Sunday April 11, 1982

 Easter Day

We should have gone to Steve and Eileen Burnip's but couldn't face it. We were up at 2pm. Watched Erroll Flynn as 'Robin Hood'. After our sojourn in Sherwood Forest with Erroll, and a full-English breakfast we watched 'Great Expectations' until 5:30. Two bottles of lemonade, Cadbury's Creme Eggs, and egg mayonnaise sandwiches - ugh. Music. Saw the last of the 'Nancy Astor' series. Foul. To bed at 10pm square-eyed and knackered. We took lemonade to bed, just in case it might be needed. Ally remains loyal to Agatha Christie after all these years, and doesn't seem to have taken a liking to Ken Follett's 'Key to Rebecca'.

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Saturday April 10, 1982

 Up with the sun. No sooner had the eggs and sausages gone when Ally was too - to the hairdesser. I was left alone with the Jam LP and a mug of coffee. My bowels aren't what they should be.

I walked to the Post Office to get a claims form to see what I can do about my missing birthday card from Bessie. Four sheets on in depth questions. One would think I was applying to go behind the 'Iron Curtain' or something.

Pig came home at 1pm and looked good, but her hair isn't as well done as it was in November.

To Bradford: Bought Sarah and Trevor some Royal Worcester 'Evesham' - £13.50. They must have spent a similar amount on us. Ally bought a new red shirt and earrings - she looks a cracker. Bought the Human League's album 'Dare'. Exquisite.

Bath. To Burley-in-W at 9pm [we called on Mum first. She was sitting with Christopher, less like a frog and more sturdy]. To Lynn and Dave's. People were eating pork pies and quietly watching each other. The music was far too low and I felt that my hours of taping were spent in vain. Was surprised by the arrival of Jacq and Trixie. Dave L and José, Karen, Steve, Jill, Tim, Diane, Paul, Sue, Pete, Dave's uncle Tony Baker [from Ghana?], the wonderful Dave and Elaine Allinson, Chris and Julie, my brother John too, bronzed from Majorca &c. The night improved. Drank. Danced. Human Leagued. Home at 4:58am.

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Friday April 9, 1982

 Good Friday

Day off. Ally digs around in the garden and then re-arranged the bedroom whilst I bottled ale and taped pop records for Lynn's party. Not happy with my effort.

The daffodils are trying, but have failed to open. They are usually in bloom for my birthday?

Fish and chips. 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' with Dick Van Dyke and Sally Anne Howes. Revolting.

We went down to Mucky Willies, just the two of us. No, first we went to the Fire Brigade. The comedian bar man gave me a Scottish pound note in my change and referred to it as 'Micky Mouse money' whereupon a Scot in the vicinity quipped: 'Well, it's Micky Mouse beer, isn't it?'

Home. Bed.

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Thursday April 8, 1982

 Full Moon

Nothing doing in the day. YP dull.

To Morrison's with Ally, Back in time for Top of the Pops and Kenny Everett. We placed the table near the window and had soup, grilled steak and chips, and cheese and biscuits. A romantic evening but we didn't linger like last Friday.

TV: Falklands. 'Badger By Owl Light', a thriller. Robin Day. Bed.

No work tomorrow, but we retired early all the same. Ally finds it difficult to stay awake after 8pm.

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Wednesday April 7, 1982

 Had a late birthday card today from Dave L with strong Falkland Islands theme. It was home made, of course. Bessie has been reprimanded by Ally for forgetting my 27th birthday, but a horrifed Bessie revealed that she posted a card, containing a crisp £10 note on April 1. She fears she may have put the wrong address on the envelope. Ally has contacted the PO, who have a little man who deals with such things.

Jonathan Margolis.

Jonathan Margolis phoned me and heaped great praise on my unworthy shoulders. A cheque is in the post, he said, and the powers that be at the Mail on Sunday are very impressed. I do wish I could devote more of my time to genealogical work. Surely Burke's Peerage will get to hear of my abilities before long? I couldn't possibly go to Debrett's. They are such snobs.

