Thursday October 16, 1980

_. I spoke to Dave G the other day, and forgot to mention. He's coming on Nov 1, with Garry, Billy and Steve. He had hoped to come tomorrow but the Duchess of Gloucester is making a visit to Stepping Hill Hospital and he has to be there to receive HRH. Poor woman.

Ally came here at 6:30 for fish fingers and three tons of potatoes. What will become of us? Ally looked good, with her hair sticking out in all directions. Half close your eyes, dim and lights and what do you have? Kate Bush.

An expanding Lynn and bad-tempered Dave came at 8:30 and we went to the Commercial, which is a hole. So boring. We sat eavesdropping on three middle-aged mothers on the next table discussing the trials and tribulations of Christmas shopping. On to the New Inn, where Lynn and Dave looked out of place. David insisted on referring to the place as a 'knocking shop'. The place is always full of ex-cons, but a Bohemian atmosphere prevailed throughout.

Home at 11. We sprawled on the dining room floor drinking wine and listening to Strauss until 2:30.

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Wednesday October 15, 1980

Sally Oppenheim: double life?

_. Sunny, Wednesday. James Callaghan is resigning as Labour leader to enable him to undergo treatment preparing for a sex-change operation after Christmas. It seems that for some years he's been enjoying a double life masquerading as both the bluff Left-wing Labour sea dog, and as the peroxide blond Sally Oppenheim, Minister for Prices and Consumer Affairs. You have never seen them in the same room together. He really had me fooled.

Ally arrived at 6 and we ate soup. [Or do you drink soup?] This was followed by fried liver and onions and mounds of chips. To much really. Spoke to Lynn, and arranged to go out with them tomorrow.

Later, the two of us took the couch for an evening of gripping TV. Coronation Street, a play, and a programme about a large, flaccid transsexual preparing for a sex-change operation. I made some derogatory comments, at which Ally raised her eyebrows and cast her eyes to the large pair of stiletto heeled shoes that I'd worn only days before. My drag act at a fancy dress dress party is a different matter.

To bed in the region of 12.

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Tuesday October 14, 1980

_. Bright Tuesday.

Phoned Mama. They left for Diss early this morning.

To Ally's at 6 for dead rabbit stew.  Joined at 8:30 by Catherine Brook, and the recumbent David, who immediately fell asleep on the sofa. Her really threw himself into the 'dead man lying on the floor' routine. I sat clutching a glass whilst Ally and Catherine pored over some of my photo albums dating back to 1971, Boring, and quite embarrassing at times. I write very revealing picture captions. It is Ally's theory that I have a different album for each of my 'bits of stuff'. They left at 12, and we had a much needed drink. ________.

To bed at about 1.

Monday October 13, 1980

Beloved Führer ?

_. Monday. Ally came to see me and we sat huddled on the settee watching the telly. What else? It helps when a diarist has total powers of recall, but alas my powers have dried tonight. Ally left at 10:30, and I departed immediately to my chamber where I scowled angrily at my alarm clock which is refusing to work properly. It rings at a time of its own choosing and has developed an irregular tick.

Mrs Thatcher, our beloved Führer, is 55 today. However, it now seems that everyone regrets voting her into power. It's hard to find anyone who backs her. Even Cabinet ministers are red faced and cowering. A sign of the times. And, what is happening to the Labour party? Will Sir Alfred Broughton [Batley & Morley] succeed 'Sunny Jim' ?

Did you know that Michael Bentine once almost had a leg amputated because of a thrombosis? Dreadful, eh?

Sunday October 12, 1980

_. 19th Sunday after Trinity

Home to Bradford from the Browns at three, four or five. I discarded everything female and returned to the sanity of manhood. Slept. Ally went to the Belfry at 11:30. I walked home in the sun to Guiseley. I didn't walk all the way, but most of it.

