Thursday April 14, 1983

 We didn't want to get out of bed but finally did at 7:20. I have a retirement card on the doormat from Stephanie Ferguson which is thoughtful of her. When she leaves in June she is to have a marquee on her lawn at Leathley. She missed the party on Saturday because she went to the Grand National and was late back. I performed my morning ritual of hunting the elusive Daily Telegraph. I said goodbye to Ally who was standing at her bus stop with the bespectacled gent who plasters broken bones at the BRI. I arrived home to hear banging and much activity next door and went out to find Sammy (Greenwood) and the man from the corner shop battering at the Mrs Greenwood's door. I supplied a hammer and a policeman joined us. Mrs Greenwood was in a heap behind the door and the heat in her house was unbearable. The poor old girl had been there since 4:30pm yesterday when she went to the door to collect her evening newspaper and had been laid out waiting for help for 17 hours. Her kettle had boiled dry and her gas fire was throwing out tremendous heat. She was lucky not have burned the house down. It's dreadful to think she was spending the night in such a state just behind the wall from us. Poor old girl. She really is too old to live alone. Sammy, clutching his chest after they took her away in an ambulance. It hasn't helped his angina. The street buzzed with excitement. Old ladies love an ambulance, don't they? I sat and wrote two letters. One to Whitbread's and ther other to John & Sheila just to tell them of our changed circumstances. I baked a Victoria sandwich cake and put butter icing through the middle and icing on top. I am never out of the kitchen. Ally phoned and asked me to make a lasagne, which I did without question. She came in at 5 and we ate heartily. Afterwards, I spied a fat, red faced man marching into Club St followed by a pack of ladies. He was wearing a prominent red rosette and we immediately presumed that he is the ghastly municipal Labour candidate. He was knocking on every door bold as brass. Without further ado we ran upstairs and lay giggling on the bed until they went away. But first he stuffed some Labour propaganda through the door. Reading it I see that the Labour party is planning to create Heaven on earth. Club Street must be red, we decided, because Fat Man was received like Alexander the Great by all the old ladies, who littered his path with garlands and showered him and his entourage with all manner of affections. To bed early, well 9:30. Ally is done in.

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Wednesday April 13, 1983

 New Moon

Up with Pig. TV and toast. They didn't show anything of the royal visit to Australia, which was why we switched on. I accompanied Ally to the bus stop and kissed her goodbye. She dislikes public acts of affection. I bought a Daily Telegraph and sent a couple of forthcoming marriage tips to Bob Cockcroft. Edward Lambton, heir to the disclaimed Earl of Durham, is engaged to Christabel McEwen, and Elizabeth Howard-Vyse, daughter of a general from Malton, is engaged to a clergyman. I phoned the YP and got through to Bob at 3 o'clock. He'd already seen them, but put me down for the Lambton one.

I baked a loaf of bread and then marched off out at 11:30 to join Ally. We went along to the building society on Duckworth Lane and invested £4,800 in an interest account which will grow by £30 a month. We fought off the desire to go sit in a pub and went to the Co-op. Kissing in the street again, and I departed at 1, and I watched her toddling off into the hospital grounds.

At home I prepared dinner. Cottage pie with peppers, onions, &c. Doing more work at home than I ever did at the YP. Susie phoned and we discussed Christopher's private parts. She was cheerful. They are buying a house, definitely, at Moorland Crescent, Menston. It overlooks High Royds Hospital, so it will be easy for her just to walk across and admit herself once she finally cracks up. I told her I was about to do some ironing and she asked: 'what exactly does that do?' She says she always wear crinkly, creased underwear. Ally came home early and caught me with the vacuum cleaner. We'd eaten and cleared everything away for 6pm. 

Dave G phoned, I may go over for the day on April 22. We watched 'Dallas' and went to bed after the news. I am fed up with talk about the next (general) election. I hope it will be in May 1984. You can go to the country too early. Look at Ted Heath in '74? I am reading 'The Three Musketeers'. At previous attempts I have never succeeded in passing the first chapter.

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Tuesday April 12, 1983

 Up at 7 o'clock. A cold, but sunny day. Ally walked to Chestnut House at 8, and I have a terrible feeling when she has gone. ________. Out to see my jovial newsagent again and bought a Daily Telegraph. No scandal. Viscountess Bridgeman has had a son. She's a Turton from Whitby (landed gentry). 

Went out at 11 to town an appointment with the bronchil lady, who wants my P60 and national insurance number. I have to go back on Monday at 9:45 and report to bay 'C'. I wandered off whistling, and to HMV to look at the Spandau Ballet LP. I then went along to Kitchen Studios and saw a north country dwarf who told me that the new enamel sink is now on order and that he will phone me when it arrives. I then went into the marker and bought a half pound of Irish cheese for 50p. I'm sure you like to know that. 

Reading the blurb given to me by the bronchil lady it's very obvious that I am not entitled to any hand-out whilst I have £4,788 in the bank. Ally phoned at 2 and we discussed this. Would it be fraudulent of me to hide my redundancy money under an assumed name? I like the sound of Arthur Skeffington-Phipps. Mum is of the opinion that they will not investigate my severance money because I am trying to claim unemployment benefit, not supplementary benefit.

