Thursday April 14, 1983

 We didn't want to get out of bed but finally did at 7:20. I have a retirement card on the doormat from Stephanie Ferguson which is thoughtful of her. When she leaves in June she is to have a marquee on her lawn at Leathley. She missed the party on Saturday because she went to the Grand National and was late back. I performed my morning ritual of hunting the elusive Daily Telegraph. I said goodbye to Ally who was standing at her bus stop with the bespectacled gent who plasters broken bones at the BRI. I arrived home to hear banging and much activity next door and went out to find Sammy (Greenwood) and the man from the corner shop battering at the Mrs Greenwood's door. I supplied a hammer and a policeman joined us. Mrs Greenwood was in a heap behind the door and the heat in her house was unbearable. The poor old girl had been there since 4:30pm yesterday when she went to the door to collect her evening newspaper and had been laid out waiting for help for 17 hours. Her kettle had boiled dry and her gas fire was throwing out tremendous heat. She was lucky not have burned the house down. It's dreadful to think she was spending the night in such a state just behind the wall from us. Poor old girl. She really is too old to live alone. Sammy, clutching his chest after they took her away in an ambulance. It hasn't helped his angina. The street buzzed with excitement. Old ladies love an ambulance, don't they? I sat and wrote two letters. One to Whitbread's and ther other to John & Sheila just to tell them of our changed circumstances. I baked a Victoria sandwich cake and put butter icing through the middle and icing on top. I am never out of the kitchen. Ally phoned and asked me to make a lasagne, which I did without question. She came in at 5 and we ate heartily. Afterwards, I spied a fat, red faced man marching into Club St followed by a pack of ladies. He was wearing a prominent red rosette and we immediately presumed that he is the ghastly municipal Labour candidate. He was knocking on every door bold as brass. Without further ado we ran upstairs and lay giggling on the bed until they went away. But first he stuffed some Labour propaganda through the door. Reading it I see that the Labour party is planning to create Heaven on earth. Club Street must be red, we decided, because Fat Man was received like Alexander the Great by all the old ladies, who littered his path with garlands and showered him and his entourage with all manner of affections. To bed early, well 9:30. Ally is done in.

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Wednesday April 13, 1983

 New Moon

Up with Pig. TV and toast. They didn't show anything of the royal visit to Australia, which was why we switched on. I accompanied Ally to the bus stop and kissed her goodbye. She dislikes public acts of affection. I bought a Daily Telegraph and sent a couple of forthcoming marriage tips to Bob Cockcroft. Edward Lambton, heir to the disclaimed Earl of Durham, is engaged to Christabel McEwen, and Elizabeth Howard-Vyse, daughter of a general from Malton, is engaged to a clergyman. I phoned the YP and got through to Bob at 3 o'clock. He'd already seen them, but put me down for the Lambton one.

I baked a loaf of bread and then marched off out at 11:30 to join Ally. We went along to the building society on Duckworth Lane and invested £4,800 in an interest account which will grow by £30 a month. We fought off the desire to go sit in a pub and went to the Co-op. Kissing in the street again, and I departed at 1, and I watched her toddling off into the hospital grounds.

At home I prepared dinner. Cottage pie with peppers, onions, &c. Doing more work at home than I ever did at the YP. Susie phoned and we discussed Christopher's private parts. She was cheerful. They are buying a house, definitely, at Moorland Crescent, Menston. It overlooks High Royds Hospital, so it will be easy for her just to walk across and admit herself once she finally cracks up. I told her I was about to do some ironing and she asked: 'what exactly does that do?' She says she always wear crinkly, creased underwear. Ally came home early and caught me with the vacuum cleaner. We'd eaten and cleared everything away for 6pm. 

Dave G phoned, I may go over for the day on April 22. We watched 'Dallas' and went to bed after the news. I am fed up with talk about the next (general) election. I hope it will be in May 1984. You can go to the country too early. Look at Ted Heath in '74? I am reading 'The Three Musketeers'. At previous attempts I have never succeeded in passing the first chapter.