A family gathering. Sue, Pete, Lynn and Dave came for tea and buns. We giggled at a Peter Sellers film from 1963 where he played a Scouse clergyman. Ally dropped in mid-afternoon, but left just as I was getting used to her. I felt buggered and slept in a chair to the backcloth of 'Songs of Praise' on the BBC, which in my twilight existence made me think I was ascending into Heaven, but serenaded by out of tune choristers from a provincial town. Eventually I went up to bed.

Mama and Papa are going to see Ruby and Arthur in Norfolk on Wednesday. The Gadsbys are in Norfolk now, and so it might be quite wild.

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Saturday October 11, 1980

Brown, Nicola Gould, Dame Edna.

_. Up at 12. Had a message via Mama from Lynn that she will be coming with Dave's Cub Scout cap for Ally this afternoon. I hung around and waited until 3. I phoned Ally at 2:45 and she was still in bed. I went to Bradford at 4pm buying a pair of young, firm turnips en route. These, as you can imagine, are to form my cleavage. Ally makes a splendid cub. Horribly sexy.

Carol, Dame Edna, Cub Scout & Laurie Mercer.

To the Bod for a couple of hours at 6:30 and then back to Club St to dress for Brown's party. When dressed I do look more like Dame Edna than the Queen of Denmark, in my blond wig, Crimplene frock, and aquamarine clip-on earrings. Ally did my makeup and clad in pewter coloured tights I set out with a Cub Scout at the wheel to Brown's in Chapel Allerton, arriving at 11. I was, with all modesty, a roaring success. My appearance heralded a series of sexual assaults open my person, and I was the butt of many bawdy jokes. Ally was gorgeous. She does put up with such a lot. No sign of Sarah. Carol J came with Gavin [Summers], a new YP reporter. Drank gallons of red wine and ate nothing but sticks of celery. Home to Bradford from the Brown's at three, four or five.

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Friday October 10, 1980

Christine Dibb.

_. Out with Dave L. Quite a session really. First to the New Inn where we encountered Carole Phillips and Naomi. Carole looked well and beautiful even though she is almost a mother. I was intrigued when she said to me: 'You look normal, for a change.' After intensive probing from me she elaborated. 'You are usually freaky these days.' Me, 'freaky' ? On to the White Cross in search of Sue and Pete, but no sign of either. Dave spotted Christine Dibb and made an immediate beeline for her. I finished my pint and Dave took the hint. On to the Shoulder. Fighting our way to the bar we met Philip Cartwright [see journal 1973-4]. Dave can tell a really good tale. He should write, or go on the stage. Home at 10:45. Dave came in for a drink. Watched a Clint Eastwood film until almost 1.

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Thursday October 9, 1980

_. To Ally's from the YP. We trundled off in Charles to a pizza place on Manningham Lane, Mama Mia's, I think. Ally had lasagne and I had a seafood pizza. We were in and out in a flash. To the 'Mucky Duck' off Manningham Lane, but we sat uncomfortably. I can never sit and drink at the same time. I have to lean on a bar. On to the Bod, always excellent.

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Wednesday October 8, 1980

_. More wet. Heard my alarm but snuggled beneath the quilt for ten minutes refusing to make a start to the day. A gloomy journey to Leeds with the Rawnsleys. I suppose insanity is an excellent qualification for running a metropolitan city council.

St John Stevas: like Disraeli?

Cheered to read in the papers that the government will strengthen the House of Lords against abolition moves by a future Labour government. Just how will they do this?

Norman St John Stevas is a Tory of the 'old school', almost like Disraeli. It would be nice if one day he could perhaps have a bash as prime minister. I don't suppose he's strong enough.

Had several choppy and valueless conversations with Ally. In the end we decided we will go and eat out tomorrow night, probably a pizza in Bradford.

Lynn and Dave came at 8 in a new Vauxhall Cavalier, which looks good. David however doesn't like it, and so a change can be expected. He bought an old Cub Scout uniform for Ally to wear on Saturday.

Took a bath and watched TV. Katie Boyle and King Hussein of Jordan, &c. Michael Parkinson was the limit and I adjourned to bed at 11:05pm.

