Wednesday February 3, 1982

 Tired. Got up, looked in the mirror and gasped. I'm growing old. I'm over 12 stone and have obviously been letting things get out of hand. It's Ally I feel so sorry for. She married an adonis and after only six months she's got Cyril Smith, MP. This wouldn't be so bad if he was a Tory, but ... Liberal! I am going to have to make adjustments to my diet and bring a speedy halt to the spread. My hair is hanging about my ears. It was once one of my finest features, but now it's a dead, rabid cat. Poor, poor Ally. I shall have to swim and forgo luncheon, and take long, brisk walks. This door to door bus service hasn't helped.

YP busy, but pleasant. No girls. See in the society betrothals that Francis Dymoke, heir to the Queen's Champion and standard bearer at the Coronation, is engaged to a Gloucestershire lass. The Queen's Champion. Now that's the sort of job I'd like. No industrial disputes, monotonous slaving, or nine to five hours. His role only comes into being at the coronation. He hasn't worked since 1953. I suppose that I will never live to see an old style coronation. A future Labour/SDP/Plaid Cymru Alliance will no doubt scrap the ancient panoply and replace the ceremony with a disgusting inauguration. I cannot see a King's Champion having much of a role in the Space Age 21st century.

Home to Ally and fish at 5. [I made an early exit again from the office with thanks to ASLEF]. 

We watched a film - 'Halloween'. Ally couldn't take it, and took to her bed but I was gripped until 12:15. Too late really.

-=-

Tuesday February 2, 1982

 A brighter morning. I awoke this morning smiling broadly. I'd been dreaming about the Pope. In my genealogical searches I had found that His Holiness is the son of an Appleyard. Cousin John Paul, eh?

YP still without Sarah or Carol. Phoned Sue at 12. She was having breakfast! She said that she and Peter have decided that they cannot be expecting a baby after all.

The Sun newspaper reports that the Prince and Princess of Wales have been seen having a public slanging match at Sandringham whilst out shooting. This is the first public reporting of a 'royal fall out' between the Waleses and the first of many. Typical that the Sun is the rag to start the 'royal divorce' proceedings. I have been fully expecting it. They spent ten years finding Charles a bride and are now going to devote 40 years and gallons of news print to getting rid of her. Poor Diana. It's going to be hard going.

Mum phoned to say that John has got his job back at R & D's. If you recall he was a joiner at R & D's from 1977 until last year when he was made redundant. Since then he's been at the crash helmet place. I suppose he is mindless with joy. Maria hears tomorrow whether she's pregnant or not. Exciting times. Bed at 11.

-=-

Monday February 1, 1982

 It's February, and Sue has yet to deliver. When she and Pete failed to materialize at Karen's we presumed it was due to the coming birth and that perhaps she was experiencing twinges but oh no. They were living it up in Leeds at Chippy and Johnny's farewell party [they are going to Miami, or somewhere]. 

At the YP found both Sarah and Carol J off. Just Margot and I all day. Busy, but not too bad. Went at 1:30 to the Reference Library to look at the 1861 census for Bramley. Found a 21 year-old Samuel Ross living at Eyres Buildings with his parents Joshua and Mary Ross. We have always liked the name Joshua and I've now found a great-great grandfather bearing the name. On the Appleyard side I found Mary, aged 20, at Midgley Hill, with her widowed mother Christiana, and brother Abbott Appleyard, 25, a stone mason and builder, and Hahhah Appleyard, 32, Elizabeth Appleyard, 29. They were an affluent Victorian family. Later generations founded the garages of that name.

Spoke to Mum, whose heart misses a beat every time the phone rings thanks to little sister, and she says that Jim [Nason] has told her that the pub at Litton, near Arncliffe, is going on the market shortly for £49,000 or £50,000. This would be ideal. A homely little place. The sub post office idea was never them really especially after seeing the BBC news on Friday when the prime minister presented bravery awards to a terrified group of post office workers, some nursing hideous wounds. 

Lynn and Dave have been looking at a house at Pool in Wharfedale [close to Dave's parents], and we are told Lynn has her heart set on it. Dave must be making some serious cash.

