Monday September 8, 1980

_. To Sue and Pete's at 5 from the chaos of the YP. Carol J is having 'man trouble' and felt unable to work today.

Lady Diana: nineteen

The dreadful Sun newspaper told us this morning that the Prince of Wales is now in love with Lady Diana Spencer, the 19 year-old sister of Lady Sarah McCorquodale. She could, of course, be a red herring. Diana's connections with the Royal Household are numerous. Both grannies have been in waiting on the Queen Mother, and her brother-in-law, Robert Fellowes, is the assistant private secretary to the Queen. Nineteen is just the right age. The girl has no past and is 'English Rose' material.

Delia came into the office at 3 and I went down to the foyer to see her. She told Mike Holman that I am her nephew. He gave us peculiar glances as we chortled on a settee.

Sue made fish and chips, peas, cheesecake, washed down with vodka and orange and coffee. Both seem very happy. We sat watching their tiny TV set. Sue is playing football for the Wendy Wanderers at Fieldhead Rd tomorrow against a vicious team of girls from Huby. Peter is coaching her and advises that she must never touch the ball, not even for a second. To do so could result in serious injury, or even death. He must have been advising Leeds Utd too. Susan hates being kissed, and so I made all the more of it when parting. She is lovely and sweet.

Bed at 12.

-=-

Sunday September 7, 1980

_. 14th Sunday after Trinity

Woke up with no hangover. Most unusual. In Sunday tradition I was deposited on Manningham Lane, but Ally almost crashed the car kissing me goodbye.

Had breakfast with Mum & Dad. Ally rattled over at 3 and we paid a visit to Lynn & Dave. Chris B and Julie H dropped in for coffee. They leave for a fortnight's holiday in the south of France tomorrow. Lynn had made some cream buns and Ally laughed at my guzzling. I am taking on a Billy Bunter appearance.

Ally deposited me at home at 6 o'clock and returned to her labours at the Belfry. I told her of Martyn's news.

Dined on chicken with Mum and Dad and we then slept like the inmates of a geriatric hospital. Attempted to watch a violent American film at 10, but fell asleep missing the vital, blood thirsty finish.

-=-

Saturday September 6, 1980

_. Tried to contact Ally all day without success. Played Rachmaninov, drank coffee, sat in the garden [yes, it was fine]. Lynn and Dave called in during the afternoon. At 5 in walked Ally saying she's spent the day in Colne visiting her Auntie Annie.

Phil Knowles.

On to Club St. Back to Guiseley at 8:30 and the rustic delights of the New Inn. Met a drunken Maura again in the company of Marian Read, the cartographer recently returned from the United States, and madder than ever. [See journal, Feb 7, 1975, Feb 15-16, 1975, Feb 18, 1975]. Ally thoroughly approves of my former escorts and we followed them to the White Cross, where Maura was all over Phil Knowles. She would like to capture him, but of course she was formerly engaged to Phil's brother, Dave, which complicates matters. Phil and Ally seemed to get on better than they usually do and Maura, perceptive as ever, said this was entirely down to the fact that Ally wasn't wearing a bra. We saw Chris R and Pete M and I apologised for last night's assault on his house. He took it very well.

On to Bradford for a curry. Marian found a coin in her mince curry and almost broke a tooth.

Ally and I back to Club St.

-=-

Friday September 5, 1980

_. I escaped from the YP at 12. Ventured out this evening with Sue and Pete to the White Cross where we met Frank, Gus, Chippy, Debbie, &c. 

On to the Shoulder where I collided in the gents with Pete M. He filled me in on months of gossip. Martyn is getting married on Oct 4. I passed this news to Sue & Pete. Mr Mather took Mr Hudson home and returned to the White Cross. I was very drunk, staggering around like a space age Freddie Frinton. Saw Maura Tobin [see journal Jan 11, 1975] who was similarly stewed. Maura gave me her telephone number much to the annoyance of her large, tattooed escort. Phil Knowles was there too. On with Pete M to a dull Il Trovatore in Ilkley, and at 1:30 we made a SAS style raid on 21, Victoria Dr, Horsforth, the Ratcliffe residence. The boy [Chris] was far from amused, and he sat in his dressing gown puffing out smoke like a Lowry landscape.

