Wednesday July 9, 1980

_. The Royal papist marriage shock horror continues.

Sarah is going to the island of Rhodes in September with Trevor, the computer programmer chappie who seems to have captured her heart of late.

Sent a trilogy of letters to Ally, one on the subject of Peter the Hermit, a spiritual leader of the First Crusade who died July 8, 1108. He led a vast band from France to Constantinople, then on to Jerusalem, slaughtering and pilaging en route, and all in the name of Christianity.

TV tonight: 'Coronation Street' was fascinating. No other news to report.

-=-

Tuesday July 8, 1980

_. Owing to a decline in business Ally has been 'laid off' from her Tuesday shifts at the Belfry. It is only a matter of time before the merry echo of laughter from the creme de la creme of Bradford society is a thing of the past at Bolton Junction.

Ally collected the bridesmaid dresses and brought them to ours at 6, along with the wine table wedding present from Bessie Dixon. We went to West End Terrace and returned shortly afterwards due to lack of employment. Jim was there messing with the electrics. I suppose I should have mentioned his mother, but didn't.  Ally and I returned to Pine Tops and watched TV. Mum and Dad had been for liquid refreshment at Addingham and were bouncing around tonight full of fun.

Late tonight I saw something on the news stating that the government have no plans to repeal the Act of Settlement, which, amongst other things, prevents the heir to the throne from contracting marriage with a Roman Catholic. Obviously they have 'no plans'. Why should they? This nonsense about Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg has gone too far. Even the Times carried a leading article on the couple, who have probably never even met. Ian Paisley, the arch anti-papist is stirring the cauldron and the whole subject has become over inflated due to ignorance of the constitution.  It is weird that the Supreme Governor of the Church of England can be married to an atheist, but is barred by law from marrying a fellow Christian.

-=-

Monday July 7, 1980

_. Spent all day and most of the evening daubing biege paint on the kitchen ceiling at West End Terrace. No time for much else these days. Sue is tired and pale, and I'm sorry to say Pete is becoming something of a megalomaniac driving his workforce. However, it is falling into place. The predominant hue is brown.

Graham and Charlotte Smith are coming to stay with Ally from Thursday until Sunday because Graham is attending a conference at Harrogate, and isn't prepared to fork out for hotel bills. Ally broke this news to me with great care fully expecting an outcry of indignation. In fact I have taken it very well, and have agreed to join them for the 'festivities'. I was hoping to only spend a tiny amout of cash at the weekend because of the forthcoming stag night, the 21st birthday, the wedding, and the holiday.

-=-

Sunday July 6, 1980

_. 5th Sunday after Trinity

Up at 9. Eggs on toast with Ally before she left for the Belfry at Bolton Junction [why  do I insist on telling you where the Belfry is?]. Mum has a bad stomach and claims it's a chill that's been creeping up on her all week. She spent the day incarcerated in bed.

The Sunday Express has another article re the Prince of Wales and Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg. All stuff and nonsense.

I sat watching TV all afternoon and my entertainment included a diabolical, yet entertaining, 1962 epic entitled 'The 300 Spartans'. Ludicrous dialogue. Dad joined me and we giggled from our armchairs.

Sue and Pete appeared in the evening for a subdued dinner. Mama was grumpy up in bed moaning that our 'squabbling' was upsetting her. Our 'squabbling' is a Sunday ritual where Susan witters on at me for not peeling the potatoes or laying the table.

We sat giggling again afterwards watching Frankie Howerd in 'Carry On Up the Jungle'.

-=-

Saturday July 5, 1980

_. Up at 7. My earliest sighting of a Saturday in years. Busy morning at the YP. Just Carol and I running things. The only thing of importance in the news was a miserable explosion at Sherburn-in-Elmet. A reporter at the scene says a man was blown to pieces. Only his shoes were recognisable.

Home at 2. Mum and Dad were at West End Terrace all afternoon. I sat eating bacon and eggs watching Bjorn Borg v. McEnroe at Wimbledon on the BBC. Ally turned up with a bottle of Emva Cream. We watched the match together. Tennis, in normal circumstances, leaves me cold, but this match was gripping. The scruffy, narrow-eyed Swede won the title for the fourth year in succession. The workers returned from West End Terrace just in time for the climax.

