Monday January 10, 1983

 Mum and Dad hear from their solicitor that Horton-in-Ribblesdale is going to have road improvements and that a major development is going to take place within 200 yards of Waltergarth over the next 15 years. This is a grievous blow. Mum thinks the current owner of the house knows all about it, and has kept quiet. Well, he would, wouldn't he? Dad rang a county councillor at the local pub there who assured him that nothing serious is going to take place, but they'll have to wait for official confirmation from Northallerton which could take six weeks. You know what bureaucracy is like. 

A frantic day at the YP. Mondays are obscene. Lord Bruce Dundas, youngest son of the Marquess of Zetland, has announced his engagement to Sophie Lascelles, 24, a fourth cousin of Lord Harewood. Her mother is a Baring, and so she's also closely related to the divine Diana. I passed it on to the EP newsdesk, but they didn't do anything about it today. They can be very slow at times. I'm going to keep a record of my tips to Geoff (Hemingway). 

Home at 5:40. Ally and Dad were making a fish pie. We all sat watching tv and then it was back to the bunks. Mum and Dad will have to rename Waltergarth 'The Tarmacs', or something else appropriate to the construction industry.

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Sunday January 9, 1983

 1st Sunday after Epiphany

Out of bed at 10:30 to sausages and eggs and beans and things. We haven't had a proper 'full English' since we were both struck down with food poisoning last summer.  A day of furious industry.

I went outside and cleaned all the windows and swept up the dead leaves on the path. Ally did the house from top to bottom. I told her she gets more like Mrs Ford every day. __________.

I splashed around in a luke-warm bath, and afterwards I set about a geranium plant and hacked it to pieces. Is this intricate description of my mundane every day a toil for you? I know I would dearly love to be able to read of the daily activities of my great-grandfather. All I know about any of my 'greats' is their names, and a few dates of birth and death. It is sad that whole lives have disappeared, unrecorded for posterity, with no details of their Victorian existence. I don't want to go the same way. 

Mum phoned from Skipton to say they are on the way over. They stayed in Settle this weekend and spent today in Horton-in-Ribblesdale inspecting their new home, Waltergarth. They arrived at 5 and we dined at 6. It is strange having lodgers. Our house is so small. We gave them our bedroom and slept in the bunks, both in the bottom one, until about 4am when I climed up to the top. Mum and Dad are really ready to move now and want to be in Horton by next week.

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Saturday January 8, 1983

 Ally was tired and subsequently ratty throughout the day. As I've said before she'd make a very good psychopathic world leader.

We lay in bed until well after 11 and went down to 'breakfast' scantily clad. We ate crumpets in semi-darkness and discussed our plan of action for the day. Provisions are low and so we got a bus to the market and came back at 2:30 heavily laden. 

I went outside and planted the Christmas tree now looking so drab after its Yuletide trimming of glitter and lights. Inside we played hunt the Christmas decorations box which was nowhere to be found. We had lasagne and a couple of glasses of red wine.

I wrote to Edna and Nellie. They wrote to us before Christmas and I do want to keep in touch. We are condsidering going to look at the 1881 census next Saturday. 

John phoned this evening to see if we fancied going over for a few drinks. Janette arrived at 6 o'clock this morning. She got a lift from a sister who was travelling south and is staying until Wednesday or Thursday. Obviously, we were not in a fit state to go anywhere. ___________.

Saw on the news that the Prime Minister has arrived in the Falklands on a surprise visit. I sat day dreaming about the flags fluttering in Port Stanley. We tuned in to a dreadful American soap called 'Dynasty'. Ally is like Papa in the way that they sit and pull tv programmes to pieces. To bed at 11:45 after bathing in Ally's pink bath salts.

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Friday January 7, 1983

 Frank Metcalfe's snow didn't come, but it's cold and very wet. Laid beneath my Oasis quilt until almost 7:30. Ally skipping around like a young lamb. (All lambs are young - Ed.)

Ally's plea for an electric typewriter must have had some effect because today they removed the ancient machine from her desk and made off with it. By 'they' I mean the eight old men in blue overalls who are paid by the NHS to carry one typewriter between them. 

YP chaotic. Sarah still off tending to her ailing mother. Mum phoned. She and Dad are going off for the weekend and will come to Bradford - if it's OK with us - on Sunday to stay for a couple of days.Susan and Peter have had them for a month, and it's about time we had a bash. It will make a pleasant change. Ally says, laughing, that I will now have someone with whom to stay up late at night with watching TV until closedown.

Tonight we watched ten minutes of Channel 4 and then switched off. We didn't fancy the Spanish Civil War. Speaking of Spain, King Juan Carlos has broken his pelvis while skiing.

Mrs Thatcher has reshuffled the government. John Nott has resigned and will receive a knighthood, and so does Neil Marten. Michael Heseltine has gone to defence. I think Michael Heseltine will go far. Lord Bellwin, a Leeds lad, has been promoted to minister for Local Government. When will the election come? Some say May/June, but I think the old girl might hang on until the autumn.

