Sunday January 10, 1982

 1st Sunday after Epiphany

Up at about 10 to hear Dave clomping around in the bedroom singing. They get up ever so early now that Frances is on the scene. We had a large fried breakfast at which I was chief cook. Ally hates frying, and the unpredictable, spitting cooking fat.

The Bakers left at 12:30 to look at a job at Bingley. But first Dave went around the house with a screwdriver. He was under the bed, spreadeagled, adjusting the bolts. He is invaluable to any household. Stuff Black & Decker, I have a Baker.

Afterwards I watched the football on TV and peeled nine and a half pound of Martyr Worthy apples to make seven pints of apple wine. This theraputic exercise took two hours. Ally was upstairs putting bees wax on our Hepplewhite. We are industrious little people.

At 5:30 I watched a late Clark Gable film and then we had steak and kidney pie, or pudding, by candlelight. Last Thursday we gave Mum 'Princess Margaret' by Nigel Dempster, and yesterday Lynn delivered it back for us to read. Mum read it in two days. Spent the day reading about the poor, downtrodden princess. I have always said it was Snowdon who was the first to be 'naughty' in the marriage, and it's refreshing to see him having a spattering of shit for a change. Princess Margaret, we are told, keeps a diary. Now that would make excellent reading, but her writings are not likely to see the light of day in my lifetime.  Bed at 9:45.

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Saturday January 9, 1982

 Full Moon

Sunny, cold, icy. We woke when Lynn phoned. Despite having a cold she and Dave are coming this afternoon.

We made our weekly pilgrimage to John St Market for meat, veg and fish. Home at 3 and Ally had a lasagne bubbling. Lynn and Dave came at 5. [Frances is with Granny at Pine Tops]. We had a few drinks and Dave put the brass handles on our bedroom chest. Blimey, it looks very Hepplewhite now. 

Lynn gave her own highly amusing account of Dave L's annual party. It was a case of 'them and us' with a break-away group gathered in the dining room. Tony Brotherwood, she says, had an engagement party last Saturday.

At 7:30 to the Odeon Cinema to see 'Eye of the Needle'. Poor. After the book it was a great let down. Donald Sutherland played a gawky, gormless 'Needle', and Kate Nelligan the heroine. It cost us £2 each to view the disappointing film. 

Back at 10:30 for lasagne and bed at 12. Lynn and Dave in the bunks.

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Friday January 8, 1982

 Horribly cold again. Snow hindered my arduous journey to the office. Sat on a smoke-filled bus coughing and spluttering with all the regular 40 cig-a-dayers.

YP hideous. Kathleen is so frustrated, we have decided, because she's been sharing a bed with her mother since before Christmas owing to the presence of a dreadful cousin with a heart condition.

Lady Hartwell is dead. The daughter of the brilliant F.E. Smith [Lord Birkenhead] and wife of the Daily Telegraph's proprietor.

Weather news: winter here with a vengeance. In Scotland last night temperatures in some parts fell to minus 27c. The floods in York and Selby have now frozen over and the windsurfing in the Shambles has given way to ice-skating. I know it's a bore to talk about the weather, but the recent blizzards and floods are the worst in living memory and it would be quite wrong for me to ignore them.

The Prince and Princess of Wales are to visit St Gemma's Hospice in Leeds to open a new wing on March 30. I'd like to see Diana in the flesh.

Visited book shops at lunchtime. I'm into Ken Follett at the moment. Home at 6. Bought fish and chips and watched 'The Hound of the Baskerville's' [1939]. Good stuff. 

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Thursday January 7, 1982

 Freezing. Jack Frost does his worst. Ally stayed at home to regain her strength and lounged in bed all morning.  I went off to the YP.

Lord De Clifford, holder of one of England's most ancient peerages [1299 I think] and the last peer to be tried by his peers in the House of Lords [1935], has died aged 74.

Lynn phoned after lunch to say she is now full of cold and postponed our cinema visit by one day to Saturday.

Bumped into Jacq in Leeds and she gave me a 'run down' of Dave L's party. She and Paul will be at Karen's on Jan 30. In town I bought Ally an Agatha Christie novel, just as a new year gift. I phoned her a few times in the afternoon [she had slept all morning] and we whispered and giggled. It's pure love, it really is.

Mum & Dad.

Home at 5. Ally was snuggled down listening to Ella Fitzgerald. We dressed and went over to Guiseley at 7 for a candle-lit dinner with Mum and Dad. They were both pleased with their delayed birthday presents. Dad particularly was in high spirits and is developing his own peculiar eccentricity. Mum was pale and slightly thinner. We left at 11 and drove home in Arctic conditions. Our breath froze on the car windscreen.