Home at 5:30, and played with my home brewed wine. Glynnie phoned and invited us over to Stockport on Saturday. We will go. 

Ally 'Spring cleaning' in the bathroom. We sat in bed squabbling about my milky drinks. She is unhappy with my recipe for hot chocolate, and so I have handed over the job to her for the next 60 years.

-=-

Sunday January 31, 1982

 4th Sunday after Epiphany

When we came home from Karen and Steve's we sat amidst the bed sheets eating crumpets and talking about Lynn. Why is she always so 'cool' with Ally? Lynn drifted into the party, clad in a new mini dress, and chatted to everyone with the exception of Ally who, feeling pissed and disturbed, emptied a full glass of punch, including the fruit chunks, over my head. It is a perfect case for a budding psychologist. What happens to a relationship between two very close girl friends when one goes off and marries the brother of the other? Freaky, man.

I first discovered the day at about 8:30 but then slept until 12:30 and struggled out of bed to stuff a chicken. Washing it in the sink I felt like a midwife, if you know what I mean.

Ally, feeling rough, lay sprawled on a pile of cushions reading Wilkie Collins, which cannot have hepled the situation. We had a weird conglomeration of food. Crumpets with bananas, lots of tea, then yoghurt, oranges, apples followed by a sticky loaf with fruit in, covered in thick butter. Roast chicken later, with cabbage, cauliflower au gratin, roast and mashed potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, &c. All reminiscent of Chatsworth House in 1880.

Films: Carry on Regardless, followed by 'A Shot in the Dark' with the amazing [Peter] Sellers.

Bed at 9:40. Roaring with laughter about something, both in the dark, but cannot now for the life of me remember what was the cause.

I dreamt tonight about Percy Illingworth, headmaster of Fieldhead Rd School 1966-78. Is this sexual? 

-=-

Saturday January 30, 1982

 Awoke at 9:30 and flew downstairs like an over-active pre-adolescent on Christmas morning to snatch the mail from Postie. Yes, I had a letter from cousins Edna and Nellie, at Cambridge Gardens, Bramley. A sweet letter, but giving little further information on John Rhodes (1866-1948). They say that Otley is 'probably' John's birthplace but add that he had a sister, Millicent, who 'lived away from home' and wasn't often seen. Mum suggests that this mysterious aunt is probably the 'mad' aunt of Grandad Rhodes's stories who saw her sweetheart drown in the Strid at Bolton Abbey and then went insane. A Highroyds case I think. The twins sound sweet old girls, and gave me a phone number to contact them with the result of my findings.

To Morrison's with Precious. Afterwards we had sandwiches and I laughed, only half-heartedly, at a prehistoric Will Hay film. Ally buried beneath 'The Woman in White' by Wilkie Collins.

To Karen and Steve's at 8:30. The water supply there is cut off and I looked at Ally in horror _______. Guests: Dave L [who left at 9:30 to go to a party at Sandal], Jacq, Paul, Tim [with a sore eye], Jill, Lynn, Dave B, Diane, Paul E[dwards]. The music was switched off and we watched a Paul Newman film, of all things, and Barry Humphries on the Parkinson Show. Home after 3, or was it 4? Ally on automatic pilot - dangerous really.

NB: My great-grandfather did not have a sister 'Millicent'. His only surving half-sister was Anne Eliza Rhodes [later Robinson] 1875-1954. John Rhodes had a step-sister, Matilda Parker, born in 1866, wife of Michael Elsworth. The story of the drowning in the Strid has yet to be corroborated.

-=-

Friday January 29, 1982

 Ally, feeling rough, stayed in bed after my departure at 7:45. I took a half day and was home at 12:45 and climbed into bed. ______. Downstairs for beans on toast and crumpets, for lunch. We watched a 1942 film starring Vincent Price, and then a Sherlock Holmes film starring Basil Rathbone, but fighting the Nazis and saving Britain from the clutches of the Hun.

Not my cup of tea.

