Wednesday July 16, 1980

_. To West End Terrace. Uneventful and boring. Not feeling prolific. Sorry it's short. Too busy.

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Tuesday July 15, 1980

_. Spent the morning from 10:15 watching the Queen Mother's birthday celebrations in London, on the BBC. She looked radiant and outshone all else at St Paul's. Nobody will ever replace the Queen Mother in our affections. She's unique. It annoyed me that the broadcaster Tom Fleming insisted on referring to the Prince of Wales as 'her favourite grandchild'. How does he know? The royal spectacular ended at 1:15 with a balcony appearance at Buckingham Palace where the jovial crowd sang 'For She's a Jolly Good Fellow'.

Ally and I went afterwards to the Fox to meet Mum and Dad who had collected Lynn and Dave from the airport at Yeadon. Both are beautifully tanned, but David has come back with a cold. Back at Pine Tops we had fish and chips, and afterwards opened a bottle of Cointreau. We drank the whole bottle.

Dad looked decidedly pale and took to his bed in the late afternoon. Ally and Lynn gave us a fashion show and paraded around in their bridesmaid dresses.

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Monday July 14, 1980

_.Bastile Day

I'm going to be brief. Painted at West End Terrace again. Ally joined in the glossing marathon. The kitchen is almost finished and the house, at last, is nearly ready for habitation.

At home our TV is going funny. It's only a week old.

Ian Appleyard, my old schoolfriend, is 25 today. I recall a July 14 about ten years ago when Mr G.P. Illingworth, the headmaster at Guiseley Secondary School, asked the morning assembly what occurred of importance on this day in history. Amidst roars of laughter Ian put his hand up and said: 'yes, it's my birthday, Sir'.

Old Percy had wanted someone to say that upon this day in 1789 the revolting peasants stormed the Bastile, which triggered the French Revolution.

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Sunday July 13, 1980

_, 6th Sunday after Trinity

Up at 9:30. The house guests had been up since day break. Charlotte was half way through an Agatha Christie novel. Beef spread sandwiches and orange juice for breakfast.

We took leave of Mr & Mrs Smith and Ally went off to a shift at the Belfry, and I returned to Pine Tops. I had a second, more traditional breakfast, at home with Mum & Dad, Sue & Pete.

Went to paint at West End Terrace. A brown kitchen. Home at 6 looking like Larry Parks did when playing Al Jolson. Brown paint everywhere. Had pork for dinner. Ally did an evening shift at the Belfry. A little Trojan, she is.

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Saturday July 12, 1980

_. Bank Holiday in Ireland - a day may be given in lieu

Up at 9. A hot bath. Breakfasted with Mum and Dad. Ally came at 11 and carried me off to York, that seething, crumbling hole of a city. Graham and Charlotte are not drunks, like some people I know, and so we had only the one drink in a very busy pub packed with Japanese and West Germans, weighed down with cameras and bags crammed with cheap British goods. It may have been a splendid place in the eighteenth century, but the advent of the motor car has killed any desirability. Shopped all afternoon, and bought Sue a camera for her 21st. Graham dragged Charlotte away to the National Railway Museum, and Ally and I returned to Club St. They joined us at 6 and we had a large dinner, steak, salad, strawberries, cream, cheese and biscuits, washed down with Graham's wine. We afterwards played a dreadful board game, the name of which sounds chinese [Mahjong].

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Friday July 11, 1980

_. The Alexandra Palace has been destroyed by fire. Such a pity. I recall a beery afternoon in the sun there at the 'Ally Pally' ale festival with Jacq & Trixie in the summer of '78. Has Trixie dropped a fag there in one of her drunken sessions?

Up at 7 for breakfast with Ally, Graham and Charlotte. Just toast and tea. I went into the office, by the usual express coach. A dismal atmosphere prevailed. I received the Ayatollah's blessing to take Tuesday as a day off to observe the Queen Mother's 80th birthday celebrations on my TV screen. The pageant is to take place at St Paul's Cathedral with processions, bunting, pearls, and emotion, &c. Ally is joining us.

Spent the evening until after 9 painting at West End Terrace, and afterwards went with Sue, Pete and Janet Simon to the Shoulder and the New Inn. Janet is beautifully tanned after her French holiday. However, she loathed the resort [unnamed] and likened it to Morecambe. Home after 11 reeking of nicotine.

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Thursday July 10, 1980

_. Over to Lidget Green at 5 in the busy traffic to dine with Ally. First we had to go shopping to Morrison's for provisions. To Mucky Willies, attached to the Coach House, at 8:30, just for one drink because neither of us were enthusiastic. Ally complained of feeling sick. Back to Wildfell Hall [sic] for lager and music. I sat reading Kenneth Grahame's 'Wind in the Willows', my eyes drifting to the clock. As the hour chimed 12 a Triumph Spitfire came to a halt outside and Mr and Mrs Graham Smith alighted onto the doormat. The four of us drank tea and exchanged six months of tittle tattle before we retired.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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'.

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