Tuesday October 20, 1981

 _. Woke up, and to my horror, see that the alarm clock is blatantly proclaiming 7:58am. I fled from the house and arrived at the office at 9:15. They cannot complain. Since my marriage I haven't turned in late.

Argued with Sarah on the subject of so-called 'blood sports'. This was brought on by the Sun 'exclusive' which stated that the Queen, like Diana, goes out and kills deer on her Scottish moors. I thought it was common knowledge that the Queen is an expert shot. At one time she regularly shot two stags a year [according to the Evening Post, 1958], and the head of one of her 'prize' executions hangs on a wall at Balmoral for all to see. She was taught how to shoot by her father, reputed to be a brilliant marksman. Anti-blood sport people are usually in the main boring, bearded, Left-wing city dwellers who take the Guardian, and lecture at the local polytechnic. This is why I am so surprised by Sarah's revulsion. She tries so hard to be 'county' and is let down badly by this. Surely, most rural people think nothing about going out and killing anything that moves? The nearer one draws to suburbia the more misguided and sentimental people are regarding animals. Thank God for a sane wife. When I asked for her opinion on this subject she sighed, and looking up from her book, said: 'Let them get on with it.'

I was home for 6. Phoned Mum. Still no word from Lynn. I would never have thought that Lynn could be so horrible. If I was one of those modern thinking types I could put it all down to post-natal depression, but that would put me of a par with some feminist Guardian columnist.

Paint flowers. Bed at 11pm.

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Monday October 19, 1981

 _. A black, wet morning. Up at 6:30 to a wintry dawn. Breakfast with Ally and Dave. Malt loaf of all things, as we had forgotten to buy a loaf. We left Ally at 7:45 and got the bus into Leeds where I said goodbye to Dave at the YP. He did say, en route, that he cannot understand Lynn's behaviour to Mum.

YP dull. Sarah had lowered herself to collect my mail. Phoned Mum. She has had no word from Lynn.

Flower painting.....

News: The Princess of Wales has been killing deer at Balmoral. That's one in the eye for those boring wildlife preservationist types. It also illustrates quite admirably that Diana isn't the retiring shrinking violet that Fleet Street columnists would like us to think she is.

Ally should have seen Dr Glover today, but he seems to have forgotten. 

This evening I made a start on a flower painting for Bessie for Christmas. Got the idea from a flower arranging book. Bed at 11:40.

-=-

Sunday October 18, 1981

 _. 18th Sunday after Trinity

News: Sir Steuart Pringle, 10th Baronet, has had his leg blown off in an IRA attack. Moshe Dayan, the one-eyed Israeli general, is dead.

We had sausages for breakfast. Had no word from Lynn. 

The Fiddlers Three.

We walked to the Fiddlers Three at Clayon, at 12 for a couple of hours. Ally has told Dave of her miscarriage. Home at 2 for steak and kidney pudding.

Bus tonight at 8 into town to Duke's Wine Bar where a 'wet t-shirt' competition was in full swing, if you pardon the pun. Hundreds of randy males howling at three flat-chested Bradford girls being publicly humiliated standing in a cold shower in the bar. Dave, clamouring for a good view, stood on a table. Ally was far from happy.

Bed at 12:30.

-=-

Saturday October 17, 1981

 _. Hangover. Dave B came and collected Mum at 10:30 and off they went. But first he fixed the light fitting on the stairs.

Poor Mum always comes out of these squabbles the loser. We heard nothing from Lynn all day. Embarrassed that our guest Dave G should witness this family fracas, but he is a honorary member of the family. 

The Flying Pigs.

Ally, Dave and I got a bus into the town and bought veg in the market before spending two hours in Duke's Wine Bar, sat like three monkeys on a comfortable sofa in the corner. The liquid refreshment helped restore my faculties. Back to Club Street for 5pm. Out again at 8, in the frost, and by bus to Mamma Mia's pizzeria on Manningham Lane. A lasagne and two drinks. Couldn't manage any more. 

