, moaning, her nose poking from the continental quilt. She resembled a gassed badger. 

Ate porridge. It's clear that Ally has a cold. I only hope she'll survive the coming weekend and its riotous, Borgia-like excesses.

YP was better than of recent. Friday always helps. Kathleen is already talking about summer holidays next year. I remained silent on that matter.

Dad, God bless him, saw Jack Andrews this morning and came away quietly confident that he had conveyed our grievance in a coherent, and reasonable manner. What has come over Dad? Asserting himself so admirably. Spoke to Mum. Lynn and Dave are going on Saturday and leaving Frances with them for the night. Lynn must have been getting miserable about the monotony and constant routine with no time for play.

Dinner: fried liver and onions. Ally went upstairs with the vaccuum cleaner and I could hear furniture moving around from one room to another. Phoned Karen at 8. The Pudsey crew are all coming. Dave L phoned me afterwards. He is broke, and pleased we are starting here at 9 and not at the pub. He was busy making lanterns from turnips for his nephew, Ashley.

-=-

Thursday October 29, 1981

 _. It wasn't as wet today, but the rain came down at the vital moments when I was outside scantily clad. When I say vital, I of course mean crucial. 

Saw in the Times that Denys Gravenor Rhodes has died. Distantly related, no doubt. He was married to the Hon Margaret Elphinstone, the Queen's cousin and bridesmaid. She is one of the few Rhodeses in the peerage, with the exception of the Rhodes baronet and Lord Rhodes of Saddleworth, KG [who is a life peer].

Brisk walk at lunch. I spotted Christine Braithwaite in Albion Street, but she had gone before we could speak. 

Mum phoned me at 4. Dave called in to see them yesterday evening and then Lynn phoned her at 8 and was chatty and normal but made no apology for her peculiar behaviour. Today Mum and Susie lunched at Burley, and so the breach might be healed.

Spaghetti with Ally. She's still wearing my woollen sweater. 

News: The Princess of Wales received the freedom of Cardiff and made a speech, partly in Welsh. I must say what a fortunate young man the Prince of Wales is.

-=-

Wednesday October 28, 1981

 _. A dark, wet day. Spent some time with Bob Cockroft. I gave him a good story for the People column.  Lady Ropner, wife of Sir John Ropner, of Thorp Perrow, has given birth to a son and heir in London. Sir John, 44, has four daughters and the baronetcy is now saved from extinction.

Stayed in the office at lunchtime. Something of a fast day, because I forgot to bring sandwiches, and because Margot is off we had no regular supply of tea and coffee. Have I said why Margot is missing? She is in hospital having her toe nails removed. Ugh. Shazzo called in and I invited her to ours on Saturday.

Home at 6, half drowned. Ally's wet clothes were piled in the doorway, and various items were trailed across the house. She was in a heap on the settee in one of my woolly pullovers, and nothing else. We had a fried concoction. 

The royal Welsh, or perhaps squelch programme continues. Despite heavy rain the Welsh have given the Waleses a great welcome. Diana looked splendid in limp ostrich feathers very much in the style of the Queen Mother.

-=-

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.

-=-