I never did like Argentina. The 'Evita' revival brought on by Tim Rice and Lloyd Webber held no fascination for me. Mrs Peron was a peroxide, fascist bitch. Are we soon to be at war, do you think? Defeat will see the end of the divine Margaret [Thatcher]. Oh, on the subject of Mrs Thatcher have I already told you that her number one supporter, Mel, in Hampshire, husband of the randy Barbara, has died of pneumonia, brought on by hepititis? We last saw him at Graham and Gill's on New Years Day.

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Tuesday April 6, 1982

Carrington: resigned

 Falklands news. Poor Lord Carrington had to resign yesterday over his inability to forsee the Argentine invasion. The Royal Navy has taken to the high seas  heading for the South Atlantic, including Prince Andrew. Kathleen is the only person, with the exception of Wedgwood Benn, who thinks that the Falkland Islands should be left to endure Latin American domination. Francis Pym [of 'the birds have flown' family] is the new Foreign Secretary. I'm seriously thinking of joining the SAS.

Phoned Mum today. Nothing spectacular. Frances is one today. Lynn has made her a party to be attended by other infants in the neighbourhood. Sue is taking Christopher and Christine Airey is taking Kevin. _____.

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Monday April 5, 1982

 My birthday. We sat in bed at 6:30 with presents and cards. Ally gave me the Jam's new LP 'The Gift', socks, a stout pack, and ink. We had poached eggs on toast listening to the Jam. YP. Ugh. I will have to make sure I have my birthday off next year. Utterly depressing. I have had a card from Delia but, strangely, nothing from my in-laws in Winchester. [We had an Easter card on Saturday with a fiver tucked inside].

I'm twenty seven now, but content. At twenty four and twenty five I was more disgruntled. 

Got wet tonight coming home. Lashing rain. [Auntie] Mabel phoned to say she saw me at the bus stop in Leeds, waiting like a drowned rat. She had been visiting her ailing friend, Evelyn, at the LGI.

Candlelit food again. Mackerel and cheese. Out at 8 in my new togs to the Bod where we were joined by Karen and Steve, Tim and Jill. The music was too loud and nobody could hear any conversation, or in fact say anything. On to the Fire Brigade pub at Great Horton. Poor Steve wasn't feeling well [his tummy] and they left at 10. With Jill and Tim we had 'just a couple more' at Mucky Willie's. They came back for coffee. Went to bed counting SDP MPs in the Commons ... not thinking of babies.

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Sunday April 4, 1982

Palm Sunday
 

Lay in bed giggling with my wife. Evidently last night the fly on my jeans was gaping open and Ally wasn't in a position to inform me of this.

Fussed around the table and made buns and things before the family came at 2:30. Sue and Peter were the first to arrive with baby Christopher, making his first visit to Club St. Lynn, Dave and Frances followed bringing Mum and Dad too. Poor Dad hobbles around like Robert Newton in Treasure Island. A pleasant Sunday afternoon of chatter and nosh. It's not often we get together these days, and even then John is missing. We only ever see him on Christmas day. Mum brought with her a postcard from John in Majorca, written in his familiar and spidery hand. Dave B gets quieter. Bed at 10.

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Saturday April 3, 1982

 Hungover. I was awake very early and felt like Humphrey Bogart in that John Huston film about gold proespecting. Thirsty. Downstairs and cleared away the revolting dishes from last night.

After breakfast we went to town. Ally bought me a striped t-shirt and blue canvas shoes. We inspected all the fashions.

Parliament meet today, Saturday, the first such sitting since Suez in 1956. Unfurl the banners and get out your khaki. Wave the flags for the boys, the soldiers of the Queen, &c. I love the occasional spurt of patriotism. Such things takes our minds off unemployment and Lord Scarman.

The Grand National. Mackerel pâté. 

Karen and Steve arrived on a spur of the moment visit. We ask them to join us at 'Mucky Willie's', all renovated now. Joined by Dave L and one of his domestic science teachers called José, and Jackie and Barry. Pissed again. Jolly night. Back to ours with Dave and José for another critical review of my paintings.

