Tuesday November 30, 1982

 St Andrew's Day

Brighter, but bitterly cold. Ally is feeling weak ____________. She wrapped me up in a scarf and packed me off to the YP. The days are gone when I could often be seen walking around in shirt sleeves well into January.

Diana: unhappy

Sarah is off. 'Pneumogettingthekitchendecorateditis'. We all do it though.

(Nigel) Dempster says (for the first time, I think) that the marriage of the Prince and Princess of Wales is unhappy. She (Diana) doesn't share Charles's love of the great outdoors, and Nigel insists that 'sources close to the Royal Family' worry about the amount of leisure time they spend apart. We'll have twenty years of divorce rumours now. Poor souls, they'll never be left in peace.

News: The oldest peer Lord Rathcavan has died aged 99. The next in line for 'oldest peer' is Lord Citrine, who led the TUC at the time of the General Strike. Next after him is Fenner Brockway, the old fool. Vote Labour, Live Longer. Perhaps the next Labour party political broadcast could show Michael Foot surrounded by lefty centenarians. It would work wonders.

Still no reply from Guiseley. Are they still at Ruby's? Seems odd.

Bessie phoned us by mistake thinking she was ringing Graham. They are going to fix the time of Matthew's christening around our travelling arrangements. Gill phoned too. Matthew is over 9lbs. She thought Lanzarote was nothing more than a volcano. 

Went up to bed at 9:30. (I got in the bath and Ally got into bed).

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Monday November 29, 1982

 The frost continues. We were cheerful at breakfast and sat eating home made bread and jam. Ally takes too long eating and dropped jam everywhere then blamed me saying I make her laugh too much.

To the YP. Sarah's last Monday until after her librarian exams. Quite gloomy really. Went out at 1:30 and ate a sandwich in the park. I regard Park Square as my own. A silly woman was covered head to foot in pigeons.

Phoned Guiseley but got no response. They must still be in Norfolk. Phoned Ally. We are dining with David and Jean Watts on December 9. 

Queen Helen of Rumania, a first cousin of the Duke of Edinburgh, has died aged 86. She was the second wife of the lecherous King Carol II, and the mother of King Michael.

Tonight we had sandwiches and pots of tea. Poverty stricken we are after last week's jaunt to the Canaries. Still, it was worth it. At the office they are jealous as hell of my winter holiday and it's hardly been mentioned since I got back. 

Coronation St. Ally irons and reads 'Penmarric' by Susan Howatch. She tried knitting but gave up. She has bought baby clothes on Duckworth Lane for Christmas for Frances and Christopher. We switched the TV off at 8. Millions of people just sit watching like cabbages every night. We carried sandwiches up to bed and read our books. Finished Ken Follett. Slept near 12.

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Sunday November 28, 1982

 Advent Sunday

Refused to set foot out of the house all day. I did carry some egg shells to the dustbin, but that was all. Scrambled eggs and baked beans for breakfast after which we broke out into furious activity of a domestic nature and re-arranged the bedroom furniture. John is collecting our spare wardrobe at the weekend and we have a mass of paraphernalia to sort out. I half watched two films on the telly and played with the demijohns of wine.Bottled some apple wine which we started in January. Joyful domesticity, no less.

Auntie Mabel phoned to invite us to Sunday lunch on December 12. It's the night after Lazenby's (party) so I doubt whether we will be in a fit state to go. I will phone her next week. 

Bessie phoned at 7. Graham and Gill have been to see them with Matthew. It's Dr Gaffikin's opinion that the baby looks like Bessie. The Lynns think he looks like Frank.

Ate a vast dinner and collapsed afterwards. Saw the final part of the RSC's 'Nickleby' on Channel 4 which took us to bedtime at 10. Looked at Harold Nicolson's diary 1930-64. 

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Saturday November 27, 1982

 Freezing. The cold is unbearable. After breakfast we wrapped ourselves up and went out into the wilds to find a bus to Guiseley. Mum and Dad have gone with Hilda and Tony to Bunwell in Norfolk for Ruby and Arthur's golden wedding celebrations which take place tomorrow.

