Saturday January 16, 1982

 Hangovers. Ally begged me never to give her gin again. I agreed. I am far from happy too. I made tea and crumpets and we sat in bed forcing them down. Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable arrived.

    We went to Bradford shopping at 11:30. Fog. Bought meat and veg, &c, and a date sherry pack. Got Ally Sanatogen tablets to give her iron and make her big and strong.

A freezing, damp and foggy day which seems to linger on the brain. Not good for hangovers.

At home. Watched 'Odette' starring Anna Neagle [1950]. Ally bought me two presents yesterday. 'The Key to Rebecca' by Ken Follett, and a recording of Grieg's Piano Concerto in A minor, which has the Peer Gynt suite on the B side. Sat this evening reading the Key to Rebecca, another gripping tale, but please, oh please, when the film version comes to Bradford Odeon, please stop me going.

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Friday January 15, 1982

The Queen and I.

 Warmer. Trains are back, sod it, so no early exit. YP dull. Told 'People' [the YP gossip column] that the Hon Robert Jeremy Hugh Lascelles, born in February, 1955, and twenty eighth in line of succession to the British throne, has taken the plunge, but my morsel wasn't rapturously received by anyone. Sod them. They'll all be screaming when [Nigel] Dempster gets it, or William Hickey, but at least it won't be my fault.

Phoned Lynn to enquire about photographs and found Mum, Dad and Auntie Hilda at Burley. They must be out cheering up poor Hilda, who says that the shock of Tony's redundancy is only just sinking in.

Pete & Sue.

Home at 5:45. Splashed in the bath and helped Ally in the kitchen. At 7 Mum, Dad, Sue and Peter rolled in for dinner. Susie is massive and rounded and looks more like Mum's sister. Had drinks before our sweet and sour steak. Susie talked about baby names. Mum turned her nose up at Samantha, and Samuel and Benjamin received my approval. But, dear me, not Jennifer. Food, wine and more booze. Mum looked at books - endless glossy photos of the Princess of Wales - whilst Dad and Ally did the dishes and shovelled up the excess rice and noodles. I took numerous photos to commemorate what is most likely to be Sue's last motherless visit to Sprog Cottage. They went home between 10:30 and 11. Sue's not allowed to stay up too late. 

Ally was horribly pissed and she sat with her gin and orange, kneeling by the fireplace, giving me a critical report of our first six months as man and wife. I laughed because she had no idea what she was saying, and eventually she disappeared upstairs and fell into bed, wearing her plum coloured tights. God Bless her.

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Thursday January 14, 1982

 Still cold. YP fun. Rail strike Day 2, and so left at 3:45 again. Saw Delia in the foyer who kissed me ____________. 

Home for 5. Ally and I went to Morrison's early for our weekly provisions. Back at 6:30 we had curry and noodles on trays in front of the TV. Top of the Pops, David Attenborough talking about hedgehogs [very good], and Shoestring. Finally, Lord Harewood talking about his apparently dismal life. _______. George Harewood said, referring to his relationship with his first wife, that they get on quite amicably and met recently at 'my third sons wedding'. That's another Lascelles offspring to marry in secret. James Lascelles married a Yank in 1973, and produced a daughter, Sophie, six months later. Viscount Lascelles married the mother of his two children in 1978, and now Jeremy has wed, but to who?

Phoned Cousin Jackie at 7 and arranged to go over next Tuesday. She has a new boyfriend, Barry, a weight-lifter in the building trade.

To bed by 11:30.

-=-

Wednesday January 13, 1982

 Frost and ice again. National train strike, and so I set off slightly earlier prepared to do battle on the buses but found they were not overcrowded.

Worked through at lunchtime so enabling me to escape at 4pm. The bus was fully of schoolboys with greasy hair and spots effing and blinding.

Home before Ally and to pass the time I peeled potatoes and bashed around in the kitchen like a gourmet.

Mark Thatcher: lost

News: The prime minister's son is missing in the Sahara desert with no water and a French tart. Denis Thatcher has flown to Algiers to join the search and poor Mrs T is in Downing Street 'strained and red eyed'. The boy hasn't been heard or seen of since Friday and his fate does indeed look bleak. These Thatchers are a funny lot. The girl, Carol, writes for an obscure Aussie rag and rarely comes home, and Mark hasn't done a decent days work since mummy assumed the mantle of Tory leader. Mind you, I suppose it's better than a Baldwin situation. Poor Stanley had his own sons facing him across the Commons on the Labour opposition benches.

The TV is diabolical. Night after night of endless quiz and chat shows aimed at the old and greedy. The same old mundane faces of so-called superstars in the shape of Ted Rogers, Arthur Askey, Roy Jenkins and Jimmy Tarbuck, &c. I could be physically sick. Ah well, I suppose it helps to take our minds off the continuing decline of our great country. Sarah announced she is going to commit suicide when the miners go on strike and bring on the dark nights with power cuts. I am looking forward to the long dark nights, when the TV stands cold and young couples have little else to do but climb beneath the sheets to keep warm. Perhaps the population will receive a much needed boost because by the look of the '81 census the population is declining and we'll soon be going the same way as the dinosaur.