The biography of the Prince of Wales is as I suspected - repetition. I could concoct a similar book in two weeks given the proper typewriter and enough paper. And I keep saying I don't know what to do with my life. Come on, Michael!

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Tuesday October 7, 1980

Queen of Denmark: more my size.

_. Constant rain. Wind. Like winter. What ever happened to the Indian Summer?

At the YP: discussing my outfit for the fancy dress party Sarah suggests I wear a bra. Isn't that going a bit far? Michael Brown thinks I should attend as a crowned Head of Europe, and not as Dame Edna. I did give this some thought. Perhaps Queen Beatrix of Holland, or the ex-Queen of Italy? Mind you, the Danish monarch is perhaps more my size.

Scratched around at lunchtime, quite penniless and destitute. Carol J and I hid when a bespectacled Marxist wench from 'downstairs' came collecting money for our trade union. After the Labour conference I do not want to give them a single penny. I am, however, a coward.

Derek Naylor has given me a biography of the Prince of Wales which doesn't seem up to much. I probably won't even look at it, but it is good of him.

Spoke to Ally at 3. Derek Jenkins is driving her mad. His brooding, Welsh persona is suffocating all at Daisy Bank. We are not seeing each other until Thursday.

It's all so boring, isn't it, dear reader? And it is hardly likely to improve with the passage of years. You have had my best years already, and all I can provide now are the pathetic thoughts of an ageing nonentity. On the up side I have a fine head of hair, no grey as yet, and I am writing without spectacles. I do not look too broken yet.

Mum and Dad went to see Lynn and Dave. They returned at 10:30 saying Dave has spent a riotous day terminating his employment with Thompson & Spencer. He starts his new job tomorrow.

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Home at 6. Got another soaking. Mum and Dad seem quiet, and the sitting room has taken on a grim atmosphere. Perhaps nothing is amiss, but I am super sensitive in this area.

Monday October 6, 1980

_. Woke up at 8:30. My alarm clock had been over-wound and subsequently had not sounded off. Phoned Ally but got no reply, and ran out into the cold and drizzle snarling and gnashing my teeth. What a hideous start to the week.

Got to the office at 9:30 and phoned Ally. She too had been late in to work, but only by 15 minutes. Phoned home. No reply. It must be Papa's day off, and I suspect they have both escaped to some exotic place.

Home at 6. Still no sign of my parents and so I made eggs and chips, with something called 'Luncheon meat'. Greasy, but substantial.

Watched 'Coronation Street' but was interrupted by Dave L on the phone with a further bulletin on the stray sheep saga. He had decided to take the animal with him to school this morning, to brighten one of his biology classes, but the bloody thing gave him the slip through a hole in his garden hedgerow. No doubt the animal is now nothing more than cutlets in the refrigerator of some eagle-eyed Yeadon butcher. Dave suggested we might go out for a drink on Friday.

Callaghan: tomatoes?

Ally has found me a pair of size nine women's shoes, white with silver stars, and Andrew, the chef at the Belfry, has provided a wonderful wig. I am becoming so excited about Brown's party.

Have I, in the past few weeks, mentioned the Iran-Iraq War? Good. In that case I need say no more.

In other news, Mr Callaghan is going to announce details of his future plans on October 15. I suspect he will accept a peerage, remove himself to the Channel Islands, and grow tomatoes.  The Conservative party conference opened today in the serenity of Brighton. I do like Mrs Thatcher, even now. I say that because already so-called loyal Tories are disputing her policies. I am firmly behind her. In the latest poll from the States Ronald Reagan is ahead of Jimmy Carter. Oh God. Jimmy Carter may be weak, but Ronald Reagan is a lunatic. Hattie Jacques has died aged 56. This is sad. I always found her facial expressions quite hilarious.

Mum and Dad came home at 9:30pm. They'd completed an all round trip of Yorkshire, as I suspected.  Mum looks pale and fatter. To bed at 12.

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