Christopher.

To West End Terrace. Christopher is romping, and it took all four of us to entertain him for the afternoon. Sue made a casserole which we all ate at 4. John came in and was very quiet. He'd been out with David B on Thursday and had put away eight pints. He's playing squash tomorrow. He took us to Burley-in-Wharfedale at 5. Our last visit to Lawn Road. Frances was in the bath, quite the little girl flashing her eyes. We had roast chicken with Lynn and Dave and post-prandial drinks. Their new home 41 Thorpe Lane is called Thorpefields. Ally and I marvel at the Baker capacity to afford a £36,000 house. It must be a frightening experience. At 10 we went out and got on a frosty bus. Bradford at 11. Bed at 12 with cocoa and hot water bottles.

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Friday November 26, 1982

Queen in Leeds.

 Frost. To the YP. Busy. Kathleen, 39 yesterday, took a half-day. No great news to report in my absence.The Queen Mother and the saga of the salmon bone, of course, and then Princess Michael of Kent confided in someone at a dinner that baby Prince William has 'tufts of red hair'. This has been strenuously denied by the Princess of Wales who says her son is blonde, big and blue-eyed. Her Majesty the Queen was in Leeds today to open the Henry Moore extension. Muriel Rawnsley was presented. I went to look at the bunting but missed the spectacle because the visit fell outside my lunch hour. I am told the Queen wore a fur coat. Good for her. That's one in the eye for the boring mink conservationists.

Mrs Slocombe found out yesterday that Sarah is going on the management course. She was furious. Apparently, I am next on the list. Blimey, just two heart beats from the chief librarianship, and by-passing the ridiculous Mrs S. Fun and games.

It's incredible to think that Mum, Dad, Lynn and Dave, and John will all be moving house within hours of each other. Utter confusion. Christmas will be a peculiar disjointed affair. We told Mum last night that we would be going to Winchester this year, and she seemed cool about it. She cannot expect us to go to her every Christmas, surely? 

Home at 6 for veg soup. Lots of books arrived including a damaged 'Royal Heritage' which must go back. To bed early.

Thursday November 25, 1982

 A day of waiting at Arrecife airport. In the morning (we were up at 9) we had bacon sandwiches with John & Sheila. John is such a typical English eater, even after five years of exile. Sheila drove us to Puerto De Carmen and left us for a couple of hours. We bought perfume and a couple of tablecloths at £10 each. I don't think wer were robbed. Sat in a German bar drinking Campari sodas mocking a bloated character with an enormous, sickly ice cream. 

Sheila & John.

At Macher we said goodbye to the dogs and went with John to the airport. We sat at a dining table for three hours playing with an omelette and gin and tonics. It's fascinating to watch John 'wheeling and dealing'. Sheila ordered chicken for lunch, but got rabbit.

Our flight was an hour late at 4:30. John stood watching as we flew away. A long flight. Read Ken Follett, but not seriously. Landed at Gatwick and then flew at 9:15 to Manchester, arriving about 20 minutes later. Just had time for a coffee and biscuits. Met by Mum & Dad. They'd been falling out about something. Mum was not herself. They are leaving Pine Tops on December 8, and will be homeless until January. 

Home for 11.

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Wednesday November 24, 1982

 The sirocco arrived. I hadn't realised that we were only 60 miles from the Sahara. Anyway, the sky was overcast with a sandy wind blowing over, blotting out the sun, on this our last day. Sheila is furious and thinks we have had a terrible week.

To Puerto Del Carmen and into a shop and asked to see tablecloths. The little man showed us one for 14,600 pesetas (that's £70). We laughed. Of course we cannot afford this. The price was immediately reduced by 25 per cent "because you are tourists and go home tomorrow". I didn't like the way that a shopkeeper knew of our travel arrangements. He reduced the price again and again, finally halting at 4,000 pesetas. We told him we only had 3,000, and walked out. He stood at the door yelling "bloody English".

