Monday March 23, 1981

 _. Got a thorough soaking in the heavy rain at lunchtime. It was Kathleen's first day back since Christmas. It can be described as the 'day of the long knives' because Carol has told Kathleen that Sarah's rule has been nothing short of disastrous. The ensuing exchanges lent the library a revolutionary or anarchistic air. Kathleen, to appease the mob, bought cream cakes for her staff at lunchtime, and I joked with Sarah about having 'funeral buns'. The custard slices and doughnuts are usually reserved for birthdays. 

Phoned Ally at 2 and again at 8. Wedding fever is gripping Chillandham Cross [Graham & Gill's wedding]. Bessie has been chained to a food mixer since last week. Ally was doing her washing tonight, and my heart went out to her as I pictured her over the sink scrubbing away at her smalls in the way her grandmother would have done in the early days of the century.

Dave G phoned just for a chat. The next Anglo-Stockport talks are scheduled to take place in the first weekend in May.

There's been another scandal involving a senior diplomat. Sir Roger Hollis, head of the MI5, 1956-65, is now said by Chapman Pincher to have been a spy for Russia for over 30 years. Dad says that the only thing worse than this would be the revelation that the Duke of Edinburgh has been working for the KGB since the 1940s and that he only married the Queen to get his hands on the contents of her red boxes. I go further in this daftness and suggest that the Queen is really a Russian agent, a doppelgänger, planted in the palace in the 1940s, swapped for the real Elizabeth who is now wearing an iron mask in a Kremlin cellar. Her Majesty is the fourth man in the Burgess, Maclean and Philby affair.

Bed 12:16am.

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Sunday March 22, 1981

 _. British Summer Times Begins - 3rd Sunday in Lent

We climbed out of our burrow at about 10:30 and spent the day in the sitting room. Despite the arrival of "summer time" we'd been subject to an attack of snow in the night, however throughout the day the sun shone splendidly, not so splendidly to tempt Ally away from her knitting and into the car. In the past few weeks she's gone almost insame knitting baby garments, like a wartime effort. A look of pure serenity passes over her face as she clicks away.

Watched Bernard Miles in an old wartime film, from 1944, full of propaganda. I was settled for the afternoon, but then Mummy phoned suggesting we accompany them to the Stonehouse Inn, for our first inspection of the pub. We were off like a shot. Sue and Pete were included in the invitation, but Lynn and Dave were visiting Chris and Julie in Easingwold. So, at 7pm we drove the 14 miles to Blubberhouses and spent a couple of hours in the tatty, endearing pub, which is typical Yorkshire without fancy decoration or comfort. We found it palatial after previous descriptions. George, the owner, was upstairs in his room, and we could hear him wheezing and coughing, poor man. His miserable daughter was loading his cup of cocoa with sleeping pills. George's son-in-law, fat and red faced, with twinkly eyes, sat by a blazing fire, and resembled old Jolyon in 'The Forsyte Saga', or at least the actor who played him on the telly in 1967. He gave us a tour of the ground floor rooms, one not opened since 1958. Mum and Dad were so impressed. I can just imagine them there, discussing sheep with the locals from Pateley Bridge, or wherever. 

Home and to bed by 12.

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Saturday March 21, 1981

 _. Supposedly Spring. Up at 6:45am. Ally is feeling a little better. Life without Dixie would be like plants without flowers.

Shazzo was in the office this morning but, after doing absolutely nothing, left at 12, leaving me indexing a dismal YP. 

Ally collected me at 1:45. Pouring rain. Neither of us were in excellent humour. Ally wanted to go shopping for shoes, and wedding shoes at that, in monsoon rain and overcrowded streets. Whilst in Stylo, looking for cousin Jill, she spotted a pair of pretty white shoes, and without further ado purchased them. We bought a plant in Leeds Market before heading on, quite bedraggled, to Menston, where I collected a morning suit from 'Charles' the tailor. It's an excellent gentleman's outfitters. 

Home to Pine Tops for dinner. Rabbit pie. Afterwards I fell asleep to the sound of clicking knitting needles, and Lana Turner on the telly. I was told afterwards that my snoring ruined the Hollywood epic.

-=-

Friday March 20, 1981

 _. Full Moon

Peter is 23 today.I bought him a ridiculous miniature dart-board from a toy shop and a small bottle of Cointreau.

Ally came at 6. Sue and Pete had taken the day off and were just leaving Pine Tops with Lynn and Dave. Ally just missed seeing them by a few minutes. She'd been to Town Gate to look at a house called Phoenix Cottage, up for sale at £25,000. I spotted it a few days ago, and because I mentioned it she assumed I wanted to buy it. This has made her think that I am dissatisfied with Sprog Cottage at Lidget Green, which of course I am not. I look forward to living in Bradford, especially now that the MP Edward Lyons, QC, MP, has joined the Social Democrats. Surely, anything is better than Labour? 

