Friday July 16, 1982

 Geoff Hemingway went to conference with the ed to complain that my Prince William posters are selling for 50p whilst I am only receiving £50. I sent some information to Jonathan Margolis this afternoon, and received £30 for help I gave the YP People column on June 17. Struggle to think what it was for. Perhaps it was Carina Fitzalan-Howard's on-off engagement. Never look a gift Czech in the mouth.

Ally and I dined on liver on our knees, too lazy to sit at the table. John arrived in the rattling Toyota bringing 48 tons of Yorkshire stone. He got lost on the way and came via Cleckheaton, Naples and Juan Les Pins. He's unshaven and podgy. Maria was supposed to be coming down to Yorkshire, but has now postponed her visit until after the baby comes. Mum has knit something for her latest grandchild. 

To bed at 8:30 after John's departure. Plunged in the bath and took up Ken Follett. Ally is pink and edible.

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Thursday July 15, 1982

 Hot, yet dull. Met Dad at the Leeds Police HQ and we climbed across three building sites to get to Len's Bar. Leeds is now like London after the Great Fire. Erections springing up everywhere. But once erected these towering properties stand empty for seven years. We sat in the gloom on a Chesterfield sofa sinking Stone's bitter. It seems most odd to me that Dad should be attending a 'trainer' or 'refresher' course when he has only 34 and a half days remaining in the [police] force. That's bureaucracy for you. Talked about John. Dad is very choked about the divorce. When, half way through a pint, he talked about 'the collapse of family life and all we hold dear' he was reminiscent of Dr Runcie. God bless Dad. He is such a good man. I love him more and more. I hated him so when I was younger. At the time I convinced myself that my loathing of the man was not because of adolescence. All youths fall out with parents, but always thought my case was different. Sitting in Len's we seemed so close. He has such humour and is eccentric. I told him we were going to see the [Rolling] Stones and took out his pocket book and made a note of it. YP pissed. 

David and Jean [Watts] came back this evening. By 10:30 we had hot water restored. Praise be to God.

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Wednesday July 14, 1982

 Thundery. Felt grotty all day. Headache which is peculiar. I only ever get pains of this nature after a night on the piss.

Further shocking details of the Queen's recent ordeal. Her Majesty at one point telephoned the police office at Buck House and discreetly asked for assistance so not to disturb her 'guest', only to wait for ten minutes without response. I think that Lord Maclean [Lord Chamberlain], William Whitelaw [Home Secretary] and the Captain of the Yeomen of the Guard should all be sacked. A dreadful state of affairs when the Sovereign is potentially murdered in her bed by a man who walked in from the street unchallenged. I grow more annoyed at this as the days go by. I bet the Duke [of Edinburgh] is livid.

Home to Piglet at 5. [Left the YP at 4 because of Ray Buckton and Sid Weighell -- a future Viscount Weighell, CH]. Saw Dad on Wellington Street. He had been square-bashing at Wakefield.

Ally was very wet, walking home in a storm. Audrey, the Citroen, went to the knacker's yard this afternoon. We got £100 for her, and we're well rid. No more French cars for us. In fact nothing French will ever enter my house, with the exception of Brigitte Bardot. Certainly nothing mechanical.

Mum, Dad and John came at 7:30 to deliver a pile of stone. Sat until 9 talking about palace intruders. Frank phoned. They are back from Corfu. We went to bed at 9:30 with a big, glossy Diana book.

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Tuesday July 13, 1982

Tree: with my name restored

 I'm peeved about my 'royal baby' family tree which is now a glorious technicolour poster hanging in Malcolm Barker's office. Geoff Hemingway came over at 12 and asked me to accompany him to view the poster. My name is notoriously absent from the impressive genealogical table, and we both exclaimed at the cheek of it. They haven't even had the decency to bring me a copy. Geoff filled in a lineage form for me and under his breath referred to Mark Parry as a 'bastard'. Malcolm offered me £50, but that was three weeks ago, and nothing has materialised. Good old Geoff. He does look after my interests.

More deep sea diving tonight. Mr & Mrs Watts returned to inspect the heating. No developments. Phoned Mum. John has seen a house in Yeadon within a stone's throw of eight pubs. Saw Lord Home on the telly.

Bed at 11.

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Monday July 12, 1982

 Bank Holiday in Ireland

We have had no hot water since the meeting of the Jacques Cousteau fan club here on Saturday. Tonight David and Jean Watts came here [he's an engineer friend from the AHA], and he sat, head in hands, baffling over our extensive water pipes. They went away to pick berries on [Otley] Chevin puzzling over our system. We were left without hot water but bathed all the same using the emergency heater. Sod it.

Unbelievably, an intruder broke into Buckingham Palace in the early hours of Friday morning and made his way to the Queen's bedchamber where he engaged Her Majesty in conversation for ten minutes before he was apprehended. It is disgusting and appalling. The intruder, Michael Fagan, asked the Queen for a cigarette and under the pretext of going to find a Woodbine she managed to summon assistance. Thank goodness she remained calm. Eventually, a chamber maid entered upon the scene and exclaimed: 'Bloody Hell, Ma'am, what's he doin' in here?' Heads really should roll. Mrs Thatcher visited the Queen this afternoon. HM is said to be angry. I'd be stark, raving furious. What's the bloody point employing guards to stand with fixed bayonets at the palace gates when the riff raff of London's east end is allowed to roam the palace corridors at will? 

