Monday March 24, 1980

_. Back to work. Ally looked ghastly this morning, and after a couple of useless pills with her coffee went home to bed. Glynnie was startled by Ally's appearance.

Pouring rain. Down into Guiseley with Glynnie and got the 8:20 train to Leeds, and on he went to Stockport.

At home tonight I took an early bath, and afterwards we were plunged into darkness due to a power cut. Mum, Dad, Sue and Pete went out to look at the house on West End Terrace.

I spoke to Ally at 8:30. _______. I phoned Lynn and Dave and they drove me over to Lidget Green.

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Sunday March 23, 1980

_. Passion Sunday

Out of bed at 10, not feeling too bad after our late session and kitchen disco. I recall Ally posing like Nina Carter, or someone equally appealing, upon the bonnet of the ailing spitfire, clutching a bottle of home-brewed nettle wine. Glynnie, wearing my 'donkey jacket' went into the village with a sweeping brush and proceeded to behave like an Irish labourer.

Breakfast was a repeat of yesterday's sausage and egg extravaganza. Lynn remarked on our energy and suggested we perhaps should think of consulting a psychiatrist. Afterwards we made the familiar bottle-strewn march to the same pub where we occupied the same seats. The landlord paled as we crashed through the doors.

The rain came down on the craggy hillside as we left the pub at 3. We all returned to the kitchen disco, then adjourned to a card table, but at some point Ally disappeared. Snow had started to fall and she had wandered out of the cottage and vanished. I was disturbed to say the least, and before you could say Chris Bonington we were all out in the fields. After what seemed like hours we found her looking like a Turkish mud wrestler, propped up on a dry stone wall. We got her back to the cottage where she sat by the fire.

The others drove to Cracoe, and we followed on later. We sat next to a blazing fire. _____.

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Saturday March 22, 1980

_. Up with the larks and out into Grassington purchasing sausages and rich tea biscuits. Glynnie and Ally performed in the kitchen like Fanny and Johnny Cradock. I made the lashings of hot tea.

Afterwards we walked into the hills and clowned around in the snow. Glynnie was knackered. We returned to the Black Horse. Sue was taken ill. She took on a ghastly colour and fled the pub abandoning her brandy and ham sandwiches. An elderly lady came into the bar and said to Glynnie: "Morning's gorgeous" but he thought she's said 'good morning, gorgeous', and he replied: "Morning, Sexy". How we howled. Glynnie is a natural comedian and really should be on the stage.

The atmosphere is the Grassington taverns was more tense than on previous occasions and we soon realised there wasn't much chance of us having a 'lock in' in any of them. I decided to convert the kitchen of the cottage into a discotheque, which commenced at 11 after having fish and chips in the village. Only Ally, Glynnie and I took part, the others were far from festive. We ended the night drinking lager from a large tea pot and dancing, scantily clad, in the garden.

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Friday March 21, 1980

_. Ally was up and out at 9 to go to Yeadon and have her hair permed, and returned at 11 just as we were getting up. Transformed, with flowing yellow curls. Mum made breakfast and we then packed the spitfire and and headed for Grassington. I first had to call at the bank and withdraw £10 from my account to keep Ally in the manner to which she might have become accustomed to had she met the right young man. The day was bright and clear and we sped towards the Dales in the disintegrating car, piled high with luggage, bottles and more bottles. Something fell off the bottom of the car as we hurtled past Bolton Abbey, but we battled on regardless. The cottage was a delight to behold, but why do owners of weekend, country cottages insist on decorating them in the most hideous hues? The place was awash with mauve and lime green. They must have laughed themselves silly while hanging the striped orange wallpaper in the sitting room. The first priority was to build large blazing fires in the sitting room and kitchen. Hill Top Cottage was almost reduced to a mound of smouldering ash when the kitchen range caused a 'pea souper' of a smog. At three, the three of us [Glynnie] retreated to the pub where we sat watching a black and white telly. At 8 we met Lynn, Dave, Sue and Pete at the Devonshire. To a damp bed at about 1. A wet, foggy night.

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Thursday March 20, 1980

_. Disappointing evening. Glynnie had arrived at 4 and was entertaining Mum and Dad when I came home from the office. At 7:30 we went to the Hare & Hounds for drinks before dinner at 8:30. Ally arrived at 7:30. Judith and Tim were nowhere to be seen and at the Hare we were immediately set upon by Robert Griffin, the assistant manager_____. We sat down to a dinner of hideous proportions. Abominable small steaks. They really ought to have provided magnifying glasses with our plates. We all laughed about it a good deal. We went into the pool room afterwards, and Mr Griffin bolted the doors and dimmed the lights as though we were heading for an after hours drink, but none came.

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Wednesday March 19, 1980

_. Pete came this evening to sample the latest home made lager in celebration of his birthday tomorrow. We watched a marvellous, grizzly murder on BBC2 - 'Therese Raquin', by someone called  Émile Zola, who I am sure will go far if he keeps up to this remarkable standard. The pils lager must have taken hold because afterwards Mum, Dad and I had a heated argument on the subject of death and funerals and the hypocrisy of it all. Émile  Zola was also partially to blame. Mother has had terrible experiences at family funerals and this has coloured her whole attitude. _______. Mum just wants to be kicked around, after death, until we have lost her, with none of the flowers she loved so much in life. I cannot understand this. Such a sombre topic of discussion.

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Tuesday March 18, 1980

_. Kathleen arrived at the YP this morning and calmly enquired as to whether I was sufficiently recovered, and made no snide remarks, voiced no suspicions as to the severity of my ailment, &c. I am well and truly 'off the hook'.

Blustery day today but no more snow. Ate sausages in the canteen with Sarah and Carol and escaped at 4:30 armed with a copy of the EP bearing an article on page 1 which owes its existence to me. Philip Naylor-Leyland, the Fitzwilliam heir, and eldest son of a baronet, today married Lady Isabella Lambton, daughter of the naughty Lord Lambton, who was central to the Norma Levy call-girl scandal in May, 1973. Geoff Hemingway has promised to pay me for this morsel of high society news.

Phoned Ally at the AHA. She was miserable and 'put out' by my enquiries, distracting her from the Catherine Cookson novel she's reading. I was thoroughly depressed by her sombre tones, and dismal outlook, and really wish I hadn't bothered. Such a melancholy baby. On the bright side I did receive a letter from her which was sweet. The pen does tend to make things sweeter, don't you think? On  Saturday Chippy advised me to move to Bradford and live with her. He is always very blunt, but objective. ___________.

Pete came up tonight to complete the quintet. How quiet will it be in July when Sue is gone?

A Charles Bronson film at 10:30. Bed at 12:35.

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