Sunday March 7, 1982

 2nd Sunday in Lent

Hungover. Ally provided me with two invaluable paracetamols and I attempted to battle on. Dave, even at 10am, was doing his books. I marvelled at his dilligence. There he was with a pocket calculator. [He now runs the pub with his mother]. 

Bacon and eggs. Sadie, the German Shepherd, is a fine specimen, and not the vicious, unfriendly dog I expected. Ally was quite taken with the frisky young thing. It's interesting that none of the lads seem to like drinking in the Hollywood these days, and so we had to venture back to the Robin Hood. The fun and warmth of last night is gone and the lads are as lively as a lump of cheese. Garry has been dull since Joanne returned to Jersey. 

Ally reminded me that I was also referring to Anne's bullied Jack Russell as a 'ferret'.

Back at the Hollywood we had turkey for lunch and watched Clint Eastwood's ridiculous [film] 'Magnum Force', which Dave recorded last night. After lashings of tea we left at 7:30. Exhausted, but happy. Home at 8:30. Bed.

-=-

Saturday March 6, 1982

 Lynn is 24 today. We were out of bed at 8:30 drinking tea and talking to the birthday girl on the phone. David is taking her and Frances to York for the day. After breakfast and baths we went into Shipley to collect our wedding video and then headed down the windswept M62 to Stockport. By 1:30 we were sitting around the snooker table at the Hollywood swilling lager. Lily, a brave woman, looked slightly emotional when she saw our wedding video.

Hot pot for dinner, then out to the Armoury pub at 8 and on to the Ring 'O Bells, where Glynnie phoned Sue and Pete and was hilariously explaining to them the rudiments of breast feeding. On to the Robin Hood. Pissed. We were joined by a new boy, John, a neighbour of Steve's, who is a PhD, and hails from far off Tewkesbury. He was a silent chap until the pils lager got to him. We clowned around like an episode from a 1957 Goon Show. He ended up wearing my boots, and I had his shoes. Garry had my blue pullover, and I had his. Back to Anne's [mother of the Robin Hood publican] for supper and wine. Deeply pissed. I insisted on referring to her Jack Russell terrier as a 'rat', 'cavie', and 'micro organism'. Greatly intoxicated. 

Ally, who hadn't touched a drop of drink, was in perfect health and drove a wobbly Dave and I back to the Hollywood.

-=-

Friday March 5, 1982

Ivy, Duchess of Portland

 To the YP tired and hideously unconscientiously. Saw Geoff Hemingway who told me I'm to receive another £10 next week, and of course Malcolm [Barker] will pay me for the family tree after it appears. Could this genealogical stuff be my lucky break? Am I destined to end my days as Garter King of Arms?

Sit with a coffee hiding behind a copy of The Times. Ivy, Duchess of Portland, has died aged 94. She was the widow of the 7th Duke, and was a Maid of Honour to Queen Alexandra from 1912-1915. They don't make 'em like that any more. The Duke, a Cavendish Bentinck, was of course a kinsman of the Queen Mother.

Worked without a lunch break and escaped the office at 4. Sunny and spring-like. Ally was knee deep in soap suds at Club St cleaning Audrey, but she downed her wash leather to come inside and kiss me.

We ate late, a lamb and pepper creation which tasted good but was greasy. No TV. Beethoven instead.

Susie left hospital at about 1pm today and went home to West End Terrace with Christopher. Mum had deposited a bottle of something bubbly in the refridgerator. We didn't go over because everyone else decided to go, and the last thing they need is a crowd on this essentially private and joyous day.

Edison's the estate agents have valued Pine Tops at £37,500. Mum is happy at this. Who wouldn't be?

Bed at 10:40.

-=-

Thursday March 4, 1982

 Sure enough, the dead dog had gone this morning and we could safely take breakfast without it disturbing our charming view of Lidget Green. We debate who might have removed the canine corpse. Put it this way, it's the last time I eat a curry within a ten mile radius of Necropolis Road. 

Hectic lunch time. Went out to buy rosé wine, films, flash cubes, wrapping paper, photo album, stylus, and greeting cards, and all in a 45 minute period. Home heavily laden at 6. Splashed in the bath. Wrapped David's Pierre Cardin after shave lotion, and Lynn's lasagne jar and got over to Burley-in-W for 8:45.

