Friday June 6, 1980

_.To Windsor this morning. Dear Windsor has such memories for me of Uncle John and Sheila, brother John, Denise and the Bier Keller, &c. Swamped in nostalgia.  We inspected the castle and St George's Chapel. The state apartments were closed owing to the imminent arrival of Her Majesty for Royal Ascot week. An amusing incident in St George's Chapel. A group of Americans gathered around the effigies on the tomb of King George V and Queen Mary were wondering why the 20th century monarch was lying so close in proximity to Mary, Queen of Scots! I could not contain myself. I could not stand by and allow the debate to continue and so I explained to the party that THIS Queen Mary was the wife of King George V, and that they were the grandparents of the Queen. 'Oh, I thought they were just shacking up together', exclaimed a southern belle.

We saw a plaque on Lord Mountbatten's Garter stall, dedicated last December. His banner was, of course, removed on the day of his assassination.

To the Star and Garter for lunch. Ate a T-bone steak. We sat beaming at each other. A lovely day. The whole week has been a great success.

To Chandler's Ford to see Frank at 7:30, and then to the Otter, and the Plough, which was deserted. Joined by Graham and Gill, drinking Carlsberg Special. Neil, the barman, is a one man riot. We all became exceedingly intoxicated. Back to Chillandham Cross to smoke, drink vodka, and play pontoon. Ally disappeared to bed leaving Graham, Gill, Andrew, Neil and I gambling at 2p per stake. At some late hour, close to dawn, Graham suggested we go for a dip in the river Itchen and without further ado we stripped and walked across a couple of fields to an easily accessible spot on the river bank. A mist hung over the river like a shroud. I was first in, almost swimming over a weir. After a lengthy splash around I crawled onto a bank, shaking with cold, and cramp. The Carlsberg Specials had frozen solid in my stomach. We made our way back to Chillandham Cross.

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Thursday June 5, 1980

_. Hoy again. Ally and I went to Brighton in the afternoon. My first visit to this peculiar resort. We inspected the Royal Pavilion - a remarkable building. We sat on the pebbles eating cheese burgers and chips, ice cream, and cockles and mussels. Nude bathers are allowed on the beach but we saw nothing naughty. It must be quite a painful experience rolling around stark bollock naked in the shingle beneath the pier.

Home at 7 with the intention of visiting Frank, but Bessie says he's far too miserable and has requested that we stay away. I took a leisurely bath.

Out to a few pubs in Winchester and then on to the Berni Inn where Ally and John Pinder's ill-fated loved flourished. As we were leaving the restaurant we bumped into Stan the milkman and his nauseating wife. They were friends when she was with John. We were carried off to a tiny house for coffee. It was obvious that we were taken back to be questioned for information to pass on to Pinder, with whom they are still friends. Pinder is living with Mrs S, and Mr S has taken off with the tart from the newsagent's shop. All very sordid. Home after one.

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Wednesday June 4, 1980

_. Extremely hot. Frank Dixon's operation was a success but only one [kidney] stone was removed. It's Bessie Dixon's 58th birthday. We sat in the garden drinking lager. Ally stormed around like an enraged puma, into the house to avoid the heat, and then out again. I sat in a deckchair beneath a tree observing the dramatic scene with amusement. Bessie told me, in strictest confidence that 'Alison is so like Frank's mother'. She said it with a face full of fear.

Swilling lager reading a women's magazine and an article on the 'idyllic' marriage of the hideous Dai Llewellyn and Vanessa Hubbard.

After a ham salad we went to Winchester. Ally spent her birthday money on oddments for Ash Tree Cottage [alias, 5, Club St]. The shops were the last place I wanted to be. We are so much happier when we have money.

Tonight we went to meet Graham and Gill at the Otter at Otterbourne. Back at 10:30 to the Plough at Itchen Abbas. Midge told Ally that her perm makes her face look 'softer'. I could tell from the moment we walked in that she was thinking of something suitably bitchy to say.

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Tuesday June 3, 1980

_. Hot day. Ally collected me at 5 in a heavily laden car and we headed down the M1 to Northamptonshire. By 7:30 we were in Towcester and in a pub called the Something Old Oak [Brave Old Oak?]. The service was appalling. The bar staff consisted of one long haired paraplegic with a club foot, and he couldn't add up. Our scampi and chips were late and disappointing.

We arrived at Martyr Worthy at about midnight. Frank Dixon is hospitalised some miles away at Chandler's Ford, awaiting for an op for the removal of a kidney stone. We sat with chocolate cake and coffee. I was put in a bedroom with Andrew and we lay awake talking about his activities. Ally, in the next room, could hear us and expressed amazement at the way I can converse with her 'impossible' brother.

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Monday June 2, 1980

_. Out with Ally to [1] the Cow & Calf, [2] the New Inn, and [3] the Drop. Home at 10, I packed up some belongings and piled them into the Spitfire in readiness for our departure for Martyr Worthy tomorrow.

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Sunday June 1, 1980

_. Trinity Sunday

Dave G is worried about the Ibiza holiday and the fact that women are in the party. I have the impression that he thinks this will spoil things. He only ever sees Ally when she is crazy and giving one of her fine 'Mrs Rochester' performances.

