20200421

Wednesday March 12, 1980

_. A wet morning. To Leeds with Jim. He asked me to research information of the early life of William Hudson, Lord Mayor of Leeds 1977-8, whom he tells me in strictest confidence, has been nominated for an honour in the Queen's Birthday Honours list in June. He also says that the betting shop tycoon Jim Windsor, is also in the running for a gong from the fount of all honour. I have always assumed that one had to suck up to the prime minister when one fancied ones chances for an MBE, or life peerage, but evidently it's been James Rawnsley, Esq, all along.

I would never accept an MBE, or OBE for that matter. Such trinkets I associate with long serving executives at the local water authority, or school caretakers. And as for life peerages I'd no sooner join the likes of Lord George-Brown and Joe Kagan, than fly. Gone are the days when honours really were honours. It's the poor Queen I feel sorry for. How ghastly must it be for her, with those endless queues of social workers, and canteen supervisors, lining up for recognition?

I posted a letter to John and Maria telling them of my Easter plans. It was pouring with rain and so John MacMurray kindly offered to post it for me as he left the office.

Typed a letter to Ally tonight. She wanted information on the subject of George III's children.

At 9 I watched a new drama on BBC2 starring Kate Nelligan. Lots of bare buttock fondling.

Mum and Dad borrowed Pete's car and went to Morrison's.

-=-


Tuesday March 11, 1980

_. Jennie brought a magic set with her on the journey to Leeds this morning, and so we, her captured audience in the car, endured a Paul Daniels-like display. You know the sort I mean. Card tricks, and under which cup will you find the ball. Jim was so proud of her. The glow of pride on his face was so reminiscent of the shining adoration Winifred Wagner had for Adolf Hitler. Blinded by devotion. I do sincerely hope that when my time comes I will not be blinded by the faults and blemishes of my offspring.

YP uneventful. Lynne Bateson was very kind and tactful on the subject of Ally vomiting on her continental quilt last weekend. Lynne denies suffering any inconvenience because of it. I cannot help thinking that she is just being very kind. Anyway, I have invited her to Club St on April 5, and so she can seek vengeance there if she wishes.

A letter from Maria includes a couple of pages of scribble from JPH. The little lad is obsessed with lists, and I think he may have been severely influenced by the numerous shopping lists he's observed his mother writing. Dad collided with Molly somewhere in Guiseley today and she reminded him that Maria and the children and coming back to Yorkshire for Easter, without John. This means John will miss my 'silver jubilee' birthday party.

Good television this evening. A documentary on Graham Sutherland, the artist, whose painting of Winston so 'delighted' Winnie and Clem back in the 50s - not. The chap is obsessed by thorns and holes in drystonewalls. At 11:30 - an interview with Kingman Brewster, the US Ambassador to the Court of St James's. A excellent speaker. I decided that he should get on the next plane to Washington and put himself forward as a candidate in the coming presidential election. Surely, a better alternative to Ronald Reagan?

To bed at 12 o'clock.

-=-

Monday March 10, 1980

_. Up at 7. The central heating bangs and clatters these days and so I was brought to consciousness by a serenade of brass. Ally makes a perfect sleeping beauty. Coffee. To Leeds with Jim R and Jennie. Jim pays a small fortune to have his daughter privately educated, She is educated. One cannot deny that.

Uneventful day at the YP. President Tito 'Clings On'. The daughter born last week to the Duchess of Gloucester is to be called Lady Rose Victoria Birgitta Louise Windsor. The infant is twelfth in line of succession to the throne. The only other Rose in the Royal Family is of course Princess Margaret Rose, who was named after her aunt, Lady Rose Bowes Lyon, wife of Earl Granville.

Lounged in a hot bath to avoid a boring Panorama programme about civil defence.

-=-

20200419

Sunday March 9, 1980

_.3rd Sunday in Lent

Up at 9. The cupboard was bare and so Ally and I had pea and ham soup, followed by toast, for breakfast. Ally went off to the Belfry at 10:30 and I came home on a bus and to a second more traditional breakfast with Mama and Papa. I went out to do some work in the back garden. Mr Howard, the chap over the fence at the bottom of the garden, was busily erecting something resembling a nuclear fall-out shelter. He's obviously disturbed by the recent goings on in Afghanistan.

Ally came over at about 7:30 and we went to the Fox, then the Crown at Yeadon where we encountered Philip Knowles. Then to to the White Cross. In came Martyn, Pete M and Chris R. Had such a laugh with Dave Wainwright and Gus.

