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.

-=-

Monday February 15, 1982

 Washington's Birthday Observance

Andrew [Dixon] is 18, and so a man, today. 

I do resent the way that WH Smith lick up to the Yanks by printing 'Washington's Day Observance' at the head of the page. It is an English diary. Do American diaries print Her Majesty the Queen's Birthday Observance every April 21? At least they avoid Leonid Brezhnev's birthday, which falls in December, I think.

Amateur dramatics at Burley-in-Wharfedale. Lynn phoned Ally in a state of turmoil this morning and said that she and Dave had given backword on the house at Pool because of Ally's criticisms of the place to Mum yesterday. Obviously, Ally was upset to think that her comments had led to such a drastic decision. It is apparent that Lynn has been torn with indecision here. Mum was flabbergasted because the Bakers were at Pine Tops yesterday likeneing the Pool house to Nostell Priory. Lynn is such a changeable little thing. I can picture her laid awake last night night chewing the whole thing over. Dave is strangely quiet on the whole business. 

Home at 6 for a liver creation washed down with wine and then at 8 we went over to Burley, armed with a couple of bottles of wine, to have it out with the Bakers. Lynn was pale and they look to have been squabbling. Dave exclaimed that he doesn't know where 'the bloody hell' he stands. No sight or sound of Frances. It was a baby-free night in fact. We left at 11 but a tyre burst at the bottom of Hollins Hill, and we walked back in the cold to the Shoulder of Mutton. Ally's bladder was bursting and so I helped her over a stone wall so that she could pee in the long grass. Comical to say the least. Dad came down and showed us how to change the wheel. Then man is a saint. Home, exhausted, at 12:30.

-=-

Sunday February 14, 1982

 Valentine's Day - Sexagesima

Sunny and bright and spring-like. Do I detect daffodils poking out from the leaden earth? We were awake at 8:30 and I gave Ally a card and a chocolate heart. She gave me a card with a pig on the front. As you know, we are very fond of pigs. We sat in bed, the room flooded in sunshine, eating cake and supping coffee. Love is a wonderful thing.

Up at 9:30. I brewed ale, and Ally, armed with a bucket and soapy rags, went out to clean poor Audrey.

To avoid 'Carry on Spying' on the BBC we went off in the car in an attempt to locate the grave of John Rhodes [1866-1948], without success. A witless little woman took us to the wrong end of the cemetery which misled us completely. Most people in Bramley seem to have died from cholera.

On to Pool-in-Wharfedale to inspect the house which Lynn and Dave are buying. We sat in horror before the hideous 1950s erection. It may have splendid views of Wharfedale, but it's ugly, inaccessible, and over-priced. On to Guiseley for a coffee, but left after half an hour. They were having Peter for Sunday dinner before going on to Hyde Terrace.

Back at Ash Tree Cottage we had steak by candlelight, seated at the new table. We were dining for two hours. Listened to the radio afterwards. Richard Strauss's 'Don Quixote' [he really shouldn't have bothered], and then a nice piece for two pianos by Brahms. Bed at 10:30.

-=-

Saturday February 13, 1982

 Sunny and Spring-like. Breakfast on scrambled eggs and beans with the wireless thumping away in the background. Ally took a very hot bath [again] and used all the hot water.

We went out to the Co-op at 1, and then went, quite on impulse, to Thackley and bought a mahogany drop leaf dining table and a bureau from 'Cheap and Cheerful', spending £73. Great excitement. We had to make two trips to fit them in the car and after polishing and positioning them it was after 6. At last we can dine in style.

Mum phoned at 7 to say Sue is now on valium tablets and is probably going to be induced tomorrow. Her blood pressure remains very high. So it looks like a Valentine's Day baby for Sue and Pete. Mum says the poor girl was laid in bed chattering away non stop. No doubt the effect of the drugs. Isn't valium supposed to be for nerves?

We dined upon our new table this evening. Steak and kidney with dumplings, followed by chocolate 'Angel Delight'. Felt bloated afterwards. Ally, observing my protruding belly, suggests that perhaps we should have more salads to prevent me swelling to Cyril Smith proportions.

Ally was in bed by 11, but I was wide awake, and sat with a mug of coffee watching an old Margaret Lockwood Gainsborough picture, 'The Wicked Lady'.

-=-

Friday February 12, 1982

 Rain. Tea and toast again with Kitten. The Prince of Wales was on the radio at 7:30 talking about the Mary Rose salvage, and he quipped that the royal baby may well have to be Princess Mary Rose or Prince Henry Charles. I do not like the idea of King Henry IX. However, King Terry would be worse.

Worked until 2 and walked up to Hyde Terrace. Blown around like a wet rag in the wind, I was. At Hyde Terrace I met Papa parking the car and found Lynn, Mum and Frances inside. Mum brought me a prawn sandwich and half a pork pie from home. Susie, still sitting on top of the bed, looking a better colour, but was feeling sour and snappy. I don't blame her. Frances sat on the bed inspecting the ward. I got her clapping and gurgling. With her rosy cheeks and wispy hair she's definitely a Baker.

Back to the YP at 3. Home for 6. Knackered really. We had beefburgers and watched Sherlock Holmes on the TV. Afterwards we sat writing and Ally made a luscious chocolate cake.

Thoughts of the week: the succession to the throne should perhaps be altered to make Freddie Laker heir to the throne. Well it's either that or declaring him a saint. The sun shines out of his arse, if the Press is to be believed.

