Monday August 25, 1980

_. Bank Holiday in England, N. Ireland & Wales

Bank Holiday maybe, but I was in the office throughout. It was a hot day too, which is frustrating, but at least I get the extra cash. Just Sarah and I. She went off to a party at Cawood at 2 leaving me holding the fort until 4. Made good my escape on a rare omnibus.

Out with Ally at 7:30 to the Dog and Gun at Apperley Bridge, and then went to inspect the menu at the George and Dragon, but we decided it didn't come up to standard. Onward to Leeds and the delights of Jacomelli's on Boar Lane. Steak restaurant. We had rare rump steaks and chatted away happily ___________.

Tony and Hilda were with Mum and Dad and T pointed out several discrepancies on my family tree.

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Sunday August 24, 1980

_. 12th Sunday after Trinity

Have a blocked head, sniffles, green dribbles. Warm enough to sprawl in a deckchair in the garden, and I did so clutching Joyce Grenfell's autobiography, a well-written tale. The book is on loan to Mum from Auntie Mabel. Joyce's husband, Reggie, is the brother of Lady Waldegrave and Lady Ballantrae [killed in a gale last March in Stranraer, when a tree fell on her], and Mrs Patrick Campbell-Preston, Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen Mother, and Joyce is a niece of Lady Astor [Nancy], the battling MP, who gave Churchill heartburn. No name dropping from Joyce in the book of course. I've worked it out for myself.

Ally came here in her break at 3:30 and stayed until 6. She says she really thinks she should not have bothered coming because I am 'snappy'. So snappy in fact that my deckchair almost caught fire. Fortunately she found it funny. I saw nothing funny. I'm always grumpy when unwell. I sat gasping like an asthmatic pug, drowning to the sound of Tony Blackburn  from the depths of my transistor radio.

Mum and Dad went to Giovanni's until 12:30 leaving me watching TV. Saw the end of the French saga about Molière. Bed late.

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Saturday August 23, 1980

_. Up at 11 and straight on the blower to Ally to discuss the agenda for the day. Rock with horror when she informed me that she is doing the nauseating Mrs Stringer  'a favour' by working both day and night at the Belfry. Evidently, a deaf and dumb couple are being joined in Holy Matrimony, and clearly deaf and dumb nuptials take precedence over my entertainment. Ally is very gifted and can no doubt hold a tray of 'welcome' drinks and perform sign language at the same time. I left the conversation shocked and disturbed.

I took up a copy of the late Joyce Grenfell's biography and read. This was the sum of my day.

Rathbone as Richard III.

Tonight Mama and Papa went to Joe and Anne Grunwell's, leaving me with Joyce Grenfell on paper, and Basil Rathbone as Richard III on film, and a 1938 film at that. Far from satisfactory.

John and Maria were on the phone from Lochans. I answered the call and an appealing voice said: 'Hi'. I replied: 'Hello, JPH.' Long pause, and I said: 'You don't know who this is, do you?' He replied: 'Of course I do, Christopher.' I asked my nephew about Catherine, to which he replied in a Scottish tones: 'She's away to her bed. She's only a wee baby.' Surely, an amazing child.

To bed at 1:45am.

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Friday August 22, 1980

Dallas: over-rated

_. Part from Ally at 7:45 and took the express coach to Leeds, arriving an hour later. Felt sick and tired like I usually do on a Friday morn. At noon I could stand no more, and left for home. Found Mum and Dad in the garden. I bid my farewells and went to bed until 6pm, much to Mum's disgust.

Up at 6pm to a 'breakfast' of bacon and beans, just like Jesse James might have done a century ago. Afterwards, my parents left, in paint covered rags, to Mabel's, yet again, leaving me in my solitude by a steaming television set.

Watched 'Dallas', an over-rated, much publicised US TV series, and then a play about Molière, which was good. Mum and Dad came in at 11:30 and I was in the middle of Lawrence of Arabia. Dad, of course, is named after T.E. Lawrence, a particularly favourite hero of my scatty grandfather. Bed at 1am. Mum and Dad had seen Mum's dreadful sister-in-law, Kathleen, at Mabel's. Poor thing.

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Thursday August 21, 1980

Anna Wallace: engaged

_. The usual blurb in the Press heralds Princess Margaret's 50th birthday. Roddy, they say, is reputedly fading, but I cannot imagine why.

Anna Wallace, once tipped as a future Queen, has announced her engagement to Lord Hesketh's brother, Johnny. Very disturbing. Will the Prince of Wales ever succeed in getting his gal?

To Ally's at 5. Hot and sunny. Broke the Baker news to her. She has been expecting this news since their holiday, and she thinks Lynn looked 'plump' on Sue's wedding photos.

Out at 8:30 to the Junction [?] in Thornton where we were joined at 9 by Catherine Brook, and her accomplice David. ________. A steady, careful couple. Ally and I [after fish and chips in the car] went to Oakwood. No comparison to Nito's. Home at 2 and drank black coffee until 3. Booked an alarm call for morning, just to be on the safe side.