Later we had fish and chips, and Ally, feeling better, got stuck into a 'Miss Marple' tale. I sat with knotted brow quite over-faced by the glut of new book purchases. Which one should I read? For some reason I cannot get into the Hobbit. I don't think Tolkein is my cup of tea, but I don't suppose I have given him a chance.

Mum says that Tony is forming his own business with a similarly redundant colleague. Have I said that Tony phoned me on Wednesday about placing an advert in the paper?

The forthcoming royal birth has been spoiled for me by the coming debate on the order of succession to the Crown which next month may take away the right of the eldest son to succeed to the Crown of his forebears. We are not in Scandinavia for God's sake. The succession to the throne has only been tampered with or diverted in times of great national crisis. In 1688 following the flight of James II, and the death of Queen Anne to secure the protestant succession in the person of George of Hanover. To further amend the succession now, at the whim of a jumped up Labour MP, will only detract from the magic and mystique of the monarchy and lower the whole institution giving it a presidential facade.

-=-

Thursday January 28, 1982

Nellie [left] and Edna Rhodes.

 Black morning. Lay moaning beneath my quilt.

The rail strike continues. At the YP I took at 10 minute lunch break so to escape from the office at 4. Sunny, warm day - Cornish pasty in Park Square.

After lunch Ally phoned from home. She felt faint at the office and has a crippling tummy ache, and is now snuggled down with a book. __________. What will be, will be.

Wrote to my spinster cousins Edna and Nellie Rhodes, twins, who live in Bramley. I picture two sweet old dears not unlike the ladies in 'Arsenic and Old Lace'. It's a little sad writing to cousins, living not ten miles away, whom I have never met. Dad says that his memory of them in the 1950s is that they were very smart, strait-laced old things. Will they tell me where their grandfather, John Rhodes, was born in 1866?

Home at 5. Daylight. Ally in some pain and very weak. We had a pizza. Lynn phoned to report that Christine Airey has given birth to a son. _______________.

-=-

Wednesday January 27, 1982

 No desire to climb out of bed, but we must. I should appreciate my job. It would be quite wrong to pack it in and lay, idle, when the country has 48,000,000 unemployed school leavers. No point in moping. Perhaps Mrs Thatcher should hand over the running of the railways to the unemployed. That would put the wind up Ray Buckton. Perghaps they should force the ASLEF members onto the lifeboats and let them see what it's like doing a proper job. Michael Rhodes, 26, is insane.

The BBC is on the slippery slide. I see little difference between the nine o'clock news and ITN's 'News at Ten'. Is nothing sacred? The Princess of Wales brings cheer to the hearts of this largely sombre nation by smiling up refreshingly from the front page of today's Times. HRH is appearing on stamps throughout the Commonwealth to celebrate her 21st birthday on July 1.

Yorkshire puddings and steak and kidney with Poppet, who was feeling decidedly wobbly, and lay upon the settee, like an Elizabeth effigy, whilst I did the dishes. Afterwards in front of the TV, and later in bed, I thumbed through copies of the Family History magazine, kindly lent to me by Steve Burnip. A Malcolm Fawbert, from Cleethorpes, claims that the Fawbert family are excusively concentrated in the Leeds/Bradford area, and with the exception of only one or two generations, all can be found in Yorkshire. His earliest finds are Abraham and Elizabeth Fawbert, of 'Colbecke' [surely Holbeck?] Leeds in 1560. Direct line back to Isaac Fawbert 1782, baptized at St Wildfred's, Calverley, son of Timothy, son of James. Fawberts are also mentioned in Calverley in 1710 and 1714. I will write to Malcolm and see where Edward Fawbert, my great-great grandfather fits in. 

-=-

Tuesday January 26, 1982

 Steve Burnip is a good lad. He keeps slipping me gems of a genealogical nature and today, when he caught sight of my Wilson [family] tree, he was amazed by the detail. It is warming to have got back to the days of Trafalgar without having to do much hard detective work.