We had dinner by candlelight and afterwards Ally went up to the bathroom to shave her legs. She likened them to those of a giant panda. Her cold is subsiding but the catarrh and phlegm is still evident.

We giggled on the sofa, behaving like fools. She has an infectious giggle. I just collapse amongst the cushions when she gets going.

-=-

Tuesday January 12, 1982

 Warmer day, but still freezing though. We lingered in bed and only struggled out at 7:30 for our boiled eggs and toast.

Ally is sproggy, but feeling better than last night. She complains that she is permamently ill with one thing or another and I put it down to our circumstances. The after effects of marriage. 

Rabbit pie?

Bessie has told Ally that eating rabbit can be the cause of miscarriages in pregnancy, and that a doctor told a friend of hers with gynaecological problems to abstain from the bunny, and sure enough she produced a healthy offspring. We don't believe a word of it, but it has put us off rabbit pie for life.

YP the same. Kathleen is going through another trauma. An aunt has collapsed and is near to death with an exploded duodenal ulcer, and to make matters worse, on Saturday she took her mother to the MFI warehouse to look at hideous modern furniture, and to take her mind off the sick aunt, only for the hapless mother to fall head long into a kitchen unit knocking herself insensible. Should both mother and aunt be called to that great formica warehouse in the sky it will be goodbye to Kathleen until at least October.

Phoned Susie at 1pm. She was lunching with Mum, Dad and Pete. She thanked me for the list of Christian names and she surprised me by saying she has drawn up a short list from it which will accompany her to Hyde Terrace. I had a word with Mum and she says the four of them will come for dinner on Friday. It will be the last time we see Sue at Club Street before her confinement.

News: the papers are empty and dull. Lord Poltimore is engaged. So too is the Hon Paul Chetwynd-Talbot, who sounds very much like an Evelyn Waugh character.

Home to a fried creation at 5:45. Whilst I was in the bath Mum phoned Ally and announced that Uncle Tony and Tim are to be made redundant. Poor Tony. Tim too, newly married, and now joining the ranks of the 47,000,000 unemployed.

Have I said that Ally is keeping a journal too? We are both writing furiously at this moment. How will they compare, I wonder?

We went up with our books again and snuggled down. Bliss.

-=-

Monday January 11, 1982

 Deep frost. Up at 7:20. Couldn't get out of bed. Ate piping hot porridge and went out to de-ice the car which was hidden beneath six inches of solid ice. Kissed Ally goodbye and went off with my cheese sandwich at 8:00. YP late.  

Thinning Diana? Poppycock.

News: See in the hideous trashy papers that the Princess of Wales is refusing to eat a proper meal for the fear of putting on too much weight and, according to Princess Michael of Kent, the Royal Family are extremely worried about a thinning Diana and her unborn child. Poppycock. She seems to be a sensible girl and I'm sure she wouldn't be placing the baby HRH in jeopardy. Besides, they wouldn't let her. 

Peregrine Worsthorne, in the Sunday Telegraph, says that at the death of George VI, 30 years ago next month, panic set in when his widow, the Queen Mother at 51 thought she might be pregnant. We would have had a 'pregnant pause' for six or seven months, and if she had given birth to a son then the infant would have succeeded to the throne, displacing Elizabeth II. I bet they were shrieking with laughter at Sandringham over that one. Yes, women can give birth at 51, but not the Queen Mother and certainly not after a gap of 21 years after the previous confinement.

Other news: Sir Roy Jenkins [Prime Minister 1984-2001] has been offered Glasgow Hillhead as an Alliance candidate. The by-election is caused by the death of Lord Strathclyde's heir, Sir Thomas Galbraith, who was knighted on Jan 1 and who died on Jan 2. It will be the first foray of the SDP into Scotland and may not be the landslide in Woy's direction as they seem to think. Watched the news and felt sick watching Woy grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Shirley Williams is now on crutches after an incident with a sleigh on Christmas Day. I suppose the SDP publicity machine is hinting that our Shirl is one of Santa Claus's little helpers. A Yuletide fairy. 

Spoke to Mum this afternoon. They are showing interest in the purchase of a pub at Cattall, near York.

Susie has high blood pressure and is suffering from dizzy spells. Mum says they'll have her in hospital and bring on the baby if this continues. Not a good thing.

Had a gin and tonic and took to our bed at 11:30 with Agatha Christie and Princess Margaret. Ally feeling groggy. Not sure whether it's the after effects of the gin or catarrh. Her eyes are heavy and she is decidedly pale.

-=-

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.

-=-

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.

-=-

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. 

-=-

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.

-=-

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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