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Friday April 2, 1982

 Queer sort of day. Have the Argentinians invaded our treasured Falkland Islands? Don't know.

Home at 6. Ally and I sat by candlelight devouring lamb with peppers, and putting back lager and strawberry wine.

Saw no TV but got through several piano concertos and David Bowie. I sat reading my diary and soon realised from my account of our pre-marital relationship that I had a fancy for her despite Mr Pinder's presence. Ally says that Pinder was very fond of me. Got pissed up and went to bed after 12 leaving a greasy sheep carcas in the crock-pot in the middle of the floor.

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Thursday April 1, 1982

 All Fool's Day

Bob Cockroft did a spoof 'People Column' using several imaginary peers provided by me. The Marquess of Eskdale and Viscount St Ives. His phone trilled all day with fools ringing.

Pay day. I had a £10 tax rebate and went out with Piggy to Morrison's on something of a spree. Bought mackerel to make a pâté. Back home for 'Top of the Pops' and Kenny Everett. Our tv viewing was interrupted twice, once by Bessie on the blower, and then from the racket outside caused by a young man beating up his common-law wife. The police came and spoiled everything. 

John and Maria came down this evening for the Macdonald family assault on Majorca tomorrow. Oh God. What am I saying? This stuff about John is history. It all occurred last week.

Robin Day. Bed.

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Wednesday March 31, 1982

Brezhnev: facelift?

 Hurried morning and took a half day at 12 to look after Piggy.

We had fish and chips and cuddled for an hour. I looked in my Burke's [Peerage] again and planned a letter to Jonathan Margolis. He's at the Mail on Sunday, not the Sunday Express. Near enough.

News: President Brezhnev is in hospital, not for a facelift though he desperately needs one. Are we going to war and to bomb Argentina over the Falkland Islands crisis?

Nothing much tonight. Saw the brilliant George Cole on the telly [Minder]. Bessie phoned after 10pm to announce that Graham and Gill are expecting a baby in November. _________. Later, Graham phoned too. They are moving to Coleford in the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire, in July.

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Tuesday March 30, 1982

The divine Diana in Leeds.

 Went by bus to Leeds and walked to the railway station where I had my first sighting of our future Queen, the Divine Diana. A vision in emerald green amidst what must be the largest crowd ever assembled to view a member of the royal family in Leeds. She was with the prince, our future King, but he tends to fade into the background. They were driven off to St Gemma's Hospice to look at terminally ill cancer patients. Poor devils. I jostled through the mob of OAPs [old ladies crawl out of the woodwork on these occasions]. Saw Jim and Muriel Rawnsley in the official party [she was like a peacock], with the sycophantic Lord Lieutenant Sir William Bulmer, and the Lord Mayor [of Leeds]. Back to the YP for 10am with Tim Clayton. Leeds was at a standstill all day because of the royal visit. I sat smiling over my coffee that a twenty year-old girl can be such a draw. The magnetism of royalty is eerie. I phoned Ally to report my Diana-spotting.

Home at 6. Pea and ham soup followed by fried eggs and chips. One can't beat it. Later, Ally reclined with an Agatha Christie volume. Watched Humphrey Bogart in a comedy, didn't really watch. I took to my Burke's Peerage to attempt to answer Jonathan Margolis's question. As far as I can see only twice in 'modern' times has the crown gone to a male with an elder sister living. In 1760 George III succeeded and he had an older sister, Augusta [1737-1813].     In 1901 Edward VII had an elder sister, the Empress Frederick, alive, but about to die in Berlin. She died in August, 1901. I hope to God that the Waleses have a boy.

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Monday March 29, 1982

 Dismal day. Nervous. Ally and I had boiled eggs and I left her at 8, waving my hand with fingers crossed. She grinned through the tiny window of the door.

[Large gynaecological/medical omission]

Jonathan Margolis phoned and asked me to research some royal lineage for the Daily Express magazine. [No, it was the Daily Mail]. He put the question: 'who would now occupy the throne if Michael English's succession bill had been passed into law in 1910? My answer: Elizabeth II. Victoria was the last monarch to give birth to a first-born girl, followed by a boy, and that was in 1840. Jonathan says he'll pay me £30 [or at least that's what I think he said because the line was bad]. Spoke to Mark Parry about my family tree destined for tomorrow's EP. He says it's too big. Bastard. 