Found Mum, Dad, Lynn, Dave, Jim and Margaret assembled there. A quiet night though Mum was amusing and on top of the world. Somehow things rarely go with a bang at Lawn Road. No sign of Frances. They now have a very large dresser, from 'Cheap 'n Cheerful'. Margaret is insane. Lynn continues to behave peculiarly and seems to be permanently upset about something. David seems to become more and more dull. Ally is choked about the way people have changed. But then we all change, don't we?

Home and bed after 2am.

-=-

Wednesday March 3, 1982

 'Spring' is in the air. Spoke to Mummy. She told me that a man from Edison's estate agents is coming tomorrow to value Pine Tops and have a 'for sale' sign erected in the front garden. A poignant moment. What will life be like without dear Pine Tops? Mum and Dad had been to Otley [hospital] to see Sue & Christopher, both fighting fit.

Home to Baby. We sat cuddled together eating macaroni cheese, mounds of it.

Had a spot of culture later on BBC2 when we watched Her Majesty the Queen opening the Barbican Centre and afterwards attending a concert of Beethoven's fourth piano concerto. The Queen viewed some hideous French paintings which looked as though they were the creation of the inmates of a top security institution for the criminally insane. And weird Canadian sculpture. HM had a glint her eye throughout. They must surely roar with laughter when back at Windsor surrounded by Leonardo cartoons and equestrian oddments by that nice Mr Stubbs. The Queen looked very chic in a flowing pink and silver creation, but is looking her age.

A dog was knocked down and killed at 11:30pm at the junction of Cemetery Road and Necropolis Road. The canine couldn't have picked a more appropriate place to die. Ally was slightly overcome at the sight of the tragedy, and I did my good citizen bit and phoned the police. All very disturbing stuff on which to go to bed. I attempted to cheer Ally by telling her that the dog is now out of its earthly misery and now resplendent in Glory in the arms of Jesus, but it didn't do any good.

-=-

Tuesday March 2, 1982

 YP tolerable. It is reported that Kathleen is looking at getting an Irish Wolfhound to help her and her 75 year-old mother recover from the loss of Mr Rainford.

Geoff Hemingway gave me a £10 postal order for tips to the EP over recent months that he says he's overlooked. I can think of none. I drew up the joint family tree of of the Prince and Princess of Wales this morning. It shows their common descent from Henry VII and includes Diana's line from Charles I, Charles II and James II. Prince Charles of course has no lines of descent from those Stuart monarchs. [He is descended only from James VI & I]. I'm tickled pink. It's going to dominate the EP of March 30 when TRH visit St Gemma's and other locations in Leeds. It will be Diana's last big engagement before her accouchement.

Home at 6. We sat and ate coconut and watched Humphrey Bogart [also a distant cousin of the Princess too] in the Maltese Falcon.

-=-

Monday March 1, 1982

 To the YP for 8:30. I put Christopher's birth in the YP and EP announcements for tomorrow. Mum phoned to say that Sue isn't now going to Otley [hospital] until later, and so I went to see her at 2. Bless her, she was all packed like a refugee awaiting the ambulance. Christopher is 'prettier' and less swollen, and certainly 'bouncing'. Sue is totally captivated. The baby looked better in his going out clothes because the nightshirt supplied by Hyde Terrace is a grey, objectionable thing, which made him look like an orphan.  Sue says she hopes that people will call the baby by his full name and not 'Chris'. I fear she's on a loser here. The name, she says, was Peter's choice.

YP dismal. Kathleen was off commemorating the first anniversary of her father's demise. Read with some glee that the Succession Bill of Michael English was put off on Friday when it was opposed by the Tories. It now goes to the bottom of the Bills to be read, and no doubt die the death that Norman St John Stevas predicted.

Home to Ally at 6 in daylight. Chicken broth, dumplings, coffee, TV, books, bath, bed, &c.

-=-

Sunday February 28, 1982

 1st Sunday in Lent

Sunshine. Went to see Susie and our nephew Christopher Paul at 2. We were the only afternoon visitors. Sue looked so proud of the fine Nason specimen. I see what they all mean about the baby resembling Jim. We left Sue cuddling her son at 2. They move on to Otley [hospital] tomorrow.

On to the Gadsby residence. They have made tomato wine. They were all assembled but we didn't dine, because of an impatient chicken waiting at Club St. Karen and Steve want a son called Alexander James. Very grand.

