Wednesday April 7, 1982

 Had a late birthday card today from Dave L with strong Falkland Islands theme. It was home made, of course. Bessie has been reprimanded by Ally for forgetting my 27th birthday, but a horrifed Bessie revealed that she posted a card, containing a crisp £10 note on April 1. She fears she may have put the wrong address on the envelope. Ally has contacted the PO, who have a little man who deals with such things.

Jonathan Margolis.

Jonathan Margolis phoned me and heaped great praise on my unworthy shoulders. A cheque is in the post, he said, and the powers that be at the Mail on Sunday are very impressed. I do wish I could devote more of my time to genealogical work. Surely Burke's Peerage will get to hear of my abilities before long? I couldn't possibly go to Debrett's. They are such snobs.

I never did like Argentina. The 'Evita' revival brought on by Tim Rice and Lloyd Webber held no fascination for me. Mrs Peron was a peroxide, fascist bitch. Are we soon to be at war, do you think? Defeat will see the end of the divine Margaret [Thatcher]. Oh, on the subject of Mrs Thatcher have I already told you that her number one supporter, Mel, in Hampshire, husband of the randy Barbara, has died of pneumonia, brought on by hepititis? We last saw him at Graham and Gill's on New Years Day.

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Tuesday April 6, 1982

Carrington: resigned

 Falklands news. Poor Lord Carrington had to resign yesterday over his inability to forsee the Argentine invasion. The Royal Navy has taken to the high seas  heading for the South Atlantic, including Prince Andrew. Kathleen is the only person, with the exception of Wedgwood Benn, who thinks that the Falkland Islands should be left to endure Latin American domination. Francis Pym [of 'the birds have flown' family] is the new Foreign Secretary. I'm seriously thinking of joining the SAS.

Phoned Mum today. Nothing spectacular. Frances is one today. Lynn has made her a party to be attended by other infants in the neighbourhood. Sue is taking Christopher and Christine Airey is taking Kevin. _____.

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Monday April 5, 1982

 My birthday. We sat in bed at 6:30 with presents and cards. Ally gave me the Jam's new LP 'The Gift', socks, a stout pack, and ink. We had poached eggs on toast listening to the Jam. YP. Ugh. I will have to make sure I have my birthday off next year. Utterly depressing. I have had a card from Delia but, strangely, nothing from my in-laws in Winchester. [We had an Easter card on Saturday with a fiver tucked inside].

I'm twenty seven now, but content. At twenty four and twenty five I was more disgruntled. 

Got wet tonight coming home. Lashing rain. [Auntie] Mabel phoned to say she saw me at the bus stop in Leeds, waiting like a drowned rat. She had been visiting her ailing friend, Evelyn, at the LGI.

Candlelit food again. Mackerel and cheese. Out at 8 in my new togs to the Bod where we were joined by Karen and Steve, Tim and Jill. The music was too loud and nobody could hear any conversation, or in fact say anything. On to the Fire Brigade pub at Great Horton. Poor Steve wasn't feeling well [his tummy] and they left at 10. With Jill and Tim we had 'just a couple more' at Mucky Willie's. They came back for coffee. Went to bed counting SDP MPs in the Commons ... not thinking of babies.

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Sunday April 4, 1982

Palm Sunday
 

Lay in bed giggling with my wife. Evidently last night the fly on my jeans was gaping open and Ally wasn't in a position to inform me of this.

Fussed around the table and made buns and things before the family came at 2:30. Sue and Peter were the first to arrive with baby Christopher, making his first visit to Club St. Lynn, Dave and Frances followed bringing Mum and Dad too. Poor Dad hobbles around like Robert Newton in Treasure Island. A pleasant Sunday afternoon of chatter and nosh. It's not often we get together these days, and even then John is missing. We only ever see him on Christmas day. Mum brought with her a postcard from John in Majorca, written in his familiar and spidery hand. Dave B gets quieter. Bed at 10.

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Saturday April 3, 1982

 Hungover. I was awake very early and felt like Humphrey Bogart in that John Huston film about gold proespecting. Thirsty. Downstairs and cleared away the revolting dishes from last night.

After breakfast we went to town. Ally bought me a striped t-shirt and blue canvas shoes. We inspected all the fashions.

Parliament meet today, Saturday, the first such sitting since Suez in 1956. Unfurl the banners and get out your khaki. Wave the flags for the boys, the soldiers of the Queen, &c. I love the occasional spurt of patriotism. Such things takes our minds off unemployment and Lord Scarman.

The Grand National. Mackerel pâté. 

Karen and Steve arrived on a spur of the moment visit. We ask them to join us at 'Mucky Willie's', all renovated now. Joined by Dave L and one of his domestic science teachers called José, and Jackie and Barry. Pissed again. Jolly night. Back to ours with Dave and José for another critical review of my paintings.

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Friday April 2, 1982

 Queer sort of day. Have the Argentinians invaded our treasured Falkland Islands? Don't know.

Home at 6. Ally and I sat by candlelight devouring lamb with peppers, and putting back lager and strawberry wine.

Saw no TV but got through several piano concertos and David Bowie. I sat reading my diary and soon realised from my account of our pre-marital relationship that I had a fancy for her despite Mr Pinder's presence. Ally says that Pinder was very fond of me. Got pissed up and went to bed after 12 leaving a greasy sheep carcas in the crock-pot in the middle of the floor.

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Thursday April 1, 1982

 All Fool's Day

Bob Cockroft did a spoof 'People Column' using several imaginary peers provided by me. The Marquess of Eskdale and Viscount St Ives. His phone trilled all day with fools ringing.

Pay day. I had a £10 tax rebate and went out with Piggy to Morrison's on something of a spree. Bought mackerel to make a pâté. Back home for 'Top of the Pops' and Kenny Everett. Our tv viewing was interrupted twice, once by Bessie on the blower, and then from the racket outside caused by a young man beating up his common-law wife. The police came and spoiled everything. 

John and Maria came down this evening for the Macdonald family assault on Majorca tomorrow. Oh God. What am I saying? This stuff about John is history. It all occurred last week.

Robin Day. Bed.

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