Sunday March 23, 1980

_. Passion Sunday

Out of bed at 10, not feeling too bad after our late session and kitchen disco. I recall Ally posing like Nina Carter, or someone equally appealing, upon the bonnet of the ailing spitfire, clutching a bottle of home-brewed nettle wine. Glynnie, wearing my 'donkey jacket' went into the village with a sweeping brush and proceeded to behave like an Irish labourer.

Breakfast was a repeat of yesterday's sausage and egg extravaganza. Lynn remarked on our energy and suggested we perhaps should think of consulting a psychiatrist. Afterwards we made the familiar bottle-strewn march to the same pub where we occupied the same seats. The landlord paled as we crashed through the doors.

The rain came down on the craggy hillside as we left the pub at 3. We all returned to the kitchen disco, then adjourned to a card table, but at some point Ally disappeared. Snow had started to fall and she had wandered out of the cottage and vanished. I was disturbed to say the least, and before you could say Chris Bonington we were all out in the fields. After what seemed like hours we found her looking like a Turkish mud wrestler, propped up on a dry stone wall. We got her back to the cottage where she sat by the fire.

The others drove to Cracoe, and we followed on later. We sat next to a blazing fire. _____.

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Saturday March 22, 1980

_. Up with the larks and out into Grassington purchasing sausages and rich tea biscuits. Glynnie and Ally performed in the kitchen like Fanny and Johnny Cradock. I made the lashings of hot tea.

Afterwards we walked into the hills and clowned around in the snow. Glynnie was knackered. We returned to the Black Horse. Sue was taken ill. She took on a ghastly colour and fled the pub abandoning her brandy and ham sandwiches. An elderly lady came into the bar and said to Glynnie: "Morning's gorgeous" but he thought she's said 'good morning, gorgeous', and he replied: "Morning, Sexy". How we howled. Glynnie is a natural comedian and really should be on the stage.

The atmosphere is the Grassington taverns was more tense than on previous occasions and we soon realised there wasn't much chance of us having a 'lock in' in any of them. I decided to convert the kitchen of the cottage into a discotheque, which commenced at 11 after having fish and chips in the village. Only Ally, Glynnie and I took part, the others were far from festive. We ended the night drinking lager from a large tea pot and dancing, scantily clad, in the garden.

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Friday March 21, 1980

_. Ally was up and out at 9 to go to Yeadon and have her hair permed, and returned at 11 just as we were getting up. Transformed, with flowing yellow curls. Mum made breakfast and we then packed the spitfire and and headed for Grassington. I first had to call at the bank and withdraw £10 from my account to keep Ally in the manner to which she might have become accustomed to had she met the right young man. The day was bright and clear and we sped towards the Dales in the disintegrating car, piled high with luggage, bottles and more bottles. Something fell off the bottom of the car as we hurtled past Bolton Abbey, but we battled on regardless. The cottage was a delight to behold, but why do owners of weekend, country cottages insist on decorating them in the most hideous hues? The place was awash with mauve and lime green. They must have laughed themselves silly while hanging the striped orange wallpaper in the sitting room. The first priority was to build large blazing fires in the sitting room and kitchen. Hill Top Cottage was almost reduced to a mound of smouldering ash when the kitchen range caused a 'pea souper' of a smog. At three, the three of us [Glynnie] retreated to the pub where we sat watching a black and white telly. At 8 we met Lynn, Dave, Sue and Pete at the Devonshire. To a damp bed at about 1. A wet, foggy night.

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Thursday March 20, 1980

_. Disappointing evening. Glynnie had arrived at 4 and was entertaining Mum and Dad when I came home from the office. At 7:30 we went to the Hare & Hounds for drinks before dinner at 8:30. Ally arrived at 7:30. Judith and Tim were nowhere to be seen and at the Hare we were immediately set upon by Robert Griffin, the assistant manager_____. We sat down to a dinner of hideous proportions. Abominable small steaks. They really ought to have provided magnifying glasses with our plates. We all laughed about it a good deal. We went into the pool room afterwards, and Mr Griffin bolted the doors and dimmed the lights as though we were heading for an after hours drink, but none came.

