Thursday December 11, 1980

_. Out at lunchtime to Safeways to buy food for tonight's orgy of cousins and aunts. Spent £4 for nothing. Straight to Ally's at 5, and spent three hours decorating the sitting room for Christmas. The walls bedecked in balloons and a little tree flashed in a corner, sparkling with a hundred balls. In the midst of this grotto-building we broke off to buy booze at Morrisons. 

The first to arrive at 8 [as I climbed out of the bath] was Karen and Steve. They are not too upset about the murdered Pudsey landlady - a close friend. Next came Mum, Dad, Jim, Margaret, Lynn, Dave, Sue, Pete, Hilda, Tony, Mabel, Diane, Paul who completed the party. Sprog Cottage packed like the Black Hole of Calcutta. Drank gallons and ate heartily. 

An amiable party in every way. The flashing Christmas tree lights caused no offence, and the tapes of John Lennon's hits were well received. Margaret said, dryly, that she'd never liked John Lennon, but that shooting him was taking it a bit too far. Certain persons were expecting an engagement announcement from Ally and I but none came. After they'd all left at 1am Ally was floored by a falling tin from a kitchen cupboard. We retired at 3.

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Wednesday December 10, 1980

_. On to Leeds from Bradford at 8. A dull day. Every paper full of Lennon's end. Phoned Mum when the news came into the office that Mrs Clay, the wife of the landlord of the Royal pub in Pudsey, had been murdered at Dewsbury Railway station. The Royal is a Karen and Steve stronghold and they'll certainly know the unfortunate dame. Is she perhaps the 14th Ripper victim? 

Phoned Ally too. She came over at 7:30. Coronation Street is really gripping at the moment. Poor Emily has discovered that she's living with a bigamist ['Bigamy? Lady this is bigger than the both of us!]. 

Dave G phoned just to make sure Saturday is still on. Spent the night with Ally in the kitchen mixing pizza pie, and juggling with tarts and flans. By 11 I had had quite enough. Felt buggered. 

Frankie Howerd was on the telly tonight [whilst we were cooking in the kitchen] and we could hear Mum roaring with laughter. I think I can say Frankie is one of the few people who never fails to leave her in fits. Another one is Uncle Harry, but where is he?

Watched a programme on the life of Max Miller and retired to bed at 12:30 where I now sit listening to the rain on the window as I read John Lennon's obituary in the Times. 

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Tuesday December 9, 1980

_. Gloom abounds. Phoned Ally at 7:30 to get her out of her snug, pink bed and she shocked me by announcing that John Lennon, the Beatle, has been shot dead by a mad man in New York. Such a tragic end to a life of genius. For the remainder of the day I was in a state of shock. The Beatles are an important part of our lives and the loss of John Lennon brought memories of childhood flooding back. Those brilliant songs and tunes are engraved on all our hearts. It's obvious that his death has hit everyone. Someone in the office said we are making more of this than both Kennedy assassinations rolled into one, but I do think that Lennon deserves the obsequies befitting a King.

To Ally's at 6. She has bought me the new David Bowie LP as a thank you for my decorating services at Club Street. She spent the evening cleaning and I listened to Mike Read's Lennon tribute on Radio One until 10. Ate fish and chips afterwards and went about with a paint brush touching up here and there.

I have been reflective and subdued tonight. The loss of the occasional superstar moves me immensely.

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Monday December 8, 1980

_. Bitterly cold ... again. YP industrious, but uneventful. Ally has a new girl working in her office, Gillian by name.

Spoke to JPH and Maria tonight. The little boy loves his sister. When Mum referred to her as 'a scamp' JPH barked back: 'Oh no she isn't!' He wants a combined harvester from Santa Claus and a garage with cars. The poor boy's been posting letters up his chimney addressed to the Christmas fairy.

Ally came to tea. Provisions have arrived for her bedroom decor. Pink bedding and curtains. She stayed until 9 and then went back to Lidget Green to festoon her boudoir with the new finery.

Read 'Desperate Remedies' by Thomas Hardy. I found 'The Trumpet Major' immensely readable, and intend reading the complete works of Mr Hardy. Sarah insists he is dull and heavy going, but I disagree. In fact I'm going straight over to my latest book now.

News: Mrs Thatcher's been to Eire. Poland isn't jubilant about a possible Russian invasion. The Prince of Wales is now in Nepal. Does King Birendra have a sister?

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Sunday December 7, 1980

_. 2nd Sunday in Advent

Bitterly cold. Carole is perfectly well [according to Maria]. Sue has heard from Mick Lynch that the baby is to be Jo Louise. Lynch, it seems, has returned to the Lynch nest and Carole has returned to Oakridge Avenue, and the clutches of Margaret Phillips.

Daubed gloss paint all afternoon and finished the small bedroom. Ally fell down the stairs and hurt her back [not seriously] but sat pale and uncomfortable for the remainder of the evening.

To dinner with Mummy and Daddy at 6. Lamb, roast potatoes, &c, followed by lemon meringue pie. A delicious candlelit dinner. Watched TV afterwards, and the late film entitled 'Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia'. Mum and Ally had retired at 11:30. Ally is convinced she is now crippled by her fall.


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Saturday December 6, 1980

_. Very cold. Up at 11. To Bradford with Ally. Paint until nearly 4 and then on to Guy Watson's where we bought John and Maria an oil lamp [£10] for Christmas. To Harry Ramsden's for tea.

We collected Dave L at 8:30 and took him to the Fox & Hounds, Menston Arms and New Inn. Such a good evening. David has such a vivid imagination, he brightens the dullest bar.

Slept at Guiseley. Pine Tops, like an Edwardian country house, with Ally and I padding around like 'Harty Tarty' and 'Skittles'. Oh, yes.

Jayne Waite is pregnant again [3rd], and Helen Malin pregnant [1st]. Must be something in the air.

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Friday December 5, 1980

_. No Shazzo today. Kathleen banged around in the office threatening war. The Russians could do with having Kathleen on their side. She makes Leonid Brezhnev look like Liberace. Home at 6.

Mum and Dad went out for a 'drive' leaving me with mounds of chips and a couple in insipid fishcakes.

Ally came at 8 and we went to the Queen's on Apperley Lane - dead. We laughed nervously as though we were in Rheims Cathedral, not a boozer. After one drink we moved on to the Drop, which was friendly. Mrs Hanson always makes such a fuss of us both. Finally, at 10:30 to the New Inn, always noisy, bright and like an orgy.

I am relieved we have not committed ourselves re the '81 holiday because we are happy and cheerful without worrying about the £300 each. Besides, I've had enough of San Antonio and I prefer the idea of a new pair of shoes and a pot flying pig. Home to watch 'Soap'.


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