11th Sunday after Trinity
John came and boxed in the stray pipes, and found a good many faults with our £1300 kitchen. Joiners tend to do this with work from other tradesmen. Back to Pine Tops for 6pm. Dinner. Sheep and Yorkshire puddings. Fun. Wine. John drove us home with a Christmas tree [?]
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We went out looking for ironing boards and general things for the house. Saw curtain material, and found a carpet [pale green] for £2.80, or £280, more likely. Home jaded. TV. Bed.
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The new cooker works. Yorkshire puddings tonight. Joyful feelings in the kitchen. Russell Harty on TV. Later, Alfred Hitchcock. Baked bread, yes bread.
New books arrived. Picasso, Dali and Surrealism.
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Half day. Bought tiles and [wall]paper at Fads. Returned to home base. The little kitchen erector comes from Barnsley, or a place three miles therefrom, and immediately he warmed to my south Yorkshire connections. Made tea. The kitchen man finished at 3. Ally and I dined at home. Actually we had fish and chips.
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Kitchen renovations Day 3. We came home from work, changed, and went out at 6:45 to the Oddfellows, a run down and filthy pub. An elderly Pakistani was playing the fuit machine with gusto. Moved on after one drink to the Second West. This pub has changed hands since our last visit. The organ is no more, and I suspect that Stan [the organist] has joined the heavenly host. To the Coachman's or is it the Coach House? I preferred it when it was Mucky Willie's. The dirt and destruction at home is getting on Ally's nerves and we were quarrelsome. I hate squabbling. At 10 we stormed out and went to buy a curry. Hotter. Four inches of dirt had settled at home, but the cooker and sink were installed.
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The kitchen renovations continue. Our crooked walls are making it a long job. Tonight we went by bus, in pouring rain, into the metropolis, and had more Italian food at the Pizza House, on Sunbridge Road. Whitebait, prawn cocktails, lasagne. We were the only diners and our only companions were the tropical fish swimming amiably around in a tank. We used the good old Barclaycard, a rare thing these days. When we left the restaurant it was still pouring down , and seeing no buses, we walked half way home sharing an umbrella. We arrived home damp and happy to inspect the kitchen progress. To bed with hot drinks.
The gutter press are reporting that the marriage of Princess Anne and Capt Phillips is on the rocks. The princess celebrated her 32nd birthday at Balmoral, whilst Mark was farming hundreds of miles away at Gatcombe Park. It is about time that the press realised that members of the royal family are quite different to the ordinary couples out on the street. The Queen and Prince Philip are often parted for weeks on end but not because they are unhappy with each other. Royal life is essentially a lonely one.
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Graham and Gill went back to Gloucestershire. Ally took the day off to receive the little men from Kitchen Studios, who arrived at 11 took a cheque for £1300 and then sat around drinking tea all afternoon. They hadn't realised that the house would be so 'crooked'. Nothing is square. I came home at 6. Ally was covered in dust, but calm. The kitchen fitters were still at work and so we changed and got a bus into the city [after having a quick one at the Coachman's], arriving at a pizza place, Giuseppi's Backyard, at 9. Ally still not loving her food, but she's improving. Window shopping. Bradford is full of scaffolding. Home and to bed. No doubt we'll see some developments in the kitchen tomorrow - tonight just chaos.
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10th Sunday after Trinity
Trevor took us to the Holiday Inn, where he works, and showed us a couple of rooms, before our breakfast. Had a few drinks and left for Bradford at 3. John was awaiting us on our return at 5 and had boxed in more pipes. He dashed home to change and returned at 7. We went for a drink with Philip and Carol Middlebrough, and Richard and Eileen, to the Malt Shovel, again. John used to play football with Philip many years ago. Poor Eileen cannot persuade Richard to marry her. Much Tetley's consumed. At 10:30 we went to the Fire Brigade followed by a grand finale - a Chinese take-away. John came back to Ash Tree Cottage with Graham and Gill and we listened to Emerson, Lake & Palmer whilst demolishing prawn sweet and sour. Delicious. Ally feeling herself again. She is susceptible to travel sickness.
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Sunshine. Ally and I had slept on a camp bed on Trevor and Terry's sitting room floor. We left at 10 for Eston, and got there in about one hour. Ally looked delicious in her new dress and shoes. Gill in a Laura Ashley maternity number. We had a quick pint in a pub opposite the church. The wedding was at 12. A typical wedding. The bride, poor thing, looked almost drab in a soiled gown. A cast off from her sister's nuptials. The vicar, as usual these days, asked us not to throw anything inside the churchyard. The hymns were drab, but Graham had us shaking with hysterics at his remarkable baritone. On to a social club for the 'reception'. Abysmal food. Egg sandwiches, corned beef pasties and that sort of thing. The bridegroom's parents were slightly more 'up-market' than the family of the bride, and people crawled under their tables when the father of the bride, pissed, clad in a kilt, made a progress around the guests flashing his privates. A party of heavily tattooed builders soon demolished the buffet and by the time we got to the table we found nothing but empty plates. The barmaid had only one full arm and a ghastly pink stump where able bodied people usually have a second arm. She somehow managed to hold a pint glass in her stump [she had an elbow joint] and hobble to the beer taps and back splashing the peculiar northern ale everywhere in the process. Very off putting.