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Wednesday March 19, 1980

_. Pete came this evening to sample the latest home made lager in celebration of his birthday tomorrow. We watched a marvellous, grizzly murder on BBC2 - 'Therese Raquin', by someone called  Émile Zola, who I am sure will go far if he keeps up to this remarkable standard. The pils lager must have taken hold because afterwards Mum, Dad and I had a heated argument on the subject of death and funerals and the hypocrisy of it all. Émile  Zola was also partially to blame. Mother has had terrible experiences at family funerals and this has coloured her whole attitude. _______. Mum just wants to be kicked around, after death, until we have lost her, with none of the flowers she loved so much in life. I cannot understand this. Such a sombre topic of discussion.

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Tuesday March 18, 1980

_. Kathleen arrived at the YP this morning and calmly enquired as to whether I was sufficiently recovered, and made no snide remarks, voiced no suspicions as to the severity of my ailment, &c. I am well and truly 'off the hook'.

Blustery day today but no more snow. Ate sausages in the canteen with Sarah and Carol and escaped at 4:30 armed with a copy of the EP bearing an article on page 1 which owes its existence to me. Philip Naylor-Leyland, the Fitzwilliam heir, and eldest son of a baronet, today married Lady Isabella Lambton, daughter of the naughty Lord Lambton, who was central to the Norma Levy call-girl scandal in May, 1973. Geoff Hemingway has promised to pay me for this morsel of high society news.

Phoned Ally at the AHA. She was miserable and 'put out' by my enquiries, distracting her from the Catherine Cookson novel she's reading. I was thoroughly depressed by her sombre tones, and dismal outlook, and really wish I hadn't bothered. Such a melancholy baby. On the bright side I did receive a letter from her which was sweet. The pen does tend to make things sweeter, don't you think? On  Saturday Chippy advised me to move to Bradford and live with her. He is always very blunt, but objective. ___________.

Pete came up tonight to complete the quintet. How quiet will it be in July when Sue is gone?

A Charles Bronson film at 10:30. Bed at 12:35.

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Monday March 17, 1980

_. St Patrick's Day

Out of bed at 7:10am and to my horror the lane is shrouded in a blanket of snow. Ally woke up with a glowing nose, heavy eyes and a cold. I gave her a cup of tea and a couple of asprin, and she disappeared into the blizzard driving a car with next to no petrol in the tank. I went out with a spade and cleared the drive before moving on to Jim's to perform my good deed of the day for my chauffeur.

At the YP I expected a raging, screaming mob, but was thrown into confusion by the silence and complete lack of interest in my so-called sudden illness on Friday.  I phoned Ally at 12:30 and she says Derek Jenkins has been similarly quiet on the subject of her absence.

The Daily Mail this morning reported that the Queen is to pay a state visit to Liechtenstein in May primarily to organise a marriage between the Prince of Wales and Princess Nora of that pin-prick of a principality. This is outrageous. Princess Nora is 30 years old, far too old for our Wales, because his bride must necessarily have many years of child bearing years ahead of her, and of course Nora is a Roman Catholic. The Prince of W has said that if he marries a RC he is technically 'dead' and no way will he rock the apple-cart. Just imagine 'Queen Nora'. Mum would be ecstatic, I do suppose. They, Mum and Dad, returned from snow-bound Grassington at 9:30 looking bedraggled, but healthy.

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Sunday March 16, 1980

_. 4th Sunday in Lent - Mothering Sunday - Summer Time Begins

Up at 9:30 to make a leisurely breakfast only to discover that it is 10:30, and poor Ally is already late for her shift at the Belfry. She discarded the breakfast and left the house in a frenzy.

Sue and Pete spent the day 'courting' in the sitting room, and so I took the typewriter into the dining room and bashed out a feeble letter to Allykins, which took a chunk out of the afternoon.