-=-

Saturday March 8, 1980

_. David B is 24 today. I pottered around in the garden for a couple of hours until Ally came at about 12. I was delighted to receive a cheque for £19.45 from the YP for my occasional tips and contributions. How wonderful. I think I have Bob Cockroft to thank for this.

Ally and I went to Burley at lunchtime where Dave gave up his birthday to work on her ailing car. I gave Lynn the £10 I owe her. I also gave her a Wedgwood plate found in a recent sale. They have bought a car from Dave's workmate Gerry. Others arrived. Richard and Mandy Baker and Chris B and Julie Harris.

Later Lynn and Dave went to the Hare & Hounds for dinner. Mum, Dad, Sue and Pete dined at Giovanni's. Ally and I went to the White Cross where we found Jim and Margaret, pissed, after a wedding. Martyn and Pete M came. I was told I look 'smooth' whatever that might mean.

Then, to Lidget Green.

-=-

Friday March 7, 1980

_. When my eyes opened I had that feeling that it was late. The noise outside was something of a give away. Ally was unconcerned. I shot downstairs clad only in my undies and shrieked with horror at the clock. It was 9:15. David was similarly distressed. He was supposed to be at a meeting in Manchester at 10. What should he tell his boss at Thompson & Spencer's? I came up with a plan. The house was raided by a gang of robbers last night. We were all bound hand and foot and unable to free ourselves. Dramatic, yes, but would it work? Dave wasn't convinced.

Ally and I fled from the house and I got a bus to Leeds. The bus took the scenic route and we saw the swans on the Wharfe at Pool. I was only half dressed and drained of colour. Walked into the office at 10:30. Like a zombie. I did manage to do some work.

At 1pm I went over to Len's Bar to meet Delia who I haven't seen since Christmas. We sat on a Chesterfield sofa, but I thought I might be sick all over her. Delia was on top form, dressed in her very best 'WI look' and with a new sweeping hair do which does her no justice. She snorted with laughter at a man in the bar with an artificial leg, which was very cruel of her don't you think? Sarah was in a vile mood and disappeared to Marks and Spencer's. Delia kissed me when she left, but said that perhaps we ought not to have met. I must have looked dreadful. Back at the YP I found a spot behind a filing cabinet [the African countries M-Z] knowing I'd be left to sleep for an hour.

Home at 5. Bed at 11 like a cabbage.

-=-

Thursday March 6, 1980

_. Sweet Lynn is 22 today. I phoned her at her office and I felt the glow coming down the wires.

Tito: sinking fast
We do little else in the office but laugh about President Tito. We've studied the headlines carried in the YP since January relating to the sturdy, little Yugoslav leader. On January 4 he was in hospital having the blood vessels in his leg examined, on Jan 8 he saw his top aides and on Jan 14 he was 'better' after surgery for a blood clot, on Jan 15 'Fears growing after surgery', Jan 16 'Tito alarm puts nation on guard', Jan 18 he was 'Fighting for his life', Jan 19 'Tito fighting gangrene', Jan 21 'Tito loses leg', but looking up on Jan 22 'Tito better', Jan 23 'Tito for comeback', by Jan 25 it was 'Tito back to work', so much so that by Jan 28 we saw 'Tito checking defence moves'. Sadly, on Feb 11 'Tito develops kidney and digestion problems', then on February 12 'Tito's heart weakens', Feb 14 'Tito fading', 'Tito sinking', 'Tito in coma', but February 19 'Tito fighting on', Feb 21 'Battling Tito feels better', Feb 23 'Tito kept alive by kidney machine', Feb 27 'Tito weakening', Feb 28 'Tito still grave', Feb 29 'Tito sinking fast', March 1 'Tito failing', March 3 'Tito still weakening', March 4 'Tito still grave', March 5 'Tito still responding', March 6 'Tito stays stable'. Bloody Hell, at this rate I fully expect the old boy to represent Yugoslavia  in the boxing at the Moscow Olympics.

At lunchtime I went to buy Lynn and David's birthday presents. I purchased a Camel cigarette mirror for £6.50 and an old 'Victor Gas' geyser instructions sign that I know they will appreciate. They'll look very well on the bathroom wall.

