Sunday August 8, 1982

 9th Sunday after Trinity

Day of activity. After a full-English I took to removing wallpaper and laying on the polystyrene tiles. It's a religious thing now at weekends. Ally, in a temper, went out to dig furiously in the garden. I switched on the TV and caught the last ten minutes of 'Jezabel' starring Bette Davis. They don't make 'em like that anymore. Ally recovered her composure and came back sweetly. We had onion soup, pizza and chips, and sat grinning at each other across the table. Funny how the pendulum swings?

To bed early again. A hot night. Restless romps. Penny, the poodle, dwelling at Mary's barked and complained throughout the night.

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Saturday August 7, 1982

 A fried repast for the four of us. We were joined in our bed at 8:30 by Master Christopher with an engaging smile and sturdy brown legs. An adonis boy. He needed showing off and after breakfast we carried him off to Pudsey and our first port of call Karen, Mrs Stephen Sanderson. Obviously pregnant and going about her morning chores. Steve was out playing cricket, or more likely lubricating his tonsils. After a few drinks we moved on to Jill and Tim's. We also received lubrication here. Tim's foot improved. Then on afterwards to Wilsby where Christopher was nursed by his great-auntie Hilda, who was covered in dust from the ongoing renovations. Tony is a right little John Vanbrugh. The dog, Pepper, attempted to bite anyone taking an interest in Christopher and the visit was taken up with fighting off the yapping beast. Back to Bradford at 5:30. Sue and Pete took C home and Ally and I sat until after 8 and struggled up to bed. Thoroughly bushed.

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Friday August 6, 1982

 Tired, sick and hungover all day. Not worth it really. Went out at lunch and had a massive salad roll and a salmon and cucumber sandwich. Sat in Park Square looking at pigeons. Why do we humans make life so hard for ourselves?  I want to be a pigeon. 

YP a sorry state. Found some composure at 2 or 3pm. Felt like I'd died and joined Jesus in his all encompassing bossom.

Home at 6. Joined at 6:30 by Sue, Pete and Christopher. The baby played for a while and then went to bed in the Flying Pigs Room, sleeping in his pram, A bonnie lad. A combination of his mother and Jim. Susie's smile, and Jim's nose. We ate curry and watched TV. Question: should Jim and Margaret be included in the PC1656 leaving party? I think that perhaps they should be made a special case. I am numb with exhaustion. Sue and Ally went up to bed. Pete and I watched a late film, and I snored in my armchair.

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Thursday August 5, 1982

 Pine Tops has been sold to a sailor, for the asking price. Rejoice. 

Hot. A Jim and Margaret session.  They'd be called Jim and Margaret sessions even if they included Soraya Khashoggi, Lord Soames and Norman St John Stevas, MP. Mum and Dad came at 7:45 with Jim and Margaret. Tony and Hilda followed an hour later and we had fish and chips. We moved the piano from one end of the room to the other. Drank vast quantities. Handed around the Malcolm Fawbert letter and his Wilson kinswomen disowned him. 'He isn't one of us', they say. We made merry until well after 1am. Things could have become quite nasty when the conversation turned to John. ___________. We changed the subject. Cheese toasties. Bed at 2am.

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Wednesday August 4, 1982

Diana: matronly

 The radio alarm sounded at 6:44 and Ally was up and in the bath without any persuasion on my part. I remained in bed singing 'God Save The Queen' [using the old traditional words because a new lefty, highly offensive version has been published this week]. Today is the 82nd birthday of Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother and the christening of Prince William of Wales.

Humid. YP dull. Saw a few photographs on the wire of the christening at Buckingham Palace. The Princess of W in a hat which made her look 'matronly'. Like someone on the platform at the Brighton conference. In her defence she cannot have had much free time to go out and buy one since her accouchement.

I sat outside writing this evening. Ally was assaulting the sitting room with the vacuum cleaner. News at Ten. Poor. Bed.

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Tuesday August 3, 1982

 Extremely hot. Norman [our neighbour] told me that the temperature in his greenhouse is over 100 degrees F. "Too hot for my tomatoes", he grunted. Who cares about tomatoes?

Master Glynn is 28 today. We sent a silly card, but heard nothing. Plagued with filthy flies in the office. Margo squirmed every time one buzzed past.

Received a peculiar letter from Malcolm Fawbert who told me he can trace the Fawberts back to 1400, to one Alexander Titus Myles ffawbert de Grantley. Nonsense. It sounds like something out of 'Kind Hearts and Coronets'. The man woffled on, filling five large sheets of paper, without actually telling me anything. Ally furious and imaptient. She likes people to get straight to the point and 'our Malcolm' isn't one of this kind. ________.

Steaming hot. We had steak and kidney with dumplings. Good summer food. A mistake really. I cleaned the windows. We are the tidiest people on Club St. Too hot to go to bed. We sat looking at a book of impressionist paintings.

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Monday August 2, 1982

 Bank Holiday in Scotland & the Republic of Ireland

Duke of York?

Hot and sticky. Ally up in leaps and bounds, singing in her bath. All's right with the world. We went outside at 8 and pecked at each other, somewhat sheepishly, in the street. We do not miss the car.

YP dismal. Sat contemplating my next published genealogical work. Could I fool Jonathan Margolis into thinking that Prince Andrew is to be created Duke of York on his return from the Falklands? I looked into the history of the dukedom and passed a few hours.

Hung more polystyrene lining paper whilst listening to someone on ITV blabbing on about police corruption. Annoying. Lynn phoned and asked whether it's wise to include David G in Dad's leaving party on Sept 14. I said it is. She wasn't impressed. Women. Giovanni's is booked. Bed. Hot and clammy. Restlessness.

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