Saturday November 1, 1980

_. Cold. To Bradford at lunchtime with Ally on a shoe buying expedition. After three hours we emerged from a shop with a pair costing £18. She is desperately low on footwear and this, I fear, is only the beginning.

With Jill and Tim to the Bod at 8 meeting Dave G, Garry, Billy, Denise Akroyd, Chris Ratcliffe, Dave L, Jacq, Paul, Chris & Audrey Rycroft, Lynn, Dave, Sue, Pete, Dave & Elaine Allinson, &c.

Elaine Allinson and Dave B.

Ally on top form doing the rounds and chatting with everyone. She is more sociable than me. Back at the house. Dave L danced and was killer wearing Ally's shower cap. Billy gave a brilliant one man performance stripped to the waist. Garry, on his return from the Bod, collapsed and was carried to bed. Elaine was a great addition to the party. It all fizzled out at at about 2:30. Sue wasn't on top form because she had suffered a fall in the Crown, and was in some pain. Chippy and Deborah came to the Bod but never made it back to the house. A good thing really because Lynn can be violent where he is concerned. Bed at 3-ish.

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Friday October 31, 1980

_. Left Ally at 8 and made my way to Leeds. She has decided to stay at home and splash gloss paint on her bathroom. Why should she enslave herself to that twisted Welsh fiend at Bradford AHA?

I phoned her several times throughout the day for bulletins on the bathroom progress and received favourable reports. The paint was winning 7-0 at half time.

Ally came over for a candlelit dinner with Mama and Papa. Dad related some amusing anecdotes about his old sergeant in Goldthorpe, Horace Jacobs.

Out to the Shoulder at 8:30 . Met Sue, Pete, Gerald and Debbie. I felt a cold coming on. Like a bronchil pug. Escaped the smoke-filled pub and the two us went to the Drop, where I had three large, medicinal whiskies with the approval of Jean Hanson. They had the effect of a cloud lifting from my brow.

Home in a stupor. The hideous Esther Rantzen on a chat show. Mum says Denise visited me the other evening when we were Flexitexing. What can this mean?

To bed with Clementine Churchill.

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Thursday October 30, 1980

_. Sarah and I refused to pay our union subs and stand defiant in the face of death. However, inspecting my contract [signed as recently as May] I see that I am virtually hog-tied to NATSOPA. Jim Rawnsley begged me to reconsider because he knows only too well just how vindictive trade unions can be. It might take them years, he says, but in the end they will find a way of getting rid of me.

To Lidget Green at 6. Paint the bathroom green. We went to the Bod for the last hour. We discussed Catherine Brook _______. Fish and chips afterwards but encountered a thug embossed in tattoos, and blessed with a flowery command  of our rich language. I escaped with my fish and me life.

Back to Ally's. Re-arranged the sitting room and squabbled until nearly 3am.

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Wednesday October 29, 1980

_. The YP Library staff all received letters from the M.O.C. [Mother of the Chapel] Miss P. McKone, reminding us of our huge arrears with our NATSOPA subs and informs us that in three weeks time we will be sacked if we haven't paid up. The union is in no position to threaten and I am blazing with rage. This means war, or certainly resignation from the odious NATSOPA.

On to Club Street at 12. I flooded the bathroom whilst attempting to remove a radiator. I did have doubts about this all along.  Ally had hysterics. She went out for the afternoon and I finished the wallpapering. Quite a favourable attempt. We dined at 6:30 and I continued decorating until 10. Drove to Pine Tops afterwards.

Dave G phoned at 7. He is definitely coming on Saturday, but he and the lads are dining at the Georgian Restaurant first. It's s Saturday tradition that cannot be broken.

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Tuesday October 28, 1980

_.To Bradford at 6 where Lynn and Dave arrived for dinner shortly afterwards. Ally is an imaginative cook. We ate heartily. Dave and I then made for the bathroom where he daubed the ceiling in something called Flexitex, which is quite ingenious. Within a couple of hours he'd progressed to the bedroom and successfully daubed on that ceiling too. We are pleased with the result.

