Sunday August 16, 1981

 _. 9th Sunday after Trinity

Warm & sunny. Ally was awake just after 8. She says it's impossible for her to move in bed without me noticing.

I ate my oat puffs for breakfast and then continued with the painting activities until noon. The sitting room [which is in fact the only room] is now bathed in a golden glow.

Savile: dreadful.

Sat with salad sandwiches listening to the dreadful Jimmy Savile on Radio 1. Pompous buffoon that he is.

Over to Guiseley at 3:30 with a bottle of sherry and box of 'After Eight' mints. It was good to see Mum, who was looking well and tanned. Papa was out on constabulary duties hunting down 'hit and run' drivers on his bicycle.

We lounged in deckchairs in the garden. Sue & Pete came at 5. She looks better and larger. Dined at 6. Roast chicken, Yorkshire puddings, broad beans, marrow, &c. All washed down with wine.

After dinner Dave Porritt arrived with his video machine and we watched the glorious events of June 27. More than a little nauseating to hear our own voices. We watched the 20 minute epic three times.

-=-

Saturday August 15, 1981

 _. A day of activity. We were awakened at 9 by the postman delivering a batch of photographs. We nestled beneath our quilt inspecting the snaps. For breakfast we had sausages, eggs and toast, &c. I was somehow cornered into demolishing a bookcase, and after a hideous re-assembling session which was reminiscent of a Laurel & Hardy film, I was daubing gold/oyster paint onto two of the walls. Painting is such much needed therapy. 

Phoned Mum this evening. She is annoyed, or at least sounded so, that Ally and I haven't been to Pine Tops in two weeks. She's very touchy. When I referred to Pine Tops she snapped back: "Why can't you call it home?" I have never called it 'home' and always call it Pine Tops. Dave Porritt is bringing the wedding video to Mum's tomorrow evening so that we can have a 're run' of our great day. We're dining at Guiseley. I didn't repeat any of Mum's negativity to Ally.

Later we had fish and chips and gallons of tea. I'm unsure about the decorating. It's like being inside a giant banana. 

News: More riots in Liverpool. Shoot the buggers, that's what I say. The Prince and Princess of Wales flew to Scotland from Egypt to join the Queen at Balmoral.

Later: watched two horror films that took us through until 1:30am.

-=-

Friday August 14, 1981

 _. I didn't feel too good all day. It took me until 5pm to recover. Kathleen gave me a couple of paracetamol tablets. Raging headache until 6.

Stonehouse Inn: £80,000

Saw in the YP that a Mr Ian Taylor, of Skipton, has bought the Stonehouse Inn for something in the region of £80,000. I was my hideous and painful duty to phone Mum and tell her. The solicitors working for my parents are incompetent. It's a bloody disgrace to have to read about the pub malarkey in the morning papers when one is paying a bloody fortune to lawyers to keep one informed. At least now it's all over other plans can be made.

At home Ally cooked sirloin steaks with salad. The sight of her shifted my headache. She wasn't too good this morning [the wine] but picked up later.

News: Lord Drogheda has died. The Prince and Princess of Wales entertained President Sadat on board the Royal Yacht Britannia. The couple looked bronzed and radiant. It's refreshing to see them smiling from the pages of newspapers when the rest of the news is gloom and disorder. The YP and EP simply don't know how to style her despite my protestations. Today they were 'Prince Charles and the Princess of Wales', then 'Prince Charles and his wife'. In an article in the Sun ['Diana captures Egypt'] they were 'Prince Charles and Lady Diana', whilst the Daily Mirror said 'Princess Diana'. Oh dear.

-=-

Thursday August 13, 1981

 _. Pay day. Still no tax rebate. I expect a handsome windfall now that I'm a married man.

Home at 6 to find Ally draped, all in black, on the sofa looking sultry and mysterious. It was very obvious that she wanted to be wined and dined, and so we motored to the heart of the Bradford metropolis to the Pizza Margherita [opposite the Telegraph & Argus building]. We were the sole diners until Rachel Judson and Garry came in. It was refreshing to see them back together. When we saw her last it looked like curtains for this friendly, rounded Yorkshire chef. Dear Rachel was dressed like a dog's dinner. Our pizzas were only adequate, but we did manage to knock back a litre of red wine after which Ally's eyes went 'glassy'. 

On to the Bod. It was full of tarts. Felt bloated and ill-humoured. Ally, however, was playful and boisterous. The music was abysmal. These compilation records are ghastly. Why are they so popular?

Home and to bed at 10:30.

-=-

Wednesday August 12, 1981

 _. The Glorious Twelfth. To the YP carrying my wedding photographs for the girls to gaze over. No catty remarks. 

Some wag has placed a large cardboard cut-out of the prime minister in the middle of the office, which was a target for ridicule and abuse throughout the day. That fixed and steadfast gaze and resolute smile exuded confidence and pride. Is the Conservative government doomed? The majority of those in the office seem to think so.

Phoned Mum. Dad had an accident this morning and almost cut off a couple of his fingers whilst cutting the hawthorn, and then Mum smashed a window in the sitting room as the kettle in the kitchen exploded, sending choking fumes into the atmosphere. What a hideous week they've had. Jill and Tim visited them last night, leaving wedding invitations for us for Sept 19.

Reagan: working wonders.

On the subject of politics, isn't President Reagan working wonders? In January I would have laughed myself silly at the suggestion that Ronald Reagan would make an adequate president, and yet here we are eight months later and he has Congress in his pocket, and the USA playing into his hands. It's wonderful too that he jailed the striking air traffic controllers. I'd like to see some of our strikers in chains too. My only worry about Reagan now is that he won't survive his term of office. He is in his 71st year.