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Tuesday April 12, 1983

 Up at 7 o'clock. A cold, but sunny day. Ally walked to Chestnut House at 8, and I have a terrible feeling when she has gone. ________. Out to see my jovial newsagent again and bought a Daily Telegraph. No scandal. Viscountess Bridgeman has had a son. She's a Turton from Whitby (landed gentry). 

Went out at 11 to town an appointment with the bronchil lady, who wants my P60 and national insurance number. I have to go back on Monday at 9:45 and report to bay 'C'. I wandered off whistling, and to HMV to look at the Spandau Ballet LP. I then went along to Kitchen Studios and saw a north country dwarf who told me that the new enamel sink is now on order and that he will phone me when it arrives. I then went into the marker and bought a half pound of Irish cheese for 50p. I'm sure you like to know that. 

Reading the blurb given to me by the bronchil lady it's very obvious that I am not entitled to any hand-out whilst I have £4,788 in the bank. Ally phoned at 2 and we discussed this. Would it be fraudulent of me to hide my redundancy money under an assumed name? I like the sound of Arthur Skeffington-Phipps. Mum is of the opinion that they will not investigate my severance money because I am trying to claim unemployment benefit, not supplementary benefit.

Sarah phoned and asked if I had received my cheque. She says she and Margo are miserable and that they keep looking over at my empty chair and sighing. Kathleen, they say, is being revoltingly cheerful in order to brighten the mood, but that it isn't working.

Phoned Horton. Joe and Anne Grunwell were there for the weekend, as were Lynn, Dave, Frances and Katie. They all had a riotous time. Mum says Sue had just phoned to report that Christopher has a hernia and is going in to hospital to have an operation later this week. For six months they have worried about his testicles, and when Jim inspected them at the weekend he insisted that something is seriously wrong. I am quite ignorant. What is a hernia, and how does one get one? Mum says the lad must have been born with it.

I created a fish pie and before you could say Norman Tebbit Ally was home. We sat reading and went up to bed disgustingly early. She was in a bit of a temper because she'd spoken to Frank who had annoyed her. He cannot understand what we want to do and seems to think we haven't seriously thought about the future. I think he sees her as a secretary behind a desk and doesn't understand she is bored of office life.

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Monday April 11, 1983

 My first day as an unemployed layabout. In actual fact it was a day of great industry and activity. I wasn't bored for a second. Mind you, I am not the sort of person who could ever be bored. Some of my kinsmen might feel desolate and miserable when they are sitting at home, but not me. I was up at 6:54, and whilst Ally bathed I boiled the eggs and switched on the TV to avoid Steve Wright on Radio One. Selina Scott was presenting, but I switched off after three minutes. Ally went off to work at 8 and I went out and bought a Daily Telegraph to look at the BMDs. Not much really, other than the dishy Rachel Ward, actress niece of the Earl of Dudley, has married.

At 9:20 I phoned the YP and spoke to Paul Roberts in accounts. He told me that the mix up regarding my redundancy cheque is now sorted and so I told him I'd go in and collect it. I got the 72 bus at 11.I picked up a cheque for £4,788 from the pimply 17 year-old Mr Roberts, and returned immediately to Bradford. I made my way to the Employment exchange on Clifford Street where a cattle markert atmosphere prevailed. It could have been an acutely depressing experience for the sort of person easily depressed. Fortunately, I didn't let the place bother me. Queues of dejected 16 year-olds with holes in their jeans and with little hope of finding employment. I am to return tomorrow. I was dealt with by a girl with a very heavy cold, like a character from a Giles cartoon. I walked to the market - wonderfully empty - where I bought meat and vegetables. I returned home at 2 and prepared the dinner. I enjoyed putting the kidneys to marinade and mixing in the Yorkshire puddings, and making a strawberry jelly. Before you could say Robert Carrier it was 5:15 and Ally was home from her labours. I made her a dry Martini and fed her a good dinner. She smiled and said not many men could turn out such a repast. Later Ally wrote to Bessie sending her the £11 we owe for Anne's wedding present. Anne was Frank's secretary years ago. We counted the coins in the large whisky bottle which added up to £60.16. To bed after 10.