Ally tired and pale tonight. _____________. Home at 6. Out at 7:30 to dinner at Burley in Wharfedale with Lynn and Dave [bearded]. Sue and Pete were dining too and she is bulbous and red and ready [for the baby]. She has to go to Leeds for the accouchement. We had cottage pie and rhubarb crumble by lamp light and drained three bottles of wine. Frances screamed each time they put her down and so she joined us at the dinner table, playing with beer mats and a red dummy. I suppose it's quite wrong to spoil a child at this age but I cannot help enjoying her tiny, yet commanding presence. Even Peter made an attempt to approach his niece and it is dawning on him that babies, for all their inconvenience, are here to stay.

Home after 11. ________.

-=-

Monday January 25, 1982

 Graham Smith's birthday. My grandfather [Mr X of the 1973 diary] is celebrating his 81st birthday quietly today. [He died Sept 9, 1973]. Ally and I shattered. Paid a lunch time visit to the Ref. Lib. No luck for the whereabouts of John Rhodes in 1891. I re-checked Otley. He was definitely not there.

Home at 6 to Ally and fish. Mum phoned to say she and Dad visited Bramley and found John and Christiana's grave in the cemetery there. Dad was appalled at the devastation of the cemetery, upturned grave stones, others daubed in nazi slogans, but my great-grandfather's grave was intact, black marble, gold lettering, green chippings. John Rhodes, I am told, purchased the family grave in 1914, on the death of his son, Henry [Harry] Rhodes, who died June 9, 1914, aged 21. The next inscription on the stone is John Edward Rhodes, a private in the Royal Engineers [no. 57512], killed in action on Aug 7, 1918, also 21. Christiana Rhodes died aged 73, on June 19, 1939, and John Rhodes died aged 81, March 8, 1948. The final occupant is Nellie Rhodes, John and Christiana's spinster daughter, who died Nov 30, 1955, aged 60. A real hive of information, eh? Dad cleaned the grave and says it now stands out like a 'sore thumb'. Sadly, the powers that be are to flatten the cemetery later this year, and grass over the whole site, removing the headstones to the outskirts, and no doubt making a playing field of the place. I'd better get up there with a camera before the end comes.

Phoned Steve Sanderson tonight. Saturday is still on. Ally and I took to our beds quite knackered. 

-=-

Sunday January 24, 1982

 Slept until 12 noon and leapt up to do our weekend chores with haste to make up for our idleness. Whilst cleaning the car we heard the phone ringing and both exclaimed: 'It's Susan!', but no, it was cousin Jackie asking to come over for the afternoon with Barry. They arrived at about 2 and we sat talking about Easter, the royal family, and Northumberland. ____________. Jackie went off at about 4 to inject an ancient diabetic, and returned at 4:30 for dinner and cocktails. Lasagne and chips preceded by French onion soup. We discovered that our home made lemon wine has taken on a champagne-like fizz, and when mixed with a dash of gin and Advocaat, and decorated with a cocktail cherry, makes a delicious and highly intoxicating drink, so much so that the remainder of the evening is obscured and our movements clouded in mystery. We listened to Ella Fitzgerald and Elgar. They left at about 11 leaving us hungover, thirsty and groggy. A splendid 'spur of the moment' little party.

-=-

Saturday January 23, 1982

 Alarm rang at 8 and after a hurried breakfast we went off to Leeds, a bright almost Spring-like day. 

We got to the Reference library for about 11. I looked at the censuses for 1841, 51, and 71. Ally looked at the Bramley census for 1871 and Otley for the same year. In 1841 the Wilsons lived at Kiln Fold, Pudsey, where William Wilson, aged 25, is described as a clothier. His wife Betty is 25, and son Squire, aged 2. Ten years later the couple are living at Rider's Yard, Chapeltown, Pudsey, but Squire is missing and Peter Barraclough [aged 15] has appeared. Where was he in 1841? And who exactly is Peter Barraclough? In 1851 William Wilson is a 'slubber'. The census for April 1871 shows that William Wilson is dead, and his widow, Betty, 55, is a housekeeper at Rider's Row [I presume close to Rider's Yard] and her five younger children are with her. My great-grandfather, John, aged 18, is a woollen mill hand. I also came across other ancestors the Fawberts who in 1841 inhabited Rider's Row, and thirty years later were at Chapel Fold. Ally couldn't find my great-grandfather John Rhodes anywhere in either Bramley or Otley, but she did find great-grandmother Christiana Ross, living in 1871 at Midgley Hill, Bramley, aged 5, with parents Samuel Ross, 31, shoemaker, born in Bramley, and wife, Mary Ann Ross, 30, cloth weaver. Next door at Midley Hill dwelled Christiana Appleyard, 66, born in Bramley, and her spinster daughter, Hannah R Appleyard, a burler. Mary Ann Ross was born Appleyard, and so I assume that her widowed mother lived next door. Christiana, my great-grandmother, it seems, was named after her grandmother, taking us back to 1805. It was marvellous delving into the past in the company of Ally. We sat in this studious fashion until after 4. The library had no public bogs and so we ran to the Jubilee pub across the road, but didn't have time for a drink. 

