Saturday February 5, 1983

 Ally and I went into Winchester after breakfast and after looking at a splendid pine shop we fell into Mr Pitkin's Wine Bar where we consumed a bottle of red and a stilton ploughman's lunch. On these occasions we usually sit watching people through the bottom of our glasses. Young people know how to dress in Winchester. Mr Pitkin himself is a little queer looking, but Ally doesn't think he's dangerous. We spent £5 and then went across to the bank to use the 'Barclaybank' dispenser, but to our horror we discover we have left our (pin) number back at the house. We marched through the bustling town with a dark cloud hanging over us. Saturday afternoon and no money. I wrote a cheque for petrol. Ally found herself queueing on a zebra crossing and an old man banged his disapproval on the car roof and made violent gestures in the direction of Her Majesty's Prison Winchester. We were steaming mad. I wound down the window and gave him a mouthful, at which Ally threatened to abandon the car altogether. We returned to the house and calmed down with a coffee and a 1938 epic on Channel 4. Cheese on toast later and by now we were smiling beside the glow of the log fire. Andrew went out leaving us alone. I haven't seen a newspaper all week. The (Daily) Express has arrived every day, but that doesn't count as a newspaper.

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Friday February 4, 1983

 We were up at a better time today and went out after breakfast to buy tickets for the homeward journey. £6.50 each from London Victoria to Bradford. I'm sure that 10 years ago it wasn't much under a fiver. We walked hand in hand around the streets. I tried to occupy her and prevent her looking in shoe shops but was unsuccessful. She espied a pair of red ones at a ridiculous price and had to have them. 

We sat inspecting three or four pubs until 2:30. These new fangled space invader machines destroy all the character and atmosphere. In the Bakers Arms it was like sitting through a NATO training exercise in Scandinavia. 

We retired to Chillandham Cross at 3 and prepared dinner. Roast beef, potatoes, sprouts, parsnips, Yorkshire puddings, &c. Poor Andrew has lived on soup for the past three days. Whilst I peeled the spuds Ally sat buried beneath the Hampshire Chronicle and exclaimed that Alan Ayckbourn's play 'Taking Steps' is on at the Theatre Royal, Winchester. Without further ado I phoned and booked a couple of tickets for tonight at £3.30 each. After dinner we drove in to town and the theatre. The play was excellent. By no means hilarious, but amusing. Ally didn't like the ending which came upon us rather suddenly. I had been sitting on top of a steaming radiator in the theatre. We made a quick escape, in pouring rain, to the Cart and Horses at Kings Worthy. Back at Chillandham Cross for 11 we watched a bit of TV with Andrew, who is a bit of a character. He frequently disappears to his room at intervals and strange banging noises always coincide with his absences. Ally convinces herself it's a dart board, but I think it might be something else.

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Thursday February 3, 1983

 Lingered in bed until almost noon. The usual full-English followed. Ally looking angelic in her checked dress (bought in Salisbury), little green boots and plum coloured tights. We left at noon for Gloucester, on the M4, I think. Listening to a tape of the Rolling Stones en route. Over the Severn Bridge - magnificent views, and then to my horror, I realised we were in Wales, if only briefly. for the first time. Surprised to see that the people look quite civilised. One Welshman was actually walking a dog on a lead. I was led to believe that the Welsh ate dogs. We passed by one pub but obviously it was closed. To Coleford for 2 and found Mile End easily. Graham and Gill are living in a state of tremendous upheaval, the sitting room the only place fit for habitation. Matthew is growing, looking so very Dixon. Ally nursed the baby and gave him his bottle. Graham arrived home at 6 with a bottle of Emva Cream sherry. Dined on lasagne at 8. Sat with them until 12, and returned to Winchester for 1:30am.

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Wednesday February 2, 1983

 The alarm clock made mournful salutation to the hour of six o'clock. We lay amongst our bed clothes softly moaning and calling into question our sanity. Had our usual breakfast of eggs and bacon, and at 7 we were on the London road which was a stupid thing to do because we met thousands of commuters heading in a similar direction. We crawled into the bustling city by way of Chiswick bridge and on to Hyde Park Corner where we deposited Vanessa (the Triumph) in the underground car park at £4.50 a day. We walked down Oxford Street on a bright and sunny morn. We asked a 16 year-old police constable directions to WC2, and he stood for a full 5 minutes looking vague before eventally waving in the direction of Trafalgar Sq saying 'you want the city'. ______. 

