Thursday December 2, 1982

 Cold, frosty morn. Have I mentioned Auntie Mabel? She phoned the other day and invited us to lunch on Dec 12. It is the day after Lazenby's (party) and so today I phoned her to cancel. We'll go some other time, obviously before Christmas.

Sarah still off. Must be having trouble with her wallpaper paste. YP abysmal. Kathleen cannot grasp why we want a day off in lieu for Christmas day. She says Christmas day falls on a Saturday, and we do not ususally work on a Saturday, so why are we entitled to a day in lieu? Silly cow. 1983 is going to have to be bye bye YP. I'm going to become a rock star, a leading author, or just a simple sex symbol. Ally's a little sex symbol already.

Out at lunchtime and purchased Molly Keane'sbook for Ally, which I stumbled upon quite accidentally in Austick's. Put £3 in our building society account. I'm hoping to buy a derelict Georgian vicarage with a minimum of 20 rooms. Club Street is all very well but one must expand.

Tony Benn has been shouting his mouth off about the Royal Family. He's unhappy with the Regency Act and says that should Prince William be jetitsoned onto the throne before he is 18 by the premature deaths of the Queen and Prince of Wales, then he will be quite unfit to reign, and that a Labour government would have no dealings with Prince Andrew as regent.

Ally had fish and chips waiting when I arrived home. Bliss.

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Wednesday December 1, 1982

Charlie Cairoli.

Ally better but not 100 per cent. Because of this christening business we may have to hire a car. The thought of public transport all the way to Winchester just isn't our style. Car hire people are such robbing bastards though. To the YP with a red spot on the end of my nose reminiscent of the late Charlie Cairoli. 

YP poor. Sarah still off. She must be having trouble with her plumb line. The Queen Mother is back in circulation after her op. We'd be a dull nation without her. Spoke to mother. She says Pine Tops looks like 'Steptoe's yard' and is upside down. John's things are everywhere too, and they are living out of packing cases. Very sad. Twelve years in one spot is a long time for Mum and Dad.

Home cold. Eat like a wolf. We are both sick of the drudgery of work. What is the point of it all? Working for the money to keep a house which we rarely see because we are always working. It's an odd sort of world.

Coronation Street: Stan Ogden cannot go on much longer.

At the earliest opportunity we go up to bed and read. Harold Nicolson at war. Lights out by 12.

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Tuesday November 30, 1982

 St Andrew's Day

Brighter, but bitterly cold. Ally is feeling weak ____________. She wrapped me up in a scarf and packed me off to the YP. The days are gone when I could often be seen walking around in shirt sleeves well into January.

Diana: unhappy

Sarah is off. 'Pneumogettingthekitchendecorateditis'. We all do it though.

(Nigel) Dempster says (for the first time, I think) that the marriage of the Prince and Princess of Wales is unhappy. She (Diana) doesn't share Charles's love of the great outdoors, and Nigel insists that 'sources close to the Royal Family' worry about the amount of leisure time they spend apart. We'll have twenty years of divorce rumours now. Poor souls, they'll never be left in peace.

News: The oldest peer Lord Rathcavan has died aged 99. The next in line for 'oldest peer' is Lord Citrine, who led the TUC at the time of the General Strike. Next after him is Fenner Brockway, the old fool. Vote Labour, Live Longer. Perhaps the next Labour party political broadcast could show Michael Foot surrounded by lefty centenarians. It would work wonders.

Still no reply from Guiseley. Are they still at Ruby's? Seems odd.

Bessie phoned us by mistake thinking she was ringing Graham. They are going to fix the time of Matthew's christening around our travelling arrangements. Gill phoned too. Matthew is over 9lbs. She thought Lanzarote was nothing more than a volcano. 

Went up to bed at 9:30. (I got in the bath and Ally got into bed).

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Monday November 29, 1982

 The frost continues. We were cheerful at breakfast and sat eating home made bread and jam. Ally takes too long eating and dropped jam everywhere then blamed me saying I make her laugh too much.

To the YP. Sarah's last Monday until after her librarian exams. Quite gloomy really. Went out at 1:30 and ate a sandwich in the park. I regard Park Square as my own. A silly woman was covered head to foot in pigeons.

Phoned Guiseley but got no response. They must still be in Norfolk. Phoned Ally. We are dining with David and Jean Watts on December 9. 