Mum and Dad went to Cracoe at 8. Sue, Pete, Ally and I went to the White Cross to meet Chippy, Debbie and Dave W, and then on to to the Square and Compass. This place is a god send after the drab and deary WC and Shoulder. Joined by Ken, Olive and John Sumpton, hot from Paris, where he's been cultivating a head of hair. It's longer than Borg's. Slightly pissed back to Pine Tops where Mum was in bed with a headache, which cut short the evening. Cracoe had been crowned and seething, she said.

-=-

Friday July 4, 1980

_. Independence Day, USA

I went to the YP from Bradford arriving at 8:45. A sunny, blustery sort of day. Frank Metcalfe blames the bad June weather on the volcanic eruption at Mount St Helena. Evidently we had similar atrocious conditions in 1815, after a previous blast. All I know about 1815 is that it was a good year for Wellingtons......  [Waterloo]... Oh dear.

Happy Birthday to HRH Prince Michael of Kent who renounced his claim to a place in the order of succession to the throne in order to marry his stunning Roman Catholic Baroness. I am struck with horror, nay aghast, at the fact that she, Marie-Christine, can never be queen, whereas Patricia Countess of Harewood, an Aussie, and former shorthand typist with a previous husband still living, can.

Rang Ally. She too is working tomorrow afternoon. I left the office at 12. Back at home I had to climb up the rose trees and into my bedroom window because once again I'd forgotten my key. Mum and Dad came in at 2 and I went with Dad to hang wallpaper at West End Terrace. Ally came at 4, with newly permed hair, and Mama was with her looking dejected. They been in Otley together scouring the shops looking for an outfit for Mum to wear at the wedding. Tales of hideous Crimplene skirts at £108, and all that. Ally to the Belfry at 6.

Marlene, Frank, the children, and Auntie Mabel arrived for tea, bringing a wedding present for Sue and Pete.

--=-

Thursday July 3, 1980

_. Sunny. I agreed to go to Ally's after work because she came into Leeds on business for Derek Jenkins, and timed her departure for Bradford with my departure from the YP.

Sarah has been 'flashed'. I paid my union subs. Still writhing with my conscience over NATSOPA. Shazza thinks I'll be signing my own death warrant if I tell the FOC where to get off.

Met Ally at 5. I can picture Bessie sitting, smiling, in her deckchair, saying: 'She's just like Frank's mother.' On to Lidget Green. Drank lager and blackcurrant juice and had some horrible fish and chips. Ally has a calendar hanging in the kitchen and I laughed at Tuesday's entry. The word 'swine', presumably written there because I went to Delia's for tea.

Out to the Bod and discussed the rapidly looming holiday, and the gripping subject of Sarah's hair colour. Then back to 'Rue Club' for the night. I do think that despite some minor disagreements we are very much one soul. A fiery chemistry of muddled emotions.

-=-

Wednesday July 2, 1980

_. A dry day. Industrious day at the YP with my hard-working assistant, John, from Worsburgh, near Barnsley. Sarah left at lunchtime to get her hair flashed and I was left with Carol J, who was in a foul temper because ______ is reported to have worms, which she says is highly contagious. Thankfully, I am safe, and spared the ailment having gobbled down the Shih Tzu's pills. What a giggle.

Sarah thinks it unwise and deep folly that I should consider abandoning NATSOPA. My over time payments and night duty extras will suffer, and, she added, my job might be in jeopardy if redundancies are ever inflicted upon a hysterical YP work force. Those not in a trade union would be the first to face the chop. However, I want to stick to my guns and tell the whole bunch of them to piss off. It's out of character, it really is, that I should be a member of a trade union.

I got the 735 bus at 5, but it broke down and grinded to a halt outside Yeadon Town Hall, leaving me stranded. I decided to walk home down Queensway and onto Tennyson Street, and found it impossible to walk past the Lawson abode without calling on Dave L. Albert Lawson was watching Wimbledon, and Dave was out in the fields with Rowan, the Gordon Setter. He and Dave are going for a holiday to Ilfracombe, minus Audrey Lawson, still shacked up with her lover in Otley. Albert and I went out in search of David and found him in Nunroyd Park, knee deep in wet grass. The dog was rampant. He could obviously sense the Shih Tzu kidney pills. Albert drove me home.