Bed at 11. Dave slept in the pigs room [so named after the flying pigs on the wall]. He says he was awake all night counting the passing cars. By morning he'd counted 48,645.

-=-

Friday October 16, 1981

 _. Arrived at the YP and Sarah threw a tantrum about collecting the post and papers from the Mail Room, and stormed off downstairs coming back with only her post and morning nationals. Miserable cow.

Met Dave G at 5 at the railway station and we walked back down Wellington Street and got the bus to Bradford. Dave's quiet repose is no way a sign of unhappiness. He is a very relaxed and contented being.

Mum and Dad came for dinner at 7. We had a sing song around the piano. Candlelight too. All very Victorian. Sue and Pete came at 8 followed by Lynn and Dave later. Lynn in a very queer mood, and was very cool to Mum, almost nasty. Dave B and I went over to the Oddfellows for two pints and then to the fish and chip shop for everyone, at about 10. 

Sue, Mum, Dad and Ally were discussing something about religion when Lynn, sitting with Dave G, leapt up and told Mum to 'get out or go upstairs'. No one ever tells Mum to 'go upstairs' or go anywhere for that matter. Mother was furious at first and then in floods of tears. Dad sided with his daughter, as he always does, which alientated him from Mum, and the whole party was shattered and split into two belligerent camps. I seethed for some time and then blew my top. Dave took Lynn home, and Dad went out and drove off leaving Mum on out settee, exasperated at the mess. Lynn was out for a fight, and had succeeded in upsetting everyone.

-=-

Thursday October 15, 1981

 _. No great desire to leave my bed on this dark, autumnal morning. Frost everywhere. I kid you not. Silly Kathleen is back and it transpires that in her fortnight's holiday she's been no further afield than Kirkbymoorside. She is going very grey.

Margot is 20 today. She bought doughnuts. 

Met Ally at Morrison's at 6:15 and gave her a kiss in the fancy goods, or was it up against the cheese counter? We walked home carrying our bags in the frost. It's funny but in the cold Ally always goes deathly white where most other people go a shiny pink. She looked like alabaster.

We ate something with mince and watched a charming old film, 'The Adventures of Hucklberry Finn'. It had me in stitches. I didn't see Ally all night. She is still 'spring cleaning' upstairs, the drone of the vaccuum cleaner coming down through the ceiling, rattling the spider plants in their chamber pots on the piano.

Later, saw 'Fanny By Gaslight', and no, it's not a porno. 

News: The BBC were yesterday singing the praises of Francis Pym as though Mrs Thatcher was dead. They are now saying that Geoffrey Rippon is to lead a revolt for the party leadership. What rubbish. Margaret Thatcher will be PM into the 1990s, if you want my opinion.

Bed at 11:50 with a mug of Ovaltine. Ally still on with Jilly Cooper. Perhaps I should get some jodhpurs and a riding crop.

-=-

Wednesday October 14, 1981

 _. Harassing day. Buses are just about the end. One could go raving mad travelling daily between Bradford and Leeds. The bus driver plays piped music to us in the hope of pacifying disruptive passengers. Strauss waltzes, and the like. It took me an hour and a half to get into the office today, my ears ringing with Shoshtakovich, and lungs dripping in nicotine.

Slumped at my desk with a strong coffee. Just Margot and I in the office. Carol J is at the YP Lit Lunch. Kathleen isn't back untiol tomorrow. The buzz in the office is that the prime minister is to be ditched and replaced by Francis Pym, of all people. Cannot see this happening. Margaret will obviously go if she loses the next general election, but Pym isn't an alternative. I'd sooner have Lord Carrington. Sadly, a PM in the Lords wouldn't go down well with the Benns of this world. However, could legislation be enacted to put Carrington's peerage into a dormant state for the duration of his premiership?

Ally spent the day fighting with Jack Andrews over the fate of Audrey Citroen. A fiasco. Derek Jenkins has suggested we pen a nasty letter to the Cirtroen dealers. Why not write to Margaret Thatcher?