Poor Uncle Tony is now redundant, and was in his vegetable patch playing with his broad beans. I went out to talk to him. The house and garden at St James's Crescent hold such memories for me - every brick, every corner of the garden brings back incidents from my childhood. We left between 6 and 7. The wine clouds my memory.

Chicken at Club St. Mum and Dad went to see Sue and Christopher again, and managed to have a hold of baby.

Saw 'Nancy Astor' again. Horrid. Bed t 10:30 but couldn't sleep. The roast chicken was playing up.

-=-

Saturday February 27, 1982

 Up at 8:30. Peter came to breakfast and gave us the full tale of Sue's long and difficult labour. A Caesarian section had been considered. She had an unpronouceable injection in the spine to numb the pain, and they used a funny vacuum thing to suck the baby out, which left him with a red ring on his poor little head.

I sat with a knotted brow. Dad thinks I'm addicted to paracetamol tablets. He is so eccentric.

Up to the Hermit at Burley Woodhead at 12 with Mum, Dad, Jim, Margaret, Peter. They went to Hyde Terrace at 2-3. Ally and I waited at Pine Tops. The baby is to be called Christopher Paul. He is, they say, the image of his paternal grandfather.

Home to Club Street and slept for a couple of hours before receiving Mum, Dad, Jim and Margaret for drinks and supper. We supped ale, ate salad sandwiches, and watched 'Dallas'. They left at 12.

-=-

Friday February 26, 1982

 Whilst eating our boiled eggs at 7:40 the phone rang. It was Mum saying Susie has been experiencing some pain all night and is beginning labour. I went off to work and was fed with bulletins throughout the day. 'Progressing slowly' in the afternoon, and so it continued throughout the evening. I worked through at lunch and arrived home at 5. 

We had fish and chips, took a bath, packed a suitcase, and went over to Pine Tops for 7. The vigil began. We watched TV with Mum and Dad. Mum phoned the hospital at 7:15 to be told that Sue was in a labour ward. Lynn, Dave and Frances came at 9 and stayed until 12:30. 'Granny' told Frances that she was about to have her 'nose pushed out'.

We phoned John and Maria to congratulate them on their Scottish baby news [due on August 14]. Spoke to Maria first who told us that John was out in the field with his sheep, goats and hens. One hen had apparently gone astray.

Lynn and Dave had only just left at 12:40 when the phoned trilled. Mum took the call. It was Peter. A baby boy was born at 12:24, just into Feb 27, weighing 8lb 14oz. No name has been decided upon as yet. Jim and Margaret arrived bearing the famous Johnnie Walker Red Label whisky, and we wet the baby's head. Jim had always insisted that the bottle of whisky was only to be consumed upon his demise.

 We sat until 4am, and then to bed.

-=-

Thursday February 25, 1982

 Received a letter from Norman St John Stevas, MP, who wants to 'put my mind at rest' on the subject of Michael English's succession bill. He says it is very unlikely to make further progress. Sigh with relief at this. You can always rely on the good old Tories to stand in the way of change. If I had my way I wouldn't ever change anything again, except perhaps for underpants. 

Pay day. went to Boots with Sarah to act as adviser as she bought a three week white wine pack. I am something of a Baron de Rothschild when it comes to wine making. Back later to the gloom of the YP. 

I couldn't see Susie today because they clean the wards at Hyde Terrace. It's ridiculous really because this swabbing of the hospital wards takes about 10 minutes.

Home at 6. We made a weekly pilgrimage to Morrison's. Home in time to see Top of the Pops, which we watched while eating cheese toasties and soup on trays. 

Ally had two fillings at the dentist this afternoon, and I bought her a Cadbury's Creme Egg as a tooth token.

We went to bed after listening to Sir Robin Day and his ridiculous panel. Will perhaps William Waldegrave one day be our prime minister?

-=-

Wednesday February 24, 1982

 Ash Wednesday

Frosty. I forgot to put a blanket on the car last night. I was overcome with grief at the sight of a white, shrouded Audrey. Ally and I had boiled eggs and biscuits. We are off bread as part of the 'Get Michael Slim' campaign. Long and lingering kisses. We want to do something for our wedding anniversary weekend. Perhaps a few days in Northumberland?

Auntie Elsie.