Ally still battling through 'Penmarric'. She says it's a diabolical book, and yet she's buried beneath it at every opportunity. 

I sent a 'happy New Year' letter to Edna and Nellie. Its difficult writing to someone you've never met. Sixty seven year-old spinsters too - not likely to appreciate jokes about the Pope and Bo Derek.

Lord Halifax is asking for a personal secretary and Ally wants to apply. The applicants for the job have to be over 35 and live at Garrowby. Camilla Halifax is the pretty heiress daughter of Colonel Younger of the brewing dynasty.

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Thursday January 6, 1983

 Epiphany

Could quite easily have reclined in bed this morning. Snatched a bit of breakfast. Ally bouncing around full of glee. She is going in to the office to ask Derek for an electric typewriter, just to be awkward.

To the YP: Busy day doing stuff for the diary. Viscount Melgund is engaged and so is Lady Julia Percy, the Duke of Northumberland's daughter, and Henry Tennant, son of Colin Tennant, has married on Mustique. Surprisingly, Princess Margaret wasn't at the nuptials. It was Charles Tennant who caused a stink when he stole photos from his mother's album and sold them to the Daily Mirror. Oh dear, yes.

Went out at 12:30 to buy some shoes in the sales but couldn't find a decent pair. I despise the 'January sales' and do not usually associate myself with them. I am wearing the shoes I married in, and my toes are almost through at the end. I feel damp and shabby. Pass me a bottle of meths and I'll really look the part.

Drank a mug of chicken and mushroom soup on my bench in Park Square and noticed that the daffodils are pushing up. It was a warm day but Frank Metcalfe says we are due for some snow. Frank is something of an expert of weather patterns. 

Didn't speak to Ally. Was too busy. I'm working through the honours and have all the MBEs to look at. I'll be still at it in July. Daley Thompson got one. That man is big headed enough already.

Mum phoned to say she has bought us a Minton dinner plate in the sales for £7. They are thinking of going off somewhere for the weekend. They are all piled up in the cramped space of West End Terrace. She is a little upset that Lynn and Dave haven't invited them to stay at Thorpe Lane. You know just how temperamental Mum is. However, it would have been nice of them to invite the refugees over for the odd night. I know they have a new baby and all that.

At home I had fish and chips, but Ally just had a bit of toast. Poor Ally has put on a stone in weight over Christmas and is now eight and a half stone. 'Top of the Pops' then 'Superman' which I saw at the cinema when first out. The (Christmas) tree lights are still burning. Is the tree supposed to be down tonight? Will it bring bad luck if it remains up? I suppose I'd better go dismantle the thing.

Ally demanded a gin and tonic and kept peeping at me over the newspaper, passing comments on the days news. The dog which fell off the pier and Blackpool resulting in the death of several policemen is a Jack Russell. How hideous. 

We retired to bed at about 10:30. Both washed out.

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Wednesday January 5, 1983

 Oh yes, I forgot that in the chaos on Sunday night Uncle John E. Rhodes phoned  to wish a happy birth day to Mum and Dad whilst they were at Sue's. He thanked us for the present.

On the subject of John Rhodeses, all is now well with my brother, John P. Rhodes, ___________.

YP: Busy day. Margo says I'm a swot. Policemen have drowned at Blackpool whilst trying to save a dog from the sea off the pier. I am eagerly  awaiting the PM's re-shuffle. Michae Heseltine is expected to get Defence.

The Queen has been giving riding lessons to the Princess of Wales at Sandringham. The poor girl had a nasty experience on horseback years ago and has hated equine beasts ever since. This won't do.

Phoned Lynn at 2. She was let out of hospital at 10:30 and loving being home. Frances was stunned to see her mother breast feeding Katie, and ran away at the sight of a dirty nappy.

Went to see Jacq at lunchtime. She saw the birth announcement in yesterday's YP. 'Where did they get Davina from?' she exclaimed, pulling a face. I like Davina. Surely, it's the feminine of David? People can be very dull and conservative when it comes to names. Ally and I laugh. They will have a blue fit when we come to name ours.

Fish fingers tonight too, drizzled in cheese sauce. Played with my typewriter. Ally still reading 'Penmarric'. I poured another late gin and tonic. Two years ago we decided to get married. Bliss.

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Tuesday January 4, 1983

 The Lada goes away. We are carless once again. To the YP. Slept soundly on the bus to Leeds. Felt even worse than I did yesterday. The phlegm is no better, and am coughing it up thick and green throughout the day. Hideous.

Sarah's taken the rest of the week off to nurse Delia who is very ill with influenza. She hasn't seen daylight since Christmas Eve.

Geoff Hemingway is giving me some tip money for Christopher Ussher's engagement. He's a godson of Princess Mary, the Princess Royal.

News: a maniac is on the loose in West Yorkshire. He's raping and dumping women, tied hand and foot, into canals. Not nice.

Home to find enough Yorkshire puddings to feed and army. To bed at 9:30 with a gin and tonic. A pleasant change from cocoa.

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