Home at 5. Splashed around in a steaming bath. Ally arrived in her rusting sports car. To dinner at Lawn Rd with Mum, Dad, Sue, Pete, Jim, Margaret, and Julie N. Dave looked pale and was wearing his specs. I took up my usual position in the kitchen clutching a glass of Scotch. Lynn has an eccentric and peculiar taste in music and we had to endure Dame Gracie Fields warbling party songs. They all left in the early hours but Ally and I stayed until morning. We did giggle. The beds at Lawn Rd are always freezing.

-=-

Wednesday March 5, 1980

_. Phoned Ally this morning. She complains of a blister on her lip and thinks she now resembles something a combination of Oliver Cromwell and the Phantom of the Opera. I was in no position to tell her otherwise.

The mood at the YP not much better either. Sarah was down in the dumps following her monthly 'full moon' argument with Mr Burke, and doubly morose because of the silence and halting of communications from the mega-star rugby player John Holmes.

We are lunching with Auntie Delia at Len's on Friday. I look upon Delia Collis as something of a legend. I'm sure she would love me to play Roddy Llewellyn to her Princess Margaret.

At lunchtime I bought Lynn a birthday card. A 12p stamp saw it on its way to Burley-in-W. The poor thing is 22. Lynn, I think, was born at 2:30am, and according to Mama it snowed heavily on that wintry night in 1958. One of my first memories is of that morning, with John, peeping into the cradle next to Mum's bed, at the baby clad in pink.

Watched Michael Parkinson. He interviewed Wayne Sleep.

-=-

Tuesday March 4, 1980

Mugabe: slithered into power.
_. A most dreadful man by the name of Mugabe has slithered into power in the Rhodesian general election. He is of course a Marxist and now it is only a matter of time until the next blood bath occurs. The Ruskies are behind it, if you ask me. However, Robert Gabriel Mugabe is a saint when one compares him to the man I've just had to endure on a late night BBC TV interview - yes, Denis Healey of course. The former Labour chancellor and Keighley Girls' Grammar School pupil. The misguided fool believes he will live long enough to see another Labour government in office. Quite preposterous. Mr Healey is 63, and the Tories will be in power for years to come. Denis will be even more of an imbecile than he is now by the time Mrs Thatcher is turned out of office. Denis Winston will not hold office again.

Did a little more painting. Sue and Pete have seen a solicitor about 23, West End Terrace. It is almost signed and sealed.

-=-

Monday March 3, 1980

_. I moved back into my newly decorated bedroom. I must say the whole thing looks wonderful. Like bathing inside a chocolate Easter egg, with a sheen resembling the glow of Muhammad Ali's backside. Yes, a peculiar description but I can think of nothing better. Blimey, I'm no W.H. Auden, speaking of which, didn't he have a craggy face like Gordale Scar? Or was that E.M. Forster? I'm not too clever when it comes to poets. Rupert Brooke, I know a bit about him, but if you ask me poets are just novelists who decide to take the easy way out. This modern stuff is the biggest con inflicted on the literary world. The literature, art, architecture - you name it - of today is all diabolical. In one hundred years time what, other than this journal, will be looked upon as a worthwhile contribution to the artistic life of the late 20th century? What will the Japanese be flocking to our shores to photograph in say 2080? Obviously, the grandson of the current Prince of Wales will be drawing the crowds on Horse Guards Parade, in the way that Elizabeth II does today, but what else? I am not academic at the Henley Centre for Forecasting, but I'd say the prospects are gloomy. Am I going to end my life in a trench, like so many millions did in 1914-18?

-=-


Sunday March 2, 1980

_. 2nd Sunday in Lent

Ally left at 9 in a sickly stupor to Bradford and I continued painting.

Ally came here at 7:30 breaking the law driving the disintegrating spitfire. We went off to Skipton and beyond, but on reaching Kettlewell the petrol gauge stood at nil. I was far from pleased, with the prospect of night drawing in and the knowledge that the locals in this remote backwater are not known for their friendly hospitality. Ally sat giggling, shrugging her shoulders in that annoying way, and we went in search of a petrol station. At 7 we were sitting in front of the Devonshire Arms at Cracoe waiting for the doors to open. We were first in and soon joined by Sue and Pete. We ordered basket meals, scampi, haddock, fried chicken, &c. Then on to a pub in Skipton.

The Observer was lying open on the dining table. Nib: The Duchess of Gloucester gave birth to a daughter yesterday.

-=-

Saturday May 19, 1984

A warm, gentle day. Ally and I took off to town with Samuel at 1pm. We didn't take the pram and I carried baby for two hours, by the end...