Queen Helen of Rumania, a first cousin of the Duke of Edinburgh, has died aged 86. She was the second wife of the lecherous King Carol II, and the mother of King Michael.

Tonight we had sandwiches and pots of tea. Poverty stricken we are after last week's jaunt to the Canaries. Still, it was worth it. At the office they are jealous as hell of my winter holiday and it's hardly been mentioned since I got back. 

Coronation St. Ally irons and reads 'Penmarric' by Susan Howatch. She tried knitting but gave up. She has bought baby clothes on Duckworth Lane for Christmas for Frances and Christopher. We switched the TV off at 8. Millions of people just sit watching like cabbages every night. We carried sandwiches up to bed and read our books. Finished Ken Follett. Slept near 12.

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Sunday November 28, 1982

 Advent Sunday

Refused to set foot out of the house all day. I did carry some egg shells to the dustbin, but that was all. Scrambled eggs and baked beans for breakfast after which we broke out into furious activity of a domestic nature and re-arranged the bedroom furniture. John is collecting our spare wardrobe at the weekend and we have a mass of paraphernalia to sort out. I half watched two films on the telly and played with the demijohns of wine.Bottled some apple wine which we started in January. Joyful domesticity, no less.

Auntie Mabel phoned to invite us to Sunday lunch on December 12. It's the night after Lazenby's (party) so I doubt whether we will be in a fit state to go. I will phone her next week. 

Bessie phoned at 7. Graham and Gill have been to see them with Matthew. It's Dr Gaffikin's opinion that the baby looks like Bessie. The Lynns think he looks like Frank.

Ate a vast dinner and collapsed afterwards. Saw the final part of the RSC's 'Nickleby' on Channel 4 which took us to bedtime at 10. Looked at Harold Nicolson's diary 1930-64. 

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Saturday November 27, 1982

 Freezing. The cold is unbearable. After breakfast we wrapped ourselves up and went out into the wilds to find a bus to Guiseley. Mum and Dad have gone with Hilda and Tony to Bunwell in Norfolk for Ruby and Arthur's golden wedding celebrations which take place tomorrow.

Christopher.

To West End Terrace. Christopher is romping, and it took all four of us to entertain him for the afternoon. Sue made a casserole which we all ate at 4. John came in and was very quiet. He'd been out with David B on Thursday and had put away eight pints. He's playing squash tomorrow. He took us to Burley-in-Wharfedale at 5. Our last visit to Lawn Road. Frances was in the bath, quite the little girl flashing her eyes. We had roast chicken with Lynn and Dave and post-prandial drinks. Their new home 41 Thorpe Lane is called Thorpefields. Ally and I marvel at the Baker capacity to afford a £36,000 house. It must be a frightening experience. At 10 we went out and got on a frosty bus. Bradford at 11. Bed at 12 with cocoa and hot water bottles.

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Friday November 26, 1982

Queen in Leeds.

 Frost. To the YP. Busy. Kathleen, 39 yesterday, took a half-day. No great news to report in my absence.The Queen Mother and the saga of the salmon bone, of course, and then Princess Michael of Kent confided in someone at a dinner that baby Prince William has 'tufts of red hair'. This has been strenuously denied by the Princess of Wales who says her son is blonde, big and blue-eyed. Her Majesty the Queen was in Leeds today to open the Henry Moore extension. Muriel Rawnsley was presented. I went to look at the bunting but missed the spectacle because the visit fell outside my lunch hour. I am told the Queen wore a fur coat. Good for her. That's one in the eye for the boring mink conservationists.

Mrs Slocombe found out yesterday that Sarah is going on the management course. She was furious. Apparently, I am next on the list. Blimey, just two heart beats from the chief librarianship, and by-passing the ridiculous Mrs S. Fun and games.

It's incredible to think that Mum, Dad, Lynn and Dave, and John will all be moving house within hours of each other. Utter confusion. Christmas will be a peculiar disjointed affair. We told Mum last night that we would be going to Winchester this year, and she seemed cool about it. She cannot expect us to go to her every Christmas, surely? 

Home at 6 for veg soup. Lots of books arrived including a damaged 'Royal Heritage' which must go back. To bed early.

Thursday November 25, 1982

 A day of waiting at Arrecife airport. In the morning (we were up at 9) we had bacon sandwiches with John & Sheila. John is such a typical English eater, even after five years of exile. Sheila drove us to Puerto De Carmen and left us for a couple of hours. We bought perfume and a couple of tablecloths at £10 each. I don't think wer were robbed. Sat in a German bar drinking Campari sodas mocking a bloated character with an enormous, sickly ice cream. 