To Guiseley at 4:30 with our gathered information. Frances is staying with Mum and Dad owing to illness at Burley.Lynn has shingles and Dave a cold. The baby is amusing but refused to go to bed until 8:30. She sat at the table with us eating beans and rice pudding. I explained to her that she isn't the first Frances in the family. She's six generations in descent from Frances Fawbert, wife of greengrocer Edward Fawbert, bringing up a family in Victorian Pudsey.

Dad was out working on and off and afterwards we discussed the elusive John Rhodes, his grandfather. Dad insists he was born in Otley and was partially blinded, aged 13, on Otley Chevin, by a firework explosion. Just when they moved to Bramley I do not know. Dad recalls his grandfather's funeral [1947 or 1948] and gave me a detailed account of his appearance. A tiny, crooked old man with snow white hair and a bump on the top of his head. He wore thick spectacles and always wore a black starched apron in the house. A cantankerous old so-and-so by the sound of things. Dad says he will go to Bramley on Monday and find John's grave. We've hasd no luck on two occasions. Bed at 3am.

-=-

Friday January 22, 1982

 Another mild day. We now expect Kathleen to take the remainder of the year off because her aged auntie has been taken desperately ill. The last rites, and all that. So, it's bye bye Kathleen until the first flowering of daffodils.

Dave L.

Home at 6 for pizza, garlic beans, chips, &c. Petal is beautiful and brighter with the influx of iron tablets, though she has sore lips at the moment, cold sores, and finds kissing painful.

Dave L marched in at 8:15 and we sat for a couple of hours with lager talking about old times. He finds reminiscing a depressing pastime and needs to be worked on before pouring out tales of yesteryear. I love talk of our Benton Park days and Andrew Dean stories. I don't often get the chance to wallow because Dave is the only person I have known, barring relations, since March 1967. He went off at 10:15 and we took milky drinks up to bed.

-=-

Thursday January 21, 1982

 Another dawn start to beat the crush caused by Ray Buckton.

Bob [Schofield] has finally used my tip about Jeremy Lascelles. It seems gthat the young man married last July a certain Julie Baylis, of Worcester, and both are employed by Virgin Records. Bob, beaming, told me he has now passed on 'his scoop' to the Daily Mirror. Am I being used? What price will they pay Bob for my work?

Royal news: Princess Margaret is ill with gastro trouble. Prince Andrew is in love with a ballet dancer called Karen. Will we have long to wait for the commemorative mugs?

Phoned Ally, glum at the AHA complaining of not enough work. Told her to keep her pecker up. Phoned Mum. She's having Frances on Saturday because 'Lady' Audrey [Baker] is having a birthday party. No Susie news although she was at the hospital today. She is growing tired of hanging on.

To the reference library again at lunch. They say the 1881 census will be ready for public viewing in three or four months. Overjoyed that the place is open until 4pm on Saturdays. You know where to find us at the weekend.

Morrison's at 5. [I escaped the YP at 4 leaving Carol moaning]. Fish and chips at 6. Dave L phoned to invite himself to ours tomorrow. We haven't seen him since Sue's on Dec 27. He's disappointed because he thought Karen's party was on 23rd, not the 30th, and he's arranged to be elswehere.