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Wednesday August 20, 1980

_. Home at 5:30. Lynn was there for tea. She sat in the sitting room [where else?] looking pale and tired. Dave arrived at about 7:30 and she asked me how I fancy being an uncle in April! Bless them. They are expecting a tiny Baker. She is now going part-time at Yorkshire Light Aircraft. The doctor only confirmed her condition at 5:15, and she wants to keep the pregnancy secret until October. The baby is due on my 26th birthday. Dave has a bad head, and they left for Burley at about 8:30. I told Lynn to name a daughter Christiana, after our great-grandmother, who was born in Dec, 1866.

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Tuesday August 19, 1980

_. YP: Kathleen's father hasn't succumbed to a heart attack. He had a diabetic collapse, whatever that is. K took the whole of last week as sick leave. Nobody else would have got away with this. Officially, you get three days off for a death in the immediate family, and one day for a birth.

My contributions to the People column are at a standstill owing to the absence, only temporarily, of Bob Cockroft. A Van Straubenzee girl has become engaged  to a nephew of the Marquess of Anglesey, but otherwise all is quiet in the bracken.

Susie phoned tonight and Mum and Dad went down to West End Terrace for an hour leaving me slouched in front of the TV.

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Monday August 18, 1980

_. To Pudsey at 5 from the YP. Auntie Mabel made me a large dinner including dumplings, which flattened me for the rest of the evening. I gloss painted her bedroom, but became unstuck on the bedroom door, and I lost all faith and interest in my life as a decorator. Was joined at 8 by Ally who howled with laughter at old photographs with Mum and Mabel. Auntie's laugh is very infectious. Uncle Tony, in overalls, put in an appearance, and so did Frank.

Auntie Mabel gave me a 1914 studio portrait of my great-grandmother, Sarah Ann Wood [nee Carling], who died in December, 1926, aged 60, and a pic of Uncle Albert and Uncle Oliver, in uniform, dating from the Great War. I will treasure both photos.

Home covered in white paint at 12. Ally onward to Bradford.

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Sunday August 17, 1980

_. 11th Sunday after Trinity

Ally was at the Belfry all day. Sunny at times, yet wet. To one of Graham's pubs at 1pm with Anthony [very humorous] and Philip and Carol, who being newly married talk of nothing but mortgages and pressure cookers. We collected Ally at 3 and went to a diabolical transport cafe in the heart of Bradford in order to feed Graham before his journey home. Ally, making a bad choice again, had moussaka, which tasted like bread pudding, and made her feel sick afterwards. We laughed a good deal. Anthony, disgusted at his surroundings, hid behind a plastic flower arrangement, in fear of being recognised in such a dive.

They all departed at 5, and at 6:15 Ally deposited me on Manningham Lane, and I returned home. Spent the evening in tranquil repose. Tomorrow I am going back to Auntie Mabel's to continue painting.

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Saturday August 16, 1980

_. Graham and Gill collected me at 12 and we had a drink at the Shoulder of Mutton, where they played on the space invader machine. We went at 1 to join Ally at Lidget Green. I was surprised to find Ally was visiting her next door neighbour on Club St, and we were called in to have an audience with Ethel Greenwood, 92, in her urine reeking chamber. Ally had a fit of inappropriate giggles when old Ethel announced: 'I buried my husband when he was 57.' Not a turn of phrase used these days, but the old are so fascinating, don't you think? She said that one day we should return to hear her vivid recollections of Bradford at the turn of the 20th century.

Graham's very amusing, yet effete, friend, Anthony came and we all went to Leeds, yes Leeds, first to a bar called The Bank, which was ridiculously expensive, and then to Bistro 5 for excellent pizzas. Ally chose the wrong dish and had a disappointing lasagne. From here we took a walk in the afternoon sun, and Ally and I broke away from the others and delving into a record shop I bought 'Private Life' by Grace Jones, and a book 'Do Butlers Burgle Banks?' by P.G. Wodehouse. We returned to Bistro 5 for coffee and cake and were back in Lidget Green for 6 o'clock.

Graham and Gill left for a dinner party with Philip and Carol Middlebrough, and Ally and I listened to Grace Jones. We later went to Baildon, and a pub [not a success], and the Bod on Manchester Rd, arriving back at 11. We listened to deafening, yet heavenly music, and were joined by the bloated lodgers at about 3am.

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Friday August 15, 1980

_. To Leeds from Bradford, again. Telephoned Mama to make her feel wanted. I have barely seen her or Papa since we returned from Ibiza. I suspect they are enjoying their new found long overdue seclusion.

Ally did a shift at the Belfry tonight and I went to 5, St Lawrence Close with Lynn, Dave, Hilda, Tony, Mum, Dad, Marlene, Frank, &c. We went to Standale Rise to remove the last of Auntie Mabel's furniture. We all struggled in the flat arranging her bulky furniture in the small square lounge. Like a silly scene from a silent movie. The women giggled so much that the Tv flickered with the peals of laughter.

Mum, Dad and I went on to Hilda's where we found ourselves locked out. Tim and Jill had locked up and gone boozing at St Lawrence Cricket Club. Hilda hoisted herself up onto a window ledge and squeezed herself through a tiny kitchen window, serenaded by the yelping of the confused Yorkshire Terrier below. I wish I could have captured the scene on camera.

Tim, Jill, Karen and Steve came with Tony's former Liberal party agent, Peter. We had a Chinese takeaway. I went into Bradford with Tony and Steve to collect curry for some of them, from a filthy looking place there. Home at one, or was it 2?

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