At 9:30am Dave G and I took off for Leeds to join the party from the EP making their annual 'father's day' excursion to Blackpool. This party also includes females for the first time, and notable in this field are Sarah, Lynne Bateson, Penny Wark, and Nicola Gould. It was a hot day at the seaside. We lost Sarah and Lynne on our way to the fairground, and Dave and I were with Ken Yeadon and Dave Pitts for the day. I took a dip in the sea, and gashed my leg on a rock, and told everyone I'd been the victim of a shark attack. The bus took us on to Skipton, as tradition dictates, to the Albion at 7:30 and we supped until 10:30 there. Sat with Penny and Paul. We had fun time with a pair of magnetic frogs. We sang ourselves hoarse coming home.

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Saturday May 31, 1980

_. Very wet day. Went with Dave G, Sue and Pete to daub paint on the master bedroom at 23, West End Terrace. We were joined by Chippy and Dave W, and very soon after we escaped to the White Cross for a 'lunch break'. Ally, Sue, Lynn and Dave B didn't appreciate this dereliction of duty. In fact Ally arrived just as we were exiting the house and I greeted her with a 'we're off to the pub'. Back at the house we painted until 6.

Out later to the White Cross and New Inn with Ally, Dave G, Sue, Pete, Dave W and Chippy. Back to Pine Tops at 11:30.

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Friday May 30, 1980

_. A healthy day considering we had the usual disgusting Thursday night. Hot day. Met Dave G from his train at 5:10pm and we walked across town to the Eagle on North St to be the first on the scene for Paul Vallely's farewell party. We crossed the threshold at 5:30 and remained until almost eleven in an assorted company ranging from the sweet Penny Wark to the mercenary, and tarty _______, fresh from a the Halifax Gossip or whatever, and a sordid affair with the exiled Lord Kagan. Spent some time chatting about the village of Dent with Geoff Winter, who was in the company of his common-law niece, Sue Tirpitz. Such a pleasant, drunken night. Onward to Paul's house at 11 with Dave, Penny and her boyfriend Paul, from Southampton. It was good to see Steve Sharp again. We stayed until one and we got a lift to Guiseley with the kindly John MacMurray [the best man Sarah Collis found and gave up]. He gave me a copy of Nasty Media's 'Spiked Copy'.

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Thursday May 29, 1980

_. Oak Apple Day

Sitting at my desk this morning my thoughts turned to Charles the Second on this, his 350th birthday. Sad that I found no sprig of oak to adorn my person on this occasion. He [Charles] hid in the boughs of an oak on this day in 1651 following his defeat at the Battle of Worcester. Until the mid Victorian period 'Oak Apple Day' was a day of celebration, but it's now largely forgotten.

To Ally's for steak this evening. She met me at 4:30 in Leeds [she'd been in town buying a birthday present for Catherine]. We went on to Rue Club via Pine Tops allowing me to gather a few personal effects to carry on to Bradford. After dinner we went to Oakwood Hall. A dull night really. The bar staff were serving dry Martini in a one sixth of a gill measure instead of the proper one third of a gill measure, and to make matters worse a fight broke out between a guy who looked like one of the Bee Gees and a skinhead type, and all because of a misplaced ice-cube. Home to Rue Club at 2:30. Bed. Lemonade.

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Wednesday May 28, 1980

_. Derek Naylor thinks that perhaps the Queen Mother is a bastard. I must have mellowed with the passing years because in times gone by I would have called Naylor out to fight a duel, or reeled in nausea. But Derek makes his comments in such a way that one cannot help but smile.

Ally is unwell. Her stomach is at fault. She slept through two hours of constant bombardment from me on the phone. She came over to ours at 5 to dine with Mama and Papa. No sooner had she eaten that she felt ill, again, and took to a bed in Sue's room for a couple of hours, leaving me with the journals of William Bagshaw Stevens.

Watched a Swedish epic [with sub-titles] on BBC2, and retired to bed with Stevens.

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Tuesday May 27, 1980

_. A batch of photographs arrived this morning. Met Ally in the Central at 1:45. No Kathleen or Sarah today. Delia is judging at the Wetherby Show, or something.

Prince Andrew has arrived at RAF Leeming near York for five months training. He is a midshipman learning to fly. Is it something royal princes should be doing? Remember William of Gloucester.

A royal mystery. It appears that the Earl of Strathmore, father of the Queen Mother, lied, for some inexplicable reason, when registering the birth of his daughter, in September, 1900. It is recorded on her birth certificate that Elizabeth Bowes Lyon was born at St Paul's Walden, Hertfordshire. This has been HM's acknowledged place of birth in all works of reference since. Her Majesty has even unveiled a plaque commemorating her birth at the church there. Now Clarence House has announced that in fact HM was born in London, at an undisclosed address. All the more intriguing because they don't reveal exactly where. They probably have no idea. Was the dear lady, the greatest Queen Consort this nation has ever known, perhaps born above a Chinese laundry in Wapping?

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