YP: Carolyn Pride, who shared a London flat with the Princess of Wales when she was just Lady Di, has become engaged to a William Bartholomew, who I have found is a sixth cousin once removed of HRH. Both he and the princess have a common ancestor in Stephen Poyntz, MP, an eighteenth century Berkshire landowner. Thrilling, eh?

Geoff Hemingway has asked me to do a family tree for the EP of March 30 when we are planning on going bananas for the P of W's visit to Leeds which will be Diana's last northern engagement before her confinement. Geoff says Malcolm [Barker] will have to give me the go ahead at tomorrow's conference but sees no problem. 

Sunny afternoon. Walked up to see Sue at Hyde Terrace. She says she so misses the fresh air of outdoors after weeks of antiseptic and disinfectant. A friend from Wendy Wools arrived at 2:30 with a blond baby called Trevor - poor thing. Mum phoned at 3:30.

Home at 6. The Yorkshire puddings collapsed. Coronation Street. Watched the dismal news. We decide that Dame Judith Hart looks very much like Ally's Auntie Elsie. We laughed about this.

Do people stop smoking on Ash Wednesday?

-=-

Tuesday February 23, 1982

 Shrove Tuesday. New Moon

On the bus this morning the piped music [which they play to the occupants of the upper deck] went berserk and the song stuck on repeat for one sentence for the duration of the journey. It had a disturbing effect on my fellow passengers. Old ladies got off the bus at Stanningley clinging to each other like automatons. A leather clad man, with violet hair, his jacket covered in pins and paint, got off the bus shouting, and looking for someone to mug. Eventually the repetetive noise so upset the Bengali bus driver that he abandoned the vehicle on Armley Road and sent for another one. 

At the YP I tore newspaper to shreds for 8 hours. Went to see Susie [no change]. A family gathering around the bed with Frances snatching the limelight.

Home at 5:30 to pancakes. A stodgy tea. I have a letter from Downing Street from a B.A. Cross. It reads: 'Dear Mr Rhodes, The Prime Minister has asked me to thank you for your recent letter setting out your views. They have been noted.' Obviously a standard answer to the 48 million letters that the PM receives on a daily basis. At least I've written and got it off my chest.

Mum and Dad came at 8 for a few drinks. Dad went up to the bathroom and mended a temperamental light switch. Watched TV. Roy Plomley talking about his 'Desert Island Discs' now in its 40th year. They left at 11.

-=-

Monday February 22, 1982

 Up at 7 completely recovered from my attack of dog-itis. 

YP not up to much. Unspeakable in fact. Mrs Slocombe fancies herself as Margaret, Duchess of Argyll or maybe the Begum Aga Khan. It is nauseating to see her gliding around the building.

Home for 5:30. A marvellous letter awaits me from John Stokes, MP. It reads: 'Dear Mr Rhodes, thank you very much indeed for your magnificent letter. It is letters of support such as yours that make it so worthwhile to be in public life. With all good wishes, yours sincerely, John Stokes.' I am bowled over by Mr Stokes's letter. It's not as though he is being sycophantic to one of his constituents and was under no compulsion to be quite so nice.

A lamb concoction with stuffed peppers and tomatoes. Ally points out 'it is breast of lamb'. She is currently sitting buried behind The Times [yes, it's still with us] scrolling through the secretarial jobs in London. 'Look at this one', she exclaims, 'you get £7,000 a year, and a car.' Is she thinking of leaving me, perhaps? 'No. You are worth more than that', came the reply.

To bed not long after Coronation Street.

-=-

Sunday February 21, 1982

 Quinquagesima

Woke at 8:30 and took a couple of pills. Felt frozen as if my stomach was full of ice. Ally was frosty too at first, but thawed after breakfast.

Breakfast went on indefinitely and we sat having a heart to heart until well after noon. It was too late cook lamb and so at 5 we had soup, grilled steak, chips, salad, &c. Another delightful nosh.

Watched John Mills in 'The Colditz Story'. I suppose it's a birthday tribute to the old boy. He is 74 or 75 today.

Out at 7:30 to Dave L's at Guiseley [he phoned at 6:30 yesterday]. We helped him make lemon wine and then watched 'Flash Gordon' on his new video machine, and then three episodes of 'Top of the Pops'. A pleasant evening but spoiled slightly by my allergy to Rowan, the Gordon Setter. A splendid dog. Mrs L had left us a marvellous supply of sandwiches and throughout the film Dave provided apricot wine, Bailey's Irish Cream, and banana milk shakes. We left at 11:30 promising to return next week with our wedding film.

