Wednesday February 17, 1982

 Cold and frosty. Went off to Leeds on a smoke-filled bus. YP even more dismal. Kathleen was dark and pensive. It's obvious that Carol J has told K[athleen] of our coming absence to attend Sarah & Trevor's wedding.

Sat with my cup of tea reading the Times. Margaret Thatcher had her weekly audience with Her Majesty last night, no doubt taking along my letter on the succession bill in her handbag. If I fail to receive any satisfactory answers from the MPs I'll go right to the top and communicate with the poor, overworked monarch.

Wernt to see Sue at 2. She was busy making toys. So far she's knitted a blue elephant and a bright red, squinting rabbit. She informed me that she may only be five days over her due date, and not two weeks as she first suspected. This means they may well leave her until February 26 before inducing the little terror. On top of this she looked bright. We laughed at the pigeons on her hospital window sill. Even they looked pregnant.

Home at 6 to fish in a shrimp sauce with Piglet. Our tranquility was disrupted at 7:30 by Paul Calvert, who burst in with a colleague armed with boxes of gadgets, and they spent two hours trying to sell us a Kirby vacuum cleaner which also shampoos carpets, hangs pictures, converts into a speedboat, plays 'the Blue Danube' and mixes a good vodka-based cocktail, and all for a mere £400. It was very uncomfortable. I didn't enjoy the evening. I do not like salesmen. Ally bubbled and asked many delving questions, whilst I sat mute. We opened some lager and got the chaps pissed, well slightly anyway. They went off at about 11 without a sale. We took to our bed.

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Tuesday February 16, 1982

 Cold and frosty. Gloom at the YP. Well, not so much gloom as just bloody boredom. The frost had also penetrated the library because Kathleen senses the re-emergence of Mrs Slocombe in Sarah's affections. It's like Louis XIV's court with all the intrigue. Can't do with it myself.

Went to see Susie at 2pm. She was spread, like a beached walrus, upon a bed with headphones clamped over her ears soaking up Radio One. She was pleased to see me and is bearing up remarkably after almost a fortnight of incarceration. I had some prawn cocktail crisps, and she had pop-corn. Her blood pressure remains disgustingly high, and she had been waiting to see a doctor since 9am. I had to leave her at 3 and she waddled to the lift to see me off the premises. When will baby Nason come?

Back to the YP for afternoon tea at 3, and escaped at 4:30. I had to walk to the bus station to get out of Leeds. The continuing and apparently endless rail strike goes on. It was all on the news tonight, but I do not understand. 

Horrified to read in the Daily Telegraph that Canada say they will give equal rights to women with regard to the proposed succession to the throne changes even if Britain does not go ahead, so that one day Canada and Britain could have different monarchs. We won't dare risk the break up of the Commonwealth and so  I suppose this threat is a good weapon for Michael English to wield. Meanwhile, the Prince and Princess of Wales are off to the Bahamas for a holiday, traveling incognito as Mr and Mrs Hardy.

Home at 6:15 slightly ruffled by the journey. Dined by candlelight with Possum. Ally tired tonight. We have been over doing things somewhat. We watched a good Australian film at 7 and seriously thought about bed afterwards. 

Mum and Dad are furious at Lynn's indecision about the house at Pool. Dad came out with 'a woman's word is her bond'. All good stuff. We sat and ate Ally's chocolate heart and went off to bed to avoid the 'Play for Today' on the BBC which looked horrendous.

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Monday February 15, 1982

 Washington's Birthday Observance

Andrew [Dixon] is 18, and so a man, today. 

I do resent the way that WH Smith lick up to the Yanks by printing 'Washington's Day Observance' at the head of the page. It is an English diary. Do American diaries print Her Majesty the Queen's Birthday Observance every April 21? At least they avoid Leonid Brezhnev's birthday, which falls in December, I think.