'Top of the Pops' - abysmal. Phone Sue for a bulletin. She says baby could be another three weeks. Peter was out in Leeds with the boys. Chippy and Johnny are leaving for Miami next weeks for a two month sojourn. Ghastly thought.

-=-

Wednesday January 20, 1982

 Fog, but warm fog. Kissed [Ally] goodbye at 7:30 after boiled eggs and toast. I so wanted to stay at home in bed.

Rail strike. The buses are full of ladies in fur coats and businessmen in sheepskin jackets and deer stalker hats, who usually journey by train. I resent imposters. Really, the people who always travel by train should refuse to work when the railwaymen strike.

Buckton: moody.

Papers dull. Full of articles about rape. The Prince and Princess of Wales have been granted joint armorial bearings incorporating the prince's shield and Garter buckle and the Spencer shells - cockleshells, I think. The press seems to be letting them 'rest in peace' since the Buckingham Palace conference asking Fleet Street to 'lay off'. I haven't seen a photo of Diana in the papers since. Poor Lord Spencer is having to sell paintings from Althorp to pay the death duties of the late earl, who died seven years ago.

Steve Burnip has genealogical contacts in Leeds and on my behalf has made enquiries about the Bramley parish registers and things look good. Edward III here we come!

Billy, God bless him, is 42 to-day. _______________. 

It took two hours to get home from Leeds thanks to Ray Buckton's ridiculous moodiness. Had spaghetti and chips, of all things. We are [illegible] on the lines of Coronation Street.

Read 'Key to Rebecca' and sat in bed reading it until the end, at 12:30.

-=-

Tuesday January 19, 1982

Over 40 degrees F again. YP for 9, and took a 2 hours lunch break and went to the Reference Library to search for Wilson ancestors on the 1861 census [April 13, 1861]. After an hour I found I found my great-great grandparents William Wilson and Betty, his wife, resident at Chapel Fold, Pudsey [now long since demolished I fear]. William, head of the family, is 43, a woollen slubber, and was born at Bramley, circa 1817/1818. Betty, aged 45, was born at Pudsey circa 1815/1816. Of the nine children that we know of from Hilda's family Bible, only six are listed on the census. Mary, aged 16, is a worsted weaver, James, aged 12, is a factory worker, Rhoda, aged 10, is a factory worker, John, aged 8 [my great-grandfather], is a scholar, then Martha, aged 4, and Martha Elizabeth, aged 1. All the children are Pudsey-born. I felt very emotional discovering my roots, quite choked thinking of those poor infant factory workers. Without much effort I have managed to trace the Wilsonsn back to the beginning of the 19th century. It's piquant that my Wilson and Rhodes great-great grandfathers were both Bramley born.

From the office I phoned Bramley Parish Church. They don't have the parish records for 1817/1818. Sod it.

Home at 6:15. Fog. Liver. Bath. Out in the fog at 8 to cousin Jackie's, at Amberley Street, Barker End. Joined by 2 friends and then the new boyfriend, Barry. He is employed at A. Baldwin & Co, who have dealings with the AHA. Out to the Coachman's pub for a few pints of Tetley's - weird really. Our first visit to a pub in 1982.A good night. Home at 12:30.

-=- 

Monday January 18, 1982

 Warm and almost muggy. The clock on the YP building proclaimed 43 degrees F.

We were late out of bed and played, toyed, with breakfast until 8:00. Late to the YP, but it is Monday.

John Wilson.

Went at lunch time to the Register Office to see whether they have my great-grandfather Wilson's birth certificate [March 13, 1853]. They say yes, and that they can let me have it later in the week. Then I went to the Reference Library to make enquiries about the census records, and was delighted to discover that the census returns for Pudsey up to 1881 are at the Leeds office. Tomorrow lunch will see me return to the third floor. Can't wait.

Phoned Mama at 10:30. They visited a pub near Northallerton yesterday and attempted to look at a post office at Kirby Misperton [the home of Flamingo Park Zoo], but the fog got the better of them. At least they are still on the 'look out'. She had no news of Sue.

Esacaped at 4:45, home at 5:45. Fish for dinner. We have received 'Mrs Beeton' and 'The Woman in White' by Wilkie Collins, from the book club. We now lookl like a library here. 