Ally went for a chat with the mother of the groom, and declared her to be a sweet old woman. Consumed gallons. Gill was very amusing and we do so enjoy pulling people to bits. The bride's mother changed into carpet slippers. Disco music throughout. The pub was above a betting shop and when we emerged into the sunshine at 5pm to wave goodbye to the bridal pair heading to Wales, we clashed with the men putting a tenner each way on 'Sunny Boy' running at Haydock Park. Back to Newcastle. Dined with Trevor and Terry [or is the feminine 'Teri'?] on goulash. Bed. Hot.
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A fried repast with Graham and Gill. Ally has a poor appetite since her attack of botulism. All lethargic. We went out shopping. Gill wants net curtains to deter a Gloucestershire nosey parker. No joy. Ally bought some delightful blue shoes from Top Shop. Graham says they make her look like a pixie or garden gnome, but then he is very conservative. Handbag too. [Oh yes, and she bought a new blue dress on Wednesday. Still, she hardly ever buys anything new]. Lunched at the White Horse at Thornton and spent £9 on a ploughman's lunch. We did eat 3lb of cheese each. Back at Club St we packed and left for Newcastle at 4:30. I slept for most of the journey. They were laughing at me sprawled in the back of the car with my mouth wide open. To the Thirsty Farmers Bar at the Europa Lodge Hotel - drinking hideous gassy Tetley's. Gill's brother Trevor arrived with his live-in girlfriend, Terry [Teresa Weymes]. To a pizza place in the middle of Newcastle. Some people say that the people, the noise, ther atmosphere of Newcastle is so like Ibiza. Slightly older. Graham and I had the folded up pizza [calzone]. Ally wasn't hungry and I finished her lasagne. Poor Terry upturned her very hot pizza onto her knees and scolded her legs. Fortunately she was wearing jeans. Graham got a parking ticket. It's £10 these days.Back to Trevor and Terry's modern little house which is overlooking an impressive man-made lake in the middle of an housing estate. Everywhere in Newcastle looks new. The closest I have been to Newcastle was to Washington New Town in 1973.
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Graham and Gill arrived just as we got in from work. Gill looking enormous and still hell bent on calling a female child Siobhan. A boy will be Matthew after the Rev. Lynn. We sat with a beer and talked about Coleford. Splashed in the bath and went out to the Bod at 7:30 for an aperitif before having a pizza at Mama Mia's on Manningham Lane. The service at the restaurant was poor, which is unusual. On to Wilsden after 9 to meet Philip and Carol Middlebrough at the packed Malt Shovel. Graham attempted to escape but I persuaded him to hang on. The place was full of heavily pregnant women from the local relaxation class, and Ally sat amidst them looking out of place. Back to Philip and Carol's. I had a Drambuie. Their pet hamster is dead. I went to pay my respects on the rockery where he is laid to rest. Home late.
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Wednesday. We are both much better. Ally leapt like a young gazelle from bed and splashed in her bath. Good to see her returned to some robustness.
At the YP I sent a memo to Mark Parry, and within minutes he was by my side saying he had accidentally dropped my claims sheet in the bin and 'Oh dear, it won't happen again'. So, I'm still waiting.
Mum phoned twice this morning. First to say that they saw Karen last night, and secondly to say that Karen has suffered a miscarriage and is in the women's hospital at Roundhay. Poor girl. What a time she's had. John is coming to do some 'pipe boxing' on Sunday when we will be in Middlesbrough. Luxury.
Dave Middleton from Kitchen Studios wrote to confirm they are installing the kitchen on Monday and Tuesday next week. Hard to believe that the days of Yorkshire pudding and roast beef are here. It's a shock to the system and we cannot believe that in a few days time the house will be full of workmen installing a £1300 kitchen. Luxury.
Mum and Dad have visited a pub at Wetwang near Driffield - too far away really. Sue said she would cry if they went there. They're still keen on the pub at Linton.
Maria has been in touch. The baby won't be here until September.
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Poor Karen's been at Hilda's since Saturday feeling unwell. A miscarriage is threatening.
I am much better, but Ally is still weak and looks ghastly. Struggled onwards to the YP. At 12 I walked to the metropolis with Sarah. She immediately through herself into a verbal attack on _____________.
Home to find Ally tucked up, fully clothed. I joined her and climbed into bed for an hours slumbering. The poor, tired Angel. We went downstairs at 7 and had tomato soup, and omelettes - something light.
Dave L phoned to say he was coming over but we put him off until next week. Back to bed at 9:30. I read Agatha Christie.