-=-

Saturday February 20, 1982

 Sunny ansd bright. Masses of crumpets at breakfast time. Out at 12:30 to Bramley cemetery where we found John Rhodes's grave. After years of searching I have finally made contact with great-grandpapa. It was biting cold and so we didn't linger at the cemetery. We went to Hyde Terrace at 2 after looking at the antique shops on Burley Road and we found Susie looking well and glamorous. Lynn, Dave and Frances came too and we sat on the bed making noises at the baby, red faced and cheeky. Susie's teeth are shining bright and she told us that she cleans then eight times a day! She says Pete is now leaning towards Claire for a girl. She seems to think that the little beggar is female.

On to Thackley with Lynn, Dave and a snoozing Frances to Cheap 'n Cheerful. Not very good this week as most of the decent stuff has been sold. Lynn took a fancy to a wash stand but Dave wasn't enthusiastic. Back to Ash Tree Cottage for a quick change, &c. Out at 7:30 to see Dave Porritt about the wedding video. Then on to the Commercial [at Esholt] at 8 to join Lynn and Dave in the bar. Dave and Elaine Allinson came in until 11. As usual Elaine dominated the goings on and talked about everything from sex to sex. Lynn looked embarrassed. The booze flowed and we endured tales of Elaine's sexual antics and debated whether her 10 year-old daughter Samantha was about to menstruate for the first time. A dull looking couple on the next table sat spell-bound listening to tales of hanky panky from Rawdon to Menorca. My trousers saw fit to burst open [the fly is knackered] and I spent some time with a safety pin fumbling in the darkness of the gents toilet. 

To the Allinsons at Over Lane, Rawdon at 11 for corned beef sandwiches and more booze. I put back a quantity of Scotch and clowned around wrapping everyone in toilet paper. My recollections of the latter part of the evening are lost forever in the mists of oblivion. Ally was appalled at my behaviour and brought me home at 2am. I vomited in the garden and again later in the bath. I am a revolting and disgusting specimen.

-=-

Friday February 19, 1982

 Cold and wet. Prince Andrew celebrates his twenty second birthday today on the high seas. The Union flag at the YP hung limp and wet. Let us hope that HRH is not similarly displayed.

Mum phoned to say that she and Papa are visiting Sue this lunchtime and so I decided not to go. Besides, it was raining, and the walk to Hyde Terrace holds no excitement.

News: The Times newspaper is knackered. Rupert Murdoch [a Jim Rawnsley look-alike] has tired of his ownership of England's greatest newspaper and has asked for 600 redundancies. Obviously, the [trade] unions are not too happy about this.

The future Marquess of Abergavenny, Guy Nevill, aged 35, has married Lady Beatrix Lambton, 32, daughter of the reprobate and lecher Antony Lambton, who disclaimed the earldom of Durham in 1970.

Home at 6:15 frozen solid. Ally, a vision in red, was waiting for my arrival. We ate avocado and prawns, homemade tomato soup, and lasagne, followed by chocolate 'Angel Delight'. Oh, then cheese and biscuits. A splendid and luxurious dinner. 

Watched some TV. Ally finished 'Woman in White' by Wilkie Collins. Splashed in the bath [together] and to bed.

-=-

Thursday February 18, 1982

 No desire to get out of bed, but I forced myself. It's no good giving in at twenty six. On the bus a chap in front of me was reading a tabloid newspaper. I raged at the sight of the Princess of Wales, clad in a bikini, walking on a beach on the Caribbean holiday island where she and the prince are staying with the Romseys. Of course it was the Daily Star. Such an invasion of their privacy is unspeakable. The poor princess must be hurt deeply by the constant battering from the gutter press.

No visit to Sue today. They clean the ward on Mondays and Thursdays. I went to buy a demijohn at Boot's and escaped at 4, thanks to Ray Buckton and his friends.

At home a letter awaiting me from Michael English, MP. It reads: 'Thank you for your letter of February 9. Actually you may recall that the Swedish monarchy, like the pre-16th century English monarchy did not allow women to succeed at all. In the matter of equality of the sexes ours was far in advance of theirs until three years ago when they changed their laws and brought it completely up to date by, in addition to doing what we already do, making it completely equal as between the two sexes. I note your views but think that in this day and age it can only be regarded as unfair that a girl born as heir to Prince Charles and ultimately to the Crown, should perhaps [their is no certainty about these things] should be pushed out of the succession by the subsequent birth of a younger brother, maybe many years later. Yours sincerely, Michael English'.