Home to Ally at 5:30. She is reclining upon a cushion. She is brave and beautiful. We had spaghetti and at 8 watched a concert of Sir William Walton's music, in his presence, to mark his 80th birthday. Can't say I've ever listened to his music before. Balthazar's Feast was noisy. Princess Alexandra was in the royal box with the old boy who seemed to be having trouble with his balance. We will just have to lay back and think of Sir William Walton or Edith Sitwell's 'Facade' when we go to bed. Cast out any thoughts of conceiving a child. God knows we can't afford one anyway. And where would we put a pram?

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Sunday March 28, 1982

 British Summer Times begins - Passion Sunday

Woke up to a confusion about the time. Do we go forward or backwards? I don't suppose it matters really - with it being Sunday. Ten o'clock is very much like eleven o'clock on the sabbath. ____________.

Another day reclining. Bacon and eggs. We laid like Romans upon our couch looking out at the grey Bradford rooftops. I am very much a nosy neighbour. Mary [Moore] comes and goes. Next door I debate, to myself, why Miss Whincup hasn't pricked her tulips below the head to prevent them from wilting. Why does Mrs O'Brien's sunday dinner always smell putrid?

We dined on ox liver at 6:30. Ally looks washed out. She's visiting a lady doctor tomorrow, a Dr Duck [?], a Walt Disney character if ever there was one. Watched the drama 'Nancy Astor'. A ghastly woman.

_______ [large gynaecological ommission].

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Saturday March 27, 1982

Day of idleness. Ally sat with her feet up on a cushion all day. I did too. _________.

Watched Flora Robson in 'The Sea Hawks', and then an 80th birthday tribute to her on BBC2. She seem a sweet old thing but is dreadfully ugly. Ally took to her bed and I sat in a lone vigil by the telly. OTT is diabolical.

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Friday March 26, 1982

 To market for vegetables. Nothing at the YP. The Duke of Norfolk's daughter, Lady Marsha Ryecart, has been brought to bed of a daughter. I passed on this tit bit to Frank Metcalfe on the EP newsdesk, but whether he'll use it is open to debate. 

Home at 6. The bus was a sod. Ally reclining looks beautiful and chic - as if she's stepped out of a Noel Coward play. But slightly gaunt. _________.

Mummy and Daddy came in just after 7. They visited a pub near Todmorden last Tuesday with a view to buying it, but decided against it - £25,000! Hilda phoned at 7:45 to say Tony has yet to arrive home from a colliery near Selby where he's prospecting. They eventually walked in at 8:45, just as we finished the first bottle of sherry. Hilda bearing a flower arangement. We dined on tomato and celery soup, scampi and salad, then beef Catalan cooked in tomato, peppers and beer; Jamaica banana, &c. The conversation ranged from cousin Diane's career in radiography, the SDP by-election, David Steel's driving ambition, and the monarchy. Tony insists that the Queen is nothing but a useless puppet and I argued furiously. He answers everything so glibly. _________. To bring a halt to the squabbling and lighten the proceedings Ally took to the piano, and we sang 'Jesus Bids Us Shine' and other rousing hymns. All were delighted by the dinner and everything went perfectly. Ally hates taking all the credit for the repast, and looking at me said: 'All the credit is Michael's'. Totally untrue. I only ever assist. They left after 2.

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Thursday March 25, 1982

 New Moon

I went back to the YP while Ally remained at home. God bless her. Her insides haven't been quite right since we married. Gynaecological traumas.

YP dull. Geoff Hemingway is off. My royal family tree looks doomed. 

Walked into town at lunchtime and bought [Auntie] Hilda a birthday card. I passed Jacq - we just waved.

