Tuesday July 20, 1982

 This morning 10 guardsmen of the Blues and Royals and Royal Green Jackets were killed by a bomb in London near Rotten Row whilst riding in full ceremonial to change the guard at Buckingham Palace.

Rotten Row bomb.

Our poor monarch must surely be at her wits end. The past ten days have been dreadful. On July 9 she had the intruder in her bedroom, and then yesterday it was revealed that her personal detective, Commander Trestrail, has been conducting a long standing affair with a male prostitute. Sat with my coffee looking at the Times I saw that Her Majesty's old friend, Lord Rupert Nevill, who was only 59, died on Sunday. Lord Rupert, heir to the Marquess of Abergavenny, was private secretary to Prince Philip, and has been in the Queen's close circle of friends since the 1940s. Princess Margaret and Group Capt Peter Townsend ended their traumatic affair at the Nevill's Uckfield home in 1955. He was also a godfather of Viscount Linley.

Couldn't phone Ally because of the strike. Phoned Mum. She hasn't really been the same since I told her of Janette's coming. They were at [Auntie] Hilda's last night. It does look as though John has told them nothing. Lynn and David returned from Wales on Saturday and we are going for dinner tomorrow before Susie's birthday drink session at some as yet unnamed hostelry.

Home at 6. I had been under the impression that we were going to the Chevin this evening to pick bilberries with David and Jean [Watts]. Ally, sombre and pale, says she forgot to make the arrangements with Jean, I think that Derek [Jenkins] has been annoying her, again. We ate quiche and salad and brewed beer. There's supposed to be a partial eclipse of the sun tonight. It was a glorious evening and I sat looking up at it. The next such eclipse isn't until 1998. Ally went upstairs with the vacuum cleaner. Why do they make such a bloody noise?

Mum phoned to say John will collect Ally and I tomorrow. To bed quite early. We would have been depressed watching a documentary on something about 'asbestossness' [an Ally quote]. Didn't bother.

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Monday July 19, 1982

King Edward: bastards?

 Warm. YP. Still no cheque from Malcolm [Barker]. Mark Parry came in as bold as brass, and didn't mention it either. Read in one of the Sunday papers the reviews of George Melly's biography of Edward James. I thought Mrs Willie James had been Edward VII's mistress but according to Melly she was the king's illegitimate daughter. How many bastards did Edward VII have? Will we ever be informed?

Phoned Mum. She was cutting the lawns. She talked about everything except what I wanted to hear, and obviously hasn't been told of Janette's visit. Then right at the end of the conversation she asked whether John had mentioned Janette this weekend. I had to say yes, and the whole thing came out. She was far from happy and complained of the secrecy and intrigue which has sprung up since John came south. She amazed me by saying that she thought the arrival of the baby next month might bring John and Maria back together. John has made it quite clear that the birth will not alter the relationship. Mind you, he has also said that he and Janette are not all that serious, but simply very good friends. Do you travel 250 miles to visit someone who is 'just a friend'?  Confusion reigns. 

Ally and I walked to the public library and ate pie and peas. Bed at 8:30. Cocoa at 10. Ally unconscious at 10:25.

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Sunday July, 18, 1982

 Hangover. Up at 10:30 and we sat in the sun. Went back to bed for an hour.Knackered. Phoned John and told him to tell Mum about Janette's visit. Ate fish. Watched a Royal Command performance in aid of the [Falkland's] Task Force. 

The Queen has spent the weekend in hospital having her wisdom teeth extracted.

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Saturday July 17, 1982

 John came at 10:30 in the poor Toyota which is close to death from the weight of the stone in the car. We went and bought building sand at 86p per bag which turned John a shade of green. He can get it for nothing when the wind is in the right direction. Ally went off on the bus into town leaving us with our mammoth building task until after 4. John is very good and constructs some fine pieces of symetrical masonry. He has a good eye. On Ally's return John took a hot bath, and afterwards I phoned people to see about a night out - without success. At 8 he drove us in the Toyota to Mucky Willie's [now re-christened the Coachman's], and from there we went to the Fire Brigade. Merriment, music and all. We finally got round to asking him about hisn arrangements for next weekend. He says he thinks Janette will have to stay in a hotel in Leeds, but I quashed this saying she must stay with us. I see no reason why not. It's not as though we are helping to destroy his marriage. It's already floundered. Obviously, Mum will be wild about this. John says Janette will have to take us out for dinner to repay us. _________.

Had a flaming hot prawn curry and sat arguing with John about his disastrous life. __________.

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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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