Ate pizzas and drank mateus rosé in a tatty German café. We decide that we'll open a restaurant one day. What else can we do other than cook? I think that together we'd make quite a creative team. A newspaper stand caught my eye. The Daily Star announcing that the Queen Mother is in hospital having a fish bone removed from her throat.

Out with J & S to the Vic. John paid. The Norwegian lady is a bore on second meeting. John and Sheila have endured her for five years. Ally and I went to the Waikiki afterwards. Pena Coladas. Back to the house in a taxi at 1:30.

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Tuesday November 23, 1982

 Sheila packed us off on one of those terrible 'touristy' trips around the island. We went for free, thank God. A coach took us up a mountain or should I say volcano, where we had a camel ride. The woman sat behind us described Timanfaya as 'a slag heap', suggesting that the National Coal Board should perhaps do similar trips in Wales. Bumpy, but fun. Our beast didn't spit or urinate and was very well behaved. To a bodega. Salt mines. El Golfo. Had lunch in a great hall at Yaiza. I had the very peculiar feeling that at any moment the door would be kicked open and that we'd be mercilessly machine-gunned, like the Nazis did to innocent French villagers in the last war. Odd, I know.

We dined out alone tonight. Had lasagne and Mateus rosé. To the Waikiki and Banana disco, then the Joker, which was all mirrors and claustrophobic. Taxis everywhere. Back at 2:30. We never dance. A jolly good evening.

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Monday November 22, 1982

 To Puerto Del Carmen with Sheila at the wheel of her finy Fiat. She deposited us in the centre of things. Had a few drinks with John at the Bagatelle Bar. He wants to buy an apartment costing £16,000. Sheila looked nervous as he set out, cigar in mouth, to see his bank manager. She says life is always like this. John really should be a millionaire, but isn't quite there yet. We left Sheila and went off and had lunch in an open bar. Me grilled prawns and Ally a fish salad which she poked at. Not good. Back for a siesta. 

At Macher, Lanzarote

This evening we dined at La Finca with J & S, Julian and Hilary. Steak again. I don't mind Julian with his university style sense of humour. I expected a whoopee cushion at any moment. Hilary however is an absolute cow who mocks our Yorkshire accent. Why do people do this? Do we fall about in hysterics when we meet someone from Wiltshire? John, sensing the disapproval, got his own back and asked her where she was born. She went red and after a pause said 'Virginia Water', which was of course a lie. She's obviously from Manchester. She said Virginia Water just to impress John with whom she flirts terribly. Sheila sat looking daggers across the dining table. John really shouldn't encourage the woman. The most amusing thing about La Finca was the singer providing the background music. Horrendous stuff which had us in hysterics. A lousy singer slaughtering all the classics. We asked the waitress for the singer's identity and she says 'Peter Hoffman'. None the wiser. Hilary wanted to dance, but we didn't. Home and to bed.

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Sunday November 21, 1982

 Last Sunday after Trinity

Up at 11:30. John and Sheila left to see friends for lunch at a distant hotel. We were invited to join them but dropped out when Sheila offered us the use of her car for the day. Ally drove to Puerto Del Carmen down a dusty cactus-lined road covered in picon [?] She didn't drive into the town but parked outside to avoid the law. We are not insured on Sheila's car, and Ally hasn't brought her driving licence. On the beach there for a couple of

hours. Hambugers and beer at a beach-side cafe, and then returned to the villa at 5 for a siesta. John and Sheila are back. Lunch was £12 and not spectacular. The dogs lick round us as though we've been away for six months. Drank tea on the terrace. They ar not great boozers. Siesta until 7:30. We lay whispering in bed. Dined at Caspar's (down near the harbour). The proprietress is a German baroness who looks like the girl in Abba, Frieda. Excellent dinner. We dined upstairs. The ferns however, were plastic. Pleasant chatter ranging from abysmal TV to the genius of Peter Sellers, and the adolescent-style behaviour of the adult Spanish. It's John's opinion that in a business conference with a Spaniard once they start playing with their genitals it's a sign that you (the Englishman) is heading for a victory in the negotiations. On to the Waikiki cocktail bar. Sheila insists the place is a homosexual haunt. Pina Coladas. Then the Beach Club disco. J & S left us at 3am. We had a few more drinks and walked back at 5am. Exhausted.