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Miss Jacqueline Myers is 26 today. We have heard nothing of her since Ally's birthday when, I fear, she almost came to blows with Elaine Allinson over the Falklands conflict. We sent her a card and demanded a meeting.
YP full of the usual delights. Has Henry Vyner, former owner of Studley Royal, remarried? This was today's thrilling question. I passed Mark Parry in a corridor and he said not a word about my outstanding payment. Not that I really expect him to remember little me.
Home. Ate bacon and tomato sandwiches. Later we were both gripped with expectations of vomit, and Ally went ahead and spewed up. We collapsed into bed and lay pitifully belching and groaning. It's our first joint attack of botulism. Loving is sharing.
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9th Sunday after Trinity
Day of activity. After a full-English I took to removing wallpaper and laying on the polystyrene tiles. It's a religious thing now at weekends. Ally, in a temper, went out to dig furiously in the garden. I switched on the TV and caught the last ten minutes of 'Jezabel' starring Bette Davis. They don't make 'em like that anymore. Ally recovered her composure and came back sweetly. We had onion soup, pizza and chips, and sat grinning at each other across the table. Funny how the pendulum swings?
To bed early again. A hot night. Restless romps. Penny, the poodle, dwelling at Mary's barked and complained throughout the night.
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A fried repast for the four of us. We were joined in our bed at 8:30 by Master Christopher with an engaging smile and sturdy brown legs. An adonis boy. He needed showing off and after breakfast we carried him off to Pudsey and our first port of call Karen, Mrs Stephen Sanderson. Obviously pregnant and going about her morning chores. Steve was out playing cricket, or more likely lubricating his tonsils. After a few drinks we moved on to Jill and Tim's. We also received lubrication here. Tim's foot improved. Then on afterwards to Wilsby where Christopher was nursed by his great-auntie Hilda, who was covered in dust from the ongoing renovations. Tony is a right little John Vanbrugh. The dog, Pepper, attempted to bite anyone taking an interest in Christopher and the visit was taken up with fighting off the yapping beast. Back to Bradford at 5:30. Sue and Pete took C home and Ally and I sat until after 8 and struggled up to bed. Thoroughly bushed.
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YP a sorry state. Found some composure at 2 or 3pm. Felt like I'd died and joined Jesus in his all encompassing bossom.
Home at 6. Joined at 6:30 by Sue, Pete and Christopher. The baby played for a while and then went to bed in the Flying Pigs Room, sleeping in his pram, A bonnie lad. A combination of his mother and Jim. Susie's smile, and Jim's nose. We ate curry and watched TV. Question: should Jim and Margaret be included in the PC1656 leaving party? I think that perhaps they should be made a special case. I am numb with exhaustion. Sue and Ally went up to bed. Pete and I watched a late film, and I snored in my armchair.
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Pine Tops has been sold to a sailor, for the asking price. Rejoice.
Hot. A Jim and Margaret session. They'd be called Jim and Margaret sessions even if they included Soraya Khashoggi, Lord Soames and Norman St John Stevas, MP. Mum and Dad came at 7:45 with Jim and Margaret. Tony and Hilda followed an hour later and we had fish and chips. We moved the piano from one end of the room to the other. Drank vast quantities. Handed around the Malcolm Fawbert letter and his Wilson kinswomen disowned him. 'He isn't one of us', they say. We made merry until well after 1am. Things could have become quite nasty when the conversation turned to John. ___________. We changed the subject. Cheese toasties. Bed at 2am.
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| Diana: matronly |
Humid. YP dull. Saw a few photographs on the wire of the christening at Buckingham Palace. The Princess of W in a hat which made her look 'matronly'. Like someone on the platform at the Brighton conference. In her defence she cannot have had much free time to go out and buy one since her accouchement.
I sat outside writing this evening. Ally was assaulting the sitting room with the vacuum cleaner. News at Ten. Poor. Bed.
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Extremely hot. Norman [our neighbour] told me that the temperature in his greenhouse is over 100 degrees F. "Too hot for my tomatoes", he grunted. Who cares about tomatoes?
Master Glynn is 28 today. We sent a silly card, but heard nothing. Plagued with filthy flies in the office. Margo squirmed every time one buzzed past.
Received a peculiar letter from Malcolm Fawbert who told me he can trace the Fawberts back to 1400, to one Alexander Titus Myles ffawbert de Grantley. Nonsense. It sounds like something out of 'Kind Hearts and Coronets'. The man woffled on, filling five large sheets of paper, without actually telling me anything. Ally furious and imaptient. She likes people to get straight to the point and 'our Malcolm' isn't one of this kind. ________.
Steaming hot. We had steak and kidney with dumplings. Good summer food. A mistake really. I cleaned the windows. We are the tidiest people on Club St. Too hot to go to bed. We sat looking at a book of impressionist paintings.
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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...