Home at 6. A clammy, overcast evening. We ate fish fingers swamped in parsley sauce and new potatoes. A domestic evening in front of the smouldering TV. Ally knitting with gusto. Coronation Street followed by a horror film about a maniacal plastic surgeon cum circus owner, starring Donald Pleasance, but he died ten minutes into the movie. It went on until 12:30. 

We have arranged to go to Winchester on Aug 28 for the bank holiday weekend, my first visit to Chillandham Cross as a son-in-law.

-=-

Tuesday August 11, 1981

Princess Diana?

 _. Very hot. To Leeds in a crisp white shirt, sleeves tantalisingly rolled up, displaying my brown, manly arms. As I left Ally was hanging out yet more blue washing. 

At the YP I got onto my 'high horse' about the title of the Princess of Wales. No royal bride is ever afforded the honour of becoming a princess in her own right. The wife of the Prince of Wales is the Princess of Wales, and never 'Princess Diana'. The Queen Mother was never 'Princess Elizabeth', and the wives of the royal dukes of Gloucester and Kent are not princesses in their own right either. The Queen mother, as wife of Prince Albert, Duke of York, became Princess Albert, Duchess of York.  Let us suppose that Diana is made a princess in her own right as 'Princess Diana'. A dangerous precedent would be established. In 5 years times, Princess Diana could go off and divorce the P of W, and marry Arthur Evans, and remain HRH Princess Diana. Retaining the present style Diana takes all her styles and titles from her husband, and at the dissolution of this marriage [God forbid] she would have to drop the royal appellation. The only fly in the 'royal ointment' is Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester. On the death of her husband, the first duke, in 1974, Alice became HRH The Dowager Duchess of Gloucester. However, the Queen, in a court circular announcement declared that her widowed aunt would henceforward to be known as 'Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester'. No Royal Warrant or Letters Patent. Quite incorrect, but I cannot argue with the personal wishes of Her Majesty. However, until and if the Queen issues a ruling about the style and title of her daughter-in-law we can call her nothing but HRH The Princess of Wales. The Duke of Edinburgh was married to the Queen for 10 years before being granted the style and title of a prince of the United Kingdom. Until 1957 he was HRH Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. He ceased to be Prince of Greece and Denmark when he took British citizenship. A lettter in the Times from a Peter Cash includes the quote: 'The Princess of Wales sounds more like an aircraft carrier than a human being! It is too impersonal for her.'

I phoned Mum and received no reply. Has she perhaps joined Lynn & Dave on holiday at the Baker caravan in Norfolk to recover from the Stonehouse shock?

Spoke to Ally. She came through to Leeds at 3 to deliver something for Derek Jenkins and picked me up at four in Audrey [with the roof rolled back] and on we went to Bradford where a casserole was bubbling in the pot. We dined at 6:30. Afterwards, the evening being exceedingly hot, we went for a walk and found ourselves in the cemetery among the grave stones. We did remark that people are continuing to die at obscenely early ages, despite the advances made in medical science. Depressing really. We walked back hand in hand.

Finally made contact with Mum. They have been to Burnsall with Lynn and Dave for the day.

Dave G phoned. Jim Glynn is in hospital and sounds to be on his last legs. A suspected heart attack, &c. We are going to Stockport on Aug 22.

Watched a documentary about Cecil B. De Mille. To bed, quite beaten, at midnight.

-=-

Monday August 10, 1981

 _. Day of gloom. I did not want to climb out of bed at the sounding of my alarm at 6:30. I wish I'd stayed 'neath the sheets because nothing pleasant occurred later. 

I phoned Mum from the office. She sounded so off-hand and dismal last night that I had to get to the bottom of it. Immediately she explained how upset she had been last week when I canceled a Thursday night dinner. Bloody Hell. Ally was feeling unwell and exhausted and so I thought postponing the dinner for a week would be best. Evidently not so. She asked me to phone Oswald Lister [auctioneers] at Hampsthwaite. I did. His posh secretary informed me that 'contracts are being drawn up at the moment, and the Stonehouse is to be advertised as sold in next Saturday's Yorkshire Post'. I felt dreadful. I had to phone Mum and break the news that her dream was now shattered. She took it very well and was relieved that she can now put 'plan B' into action. This probably means booking a holiday to Yugoslavia, or something. She went off to get Dad to contact their solicitor. I suggested they come for dinner tonight instead of tomorrow, but didn't get a decent answer. They'll be so upset and disillusioned. I cannot see them getting over this for a long time. I sat brooding for the remainder of the day thinking what might have been.

Letters: for posterity.

I spoke to Ally a couple of times and concocted a few letters. I fully intend resuming my letter writing shortly because our letters [Dec 1979 to June 1981] are a complete record of our 'courtship'. We would like a sturdy chest of some kind in which to store our letters and journals for posterity.

Home at 6. Eggs and chips. Washed the windows whilst Ally ironed the blue washing. Phoned Mum ~ no response. Phoned Sue to get the story of their Stranraer sojourn. John gave their car a re-spray, but otherwise they didn't venture out into the wilds. She now says she's five months pregnant, narrowing down the birth of 'Jason' to somewhere between Christmas and Easter. Susan is consistently entertaining. She always makes me smile. I have never known a moment where she she has aggravated or niggled me. She's the sweetest thing.

Later: sit with a coffee watching 'Coronation Street'. I eat too many biscuits. I read a Dorothy L Sayers novel. Attempted to phone Mum until 12, and gave up. Couldn't contact Lynn either.

-=-