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Saturday November 20, 1982

 Sheila drove us to Puerto De Carmen this morning so that Ally can look at sun glasses. They are all far too expensive and in the end she borrowed a pair belonging to Valerie (my cousin).  They took us to the north of the island for lunch, and I'm almost asleep. We lunched on a mountain top. We all had prawns in garlic - delicious. Afterwards we must all have smelled very anti-social. I settled the bill - 2,800 pesetas. Then on to Mirador Del Rio, spectacular views, and the caves of Jameos del agua, a very relaxing spot.  Home tonight quite buggered. We sat watching films on John's video recorder. The first was an Australian creation 'Mad Max', set in the outback after a nuclear holocaust. Then Richard Burton in 'Villain'. Roast chicken around the grand table. Ally is stunned by John's likeness to Papa and she giggles and exclaims in wonderment every time he opens his mouth to speak. Sheila flits about like a bird, and is clearly very much in love with John.

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Friday November 19, 1982

 The weather is quite amazing. I don't think I will ever forget the feeling as I stepped off the plane yesterday. Up for eggs and bacon in the kitchen. Inspect the house. It's built around a central courtyard filled with exotic plants and trees. Our bedroom has a beamed ceiling and impressive headboard. The sitting room is large and cool with a fireplace worthy of Blenheim Palace for its size. The dining table is twenty feet long and a crystal chandelier hangs above. Sheila took us to Playa Blanca, a quiet spot to the south of the island. Her car took us through some amazing scenery. Very prehistoric and haunting. John says the island attracts lots of ESP types. Ally and I had sangria. Sheila drank only coffee because she's taking anti-biotics for a septic tooth. Joined by John and his Spanish business partner, Prudencio, at lunch where we ate fish in various shapes and forms. Ally and I left them afterwards and went to lay on the beach until 5. To the Victoria Inn for dinner. It's owned by an Englishman with a Norwegian wife. Pepper steaks, &c. Ally has the runs and the Scandinavian lady gave her a pill. Back at Macher John and I sat in the courtyard with a bottle of brandy. The ladies retired. We sat looking at the stars and attempted to solve the world's problems. John tells me he has a 'Rhodes index'  - similar to the IQ test - but based on personality, charisma and humour, &c. He believes in green men from outer space, ghosts, reincarnation, the whole damn lot. Bed, pissed, at 2am.

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Thursday November 18, 1982

 Funeral over we can now think about the holiday. Out of bed at 5. Frantic packing in the dark and rain. Well, it wasn't raining indoors, but you know what I mean. Dave B phoned and arrived at 7. He was in one of his serious moods, and sat drawing on a cigar contemplating the ceiling. To Manchester Airport arriving at 8:45. Ally had to pay an extra £10 to travel with a passport named as Dixon when her flight ticket is named as Rhodes. Gin and tonics. We flew at 10:15. It was like a flying Berni Inn. We drank like fish. The plane was half full of babies. Must tell Sue and Peter about this. Arrived at Arrecife Airport, Lanzarote, at 2:30 and met John and Sheila, lurking behind potted palms. He is tall, tanned and extremely distinguished. I suppose he's a streamlined version of dear Papa. Sheila is thin and well-groomed and just as affected as she was 10 years ago. Little changed. John, with an enormous 10 inch cigar, drove us to their vast villa surrounded by giant palms and set in the scorched countryside. Everything inside is on an enormous scale. Hugo (the labrador) is alive and well. Out for a pizza with John and Sheila and a couple called Julian and Hilary. He's a Peter O'Toole look-alike. Garlic. Raging thirst. Home and to bed at 10:30. Ally is brown before we start.