Afterwards we sat by candlelight listening to Elgar and Rachmaninov, until almost 12.

Lynn looks remarkable and almost 'unpregnant' in her work trousers. She'd come for a slog with the decorating but had spent the evening chatting with Ally. The howls of laughter penetrated our activities upstairs.

Dave demonstrated the ease with which one can remove a radiator from a wall, so that I can hang wallpaper in the bathroom tomorrow. Plumbing and I just do not harmonize.

To bed at 12, feeling tired. The Flexitex makes everything smell of amonia.

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Monday October 27, 1980

_. Bank Holiday in the Irish Republic

Horribly wet. Floods are reported throughout the country. I'm cracking on building an ark.

Wrote numerous letters, including to Ally, and walked in the drizzle at lunchtime to escape the office. Sarah says she isn't coming to my party on Saturday, and for the remainder of the day conversation is clipped.

I phoned Ally at 4. She is brewing tonight.

Sizeable dinner at 6:15 and afterwards tuned into Radio 4 to hear Doris Archer breathe her last. Quite a giggle.

Lady Diana and Mrs Parker Bowles.

Watched 'Panorama' dealing with Governor Ronald Reagan. An astute Democrat is recorded as saying: "You could walk through Governor Reagan's deepest thoughts and not get your feet wet." I think this is a marvellous summing up of this ageing, dyed-haired cowboy. Carter is bad, but Ronald Reagan is an out right danger and a threat.

The Prince of Wales and Lady Diana Spencer have been seen in public - racing at Ludlow. Obviously, romance is being denied, but I suspect the opposite. They spent the weekend with Maj Andrew and Mrs Parker Bowles.

To bed at 11:30 with Clementine Churchill.

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Sunday October 26, 1980

_. 21st Sunday after Trinity - British Summer Time Ends

Up at 11. Ally went off to do her bit [at the Belfry].  I sat reading Clementine Churchill by Mary Soames. I could see Mum laughing at me, and although she didn't actually say so I knew she was thinking I look like my grandfather, Albert Rhodes. It's the way I hold a book. He used to sit buried behind large volumes, usually to avoid conversation. I tried not to cross my legs in the way that he did, but after a few pages I found myself doing so.

Erroll Flynn.

Suki and Pete paid us a visit and we watched a short Peter Sellers film followed by 'The Private Life of Elizabeth and Essex', a 1939 film starring Bette Davis and Erroll Flynn. Peter and I made the usual bawdy jokes about Erroll Flynn. In one scene the actor is straddling a horse, and the comment was made that they must have made a special saddle to hold the actor and his 'protrusion'. Nothing like a nice, vulgar Sunday afternoon.

I continued to read about Clem. She and Sir Winston wrote some remarkable love letters. Quite revealing.

Michael Foot will be the next Labour leader. The man will of course have us completely disarmed if her ever becomes PM.

Took to my bed at 10:45, and read until after 12.

Saturday October 25, 1980

The new album by the Police.

_. Felt very ill. Up at 8:30am. To the shops. Bought paint and wallpaper, and I added a glut of presents, to say sorry for my appalling behaviour. Flowers, Elgar's 'Enigma Variations', including Pomp and Circumstance and 'Nimrod' and all that, plus the new Police album.

Gulped down handfulls of pills to kill the pain in my brain. However, I did manage to undercoat the bathroom and the bedroom. Dark Green and a subtle off white. Oh dear.

At 6:30 we went to Pine Tops for dinner with Mama and Papa. Rabbit. Tired, by the cosy fire, but all the same we dragged ourselves out to join Susie and Pete at the White Cross. On to the Fox & Hounds, then the New Inn. Sue had ale poured all over her at the latter, and so we moved to the Drop. Jean Hanson is fatter, and redder, and back from foreign parts. She looks at me in a different light now that she knows I am related to Constable Rhodes. To Sue & Pete's afterwards, and home at 12. Buggered, not literally.