Amateur dramatics at Burley-in-Wharfedale. Lynn phoned Ally in a state of turmoil this morning and said that she and Dave had given backword on the house at Pool because of Ally's criticisms of the place to Mum yesterday. Obviously, Ally was upset to think that her comments had led to such a drastic decision. It is apparent that Lynn has been torn with indecision here. Mum was flabbergasted because the Bakers were at Pine Tops yesterday likeneing the Pool house to Nostell Priory. Lynn is such a changeable little thing. I can picture her laid awake last night night chewing the whole thing over. Dave is strangely quiet on the whole business. 

Home at 6 for a liver creation washed down with wine and then at 8 we went over to Burley, armed with a couple of bottles of wine, to have it out with the Bakers. Lynn was pale and they look to have been squabbling. Dave exclaimed that he doesn't know where 'the bloody hell' he stands. No sight or sound of Frances. It was a baby-free night in fact. We left at 11 but a tyre burst at the bottom of Hollins Hill, and we walked back in the cold to the Shoulder of Mutton. Ally's bladder was bursting and so I helped her over a stone wall so that she could pee in the long grass. Comical to say the least. Dad came down and showed us how to change the wheel. Then man is a saint. Home, exhausted, at 12:30.

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Sunday February 14, 1982

 Valentine's Day - Sexagesima

Sunny and bright and spring-like. Do I detect daffodils poking out from the leaden earth? We were awake at 8:30 and I gave Ally a card and a chocolate heart. She gave me a card with a pig on the front. As you know, we are very fond of pigs. We sat in bed, the room flooded in sunshine, eating cake and supping coffee. Love is a wonderful thing.

Up at 9:30. I brewed ale, and Ally, armed with a bucket and soapy rags, went out to clean poor Audrey.

To avoid 'Carry on Spying' on the BBC we went off in the car in an attempt to locate the grave of John Rhodes [1866-1948], without success. A witless little woman took us to the wrong end of the cemetery which misled us completely. Most people in Bramley seem to have died from cholera.

On to Pool-in-Wharfedale to inspect the house which Lynn and Dave are buying. We sat in horror before the hideous 1950s erection. It may have splendid views of Wharfedale, but it's ugly, inaccessible, and over-priced. On to Guiseley for a coffee, but left after half an hour. They were having Peter for Sunday dinner before going on to Hyde Terrace.

Back at Ash Tree Cottage we had steak by candlelight, seated at the new table. We were dining for two hours. Listened to the radio afterwards. Richard Strauss's 'Don Quixote' [he really shouldn't have bothered], and then a nice piece for two pianos by Brahms. Bed at 10:30.

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Saturday February 13, 1982

 Sunny and Spring-like. Breakfast on scrambled eggs and beans with the wireless thumping away in the background. Ally took a very hot bath [again] and used all the hot water.

We went out to the Co-op at 1, and then went, quite on impulse, to Thackley and bought a mahogany drop leaf dining table and a bureau from 'Cheap and Cheerful', spending £73. Great excitement. We had to make two trips to fit them in the car and after polishing and positioning them it was after 6. At last we can dine in style.

Mum phoned at 7 to say Sue is now on valium tablets and is probably going to be induced tomorrow. Her blood pressure remains very high. So it looks like a Valentine's Day baby for Sue and Pete. Mum says the poor girl was laid in bed chattering away non stop. No doubt the effect of the drugs. Isn't valium supposed to be for nerves?

We dined upon our new table this evening. Steak and kidney with dumplings, followed by chocolate 'Angel Delight'. Felt bloated afterwards. Ally, observing my protruding belly, suggests that perhaps we should have more salads to prevent me swelling to Cyril Smith proportions.

Ally was in bed by 11, but I was wide awake, and sat with a mug of coffee watching an old Margaret Lockwood Gainsborough picture, 'The Wicked Lady'.

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Friday February 12, 1982

 Rain. Tea and toast again with Kitten. The Prince of Wales was on the radio at 7:30 talking about the Mary Rose salvage, and he quipped that the royal baby may well have to be Princess Mary Rose or Prince Henry Charles. I do not like the idea of King Henry IX. However, King Terry would be worse.