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Wednesday January 6, 1982

 Epiphany

The snow supposedly forecast for this week has yet to arrive. Ally was out of bed like a shot mixing scrambled eggs long before I raised my weary head. She is much better today and fortunately her voice didn't go the same way as mine.

YP: continued with the honours list, and made sure I took my time. Kathleen did my EP indexing. The Lord High Constable of Scotland, the Earl of Erroll, has become engaged to Isabelle Hohler. Miss Hohler's cousin Lucinda recently betrothed herself to a Compton of Newby Hall. Lord Cornwallis, who the Daily Telegraph accidentally 'killed off' last September, finally bit the dust on Monday. It must have been disturbing for the old boy reading his own obituary in the broadsheets. Imagine the tea, toast and marmalade splattered everywhere.

It was a year ago this very night, in bed at Pine Tops, that Ally and I decided to marry. It's been a beauitful and satisfying year.

Phoned Mum this afternoon. Her voice so distorted with her cold that I thought I'd phoned the wrong number. We are going tomorrow.

I posted a list of English personal names to Susan. Let's hope she makes the right choice.

Lasagne for dinner. Threw out our Christmas tree and put our balls away for another year. 

Sat and watched 'Hannibal Brooks' [again], eating apples, buns, and chocolates. Well, it is the last day of Christmas.

Splashed in the bath.

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Tuesday January 5, 1982

 Had a restless night because of Ally's indisposition and at 7, we lay sweaty and tired, trying not to listen to Mike Read on Radio 1.

Ally shouldn't have gone into the office, but Derek and Gillian are similarly indisposed. I left her at 7:45 looking drawn and wobbly.

At the office: Kathleen is insane. When I asked whether she had spent a merry Christmas she merely shrugged and said it was so far in the past she couldn't remember. Obviously, they've had a dreadful and busy time without me.

Honours?

I spent the day looking at the New Years Honours list to amend the files. Far from interesting. Those dreadful athletes who went to Moscow against Mrs Thatcher's wishes have been awarded the OBE. Yet another 'U' turn. Sir Charles Forte has been given a life peerage, and the palace press officials come away with DCVOs and KCVOs. I am no as sympathetic to the honours system as I once was. Just reading the small print you come across recipients, such as: 'Evadne Maud, Mrs Jenkins, BEM for services to lawn mowers, West Sussex'. I think it might be more of an honour to be ignored.

I spent some time combing the births, marriages and deaths announced in my absence. Sir Jim Holland, Bt, died on Christmas Day, and Lord Kenilworth died on Boxing Day.

Rain all day. I got a soaking at lunchtime when I went out to buy mince beef at Kirkgate market. It could be worse. Heavy snow is forecast once again, and floods have devastated York. 

Phoned Mum who sounded hideous - full of cold and speaking from her bed. Dad is similarly laid up. Cancel our proposed visit.

Escaped the office at 4:45 because the snow forecast filled me with alarm and despondency. Home at 5:45. We ate our mince speciality and watched 'Picnic at Hanging Rock', a good Australian film about the mysterious disappearance of a party of schoolgirls whilst picnicking in 1900.

Phoned Lynn. We arrange to go see 'Eye of the Needle' with her and Dave at the Bradford Odeon on Friday. Afterwards they'll spend the night here. Frances will be deposited at Guiseley in the capable hands of Granny. David was in one of his soulful moods. Ally dreamt last night that Lynn gave birth to hairy baby called 'Silver'. What could this possibly mean?

Dave Reed phoned to say he and Carol are getting engaged in Middlesbrough on January 16 and are to marry on August 14. 

Listened to Debussy. Bed late.

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Monday January 4, 1982

 Bank Holiday in Scotland

Our alarm clock rang at 6:55.  This is indeed a special treat because it usually wakes us at 6:30. However, after a sleepless and lustful night our energies were taxed to the hilt.

YP abysmal. Spoke to Ally a few times and visited the public library at lunchtime. Phoned Mum at 4:45. She informed me that she believes that Maria is two months pregnant, but this requires clinical confirmation. Nevertheless, it looks like another Rhodes baby in August. John and Maria returned to Scotland today and say they are putting the cottage up for sale and are looking for an old property back in Yorkshire where they can demolish, build and toil for another three years.

I phoned Susie for a pregnancy bulletin. She wants the baby to come now. The child has been kicking furiously inside her for weeks.

Home at 6:15. Ally now full of cold. We went to bed early where now, at 10:03pm, she sleeps beneath the quilt with just a few curls peeping out.

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Sunday January 3, 1982

 2nd Sunday after Christmas

Up at 9:30. We packed the car in sombre mood. Working tomorrow. Bessie packs us up with bottles [in which to brew], apples, food supplies, various plant cuttings from the garden, &c.

We had breakfast and cups of tea and discussed returning for a week May 28-June 6. Said goodbye and left at 11:30.