Bed at 10:30.

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Sunday July 11, 1982

 5th Sunday after Trinity

Horrid day. For much of the morning Ally strutted around like Benito Mussolini giving orders right, left and centre. I was reduced to the role of a serf and was sent to the garden to smash an old sink, much to the amusement of Miss Whincup, sitting in a chair in her garden. Went to the tip. Ally was much happier later. It's the heat that turned her into a fascist dictator. We took a quick constitutional 'around the block'. It's horrific to view the squalor which is so close to our own doorstep. 

Later I sat with Ken Follett, and Ally sat looking at me. Up to bed, then down again for lasagne. Watched the World Cup final. Italy beat West Germany. It was worth watching just to see President Pertini leaping around in the royal box. Bed again.

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Saturday July 10, 1982

 A family gathering. Mum, Dad and John came at 12, and Sue, Pete, and Christopher followed at 12:30. John, with the help of Dad, plastered a wall, and then while boxing in some pipes they fractured one, and had to do some some sub-aqua joinery and plumbing. Welding equipment was sent for and the murky waters eventually subsided. The ladies, oblivious to the life and death underwater struggle, were cooing over Christopher in the garden. I passed glasses of sherry to them through the window. Beer flowed like Bacchanalia too. Sue, Pete and the adonis baby left after the hapless workforce had sent the central heating into oblivion. Christopher is blond and blue eyed and raring to make a bolt for it. He is one of the healthiest, robust specimens I have ever seen. We ate salad sandwiches and swilled ale and coffee and watched someting called 'The Professionals' on ITV.

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Friday July 9, 1982

 Hot sticky day. Left at 4:30 thanks to Ray Buckton and went to Pudsey to collect dear Auntie Mabel. She was watching the golf on a terrible blurred TV. It's amazing how one can get so used to a bad set. Mabel took me to a bus stop [waving at Marlene in her cake shop en route] and went to Bradford in about 10 minutes. The God of Traffic was looking favourably down upon us. We sat sweating profusely, slurping shandy. A splendid dinner. Prawn cocktail, steak, celery, strawberries and cream. Mabel touched by the way we had 'gone to such trouble'. But we eat like this all the time, don't we? We steered clear of talk of John. We took auntie back to Pudsey in a storm and a Citroen at 10. I was buggered all night. Pleasant though.

News: Prince William is to be baptized on Aug 4 [the Queen Mother's birthday] at Buckingham Palace.

Thursday July 8, 1982

 Ally and I went to see Jack Simon to collect our wedding album and prints. £148. Jack was in his garden stripped to the waist building a wall. Brenda talked for ages about Wales. On to Pine Tops and sat with Mum and Dad looking at the photos - very favourable. Pamela and Peter Huddleston, and Pauline Sanderson, came at 9. Pauline's lover is a 50 year-old skeleton. Home to a lasagne at 10. Bed, quite exhausted.

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Wednesday July 7, 1982

 Up at 6:44. Ally took her morning bath. Jacq came down and beat the hell out of her five-minute boiled egg. Isn't it funny how different people crack open their eggs? Jacq and I left at 7:45 and we parted an hour later on the 72 bus.

Fred Willis [EP newsdesk] asked me when I can do another family tree for the EP. This sets me thinking. What about the Queen Mother's 82nd birthday?

Alexandra Berry, a first cousin of the Princess of Wales, has married a German today. Bartz is his name.

Home to Ally at 6. She's exhausted and slept in the chair after her salad, and went to bed at 8. Mum phoned. They looked at the Fountain at Linton and want it. John has received notice of his divorce. Maria is suing him for his adultery with Janette, who according to Mum is a niece of Alec McHarrie, who has been seeing Maria for some time. John isn't going to counter-sue Maria for her behaviour and will sit back and take everything ___________. Mum is unaware that Janette is is coming down here to see the [Rolling] Stones in 2 weeks. She will not have her at Guiseley. It's a Queen Mary-Mrs Simpson situation. __________. No word from Glynnie. I had a bath at 9 and went to bed. Ally has a headache and is hot. A muggy night and she kicked off the bedding. She is a delight.

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Tuesday July 6, 1982

 Warm and sunny. The YP like an asylum again now that Kathleen is back. Left at 4:30 and met Jacq at Dacre Son & Hartley. We went by bus to Bradford. She was horrified at the length of the journey. At home Ally was like a peach, busying herself in the kitchen. We dined on steak and kidney pudding. Not too much booze. Jacq brought wine, and we had sherry, which was very dry. I drank shandy. Talked about property, damp patches and Frances. I did the washing up and the photo albums came out. Coffee. Yawns. We chatted until after 1am, and then went off to bed.

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