Sue and Pete are recovering from Florence Nason's cremation. Sue wasn't too bereft.

Phoned Ally several times today. We are going out tomorrow.

Mama has installed a new TV set with remote controls. It can even pick up Tyne Tees, you know. We've had the old set since the day of the FA Cup Final in 1972, and so a change was long overdue.

We spent the night worshipping around the new gogglebox.

-=-

Tuesday July 1, 1980

_. Dominion Day, Canada

Dismal, wet. Went to work in an overcoat, very over-dressed, but wanted to avoid the soaking. Spent the day with my nervous schoolboy assistant, who shook with fear behind the filing cabinets. He is however, an intelligent lad.

I phoned Lynn at about 11. She was packed and ready for her holiday. Mum and Dad took them to Yeadon and they flew to Gerona at 2:30. Lynn, was so nervous about flying, and this coupled with the recent atrocities committed by the down-trodden Basques, hasn't helped. Mum reports that the flight left on time, but hated saying goodbye. Mum cannot say goodbye, even for the shortest period, and blames the trauma of parting with Dad when he was called up for national service. Goodbye phobia, it must have a proper name.

I phoned Ally to remind her of my tea time date with Delia and she responded by calling me a 'creep', and asked me not to choke on what morsels of food are placed before me. At 4 Sarah and I met Delia in town and went to Ivory Towers for steak pie followed by strawberries with a lemon soufflé.

Sarah devoured handfuls of vitamin tablets before dining, and Delia gave me a handful, but after swallowing them down with a glass of water we decided that the little blue ones were in fact the Shih Tzu's kidney pills. We rolled around the kitchen in hysterics. What's more, Delia's been taking the pills on a daily basis for some days, and has been having nightmares, and breathless attacks. I fully expected to start barking. Sarah, I think did actually wet herself. Sure enough, the dog's vitamins and pills were there on the same shelf as Sarah's vitamins.

Delia went to St Chad's at Headingley and we accompanied her to the pounding in the car of the Hallé Orchestra's rendition of Ravel's 'Bolero'. Delia went into the church with heaps of flowers, and Sarah and I went to a local hostelry [The Three Horseshoes?] , which took us through until 10. Delia brought me home at 11.

To bed, perhaps not barking, but growling.

-=-

Monday June 30, 1980

_. Need I say it rained again? An efficient day. Joined by a temporary worker, a schoolboy called John, who relieved me of my menial tasks.

Home like a drowned ferret at 6. Went to West End Terrace with Dad, Sue and Pete. Grandma Nason's funeral is fixed for Wednesday. It will be Susan's first. I have resolved to donate my body to a local necrophiliac group on my demise. Kidney donor cards, and such like, hold little appeal for me. To carry one must surely tempt fate. Alison doesn't believe in fate.

I phoned Ally at 2 but Derek Jenkins was in the middle of dictating a letter to her and so I left in a hurry and didn't speak to her again.

-=-

Sunday June 29, 1980

_.4th Sunday after Trinity

Dull, rain. Sue and Pete came in at 12 with the sad news that Pete's grandmother, Florence Nason, died this morning from a heart attack. She was 82, and so looking forward to the wedding. Poor Jim is heartbroken, of course.

Maria and the children came this afternoon and created pandemonium. JPH has a temper. I blame the Celtic blood. Lynn, Dave and Ally came to dinner at 8. Roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, strawberries and cream, wine. Everybody looked shattered. Catherine is still very tiny, with glassy china-blue eyes.

Lynn and Dave left at about 11 with a pile of my shirts, for the Spanish holiday. I cannot help thinking that she isn't looking forward to it. She was very subdued about the whole thing. The Basques are bombing holiday resorts, and despite what I said the other day about plane crashes never coming in pairs, a DC10 has gone down, this time in the sea off Italy.

-=-