Monday January 21, 1980

_. Snow. Susan woke me at 7:30 with the chilling news that she had opened the door to take in the milk but couldn't close it because of the snowdrift. I leapt from the sanctuary of my sheets to offer snow-shifting services. Out on the lane at 8 with Jim R, minus Jennie, for the snail-like pace on the road to Leeds. By 10am we were still in Rawdon, and I didn't get the office until lunchtime.

Jim, who is chief executive of Leeds City Council of course, told me that Leeds has a secret nuclear fall-out shelter beneath Lawnswood Crematorium, and that he is the key holder. Who lives and who dies in the metropolis is down to Jim Rawnsley. Muriel has a duplicate key and he assured me that I will be invited to join his family deep beneath the scorched, desolate earth that was Leeds. I am resassured by this and no longer quite so afraid of Mr Brezhnev and his cronies.

Sarah had a revelation to make. She met John Holmes, the Leeds and England rugby league player at the Nouveau night club on Saturday evening and they are meeting again tomorrow. Is this the end of Mr Richard Burke? Is this the first step on the ladder to fame and fortune for Miss Collis?

Home at 6 on the train with all the cream of Ilkley society. I buried myself behind 'The Times'.

Sue and Peter are visiting Mr Booker, a solicitor neighbour of Peter's. So things are looking up.

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Sunday January 20, 1980

_.2nd Sunday after Epiphany

Ally was up and off to Bradford at 9:30. I got up to a grilled breakfast and the Sunday Observer.

John Rhodes

John, Dad's brother, phoned to say he's home from Lanzarote for a few weeks. I spoke to him and he told me of his stomach ulcer and the hideous Christmas in the Canaries. He issued a royal command calling Mum & Dad to Halifax on Tuesday for dinner with Arnold and Janet.

Mum, Dad and I decided to go out for the afternoon. This proved far more complex and serious than you could possibly imagine. Dad never makes a decision, particularly on Sundays, and the one sided discussion went on far into the afternoon. We went first to Lidget Green and gathered up Ally and then on to St James's Crescent to see Hilda and Tony. We laughed at Tony's long, trailing pullover. Tony got out the old Wilson family Bible and I found a childhood picture of myself sandwiched in the middle of the ancient pages, placed there by my grandmother who died in 1957.

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Saturday January 19, 1980

Tito: last legs.

_. It seems that President Tito of Yugoslavia is on his last legs. Are the Russians waiting to walk in just like they did in Abyssinia last month? Or was it Afghanistan? Putting all this Ruritarian speculation behind us let us get on with the day to day deliberations: I didn't climb out of bed until 12.

Spent the afternoon writing a lengthy epistle to Ally. This correspondence course is becoming quite serious. I am sure that the old yellowed letters will be of valuable historic importance in later years. Mum, Dad, Sue and Pete went to the White Cross while I sat scribing in the rapidly failing light.

Phoned Ally. She came over at 7. We went straight to Giovanni's, the new Italian restaurant in Guiseley. Excellent dinner with wine and the bill came to £8. On to the Woolpack, the Fox and finally the Drop.

Home at 11.

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Friday January 18, 1980

_. A night at home whilst Ally flogs herself away at the Belfry. I was not alone in vigil by the TV for Sue and Pete were also in confinement. They are a sad and frustrated pair this week because of mortgage problems. They've been looking at a property up near Westfield Fisheries, which doesn't sound particularly enchanting, a town house [£16,500 including carpets]. The building societies with whom they have been dealing laugh them out of the office.

Watched a film starring Connie Francis. Bed after 1am.

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Thursday January 17, 1980

_. To Lidget Green at 5pm to dine with Ally on beef curry. At 7:30 we went off in her ailing car into Bradford where we queued in a massive mob to see Monty Python's vastly over-rated epic, 'The Life of Brian'. Ally loved it, expecting to be disappointed. What annoys me is the fact that the film is banned in many places throughout the country. People like Mervyn Stockwood, Bishop of Southwark, in giving the film so much publicity, have encouraged millions of people to flock to the movie, where under normal circumstances they would have been unaware of the film's existence. How much has John Cleese paid the Church of England to groan and grumble and write letters of complaint to the press?

Home to Guiseley by bus at 11 leaving Ally in Bradford.

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Wednesday January 16, 1980

_. Janet Simon's 21st birthday at Jolly's in Shipley. Lynn, Dave, Ally and I had a few drinks at Esholt first - the pub now lacking in atmosphere since Annie and Ron left. At 9:30 we went on to the large and gloomy disco, which was acutely cold. Susie was blue. I drank whisky, Ally had Campari. David clad in his best three-piece suit. He's a smart lad with far to go.

Home at 1:30am. Ally and I sat discussing in subdued whispers until after 2. Mum was prowling around. Her bad back keeps her awake.

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Tuesday January 15, 1980

_. To Leeds with Jim, Jennie and Donald Best, JP. A brilliant quartet of wit and intellect motoring across West Yorkshire. Like a mobile university.

I spoke only briefly to Ally today. Her boss Derek Jenkins was hovering nearby. She sounded glum about something but couldn't say.

Princess Michael of Kent

Today is the thirty fifth birthday of that paragon of beauty Princess Michael of Kent. The very mention of her name throws me into paroxysms of passion. This exquisite creature is undoubtedly a rising star of the 80s. Popular already, she will go from strength to strength and certainly eclipse the plain, fading Princess Anne, and the meek Duchess of Gloucester. The Queen must be so pleased with her new cousin.