This is all very well, but it doesn't answer my probing letter and just skirts over the issue. It was good of him to answer. I now eagerly await the PMs answer.

To Morrison's at 5. We spent £14 on provisions. Home at 7 to watch 'Top of the Pops' while devouring salad sandwiches.

Dave G phoned enquiring about Susie. Garry, he says, is now a postman, and no doubt growing a large moustache and cultivating militant tendencies. Better than the dole.

Ally went off to bed exhausted at 9:20 leaving me watching Cliff Michelmore making a programme about 'Tonight', a news programme which ran from 1957 to 1965. I remember that John as a child was obsessed with the theme tune. Bed 10:30.

-=-

Wednesday February 17, 1982

 Cold and frosty. Went off to Leeds on a smoke-filled bus. YP even more dismal. Kathleen was dark and pensive. It's obvious that Carol J has told K[athleen] of our coming absence to attend Sarah & Trevor's wedding.

Sat with my cup of tea reading the Times. Margaret Thatcher had her weekly audience with Her Majesty last night, no doubt taking along my letter on the succession bill in her handbag. If I fail to receive any satisfactory answers from the MPs I'll go right to the top and communicate with the poor, overworked monarch.

Wernt to see Sue at 2. She was busy making toys. So far she's knitted a blue elephant and a bright red, squinting rabbit. She informed me that she may only be five days over her due date, and not two weeks as she first suspected. This means they may well leave her until February 26 before inducing the little terror. On top of this she looked bright. We laughed at the pigeons on her hospital window sill. Even they looked pregnant.

Home at 6 to fish in a shrimp sauce with Piglet. Our tranquility was disrupted at 7:30 by Paul Calvert, who burst in with a colleague armed with boxes of gadgets, and they spent two hours trying to sell us a Kirby vacuum cleaner which also shampoos carpets, hangs pictures, converts into a speedboat, plays 'the Blue Danube' and mixes a good vodka-based cocktail, and all for a mere £400. It was very uncomfortable. I didn't enjoy the evening. I do not like salesmen. Ally bubbled and asked many delving questions, whilst I sat mute. We opened some lager and got the chaps pissed, well slightly anyway. They went off at about 11 without a sale. We took to our bed.

-=-

Tuesday February 16, 1982

 Cold and frosty. Gloom at the YP. Well, not so much gloom as just bloody boredom. The frost had also penetrated the library because Kathleen senses the re-emergence of Mrs Slocombe in Sarah's affections. It's like Louis XIV's court with all the intrigue. Can't do with it myself.

Went to see Susie at 2pm. She was spread, like a beached walrus, upon a bed with headphones clamped over her ears soaking up Radio One. She was pleased to see me and is bearing up remarkably after almost a fortnight of incarceration. I had some prawn cocktail crisps, and she had pop-corn. Her blood pressure remains disgustingly high, and she had been waiting to see a doctor since 9am. I had to leave her at 3 and she waddled to the lift to see me off the premises. When will baby Nason come?

Back to the YP for afternoon tea at 3, and escaped at 4:30. I had to walk to the bus station to get out of Leeds. The continuing and apparently endless rail strike goes on. It was all on the news tonight, but I do not understand. 

Horrified to read in the Daily Telegraph that Canada say they will give equal rights to women with regard to the proposed succession to the throne changes even if Britain does not go ahead, so that one day Canada and Britain could have different monarchs. We won't dare risk the break up of the Commonwealth and so  I suppose this threat is a good weapon for Michael English to wield. Meanwhile, the Prince and Princess of Wales are off to the Bahamas for a holiday, traveling incognito as Mr and Mrs Hardy.

Home at 6:15 slightly ruffled by the journey. Dined by candlelight with Possum. Ally tired tonight. We have been over doing things somewhat. We watched a good Australian film at 7 and seriously thought about bed afterwards. 

Mum and Dad are furious at Lynn's indecision about the house at Pool. Dad came out with 'a woman's word is her bond'. All good stuff. We sat and ate Ally's chocolate heart and went off to bed to avoid the 'Play for Today' on the BBC which looked horrendous.

-=-