-=-

Thursday September 4, 1980

_. Warm day. Industrious too. Out at lunchtime buying steak, cheese and asparagus - yes, you've heard it all before. On to Bradford at 5 and found Ally in sombre mood worrying about money. She visited her bank manager this afternoon enquiring after a £800 loan for the Citroen. He had to carry her screaming to the door and deposit her in the bustling Bradford street. The thing is he actually said he would have given her the money had she not been the daughter of Mr Frank Dixon, a local director of Barclays Bank, and his life wouldn't have been worth living had he handed over the cash without first consulting the almighty Frank.

Lynn and Dave came to dine at 7. Lynn looked well and ate like a horse. We toasted the future Baker baby and Ally, who has now lived here for a year. George Benson entertained us on the stereo, and we sang the praises of the butcher whose shop is in the shadow of Leeds Town Hall. Ally does do a fine steak, and professionally.

David dismantled the car radio and we looked on in mournful silence. This is the end of an era [as I keep saying]. They left at 12. I stayed at Club St.

-=-

Wednesday September 3, 1980

_. Hot day. Carol J says we are having an Indian Summer. Surely, we are still in the normal summer? Surely, an Indian summer implies a warm spell in late autumn? I wasn't raised on the Pears Encyclopaedia for nothing, you know.

Speaking of Carol [and who isn't these days?] I was amazed to see her on the omnibus this morning heading into work. Disappearing with a running cold as she did on Monday I had given up hope of seeing her until at least next week. The rush of elation which shook my bronzed frame as she emerged up the stairs to the top deck can only be compared to the emotions felt by Stanley on meeting Dr Livingstone.

Industrious day at the YP. I wrote to Ally, and spoke to her on the phone. Derek Jenkins says she should go have an allergy test because she's been sneezing throughout the day. The girl must be allergic to early Indian summers. The man at the Citroen garage insists she buys the turquoise Citroen Dyan. So, it's bye bye Spitty.

Home at 5:30 to pizza pie. The 'Get Michael Married' vendetta continues its disgraceful course. I fully expect Papa to start cultivating geraniums, because he knows how much I despise them. [I sneeze at the very sight of those furry, dust-clinging leaves]. He's having a key cut to lock me out of my bedroom, and is planning to hang a large portrait of Clive Jenkins [a revolting Welsh trade unionist] over the mantlepiece. It has pushed Ally in the opposite direction. She is frightened and upset that people expect us to marry. It's too convenient, thinks she. One thing's for sure, I won't ask Chippy to be my best man.

To bed at 11:50.

-=-

Tuesday September 2, 1980

_. YP: Carol stayed away with her heavy cold leaving only Kathleen and I. Busy all day.

Spitfire: end of an era

I conversed with Ally, only briefly, this afternoon. She is bored without Catherine Brook in the office. She's holidaying in Menorca. She has discovered the joys of P.G. Wodehouse, and cannot put him down. The Triumph Spitfire may be going on Wednesday. The end of an era, and all that.

Home at 6 to a salad before setting about the jungle at the rear of the house with the lawn mower.

In the news: Poland could be invaded by Russia any day now. Roddy Llewellyn is reported to be in Scotland visiting [Princess] Margaret at Colin Tennant's place. The pound is up against the dollar. Another heart transplant patient has bit the dust. The delegates at the TUC conference in Brighton demand a red revolution. Yootha Joyce, a dreadful peroxide blonde actress, has died from alcoholic poisoning. The Prince of Wales, we are told, spends £300 on his suits.

Tommy Cooper was on TV tonight. Saw Nureyev dancing 'Aureole' with the Royal Danish Ballet - impressive. Bed at 11:30. Felt like reading but didn't know what.

-=-