A future Duke of Somerset was born on February 3. He'll be head of the Seymour family one day.

Tonight Ally and I behaved like lovers in a French film. At about 10 we climbed into a hot, soapy bath together. It was the first time we'd done this, always assuming it was too small .... the bath, that is.

Later we watched Bette Davis in 'The Anniversary', and finally went to bed at 1am.

-=-

Thursday February 11, 1982

 I don't want to write. It's one of those days. Toast and tea with darling Ally. We never seem to be together. It's all sleep and breakfasts. Off to Leeds. Dismal.

Couldn't visit Sue because they clean the wards on Thurdsays. I suppose she will be down in the dumps. It's a week since she was taken into Leeds's answer to Colditz.

Wrote to John Stokes, the MP for Halesowen. I read that Baroness Young is also in opposition to the dreadful succession [to the throne] Bill.

I bought Ally a chocolate heart inscribed with the words 'to Ally with love'.

The Prince and Princess of Wales are heading to the West Indies next week for a holiday. The poor princess is having a hard time with her pregnancy, I fear.

-=-

Wednesday February 10, 1982

 Uncomfortable day. I have a headache and feel stuffed up and clammy. Is it pneumonia or the plague? Had scrambled eggs and toast with Poppet and went off on something of an adventure. I took the 88 bus instead of the usual 72 and had a guided tour of Pudsey, driving past Hilda and Tony's and then past Hough Side and past Marlene's where I saw Frank, Debbie and Mark in the window. At the YP for 9.

Felt grotty all day. Kathleen spent the day insulting me at every available opportunity. Visited Sue again at 2:15. She was sat with her legs dangling over the side of her bed, but soon they turned quite purple, and so she hid them beneath the sheets. What a state to be in. At 2:45 Mum and Dad arrived with a bunch of irises. I left them shortly afterwards and walked back to the YP.

Grapefruit: welcome change

Saw in today's press that John Stokes, MP for Halesowen is to oppose Michael English's succession bill. Thank God that someone in Westminster has some common sense. I'm going to write to him too.

Home at 5:30. A colonial gentleman was sitting next to me on the bus greedily devouring a grapefruit. It was a delightful experience because the zest and aroma of the lucious fruit, and indeed the spray as he hungrily sucked made such a welcome change from the usual cigarette smoke and ash.

Ate fish fingers before a smouldering TV. A new BBC serial on the life of Nancy Astor. Not too sure about it really. The BBC isn't having much luck with historical dramas of late. The Borgias was a complete wash-out, even though I enjoyed it. It hasn't been the same since the days of Glenda Jackson as 'Elizabeth R' and Keith Michell's 'Henry VIII'.

-=-

Tuesday February 9, 1982

 Out of our warm pit at 6:50 for coffee and toast. The trains are on strike today [yes, Tuesday for a change] and I exited the house at 7:30 to battle my way into Leeds.

St John Stevas: orator

Aghast by an article in the ailing Times which says that Michael English, MP, confidently expects a majority of MPs to support his Succession to the Crown Bill. Nowhere do I see any protests to this monstrous piece of legislation, and without further ado I took to my pen and sent letters to the prime minister, Mr English, and Norman St John Stevas, MP, a great monarchist whose oratory is without equal in the mundane House of Commons.

Visited Sue at 2:30. God bless her. I walked up to Hyde Terrace and stuck my head round the door and surprised her. She was red and bored and hunched on top of her bed. She wasn't expecting any vistors. We had cheese and onions crisps and orange juice. Her blood pressure is erratic and she cannot say just how long they will leave her without delivering the baby. I walked back to the YP feeling quite dismal. Leaving a loved one all alone in an anti-septic prison. I can actually recall Sue's birth and now she's expecting a birth of her own.

YP dull. Spring in the air. I yourn for the rolling hills and Dales. I have missed our Grassington weekend this year. We'll have to get Glynnie over for another Hilltop session.

Home at 6. Ally's had her curls cut off ready for another perm next month. We ate liver and onions and sat doing absolutely nothing. Ally's into Wilkie Collins in a big way.

-=-

Monday February 8, 1982

 Crisp, frosty and sunny. No Sue news. YP utterly dismal. Sarah was full of the joys of spring - not. She was carrying on like an inmate of the Chateau d'If. 

The Princess of Wales fell down a flight of stairs at Sandringham a month ago, but didn't injure herself or the baby. Nasty though. Read the weekend papers and the tributes to Her Majesty - now in her 31st year as Queen Regnant. Both Sir Harold Wilson and James Callaghan oozed with praise for HM and the monarchical system.

Phoned Mum at 12:30 who said Sue's blood pressure is back to normal, but when she asked to be let out the doctor said 'certainly not'. 

John phoned Mum last night and said that Jim and Molly are taking them all to Majorca in April. Poor John hasn't been abroad since we went to Majorca in '75 with Chris Ratcliffe. Will Maria be allowed to fly when 5 months pregnant?

Giggled with Ally on the phone. We have a romantic assignation this evening, and our night is to be passionately re-designed. I'm saying no more.

At lunchtime I went to pay for the washing machine [a monthly installment], and bought 'Therese Raquin' by Emil Zola. Will Ally like it? 

Home at 5:45. To bed. Up at 7. Ate pizza and chips and watched Coronation Street.