We found St Catherine's House at 10:30. I can think of few things more exciting than rummaging in the files for long lost ancestors. My grandmother Ruth Ellen Upton was indexed as Ruth Allen Upton, born at Lewes, Sussex. The marriage of my great-grandparents John Wilson and Rella Fawbert in 1874 took place  between January and March. It must have been a shotgun wedding because their daughter Frances was born in the following August. I come from a long line of accidents. St Catherine's House was full of scurrying genealogists. We had a break and sat in the bar at the Waldorf Hotel eating beef and ham sandwiches and drinking gin and tonic. Peeping through the palms looking for famous people. Ally once saw Anouska Hempel near Harrods in 1973, and would like to imrpove on this. Refreshed we went on to Alexandra House to look at the deaths, but by 2 we were wilting. We took the tube to Knightsbridge and looked at Harrods, and had a fruit juice. The place seems to have lost its superiority. We walked back along Oxford St without spending a penny and at 5:30 went into a pub to rest our weary legs. The barmaid pulled a face of horror when I asked for a lager and blackcurrant for Ally. Why so bizarre? We sat for an hour to avoid the heavy traffic and set off home on moderately quiet roads. Found ourselvles in Fulham, and then circled back to Chiswick. We stopped to relieve ourselves at a motorway services.

Back for 8:30. Fish fingers.

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Tuesday February 1, 1983

 A restless night listening to the howling wind.

Up late and Andrew was still in his room. He says he isn't going into work because he has an upset stomach. However, he was busily eating a tub of ice cream at 11 last night.

We went to Salisbury arriving at about 12. Sadly, a disappointing place. We looked for a decent pub, and spent an hour marching around the streets peering in dull, empty, unfriendly hostelries. The King William IV had the atmosphere of a crematorium. Eventually we found a pub with a sizeable log fire, and we sat astride a bench warming ourselves. We spent two hours criticising the bar staff. The heavily pregnant landlady looked like a hitman for the Gestapo. 

Afterwards we looked at the shops. I bought a maroon coloured sweater for £6, reduced from £12. Sent ridiculous postcards to everyone including one to the YP featuring a badger. Ally gorgeous in her new green boots. We wandered around the cathedral inspecting the tombs covered in medieval graffiti. A couple of women at our heels insisted on hiccoughing and the noise echoed violently around the Gothic erection.

Back at 8 after looking at the antique shops at Stockbridge. Roast chicken for dinner. Fireside scenes.

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Monday January 31, 1983

 Driving, hideous rain. Ally woke me at 9:30. My snoring was driving her crazy. _____________.

I had a large breakfast. It must have cost the lives of eight pigs. Ally has, yes, boiled eggs. 

We went off at 11 to deliver Frank's briefcase to Barclays Bank in Southampton. We got horribly wet in the process and went on to Habitat. We found an ancient pub wherein the Earl of Cambridge and Lord Scrope of Masham were tried for plotting the death of Henry V in 1414, before Agincourt. The beer was awful. After two pints I was willing and ready to join Lord Scrope on the scaffold. We went, web-footed, to the shops and bought Ally some little green boots for £6 (they were £23 before the sale) and I found some jeans which Ally doesn't like because they're the baggy type which narrow at the ankles. 

At 2:30 back to Chillandham Cross. We contemplated tea and buns at Romsey, but were driven out because of the heavy rain.

Phoned Mum. She and Dad are at Horton-in-Ribblesdale with a Pickford's van. They have been busily cleaning Waltergarth. She says the Crowthers have left the place like a hovel.

Andrew came in covered in grease and oil and we had beefburgers on trays in front of the TV. We don't bother venturing out later. A gale was blowing outside dislodging the glass  in Frank's recently renovated greenhouse. Andrew and I watched a Burt Lancaster Western, and Ally went off to bed.

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Sunday January 30, 1983

 Septuagesima

Breakfast after 10. Ally cannot start the day without a boiled egg. Bessie chat chatting endlessly and I have decided she is nervous about flying to Madeira. It's a bright day but some snow fell. Biting cold. 

They went off to Heathrow  at about 1pm, and as soon as they were out of the house things started to go wrong. The lights in the kitchen and downstairs toilet tripped, and the TV insisted on switching itself on and off and jumping channels. Odd. Phoned Mum and Dad. Maria is down with the children and John took them to Ash Tree Cottage yesterday.

Dinner wasn't a success. The sauce was like glue. At 9 we went to the Bush at Ovington for a couple of hours. __________. Back at 10:30 for mounds of toasted currant teacakes and coffee. Bed at 11:30.

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