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Friday October 24, 1980

_. United Nations Day

Dismal, again. Home at 6 to an empty abode. Pete arrived to take me to Lynn and Dave's where Mum and Dad are taking tea. I sent him packing, telling him I'm going to a party.

Phoned Ally and then Dave L.  He agreed, to my great surprise, to accompany me to Grant McKee's party, because I know how Dave is strongly opposed to supping into the early hours and in distant and unfamiliar surroundings. He went to Sherburn-in-Elmet to buy three rabbits  for school and then picked me up at 9. We bought wine and cider and went to the Eagle on North Street. Met Carol J, Pauline, Helen, Penny and Shazzo, and Shazzo's Irish boyfriend. A comical evening. Drank Timothy Taylor's ale, and the 'prawn man' provided the cockles and mussels. The pub closed at 10:30. I have always thought that the pubs in Leeds opened until 11, and was aghast at the ringing bells and flashing lights.

With Grant McKee at Brown's.

On to the party in a rambling terraced house off Cardigan Road. Gallons of wine and ears filled with the Rolling Stones, in the midst of many strange faces. It was touching to see the way that the YP contingent of revellers all huddled together near the fireplace. Penny Wark, Helen Scott, Carol J, Tony Harney, &c. Dave thoroughly enjoyed himself. He joked with Shazzo about her drinking vintage German wines. [She's Jewish, you know]. By 2 I was sozzled and Dave must have persuaded me to leave. We found ourselves in Bradford, where I banged furiously on Ally's door and then spewed up. She tried to undress me, but failed miserably. I fell asleep on the top of the bed.

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Thursday October 23, 1980

_. Cold, wet, &c. YP dull. Kathleen is off with Legionaire's Disease.

Cleese: Petruchio.

Ally came at 7:30 and we sat in deckchairs in the dining room watching John Cleese play Petruchio in The Taming of the Shrew. I fully expected a 16th century version of Basil Fawlty but was presently surprised. We had thought of going to 'Time and Place' but at 10:30 we were too comfortable and couldn't be bothered uprooting ourselves. We joined Mum and Dad with Jim and Margaret, and retired at about 11, or was it 12?

Margaret told us, in quiet tones, that Pamela's boyfriend is a divorcee with three sons. She sounded embarrassed at having to mention it.

Ally is gorgeous, you know. I fear she has to stand a good deal of nonsense and bother from me because basically she is serious and sensible. It must be trying for her. When will it be wedding bells do you think? It's only a matter of time because we have reached the point where marriage is the obvious next step to take. Yes, we are at the abyss. The great crossroads are ahead, with a long road beyond, and a dual carriageway at that.

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Wednesday October 22, 1980

_. Dark, damp, misty. Up at 7:10 with Dad. He went off to Otley to guard prisoners who would otherwise be left to their own devices owing to a prison officers 'go slow'.

To Leeds with Jim who, for two days now, has been relating the tale of 'Les Miserables' to little Jennie.

Aghast at the news that Lord Thomson of Fleet is selling The Times newspaper next year. This must be a death warrant for this fine newspaper. I am grief stricken. Before long we'll have nothing but 'The Sun'.

Sarah is miserable these days. ____________. Chippy saw her in the Shoulder last Thursday. _____.

Home at 6. Mama and I had dinner by candlelight, and Dad, the jailer, joined us just as we finished. Later, sat clutching Clementine Churchill, I was brought from my stupor by sweet Ally on the blower informing me that she needed to see me immediately. She arrived at 7:45 and out we went to the New Inn at 9:30. Our departure was delayed due to Prokoviev on the telly, with the added attraction of Princess Michael of Kent, who was briefly in view. George Howard, of the BBC, resembles a paraplegic toad.

To the New Inn at 9:30 with £2.60 in my pocket, but this went within half an hour. I was reduced to drinking half pints. Ally was treated [sic] to a packet of roast oxen crisps.

Home at 10:30 to see John Cleese interviewed by Michael Parkinson. He is playing Petruchio tomorrow and I cannot help feeling this might be a mistake. Will it be a 16th century Fawlty Towers?

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