Phoned poor Dave G. They now have an alsatian dog named Sadie, to ward off the numerous attempted thefts and break-ins. His grandad is not well and sounds to be fading. He sounds very much to be tied to the Hollywood and couldn't promise to get away to see us soon.

To bed after the 9 o'clock news. This is ridiculous.

-=-

Sunday January 17, 1982

 2nd Sunday after Epiphany

Awoke at about 9:30. We can't sleep on until the afternoon as we used to do. Climbed into the bath. Ally, like a sickly old lady, lay amongst the tea cups, feeling violently sick. She had just taken an iron tablet and thinks it might have disagreed with her. She is still swimming in catarrh, and this can bring on feelings of nasuea, can't it? Ally says it isn't morning sickness.

Frank phoned and spoke about house insurance. By 11:30 she was feeling better and we had boiled eggs and toast and more tea. 

Played with the apple wine and made some date sherry. Watched 'Carry On Teacher' [again] and sat reading. I am into Ken Follett in a big way. Ally is battling on with Agatha Christie's autobiography. I am in Cairo in war-torn 1942, and Ally is in the genteel Home Counties in the post-Edwardian days of 1914.

Dined at 6 on leek and potato soup, lamb steaks with mushy peas, sprouts, mint sauce, followed by cheese and biscuits and all washed down with our very own rosé wine. We live like the Aga Khan, only better.

To bed in the proximity of 10pm. We laid there perspiring. The temperature must be well over 40F, bloody tropical.

-=-

Saturday January 16, 1982

 Hangovers. Ally begged me never to give her gin again. I agreed. I am far from happy too. I made tea and crumpets and we sat in bed forcing them down. Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable arrived.

    We went to Bradford shopping at 11:30. Fog. Bought meat and veg, &c, and a date sherry pack. Got Ally Sanatogen tablets to give her iron and make her big and strong.

A freezing, damp and foggy day which seems to linger on the brain. Not good for hangovers.

At home. Watched 'Odette' starring Anna Neagle [1950]. Ally bought me two presents yesterday. 'The Key to Rebecca' by Ken Follett, and a recording of Grieg's Piano Concerto in A minor, which has the Peer Gynt suite on the B side. Sat this evening reading the Key to Rebecca, another gripping tale, but please, oh please, when the film version comes to Bradford Odeon, please stop me going.

-=-

Friday January 15, 1982

The Queen and I.

 Warmer. Trains are back, sod it, so no early exit. YP dull. Told 'People' [the YP gossip column] that the Hon Robert Jeremy Hugh Lascelles, born in February, 1955, and twenty eighth in line of succession to the British throne, has taken the plunge, but my morsel wasn't rapturously received by anyone. Sod them. They'll all be screaming when [Nigel] Dempster gets it, or William Hickey, but at least it won't be my fault.

Phoned Lynn to enquire about photographs and found Mum, Dad and Auntie Hilda at Burley. They must be out cheering up poor Hilda, who says that the shock of Tony's redundancy is only just sinking in.

Pete & Sue.

Home at 5:45. Splashed in the bath and helped Ally in the kitchen. At 7 Mum, Dad, Sue and Peter rolled in for dinner. Susie is massive and rounded and looks more like Mum's sister. Had drinks before our sweet and sour steak. Susie talked about baby names. Mum turned her nose up at Samantha, and Samuel and Benjamin received my approval. But, dear me, not Jennifer. Food, wine and more booze. Mum looked at books - endless glossy photos of the Princess of Wales - whilst Dad and Ally did the dishes and shovelled up the excess rice and noodles. I took numerous photos to commemorate what is most likely to be Sue's last motherless visit to Sprog Cottage. They went home between 10:30 and 11. Sue's not allowed to stay up too late. 

Ally was horribly pissed and she sat with her gin and orange, kneeling by the fireplace, giving me a critical report of our first six months as man and wife. I laughed because she had no idea what she was saying, and eventually she disappeared upstairs and fell into bed, wearing her plum coloured tights. God Bless her.

-=-