Worked until 2 and walked up to Hyde Terrace. Blown around like a wet rag in the wind, I was. At Hyde Terrace I met Papa parking the car and found Lynn, Mum and Frances inside. Mum brought me a prawn sandwich and half a pork pie from home. Susie, still sitting on top of the bed, looking a better colour, but was feeling sour and snappy. I don't blame her. Frances sat on the bed inspecting the ward. I got her clapping and gurgling. With her rosy cheeks and wispy hair she's definitely a Baker.

Back to the YP at 3. Home for 6. Knackered really. We had beefburgers and watched Sherlock Holmes on the TV. Afterwards we sat writing and Ally made a luscious chocolate cake.

Thoughts of the week: the succession to the throne should perhaps be altered to make Freddie Laker heir to the throne. Well it's either that or declaring him a saint. The sun shines out of his arse, if the Press is to be believed.

A future Duke of Somerset was born on February 3. He'll be head of the Seymour family one day.

Tonight Ally and I behaved like lovers in a French film. At about 10 we climbed into a hot, soapy bath together. It was the first time we'd done this, always assuming it was too small .... the bath, that is.

Later we watched Bette Davis in 'The Anniversary', and finally went to bed at 1am.

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Thursday February 11, 1982

 I don't want to write. It's one of those days. Toast and tea with darling Ally. We never seem to be together. It's all sleep and breakfasts. Off to Leeds. Dismal.

Couldn't visit Sue because they clean the wards on Thurdsays. I suppose she will be down in the dumps. It's a week since she was taken into Leeds's answer to Colditz.

Wrote to John Stokes, the MP for Halesowen. I read that Baroness Young is also in opposition to the dreadful succession [to the throne] Bill.

I bought Ally a chocolate heart inscribed with the words 'to Ally with love'.

The Prince and Princess of Wales are heading to the West Indies next week for a holiday. The poor princess is having a hard time with her pregnancy, I fear.

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Wednesday February 10, 1982

 Uncomfortable day. I have a headache and feel stuffed up and clammy. Is it pneumonia or the plague? Had scrambled eggs and toast with Poppet and went off on something of an adventure. I took the 88 bus instead of the usual 72 and had a guided tour of Pudsey, driving past Hilda and Tony's and then past Hough Side and past Marlene's where I saw Frank, Debbie and Mark in the window. At the YP for 9.

Felt grotty all day. Kathleen spent the day insulting me at every available opportunity. Visited Sue again at 2:15. She was sat with her legs dangling over the side of her bed, but soon they turned quite purple, and so she hid them beneath the sheets. What a state to be in. At 2:45 Mum and Dad arrived with a bunch of irises. I left them shortly afterwards and walked back to the YP.

Grapefruit: welcome change

Saw in today's press that John Stokes, MP for Halesowen is to oppose Michael English's succession bill. Thank God that someone in Westminster has some common sense. I'm going to write to him too.

Home at 5:30. A colonial gentleman was sitting next to me on the bus greedily devouring a grapefruit. It was a delightful experience because the zest and aroma of the lucious fruit, and indeed the spray as he hungrily sucked made such a welcome change from the usual cigarette smoke and ash.

Ate fish fingers before a smouldering TV. A new BBC serial on the life of Nancy Astor. Not too sure about it really. The BBC isn't having much luck with historical dramas of late. The Borgias was a complete wash-out, even though I enjoyed it. It hasn't been the same since the days of Glenda Jackson as 'Elizabeth R' and Keith Michell's 'Henry VIII'.

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Tuesday February 9, 1982

 Out of our warm pit at 6:50 for coffee and toast. The trains are on strike today [yes, Tuesday for a change] and I exited the house at 7:30 to battle my way into Leeds.

St John Stevas: orator

Aghast by an article in the ailing Times which says that Michael English, MP, confidently expects a majority of MPs to support his Succession to the Crown Bill. Nowhere do I see any protests to this monstrous piece of legislation, and without further ado I took to my pen and sent letters to the prime minister, Mr English, and Norman St John Stevas, MP, a great monarchist whose oratory is without equal in the mundane House of Commons.