Home to a bubbling lasagne. Ally cleaning upstairs. Phoned Mum but she wasn't at home. Dave G phoned us. Garry's passionate two-week affair with a girl called Mandy is over. Dave says Billy is the cause of this loss. Billy does have that effect on some people.

-=-

Tuesday October 13, 1981

 _. Sunshine. YP 9-12. Sarah still absent. Margot has returned from her assault on Calais. The poor girl is full of cold and told tales of shipwrecks and liquid adventures on the high seas.

At Club St at 1:30. I continued painting the staircase through until 10pm. Ally came in at 5:30 with a freezing nose.

Jack Andrews garage phoned at 5 to say Audrey is very ill and the repairs may cost £200-£300. You could have fucked me through my oilskins. I can tell you that this added to our depression, and we painted in silence which was only broken by the occasional obscenity.

Charlotte [Smith] phoned. They are coming her on November 13. Her father died whilst they were in Egypt.

We tried to watch Judi Dench in The Cherry Orchard but couldn't see for the paint.

Quite buggered. To bed at 11. Ally reading Jilly Cooper. Upper class crudity. Absolutely vulgar.

The Prime Minister is 56 today and at the Tory Conference at Blackpool. Norman St John Stevas was on the news making noises about Edward Heath.

-=-

Monday October 12, 1981

 _. Columbus Day, USA. - Thanksgiving Day, Canada

Ally's first day back at the AHA since September 25. Everyone was good, and even Derek became, briefly, partially human. He told her to take care and to take time off if ever she felt 'off it'. He added that settling down to married life can often prove to be somewhat trying. The news that she was back spread throughout the AHA and people came in to offer support.

YP gruesome. Sarah off with a cold. At lunchtime I went to the Central library and took out several books on flower arranging. No, I haven't turned queer. Bessie has commissioned a flower painting from me, and I have no intention of painging from life. Besides, I enjoy painting from photographs.

Home at 6. Wet and cold. After dinner we returned to our decorating, splashing undercoat everywhere. A hive of industry. However, Ally is very much a perfectionist when it comes to decorating. My finished work always looks presentable but I do cheat and use cunning tactics along the way.

-=-

Sunday October 11, 1981

 _. 17th Sunday after Trinity

Up with the larks and after a couple of eggs we were up to our knees in pink paint on the staircase. Worked until 1:30.

To Mum's at 2:30. The newly re-upholstered suite is spectacular. Drank sherry with Mum. Dad was carrying out constabulary duties. 

On to Burley and Lynn and Dave's with a 'Bunnykins' plate and egg cup for Frances's christening present. Dave's Uncle Syd and family were there drinking tea. Lynn made it clear she is sick of visitors.

Back to Pine Tops for dinner. Pork. Went on to Sue's at 9. She was dressed for bed and running a bath. Peter watching Bridge on TV.  What will they think of televising next?

Back at Club Street I looked at my oil painting. Not happy with it.

-=-

Saturday October 10, 1981

 _. Sunny, but cold. Ally went to see Dr Glover at 10:30. ___________. She must have been in the very early stages of pregnancy. He kept referring to 'the foetus'. It might be just a foetus to him.

We went into town and bought a blind for the kitchen window and our weekly food supply. After four hours shopping I was jaded and desolate.

Interesting fact: Ally has never eaten a pomegranite, and she looked on in amazement when I bought one.  Funny, isn't it?

Sausages and chips. Watched the film starring Clifton James as himself playing Field Marshal Montgomery, 'I was Monty's Double'.

Lots of phone calls. Lots of sympathy. 

News: Sadat's funeral. The Prince of Wales attended clad in a white uniform. Three former US presidents were in Cairo, Nixon, Ford and poor Jimmy Carter. Before long I envisage coach loads of former US presidents. Nixon looked old and breathless and far from well. Carter looks like he's 125 years old and Ford looks like an Egyptian mummy.

Erected the blind on the kitchen window. The people waiting for the bus on Cemetary Road are now denied looking in our domestic scene.

-=-