I have just been watching Robin Day debating on the BBC. The general opinion was that it would probably be best to pretend the Russians haven't actually invaded Afghanistan. General Sir John Hackett, is of the opinion that the Ruskies have bitten off more than they can chew. Tony Wedgwood Benn also put his spoke in attempting to justify the Labour party's slide into red chaos.

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Monday January 14, 1980

_. A wet, grizzly day. Phoned Ally at 8am primarily to ensure she was out of bed but I suspect I just wanted to hear her voice. I didn't say much because I could see Jim R making moves two doors away and I wanted a lift to Leeds. Graham and Charlotte took Ally to the opera, and yes, Elizabeth Harwood's voice is knackered. I did warn her.  She, with the Smiths, lunched at Lynn's yesterday but didn't stay late, having little petrol in the car.

Jimmy Carter

At the office Sarah was very quiet about my 'illness' on Friday. Spent an hour on a query for Chris Oakley, on the US presidential elections which are upon us again this year. My opinion has changed over the past few weeks. Kennedy is doomed. Yes, a definite non runner. Carter I think now stands a very good chance. I know this is a reversal of what I've said in the past but all this bother with Iran and now the Afghanistan situation has been a boost to Carter. The man has done nothing to secure the release of the hostages, but you know how people always rally in a crisis.

Home at 6. Soup and salad. Quarrel with Mother. Watched TV. 'Blake's 7', and a Tuesday Weld film about a child killer.

The house plants are all dying because of the intolerable heat in the house. It's like an inferno.

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Sunday January 13, 1980

_. 1st Sunday after Epiphany

Up at almost noon to find myself in a sleeping bag with my head up Dave G's chimney piece. Dave was laughing. Evidently I was talking about cheese in my sleep. Blimey, I've heard about cheese making one dream, but dreaming about cheese is another more disturbing matter. Let's hope the subject of my ramblings was a sexy bit of Red Leicester.

The Hollywood

Financially embarrassed. In fact I'm down to my last quid. Out for a walk in the sunshine digesting Grandad Glynn's fried breakfast. On to the Armoury where we met Bill and Garry. Bill always laughs at my shirts [I do wear tiny collars these days] and he promised to dig out some of his old 'boot-lace' ties. Bill was a 'Teddy Boy' 20 years ago. I suppose it amuses him to see the old fashions creeping back in. Can you believe he is 40 next week?

Back to the Hollywood for the last few until closing at 2pm. Slept in an armchair upstairs. Dave watching football on the telly. I have a great warmth for Jim and Lily Glynn, who always welcome me like one of the family.

To Manchester with Dave and Garry at 7:30 and I got the 8:45 coach back over the Pennines. Guiseley for 10:30. Frost.

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Saturday January 12, 1980

_. Up at 9:30. Poor Tony Blackburn is on the radio. He's in decline at the moment.

Out at 10 to Leeds where I got the 11:30 coach to Manchester. A boring journey with only two fellow passengers. I sat on the back seat buried beneath my copy of 'The Times'. Fred Emery, in the paper, explained that Mrs Thatcher's TV image is fading. His excuse for coming out with this silly remark is because none of us can recall what she told us in a ministerial broadcast last Tuesday. I've forgotten the opening lines of 'A Tale of Two Cities' but certainly don't think the image of Charles Dickens is fading. When has the contents of a party political broadcast ever embedded itself into the hearts and minds of a listener? I have always taken it for granted that people switch off mentally at the sight of a crocodile-like party worker holding up a tin of Heinz beans whilst expounding the virtues of the governments prices and incomes policy.

To the Hollywood Hotel for 1:30. Spend the afternoon in the pool room. Not playing pool - good heavens no - just drinking in the pool room. Oblivion between 3 and 5. Tonight to the Georgian restaurant - that is Garry, Steve, Dave and I. Sadly, my steak was burnt to a crisp, but the others enjoyed it. Afterwards just Dave and I went to Rumours, the discotheque. Drank so much whisky throughout the evening that I had to have an alcohol free interval. People in clubs are looking so much younger these days. I could become quite worried if I thought about it.

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Friday January 11, 1980

_. I wasn't feeling well yesterday, but today I felt much worse. It was enough to give me the incentive to phone in sick to the office at 8:30. In good old YP library tradition they didn't believe my story. The girls in that office would have, in a previous life, made good henchmen for Thomas Cromwell.

Delia....

I spoke to Sarah who laughed about the Lit lunch. Delia, she says, told Harold Wilson that he is 'miserable', and asked him: 'Don't you ever smile?'

I cleared up some of the mess from last night and then took to my bed. Within ten minutes Delia was on the phone. It was obviously a put up job by Sarah to check that I was at home. I think Cromwell's henchmen decided collectively that I was in fact lodging at Ally's. I had Delia's version of her put down of the former prime minister. I climbed back into bed chortling to myself about the cunning of my work colleagues.

Slept until 2pm after which I felt restored to full health. Ally phoned.

Sue and Pete went to Lynn & Dave's. I watched the telly with Mum and Dad.

Here's something amazing. Nicholas Knatchbull, the grandson of Earl Mountbatten of Burma, who died with him, has left an estate of £770,000. He was fourteen and the youngest of six children. The enormity of this sum is a clue to the vast fortune of Lord Louis. His will, like all royal wills, is private. The money of course comes from the late Edwina Mountbatten, who inherited millions from her grandfather, Sir Ernest Cassel, and obviously it will have grown down the years.

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