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Wednesday November 17, 1982

 Hideous wet day. Howling wind and rain. Furious activity. Ally up and out to the hairdresser at 9. I made the house look respectable, and dressed in my blackest clothes. Ally back at 10 looking beautiful. Frank & Bessie came at 11 and went went directly to Colne. To Uncle Tom's house for 12. Frank insisted on driving around for 15 minutes to shorten the stay in the home of the deceased. Inside, everyone stood grouped in the kitchen, some hideously cheerful and others near to collapse with grief. Met Ally's cousins Steven and David. Poor Hilda was lying in an open coffin in the sitting room, and we all had to file in for a prayer before leaving for Burnley Crematorium. I avoided looking at the corpse, but Ally caught a glimpse and burst into tears. This also upset Bessie who had been calm up to this point. Cremation over. I think I must be turning atheist. Ham sandwiches afterwards at Uncle Tom's. He is stunned and numbed by it all. Poor Auntie Hilda was only 47. Back to Bradford at 7. Ate at the Pizza House after having a drink at the Norfolk Gardens Hotel. Bed.

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Tuesday November 16, 1982

More rain. We'd be feeling quite jolly if it wasn't for poor Auntie Hilda (White). At the YP I told them I want tomorrow off to attend the funeral and Kathleen makes me take a half day, my last half day of the year, and presumably throws in another half day out of sympathy. This is from the woman who took months off last year because her father was unwell. Hardly fair. 

Worked until 4 and then went to buy £110 travellers cheques from Thomas Cook, and £15 in pesetas. I also collected a metro card for next month. Home to Ally and chicken sandwiches at 6.

Out to Guiseley and Sue and Pete's at 7. Sue looks lovely with a new short hairstyle. Mum and Dad arrived at 8. We argued, yet again _____________. John came in at 10. Dad drove us home at 12. Talk about Horton-in-Ribblesdale. Ally says she now sees from where Lynn derives her wild enthusiasm. 

To bed.

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Monday November 15, 1982

 New Moon

Frosty, but no snow. Lingered in bed until well after 7. Ally was up ironing before breakfast. Currant tea cakes and coffee. 

To the YP. The press goes too far this time. After the recent dreadful treatment of Princess Anne and Capt Mark Phillips, and the to-do about Koo Stark the Mirror and the Sun now claim that the Princess of Wales is suffering from anorexa nervosa, the slimmers disease. The princess is painfully thin and looking gaunt, but I suspect it's as a result of the endless columns of drivel filling our newspapers on a daily basis. Buckingham Palace really should do something about the Press. The cheap nasties are making life Hell for some members of the Royal Family. Photos of Princess Anne's children in the papers. Peter (Phillips) is 5 today - both are blond and bonnie. 

Home at 5:45. Chicken stew and dumplings. Bessie phoned at 8:30. Her sister, Hilda White, died at 9:30 last night. Ally had a little weep. Afterwards we sat with a coffee. The funeral takes place on Wednesday. A cremation at Burnley. Ally has never been to a funeral and quakes at the prospect. I will attempt to take the day off. How will I collect my travellers cheques in Leeds when I'm going to a funeral?

Missed Panorama's profile of Yuri Andropov. He looks like a right pillock. Switched over to the dreadfully dated film 'Carwash' from '76. Claptrap. Ally is still ironing three days later.

Mum phoned. They have bought a guest house in Horton-in-Ribblesdale. I am shocked and disappointed, but then realise it's selfish of me to want then to take on a pub. They must find something to do which makes them happy and contented. They seem to be thrilled by the place which is, quaintly, called Waltergarth.

Phoned Susie and arranged to go tomorrow night for a haircut. Will see Mum and Dad at West End Terrace.

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Sunday November 14, 1982

 23rd Sunday after Trinity - Remembrance Sunday - Birthday of the Prince of Wales

We were awake at 10 and lay debating whether or not to partake in another horizontal breakfast. I'm not a fan of eating in bed. The crumbs get everywhere, and I always splash tea, hot tea at that, onto my vulnerable, naked form. I made my usual morning visit to the bathroom and squealed with astonishment at the view I had of our modest garden. It was clothed in a blanket of snow. The first snow of this winter. Ally full of glee. She loves this hideous weather.