Sheila & John.

At Macher we said goodbye to the dogs and went with John to the airport. We sat at a dining table for three hours playing with an omelette and gin and tonics. It's fascinating to watch John 'wheeling and dealing'. Sheila ordered chicken for lunch, but got rabbit.

Our flight was an hour late at 4:30. John stood watching as we flew away. A long flight. Read Ken Follett, but not seriously. Landed at Gatwick and then flew at 9:15 to Manchester, arriving about 20 minutes later. Just had time for a coffee and biscuits. Met by Mum & Dad. They'd been falling out about something. Mum was not herself. They are leaving Pine Tops on December 8, and will be homeless until January. 

Home for 11.

-=-

Wednesday November 24, 1982

 The sirocco arrived. I hadn't realised that we were only 60 miles from the Sahara. Anyway, the sky was overcast with a sandy wind blowing over, blotting out the sun, on this our last day. Sheila is furious and thinks we have had a terrible week.

To Puerto Del Carmen and into a shop and asked to see tablecloths. The little man showed us one for 14,600 pesetas (that's £70). We laughed. Of course we cannot afford this. The price was immediately reduced by 25 per cent "because you are tourists and go home tomorrow". I didn't like the way that a shopkeeper knew of our travel arrangements. He reduced the price again and again, finally halting at 4,000 pesetas. We told him we only had 3,000, and walked out. He stood at the door yelling "bloody English".

Ate pizzas and drank mateus rosé in a tatty German café. We decide that we'll open a restaurant one day. What else can we do other than cook? I think that together we'd make quite a creative team. A newspaper stand caught my eye. The Daily Star announcing that the Queen Mother is in hospital having a fish bone removed from her throat.

Out with J & S to the Vic. John paid. The Norwegian lady is a bore on second meeting. John and Sheila have endured her for five years. Ally and I went to the Waikiki afterwards. Pena Coladas. Back to the house in a taxi at 1:30.

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Tuesday November 23, 1982

 Sheila packed us off on one of those terrible 'touristy' trips around the island. We went for free, thank God. A coach took us up a mountain or should I say volcano, where we had a camel ride. The woman sat behind us described Timanfaya as 'a slag heap', suggesting that the National Coal Board should perhaps do similar trips in Wales. Bumpy, but fun. Our beast didn't spit or urinate and was very well behaved. To a bodega. Salt mines. El Golfo. Had lunch in a great hall at Yaiza. I had the very peculiar feeling that at any moment the door would be kicked open and that we'd be mercilessly machine-gunned, like the Nazis did to innocent French villagers in the last war. Odd, I know.

We dined out alone tonight. Had lasagne and Mateus rosé. To the Waikiki and Banana disco, then the Joker, which was all mirrors and claustrophobic. Taxis everywhere. Back at 2:30. We never dance. A jolly good evening.

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Monday November 22, 1982

 To Puerto Del Carmen with Sheila at the wheel of her finy Fiat. She deposited us in the centre of things. Had a few drinks with John at the Bagatelle Bar. He wants to buy an apartment costing £16,000. Sheila looked nervous as he set out, cigar in mouth, to see his bank manager. She says life is always like this. John really should be a millionaire, but isn't quite there yet. We left Sheila and went off and had lunch in an open bar. Me grilled prawns and Ally a fish salad which she poked at. Not good. Back for a siesta. 

At Macher, Lanzarote

This evening we dined at La Finca with J & S, Julian and Hilary. Steak again. I don't mind Julian with his university style sense of humour. I expected a whoopee cushion at any moment. Hilary however is an absolute cow who mocks our Yorkshire accent. Why do people do this? Do we fall about in hysterics when we meet someone from Wiltshire? John, sensing the disapproval, got his own back and asked her where she was born. She went red and after a pause said 'Virginia Water', which was of course a lie. She's obviously from Manchester. She said Virginia Water just to impress John with whom she flirts terribly. Sheila sat looking daggers across the dining table. John really shouldn't encourage the woman. The most amusing thing about La Finca was the singer providing the background music. Horrendous stuff which had us in hysterics. A lousy singer slaughtering all the classics. We asked the waitress for the singer's identity and she says 'Peter Hoffman'. None the wiser. Hilary wanted to dance, but we didn't. Home and to bed.

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