Monday April 8, 1985

 Chillanadham Cross

Bank Holiday in the UK (except for Scotland)

Out we went with Samuel for a muddy walk down the lane. Ally squealed in horror at the sight of a flattened frog. She is so deliciously squeamish. Frank, a workaholic, went off to Southampton to sit in his empty office and so later we took Bessie to Alresford to look at swans and the Watercress Line, &c. Bright and warm. The second hand book shop was open and I managed to get lost amidst the Spy cartoon reproductions. Ally was livid. Samuel squealed at all the dogs and children. He really does need a friend. Such a cute, affectionate child. I do loathe Bank Holidays and the silly sheep-like mob. I do not like to be counted as one of them. This evening, to the Otter at Otterbourne, the Hut at Chandlers Ford - squalid. Then to Southampton. The Oriental is no longer a Berni Inn and so we slummed it in Portswood at the miserable Berni Inn there and we returned home at 10:30. Samuel was awake and weeping copiously for a worried Graham Dixon. Oh dear.

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Sunday April 7, 1985

 Easter Day

Chillandham Cross, Martyr Worthy

The baptism of Simon Thomas James Dixon.

That awful Bishop of Durham now says that Christ didn't rise from the dead at all. Isn't it just bloody marvellous? Christ wasn't the result of a virgin birth either. I suppose Pontius Pilate didn't wash his hands and that Judas Iscariot played for Plymouth Argyle.

Samuel at Bembridge vicarage.

We took the ferry to the Isle of Wight from Portsmouth. Sam in full Victorian naval outfit. Just us. with Frank, Bessie. Andrew and Lorraine followed the Mercedes in Bessie's car. He's looking for one of his own. The crossing took 25 minutes. I sat gulping down my anti-dog pills and a bearded gentleman sitting opposite was smiling to himself thinking I must be sea sick. The sea was like a mill pond. Graham met us with Michael Lynn. Drove to Bembridge. All Victoriana. Church impressive. Service short. I sat beneath a stone tablet to Admiral Sir Francis Tottenham, GCB. Back to a buffet at the vicarage for a couple of hours. Samuel was something of a show stealer. Simon is huge, reminiscent of a 1914 photo of Great-Aunt Elsie. Back at Chillandham Cross for 7. Out to the Bush at Ovington and the Horse & Groom at Alresford later - just the two of us. Phoned Dad.

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Saturday April 6, 1985

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Little Frances is 4. Fine day. Hideously hungover. I went and lay on Mum's bed. She was breathing very heavily as though she was fighting. She smiled and remarked that I was laid in a very similar position 30 years ago too. 

We packed and left at 10:30. Samuel, so very well behaved. A jolt saying goodbye to Mum. On the journey south I was sick on the hard shoulder of the M1. Last night's steak au poivre and broccoli. To Winchester without a break. A sunny arrival at about 3pm. Bessie was gardening. We had tea and cake. She doesn't go over the top or go bananas on seeing Samuel. She believes in re-introducing herself to her grandson very gradually. 

Tonight we had a turkey dinner. I phoned Dad. To bed very early.

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Friday April 5, 1985

 5 Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Good Friday. My 30th birthday. Who would have ever thought it would be such a day? We woke up on the floor at Club St. Sleeping bags, &c. I took my birthday cards upstairs and we sat opening them on Mum & Dad's bed. Samuel loves singing 'happy birthday'. He always thinks it's for him. Mum's card was very touching with such weak handwriting. These anniversaries are a strain for her. The next big one is June 19. God knows what will be happening by then. I walked out to the bakery and bought two dozen hot cross buns. A good breakfast. We walked out with Samuel investigating Lidget Green. I steered clear of our usual haunt - the old cemetery.

My birthday visitors.

TV this afternoon. Bliss. Just flopped down in armchairs. Mum struggled out of bed at 5. I took some photographs. The others came here at 8. John and Janette last at 8:30. To the 'Fire Brigade' pub - awful Tetley's. Then at 9:30 to Mamma Mia's Pizzeria on Manningham Lane. The eight of us crammed around two very tiny tables. An excellent intimate dinner. Lashings of vino. Lynn appalled at my Bacchanalian attitude. ____. The Italian waiter came out with a small, round chocolate cake. All back to Club Street. I was violently sick on the garden wall. Went up to see Mum who was asleep and drugged. Downstairs I broke down and wept.

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Thursday April 4, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Our holiday is here. Andrew Snowden came breezing in at 9, and got in the way a good deal. His mother came too, puffing on a Woodbine. She'll be wearing the trousers. Mick Thompson did the stocktake and gave us a £15 surplus. We escaped at 1 o'clock in a packed car. Samuel buried beneath piles of clothing. To Club St. We left Samuel with Dad and went to buy Easter eggs for Mum for her grandchildren. Dad enjoys playing with Samuel.

Rain later. We watched TV. The Queen distributing Maundy Money at Ripon today.

Sit on Mum's bed. We say very little to each other. We just look. I ger choked for something to say.

Tonight we just festered in front of the TV. We watched 'Minder' and scoffing on a box of chocolates. Robin Day is ill and so another chap did 'Question Time'. Sad. We made a bed up and slept on the floor.

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Wednesday April 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

To Club St this afternoon with Samuel's high chair. He had his tea there. Mum came down to see us and was propped up with pillows by the piano. Gone is that friendly amusing chatter. That lovable wit. She just sat and watched us. Sam kept making wild dashes to the kitchen and the cellar steps. He is happier in our enormous flat. 

Our last night (holiday looming). Marjorie. Quiet.

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Tuesday April 2, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

I am such a dreary old pillock. I do not ask for sympathy, but you really cannot expect me to pen flowing prose. Here I am only days away from the commencement of my fortieth decade and life seems so pointless and futile. If I was in Mum's shoes I'd be so bitter and resentful. How can we all come smiling out of all this. God knows. That's if God really cares. Sometimes I do wonder.

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