Watched the Cenotaph ceremonies on the BBC. Prince Andrew placed a wreath for the first time. For once Michael Foot wasn't dressed like an Irish navvy, which was disappointing. His donkey jacket brightened the remembrance service last year.

At 11:20 Uncle John phoned from Lanzarote asking us to take a consignment of packed bacon, good English bacon. It's the least we can do. It was a bad line. He and Sheila are meeting us at the airport at 2:30 on Thursday. Ally spent all afternoon ironing and packing. I stuffed a chicken and spiked it on the spit. Peeled veg and mixed  Yorkshire pudding. Watched half of 'Moby Dick' and two thirds of a Sean Connery and Gina Lollobrigida epic. We dined on succulent bird at 5. Collapsed afterwards. 'Nicholas Nickleby' on Channel 4. Excellent.

Saw images of the dead Brezhnev on the news followed by the second part of the Royal Variety Performance. Felt for the poor Queen Mother having to endure it. 

Bessie phoned and was miserable. Down in the dumps. (Her sister dying). Baby Matthew is to be christened on December 28, and big Tony Ellis is to be a godfather.

-=-

Saturday November 13, 1982

 Crumpets in bed for breakfast at 10:30. A morning of pleasure, passion and love. Ally had to get up at 11:45 to get a bus to her sun-ray session at Duckworth Lane. I stood at the window pulling hideous faces as she stood at the bus stop over the road.

At 1:15 I got a bus and met Ally at Sunwin House. We went to buy jeans. Mine were £8.99 and Ally's £4.99. Womens clothes are always much cheaper than mens. Got a pullover from Marks and Spencers but it proved to be too small. I thought a 38ins chest would be adequate. To the market too. Home for 3:30.

John joined us for the afternoon. We expected the lads from Stockport - but no sign of them. We ate jacket potatoes (again) with melted cheese and garlic and sat around the fire taping music. John would have liked to go out for a few drinks but Ally didn't want to go. John, fortunate enough to be in possession of a £5 note offered to fritter it away on us. Instead I gave him several large whiskies and switched on the telly to watch a Sophia Loren film. What more can a healthy young man ask for? John left at 11:45 and we took to our bed.

Mum and Dad have paid a further visit to Jack Showers at Appletreewick.

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Friday November 12, 1982

 I was up at 6:20 washing up the dishes from last night and preparing breakfast. To Leeds with Jacq at 8. Derek Sate has bought an apartment in Tenerife.

News: I object to our newspapers filling page after page with obituaries of Brezhnev. It's unfair. If Margaret Thatcher died today would you suppose  that she'd be on page one of Pravda tomorrow? The evil of communism is that the powers keep the poor ignorant populace in the dark. The Russian public are the only people on earth I suspect not to have heard of Lady Diana. The new Russian leader is Yuri Andropov, of the KGB.

Ally was in bed for 9. I watched TV until I fell asleep.

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Thursday November 11, 1982

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

Went to town at lunchtime and bought a [birthday] card for Tim. A naughty one as usual. Down to Stylo and gave it to Jill who was in the shop to collect her pay. She's on holiday this week. Tim's Dad, Geoff, marries his concubine, Margaret, tomorrow. 

News: Leonid Brezhnev died yesterday in Moscow at the age of 75. The entire Russian leadership is older than 65. His successor is bound to be a geriatric, poker-faced swine from the Ukraine.

Jacq Sate met me at the YP at 4:45 and we got the 72 bus to Bradford. Found Ally fluttering around in the kitchen. _________. We dined on thick soup, lasagne and jacket potatoes, profiteroles, all washed down with Yugoslav Riesling, provided by Jacq, and we ate with the TV as background. Naughty really. Charles Laughton in 'Hobson's Choice'. TV all night. They like Tenko, Robin Day, &c. Drink (gin) and look at photographs. To bed at 2am. Disgustingly late.

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