Monday March 16, 1981

 _. Sunny start, but a slight fall of snow afterwards. A day closeted at the YP.

Up at 7. Ally drove off to a garage in Shipley where Audrey is to receive several days of treatment. She spent the evening cleaning her carpets, bottling ale, and of course knitting. We didn't see each other, but I phoned at 8pm.

Peter Patel, a grocer of Pakistani origin, and a good friend of Hilda and Tony's via the Liberal party network, was killed in a motor accident last week. Hilda and Tony attended the funeral on Friday, the only 'whites' amongst the 400-plus mourners. Hilda, it is reported, was ushered up to the open coffin to the sight of the unfortunate Mr Patel reclining with two coconuts, supposedly placed there as a sign of wealth. The poor man was only 39. 

The Conservative MP for Kings Lynn has fallen out with Mrs Thatcher over the recent budget and has crossed the floor of the House of Commons to join the Social Democrats. A little man, writing in a letter to the Times, suggests that Mrs T might not even be PM at the next budget. Poppycock. Who does he think might be at the helm if such a coup d'etat takes place? I see nobody of stature, other than Giles Shaw, the MP for Pudsey. Ha ha ha.  Another MP, Geoffrey Dickens, is to name a top ranking diplomat in the Commons tomorrow afternoon for an alleged cover-up with a paedophile organisation. One thing's for sure. He'll be a KCMG; he'll be Oxbridge; he'll live in Surrey; his wife will be clad in a twin set and pearls; he'll wear a fur hat, stink of cologne, and talk with a lisp.

The Prince of Wales was thrown from his new horse in a race on Friday as Lady Diana, the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret looked on. He really should abandon racing until his princess has sons.

They are sending the Queen Mother to Canada in July to calm the situation there. Things look sticky on the subject of the North America Act 1867. Some Canadians may want independence now but come July they'll be hurling themselves at the Queen Mother like Jeremy Thorpe at the Vienna Boys Choir. Crude, but true. 

Dined with Mum and Dad. Bed 11:30.

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Sunday March 15, 1981

 _. 2nd Sunday in Lent

Woke up early with a crashing headache. Took a couple of asprin and climbed back into the pink bed. The room looks like a marshmallow, you know. We eventually surfaced at 12. I paid a visit to the corner shop to buy a loaf. Lunch turned out to be tinned spaghetti on toast. 

At 3 we drove to the Stonehouse Inn, where we had a short walk, and then went on to Otley. A neurotic sheep leapt out at us from a bush and attempted to gore the car. I took the wheel and bombed through suburbia like Carlos Reutemann at Brands Hatch.

Dinner with Ally [a mass of curls, and wearing new pink shoes] and Mum and Dad. Liver. A chilled lemon sweet, divine. Ally and Mama sat knitting afterwards. Watched Glenda Jackson playing Elizabeth I, on the BBC. It looked really dated. Yes, I know it's supposed to look Elizabethan. I didn't mean that. It's 10 years old.

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Saturday March 14, 1981

 _. We didn't get up until 10:30. Whilst Ally dressed I packed piles of sandwiches, mainly salad, in readiness for our excursion to York. We head out to the northern capital at about 12 and we spent the afternoon trailing around the shops looking at books, china, and lots of shoes. We bought Graham and Gill a decanter and six wine glasses from Habitat and gloated over the numerous things we'd love to buy but cannot afford. 

At 4:30 we drove, with our picnic, to a lay-by near Acaster Malbis, where we ate and drank something called Pony [it's like sherry]. Half way through an egg sandwich I looked to my left at a gnarled and ancient five barred gate. Hanging from the said gate were seven or eight used Durex, arrayed like trophies, left no doubt by some randy farm boy, following steamy sessions with a local barmaid. Ally howled with laughter.

We returned to Guiseley and sat until about 10. Ally is obsessed with knitting. By the look of things it's a theraputic pastime. Her face take on a certain serenity, a tranquil countenance, which I haven't detected before. Mum and Dad came in at about 8 and we ate by candlelight.

Later Ally and I went to Pudsey to see Jill and Tim [I didn't phone them until 9], and the four of us went to the White Cross in Pudsey, and then back to Wilsby. Jill and Tim collect the keys to their house in April, and want to marry in August or September. We sat drinking cloudy ale and apple wine until after 1. Back to Rue Club.