Home at 6. Out to Morrison's. We spent almost £10 on absolutely nothing. Most of the provisions are for tomorrow's civic dinner for Lord and Lady Gadsby. Home at 7:20. We watched 'Top of the Pops' and the Kenny Everett Show. But then came a knock knock at the door and in came Dave L with two 'skinhead' youths from South Elmsall. A great giggle. Very naughty of Dave to fraternise with his pupils. One had a history exam paper. 'Which of the following Russians was the communist prime minister? a) Catherine the Great, b) Kerensky, c) Hereward the Wake, d) Arthur Scargill, d) Oscar Peterson, e) Sir Oswald Mosley, f) Trotsky. We listened to the gramophone and our latest 'top twenty' tape singing along to Soft Cell and Bow Wow Wow. We put back a fair amount of ale and a plate full of sandwiches, and then Ally, as a climax to to the evening, played 'All Things Bright and Beautiful' on the piano. Dave took the youths to the railway station at 11. They were heading to Plymouth trainspotting. They looked monstrous, but were nice lads. They studied my paintings very objectively.

Saw the by-election results. Roy Jenkins has been elected as the SDP MP for Glasgow Hillhead. The Tories came second and Labour in third place. Sir Roy, the old fool, is now PM in waiting, or leader of the next opposition at least.

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Wednesday March 24, 1982

 Sunshine. Another day with Ally at Club St. I now see that the housewives lot isn't the day of idleness I always imagined it to be. Washing, cleaning, ironing and cooking, dear God. By lunchtime I was longing to be back in the solitude of the YP library amongst my newspapers and spider plants.

I ventured out only briefly to buy a loaf of bread, the staff of life. A young man, in the shop, purchasing his luncheon, had great pink teeth marks all over his neck, and I guessed that he lives with the local Countess Dracula up at Clayton Heights. Love bites have never held any appeal for me. In truth, I do not recall ever having had one. The idea of a savage female setting about me with snarling affection isn't my idea of a way to pass a romantic evening.

I concocted a lasagne. Flying pasta, onions, &c. Dined at 6 and collapsed afterwards. Watched 'Minder' at 9pm with the genius George Cole and Dennis Waterman.

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Tuesday March 23, 1982

 Was in the bath at 6:45am. Ally pale and ghastly and violently sick. I decided to take the day off and look after her which brightened her mood greatly. Besides, the YP owes me a day from the day in December when I was prevented from working because of the heavy snow. Ally sat, feet up on a pile of cushions, bathed in sunshine. I daubed a few strokes onto the still life I started in November. I suppose Mrs Rembrandt watched her hubby going about things in the same way.

Walked out and bought a Daily Telegraph. Bought Piggy a Cadbury's Creme Egg, a loaf, &c. At lunch we had a pile of salad sandwiches and watched 'Pebble Mill at 1'.

Two great actors have died: Alan Badel and Harry H. Corbett.

Later I did the ironing and made fish for dinner at 6. Watched Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn in 'The African Queen', and by 9:30 we were back in bed. I am taking tomorrow off too. I phoned Sarah this morning citing a sore throat which was received with the usual disbelief.

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Monday March 22, 1982

 Bright and sunny. Another week. Arrived at the office and had a phone call from Ally. She had been vomiting for the best part of an hour and had decided not to go into work. If she isn't pregnant I am William Whitelaw.

Sat all day, buried behind one of the broadsheet Sunday newspapers, thinking about Ally and hoping that this vomit heralds the bundle of joy we desire above all else.

I made my exit from the YP at about 5 and got the X11 bus which took me to Auntie Mabel's in the space of about ten minutes. She looks very well and her cooking smells delicious. Ally soon followed and came in with a beautiful complexion. Cousin Jackie followed and had a massive dinner followed by apple crumble. During the washing up afterwards Mabel pulled Ally to one side and asked her to leave Jackie and I alone together in the sitting room 'because Jackie is so fond of him and had great hopes of a closer relationship until her father told her that first cousins couldn't marry'. Ally found this highly amusing when relating the tale to me on the way home. Auntie Mabel, I fear, reads too many Mills & Boon novels. Jackie left after 'Coronation Street' and we sat with Auntie until after 10. She always makes us so welcome and loves our company. In better weather she has promised to come for lunch at Lidget Green.

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