Andrew: Rocket.

Andrew, who was sleeping in his room, leads a solitary existence and although resident in the same house isn't like a member of the family. He takes irregular meals, comes in and out at irregular hours of the day and night, and in the evenings and at weekends he's closeted in his bedroom with his CB transmitter. His code name is Rocket. He's always covered from head to foot in oil and black leather, but is very pleasant.

Home at 4:30. Tired out. Phoned Mum. They both have heavy colds. They entertained the others at lunchtime yesterday and went to Giovanni's in the evening. I invited myself to Guiseley for dinner on Tuesday.

We stayed up until 12:15 watching Dame Edna at the Royal Alfred Hall [sic] presenting her 'Last Night at the Poms' Show. 

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Saturday January 2, 1982

 Dad is 48 today and dear Mum is 47. I think this might be the first time I have missed seeing them on their joint birthday.

Ally, in a long, blue dressing gown, was up an hour before me in her father's study discussing the ins and outs of joining BUPA, at £8 per week. They decide against. Frank and Bessie went off shopping leaving us sat in the vast kitchen. How good would it be to own a house of such proportions?

Later to Winchester shopping. Then to Southampton shopping where we spent £28 in Habitat on a table lamp and a brass door knob.

Dined tonight with Frank & Bessie. Prawn cocktails, watercress soup, pheasant in red wine, chocolate fudge cake. Delicious. Afterwards we slumped. Bed at 1am. I am feeling better, but Ally is going under now.

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Friday January 1, 1982

 Bank Holiday in UK., Republic of Ireland, USA & Canada

Rectory, Kings Worthy.

Hoarse all day. Frank and Bessie took Ally and I to Chandler's Ford [where we'd left Audrey last night] for the 'Young Dixons' first 'drinks party'. Bessie interjecting some tremendous fun comments. Had a delicious fish paté. Most of the Hampshire guests left at 2:30 and Ally and I sat huddled on a settee for a further three hours. We took Michael and 'Dids' Lynn back to Kings Worthy rectory and then on to Chillandham Cross for the night. We declined Graham's invitation to join him at the Cart and Horses. We must be growing old. Cold ale on cold nights no longer fascinates.

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Thursday December 31, 1981

 Fried breakfast [again]. Joined Graham and Gill at the New Inn at Easton for a lunchtime drink. Had cheese toasties and lungs full of cigarette smoke. Felt horrible. Caught sight of myself in a mirror in the gents and reeled with horror. My features white and baggy. My eyes bloodshot. The general effect is reminiscent of Robert Mitchum, and he must be 67.

On to Graham and Gill's at Chandler's Ford for coffee and back to Chillandham Cross at 5. Had grilled steak and salad. Frank and Bessie went off reluctantly to a Rotary Club dinner dance at 7 - they usually see in the New Year in bed. Bessie told us that when they lived in Wallasey in the 50s they'd lay in bed listening to the ships at Liverpool hooting and booming in celebration of the New Year. Romantic.

Ally & Gill

At 8 we went back to Graham and Gill's at Chandler's Ford. I had a whisky, and Ally had something Italian and wet and we went, the four of us, to Midge and Eugene's hideous pub at Southampton. Ally glorious in her pink tulip frock. The pub was crowded and hot, but at least it was lively. Streamers, silly hats and that sort of thing. Midge, bedecked like the Trafalgar Square Christmas tree, came over and made us feel like VIP guests. Joined by Barbara and Mel. He was very thin, skeletal, and supposedly on the wagon. Barbara planted a kiss of my cheek leaving an impression of her lipstick across my face. She prodded me and said that marriage has turned me into a fat slob. 

Frank, Bessie, me, Ally, Graham.

On at 10 to collect Peter and Dee Lynn. To the deserted Plough Inn at Itchen Abbas. Empty but for a grey old lady throwing darts. The landlord inspected us through narrowed eyes. A dismal place, and tonight especially gruesome. We left and went to the New Inn at Easton. Not much better here. The drunk locals were huddled at one end of the bar and we stood at the other. The landlady, clad in a fur coat, was slumped over the bar bemoaning the fact that her 'after hours' party was in ruins. We decided enough was enough and left at 11:45 and bombed back to Kings Worthy rectory, just in time for the chimes of the clock heralding the New Year. Did the usual 'auld langs ayne' routine. I stood with Dee holding baby Patrick. We drank punch and Bell's whisky.

My voice disappeared completely. Florence gave me spoon after spoon of cough mixture. Much of the conversation was rugby union based. Graham tried to persuade us to visit the nearby fish farm where a wild party hosted by the eccentric Michael Wilkinson-Warburton was in full swing, but Gill and Ally were strongly opposed to the idea.

Back to Chillandham Cross at some fortgotten time.

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