Ally and I went to Sue and Pete's with birthday presents. Pete is more like Basil Fawlty than John Cleese is these days. To the White Cross. Ally felt unwell. Went to Club Street and watched TV in bed. I watched as she snored.

Mum and Dad went to the Stonehouse Inn tonight. Old George is in bed with bronchial pneumonia, and probably won't get out of it alive. His daughters are just waiting for him to go so that they can return to the civilisation of Oxfordshire. They cannot understand why Mum and Dad want to live in such a remote backwater.

-=-

Thursday March 19, 1981

 _. Audrey the car is still at the sick car hospital in Lidget Green, but we hope she'll be well by tomorrow.

I did some shopping at lunchtime and bought a packet of fish in shrimp sauce. This was silly because for the same price [£1.06] I could have bought a nice piece of meat. 

To Club Street at 6. Spent a pleasant evening. Ally in a daft mood. We gooned around fabulously. She has received a card from Graham and Charlotte confirming their visit. I concocted a wild reply mentioning Ally's latest craze, sheep impressions, telling them that at that very moment she was impersonating a Shropshire ewe giving birth. I adore mad letters, but rarely receive them. If only I could write to myself? [I suppose that keeping a journal is writing to ones self]. 

Watched Orwell's 'Brave New World', the second and final part. Endured Robin Day, and went to bed at 12.

-=-

Wednesday March 18, 1981

 _. Rain, bloody wind. Phoned Susie at 11:30 for ideas for Peter's birthday present. She suggests a dart board. Is he perhaps going soft in the head?

Sarah phoned Kathleen today and was stunned to hear from our beloved, absent ayatollah that she intends to return to rule over us once more from Monday. She wasn't going to inform us of her return, and must have planned to appear back in the office disguised as batch of last Tuesday's Whitby Gazette. We conspired not to tell Carol J of Kathleen's return. Our spiteful deed of the day.

The naughty child-molesting diplomat has been named in the Commons as Sir Peter Telford Hayman, KCMG, CVO, MBE, High Commissioner to Canada 1970-74, educated at Oxford, and if not actually living in Surrey I am sure he must be close by. The poor Queen must shudder with horror at the characters paraded before her at numerous Buckingham Palace investitures. If she isn't already wearing rubber gloves I strongly advise Her Majesty to start doing so.

Spoke to Ally three times. Received a confirmation of our holiday booking from Denise. Ally says Bessie is working herself into a frenzy about Graham's wedding on March 28. 'Where will Uncle Alan sleep?' 'Will Frank and Barbara be comfortable in a caravan?'

Jacq phoned and invited us to a party at Rodley on April 11 - Paul's birthday. I didn't mention our wedding. I couldn't think of what to say. Ally didn't like this when I told her of the conversation. It's as if I am ashamed of our wedding plans. Obviously, this is not how I feel.

Home at 6. Had kidneys and rice. Watched 'Lloyd George' part 3. 

-=-

Tuesday March 17, 1981

 _. St Patrick's Day ~ Bank Holiday in N. Ireland & Republic of Ireland

After five years in the tiny bedroom at the front of the house I have returned to the back bedroom, which I occupied in the distant days of my early youth ~ those halycon days.

A most unsatisfactory day. I felt particularly violent this afternoon and could have throttled Carol J. 

Spoke to Ally several times. She's reading 'The Murder of Roger Ackroyd'. Home at 6 to find my bed in transit, and after dinner of dead sheep, I spent the evening midst the memorabilia and dust, but didn't discard anything. Mummy infuriates me at times like this. She was positively vitriolic.

Lynn and Dave made a surprise visit at 8 and stayed a couple of hours. Mum says Lynn has lost weight following her latest check up, peculiar for someone so close to confinement. They were both quiet. In fact Dave is positively mute these days.

Phoned Ally at 8. An endearing exchange. 

The Prince of Wales has succumbed to yet another fall. This horse will have to go. On the news tonight we saw the Prince and Lady Diana at a state banquet at Buckingham Palace for the President of Nigeria. Filing in to dinner ~ Princess Margaret linking arms with Lord Hailsham, and the Queen Mother cuddling the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Watched a documentary on Ernest Bevin, who was born 100 years ago this month. It's interesting watching old news reels to see how everybody in the 1930s, 40s and 50s appear to have been chain smokers. At the line-up of Attlee's Cabinet in 1945 it's hard to identify any of the ministers for the thick cloud of smog.

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