Visited Sue at 2:30. God bless her. I walked up to Hyde Terrace and stuck my head round the door and surprised her. She was red and bored and hunched on top of her bed. She wasn't expecting any vistors. We had cheese and onions crisps and orange juice. Her blood pressure is erratic and she cannot say just how long they will leave her without delivering the baby. I walked back to the YP feeling quite dismal. Leaving a loved one all alone in an anti-septic prison. I can actually recall Sue's birth and now she's expecting a birth of her own.

YP dull. Spring in the air. I yourn for the rolling hills and Dales. I have missed our Grassington weekend this year. We'll have to get Glynnie over for another Hilltop session.

Home at 6. Ally's had her curls cut off ready for another perm next month. We ate liver and onions and sat doing absolutely nothing. Ally's into Wilkie Collins in a big way.

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Monday February 8, 1982

 Crisp, frosty and sunny. No Sue news. YP utterly dismal. Sarah was full of the joys of spring - not. She was carrying on like an inmate of the Chateau d'If. 

The Princess of Wales fell down a flight of stairs at Sandringham a month ago, but didn't injure herself or the baby. Nasty though. Read the weekend papers and the tributes to Her Majesty - now in her 31st year as Queen Regnant. Both Sir Harold Wilson and James Callaghan oozed with praise for HM and the monarchical system.

Phoned Mum at 12:30 who said Sue's blood pressure is back to normal, but when she asked to be let out the doctor said 'certainly not'. 

John phoned Mum last night and said that Jim and Molly are taking them all to Majorca in April. Poor John hasn't been abroad since we went to Majorca in '75 with Chris Ratcliffe. Will Maria be allowed to fly when 5 months pregnant?

Giggled with Ally on the phone. We have a romantic assignation this evening, and our night is to be passionately re-designed. I'm saying no more.

At lunchtime I went to pay for the washing machine [a monthly installment], and bought 'Therese Raquin' by Emil Zola. Will Ally like it? 

Home at 5:45. To bed. Up at 7. Ate pizza and chips and watched Coronation Street.

Sunday February 7, 1982

 Septuagesima

Slept until lunchtime again. Bacon, eggs, mushrooms, &c. Out into the sunshine afterwards to do the windows.We haven't been able to see out of them since the royal wedding. Speaking of royal weddings [and who isn't these days?] Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg was married to Archduke Carl of Habsburg-Lorraine yesterday. Prince Andrew represented the Queen and was accompanied by the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester. The prince has since been 'paired off', or so it seems by the gutter press, with the Infanta Elena, daughter of [King] Juan Carlos of Spain. We are going to have to endure ten years of 'randy Andy' tales now. If he's anything like his elder brother the future Duchess of York is now only a 12 year-old schoolgirl, no doubt undergoing a private education in Broadstairs.

Visited Sue in Hyde Terrace. She was sat nursing her bump surrounded by men. Peter, who had stayed the night at Chapel Allerton, was with Gus and Frank. They are quite mad, and never change. Will they ever settle down and have mortgages and carpet slippers? Sue was bright, but bored. Her blood pressure goes up and down like a yoyo, and gives us no hope of uncledom or auntdom yet.

On to Pudsey for a late afternoon tea with Auntie Mabel and her friend, Evelyn. Tea and cake and then whisky. Ally was close to collapse because auntie's gas fire was belting out heat like something at a BSC plant, and she waded through the fruit cake and port and lemon growing steadily redder and redder. Mabel knows no details of her family tree. Most odd. I do love her.

On at 5 to Pine Tops. Dinner with Mum, Dad and Pete. Prawns, turkey, Yorkshire pudding, &c. Splendid. Peter was very quiet. It was very difficult to get anything out of him. Dad was similarly quiet tonight, shattered and working 12 hour shifts from Otley. Mum still 'nervy' and will not relax until a lusty child yells out over Leeds. Home at 10. Bed. Buggered.

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