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Sunday April 10, 1983

 Low Sunday

Woke up in a sleeping bag on the floor at 10. Went to vomit. Janette went off to sell caravans whilst John, looking remarkably robust, washed the glasses and calmly swigged on a glass of beer. Ally and I climbed into John's bed, but didn't sleep. We both felt ghastly. I had to make several journeys to the bathroom to  vomit with great retchings and much grovelling. I blame it all on the lack of food. I ate none of the quiche, pies and other party sundries. When I did force myself to climb out of bed John gave me toast and tea which revived me. The paracetamols were out. Ally joined me about an hour later and we gathered our things together and headed for home, with John at the wheel, via 'Mother Hubbard's' fish and chip place were we all had a greasy lunch washed down with gallons of tea and piles of bread and butter. It was a cold, thankless day. John left us at home at 4:30. We sat in a heap watching Mastermind from Winchester. Later we snuggled blissfully in bed. There's nothing like a fresh made, crisp bed. We recall arranging to visit MM and Marita next Saturday, but forget the details. Will have to phone. Tomorrow is the start of a new existence.

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Saturday April 9, 1983

 Up early, and while Ally was making breakfast I went out to queue at a bakery for French sticks. We spent the day cooking and turning out 5 quiches for tonight. At 1pm I walked down to Morrison's and spent £20 on wine and bread rolls, and struggled back with my load. The day was warm and I discarded my pullover. Ally put the finishing touches to the food and we had a beer. John came for us at 6 and we loaded up the car and went to Guiseley. _________. John and Janette gave me a (Rolling) Stones LP and a belated birthday card. Sue and Peter came in at 8 after Ally had spent another few hours in the kitchen making egg sandwiches and putting lumps of cheese on sticks, &c. We went over to the Station (Hotel) and Janette followed 10 minutes later. I had a feeling that everything was an anti-climax and I was feeling far from festive. Sarah, Trevor, Brian Kay, two reporters whose names escape me, Margo and and a friend were the only people from the office. The Pudsey mob came, and Jacq in one of her 'Bette Davis' moods. Oh, then Penny Wark and Jill Armstrong, then Peter Lazenby, who gave me a badge "Workers of the World Unite". Back to the flat at 11. MM, Marita (thinner) and Chris Ratcliffe were outside waiting. They had been to Denise's wedding reception at the Nunroyd. She is now Mrs Barker. (Denise had married Tony Barker). Dave L arrived at the pub looking weird with a George IV coiffeur. Memories back at the flat - blank. I enjoyed Peter Lazenby's rendering of 'In The English Royal Family' and 'Three Ha'pence a Foot'. Peter Mather came in and sat in a corner with a boring little woman and they didn't speak. Tim and Paul think I am insane taking redundancy. They say I will be bored by Wednesday. We shall see. To bed, or perhaps I should say, to the floor, at 3am. 

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Friday April 8, 1983

 I did my usual work and finished at 12, and went out to buy films for my new camera and go the building society, &c. I was late back at the office, not intentionally, which was odd because in 9 years I have rarely returned late from lunch. I walked quickly through a damp Park Square thinking of the many solitary lunches I have spent in its boundaries. Back at the YP Sarah was exclaiming and gasping.She had bumped into Marilyn Wheeler in town who told her that Carol J and 'President Carter' were married in Leeds on March 31, and are now living in Middlesbrough. We suspected as much. 

Work stopped at 2:30 when Kathleen returned and place the camera on my desk and a large card signed by everyone on the editorial floor. No fanfare and no Eamonn Andrews leaping out from behind a potted palm. All very low key. I know I said I didn't want a fuss but this is ridiculous. At 4 I took Geoff a paper cup full of wine and he was surprised that I haven't been presented with my gifts in the usual way. He came over to Kathleen who said: 'Oh, I didn't want a fuss'. To which he replied: 'But you aren't the one who is leaving.' Then, the real nail in the coffin came when I didn't collect my severance cheque. Kathleen phoned personnel to be told that the man who deals with the redundancy cheques is on holiday and 'can he come back on Monday for it?' With that I packed up my things and left. I kissed Kathleen goodbye as I departed. I may never go back. I want to see Geoff again and will find him at the Town Hall Tavern. I blame Kathleen for my shoddy treatment.

Home with my camera. All excited. We ate and retired early. The end of an era.

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