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Friday March 13, 1981

 _. Friday the Thirteenth. John and Maria were married in mist and gloom on this day five years ago. We sent cards of remembrance to Scotland.

Frantic day at the YP. _____. The chairman of United Newspapers, Lord Barnetson, has snuffed it at the age of 63. No doubt Gordon Linacre was on the early train to London to grab all he can. Mark my words, he'll soon be Lord Linacre of Bramhope. 

To Ally's at 6. Helped her prepare dinner for Mum & Dad who arrived at 7:30. Mum looked good in the chiffon dress she wore at Sue and Pete's wedding. There she was in her white fur coat peeping through the door. Ally says Dad becomes more quiet every time she sees him. He has never been what you might call a circus act, bounding with joy, but he was quiet and inobtrusive through the Queensland cocktail [avocado and crab], chicken sweet and sour, followed by meringues and strawberries. Scrumptious. They left at 12.

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Thursday March 12, 1981

 _. Yesterday the Evening Post carried my article about Lady Diana's black dress at the top of the front page, including the pics of the Queen by Dorothy Wilding, and the recent one of Lady Diana. Impressive. Fred [Willis] winked, and said: 'You're on the list.' Whatever that means. It could be a death list. I simply don't know. 

On to Club St at 6pm. The bus journey was hazardous because of the pollution caused by the smoking Bradfordians on the upper deck of the 72 Leeds-Bradford bus. By the time I arrived at Ally's I felt like one of those Beagles from an animal research laboratory, and covered in a thick layer of fag ash. 

We had fish and chips from 'Mother Hubbard's' - not too greasy this time, and afterwards watched Top of the Pops and 'Brave New World', part one. 

Ally spent the evening going over the house with a duster and the Hoover in preparation for Mum and Dad's coming visit. I did point out that they are my parents, not Mr & Mrs Peter Shand Kydd, but she didn't let up. At about 10:30 we both sat down before the 'snowy' telly to watch Sir Geoffrey Howe defending his Budget. Is it perhaps his last? By next year the occupant of No. 11 could well be a 'wet' and Mrs Thatcher might be on the back benches licking her wounds. Or am I going in the wrong direction? I do hope I am wrong.

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Wednesday March 11, 1981

 _. Sunny day. Left the YP at 12. How splendid it is, to be able to take a 'half day'. Ally joined me at 1pm and we trundled over to Horsforth to pay £115 to Denny for the Ios honeymoon, and then did a bit of shopping at Morrison's. We collected Lynn at 4:30 and brought her over to Pine Tops for dinner - prawn curry. Lashings of wine. At 7:30 Ally and I went [in drizzle] to Pudsey to see Auntie Mabel. She had her gas fire belting out like Port Talbot Steelworks. We had supper and went on to Club St at 11.

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Tuesday March 10, 1981

 _. Received a letter from Denise asking for £115 to cover our Ios accommodation. I phoned Ally. We decided to withdraw the cash from a building society account and pay Denise tomorrow. I marched around Leeds in the rain.

Sir Geoffrey Howe presented his budget. Petrol goes up by 20p a gallon from 6pm, and he's put 4p on a pint on beer, 14p on a pack of cigarettes, and £10 on car licenses. I refuse to become morose and miserable about this.

Queen: 1952, and Diana 1981

I spoke to Fred Willis on the EP newsdesk about a good picture story. The dress worn by Lady Diana last night is almost identical to one worn by the Queen in July, 1952, when she sat for a portrait by Dorothy Wilding. He was very enthusiastic. Stephanie Ferguson was amazed by the likeness, and for some minutes the three of us discussed high fashion to the backdrop of Sir Geoffrey Howe droning on and on. Stephanie says the wedding dress is to be made by a Mayfair fashion house, and is now besieged by the press. On the subject of the royals: Prince Edward is 17 today. One day will he be Duke of Sussex, Cambridge, or even Clarence? I'm beginning to doubt whether he'll ever be a royal duke. I do not think that the Queen enthuses about dukedoms.

Ally phoned tonight. She says Auntie Mabel phoned her to say thank you for the birthday card, and they planned that we should go to Pudsey tomorrow. She was all alone at Club St, knitting by her fire. At least she now has a telly to break the monotony of her secular existence.

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