My grandfather was given life 90 years ago today. Born at the height of the British Empire, he died long after it's demise and yet the span of Britain's change in fortunes affected his life in no way whatsoever. Born near to poverty, he laboured for over 50 years to make ends meet and died in 1961, leaving no money, property - but seven children and numerous grandchildren. He smoked a pipe, wore a flat cap, and always took to his bed at 9:30pm, you know. John Wilson 1890-1961 is probably condemned to obscurity, as if he never existed. Perhaps writing about him here helps to prevent this somewhat.

'Cromwell' on the telly - Richard Harris. Out with Ally to the White Cross.

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Saturday March 15, 1980

_. Don't worry. I didn't tell the staff at Bradford AHA that Ally has VD. Just to put your mind at rest.

Peter phoned me early on and said that he, Chippy and Dave W were going to Menston to inspect some morning suits for the July wedding, and did I want to join them? I readily agreed, but suggested that perhaps we should meet in the White Cross to discuss the cut and style of the proposed suits. I fried eggs and bacon before Pete and Chippy appeared at 12 o'clock. Ally phoned and I told her to come over and meet us at the White Cross, with Sue, at 1:30. The usual afternoon piss-up followed with only a fleeting visit to the tailor, who told us to return in May. Chippy Came back to lunch at ours [flat Yorkshire puddings] because Susan used the wrong flour. Afterwards we sat watching a film starring Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable. It was so old, Clark Gable was in short pants.

This evening to the Shoulder of Mutton where we sat next to the juke box shovelling in money. The youngsters had never heard of Sarah Vaughan and Billy Eckstein, two nineteenth century vocalists. A good laugh was had by all.  At 10 we moved on to the White Cross, full of yobs of varying degrees of nastiness. This Punk Rock craze seems so old fashioned already, but they cannot seem to see this. Gus told me a very funny joke about Jackie Onassis, but the details are vague. Afterwards, just Ally, Sue, Pete and I back to Pine Tops for a wild supper of baked beans [with garlic] and friend luncheon meat. To bed reeking like French peasants.

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Friday March 14, 1980

_.We were out of bed at 8 o'clock to launch our devious plot to cheat our employers out of our daily labours. I phoned Ally's office and she phoned mine. Both workhouses were very suspicious. I decided my ailment was Legionaries disease, and that Ally had an unfortunate STD.

Took cups of tea up to Mum and Dad, lounging in bed. My mother disapproves of my 'Dai Llewellyn-like' lifestyle, but couldn't help laughing at my cheek.

At 10:30, with the car roof peeled back, we took off in the direction of Ilkley, on to Kettlewell and to Starbotton. I felt under the weather, but Ally was bright and cheerful in a borrowed hat from mother. We sat by a log fire in the pub and Starbotton [the Fox & Hounds]. The place was far too quiet and we spoke in whispers. Lynn Lally [a girl who works with Sue] gave birth to a Mongol child about a month ago, and the poor thing died the other day. _____. At 2 we drove back to Skipton, market day, and sat in a pub where the proprietor strongly resembled a hedgehog and the atmosphere was eerie. It was as if everybody was watching us. Our guilty consciences perhaps? We soon escaped the beady-eyed hedgehog and came home.

Ally left at 4:30 to work at the Belfry. Mum and Dad went off to a cottage in Grassington with the car laden with booze.

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Thursday March 13, 1980

_. Feeling remarkably efficient I went out at lunchtime and bought Mama a Mother's Day gift from one of  our better china shops.

Ally came over tonight and we went down to the White Cross until 10:30. Back at Pine Tops Mum and Dad were entertaining Hilda and Tony, Margaret, Jim, Lynn and David. Lynn is such a talker at the table. Jim and Tony Gadsby like a comedy duo. The prominent Pudsey Liberal and I squabbled about employer-worker relations, much to the amusement of my aunt who called her husband an 'arse-licker'.

To bed at 3am. Ally and I decided to take tomorrow off. We intend venturing to the moors for an afternoon of romance. The days of the Triumph Spitfire might be drawing to a close.

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