Sarah phoned and asked if I had received my cheque. She says she and Margo are miserable and that they keep looking over at my empty chair and sighing. Kathleen, they say, is being revoltingly cheerful in order to brighten the mood, but that it isn't working.

Phoned Horton. Joe and Anne Grunwell were there for the weekend, as were Lynn, Dave, Frances and Katie. They all had a riotous time. Mum says Sue had just phoned to report that Christopher has a hernia and is going in to hospital to have an operation later this week. For six months they have worried about his testicles, and when Jim inspected them at the weekend he insisted that something is seriously wrong. I am quite ignorant. What is a hernia, and how does one get one? Mum says the lad must have been born with it.

I created a fish pie and before you could say Norman Tebbit Ally was home. We sat reading and went up to bed disgustingly early. She was in a bit of a temper because she'd spoken to Frank who had annoyed her. He cannot understand what we want to do and seems to think we haven't seriously thought about the future. I think he sees her as a secretary behind a desk and doesn't understand she is bored of office life.

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Monday April 11, 1983

 My first day as an unemployed layabout. In actual fact it was a day of great industry and activity. I wasn't bored for a second. Mind you, I am not the sort of person who could ever be bored. Some of my kinsmen might feel desolate and miserable when they are sitting at home, but not me. I was up at 6:54, and whilst Ally bathed I boiled the eggs and switched on the TV to avoid Steve Wright on Radio One. Selina Scott was presenting, but I switched off after three minutes. Ally went off to work at 8 and I went out and bought a Daily Telegraph to look at the BMDs. Not much really, other than the dishy Rachel Ward, actress niece of the Earl of Dudley, has married.

At 9:20 I phoned the YP and spoke to Paul Roberts in accounts. He told me that the mix up regarding my redundancy cheque is now sorted and so I told him I'd go in and collect it. I got the 72 bus at 11.I picked up a cheque for £4,788 from the pimply 17 year-old Mr Roberts, and returned immediately to Bradford. I made my way to the Employment exchange on Clifford Street where a cattle markert atmosphere prevailed. It could have been an acutely depressing experience for the sort of person easily depressed. Fortunately, I didn't let the place bother me. Queues of dejected 16 year-olds with holes in their jeans and with little hope of finding employment. I am to return tomorrow. I was dealt with by a girl with a very heavy cold, like a character from a Giles cartoon. I walked to the market - wonderfully empty - where I bought meat and vegetables. I returned home at 2 and prepared the dinner. I enjoyed putting the kidneys to marinade and mixing in the Yorkshire puddings, and making a strawberry jelly. Before you could say Robert Carrier it was 5:15 and Ally was home from her labours. I made her a dry Martini and fed her a good dinner. She smiled and said not many men could turn out such a repast. Later Ally wrote to Bessie sending her the £11 we owe for Anne's wedding present. Anne was Frank's secretary years ago. We counted the coins in the large whisky bottle which added up to £60.16. To bed after 10.

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Sunday April 10, 1983

 Low Sunday

Woke up in a sleeping bag on the floor at 10. Went to vomit. Janette went off to sell caravans whilst John, looking remarkably robust, washed the glasses and calmly swigged on a glass of beer. Ally and I climbed into John's bed, but didn't sleep. We both felt ghastly. I had to make several journeys to the bathroom to  vomit with great retchings and much grovelling. I blame it all on the lack of food. I ate none of the quiche, pies and other party sundries. When I did force myself to climb out of bed John gave me toast and tea which revived me. The paracetamols were out. Ally joined me about an hour later and we gathered our things together and headed for home, with John at the wheel, via 'Mother Hubbard's' fish and chip place were we all had a greasy lunch washed down with gallons of tea and piles of bread and butter. It was a cold, thankless day. John left us at home at 4:30. We sat in a heap watching Mastermind from Winchester. Later we snuggled blissfully in bed. There's nothing like a fresh made, crisp bed. We recall arranging to visit MM and Marita next Saturday, but forget the details. Will have to phone. Tomorrow is the start of a new existence.

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Saturday April 9, 1983

 Up early, and while Ally was making breakfast I went out to queue at a bakery for French sticks. We spent the day cooking and turning out 5 quiches for tonight. At 1pm I walked down to Morrison's and spent £20 on wine and bread rolls, and struggled back with my load. The day was warm and I discarded my pullover. Ally put the finishing touches to the food and we had a beer. John came for us at 6 and we loaded up the car and went to Guiseley. _________. John and Janette gave me a (Rolling) Stones LP and a belated birthday card. Sue and Peter came in at 8 after Ally had spent another few hours in the kitchen making egg sandwiches and putting lumps of cheese on sticks, &c. We went over to the Station (Hotel) and Janette followed 10 minutes later. I had a feeling that everything was an anti-climax and I was feeling far from festive. Sarah, Trevor, Brian Kay, two reporters whose names escape me, Margo and and a friend were the only people from the office. The Pudsey mob came, and Jacq in one of her 'Bette Davis' moods. Oh, then Penny Wark and Jill Armstrong, then Peter Lazenby, who gave me a badge "Workers of the World Unite". Back to the flat at 11. MM, Marita (thinner) and Chris Ratcliffe were outside waiting. They had been to Denise's wedding reception at the Nunroyd. She is now Mrs Barker. (Denise had married Tony Barker). Dave L arrived at the pub looking weird with a George IV coiffeur. Memories back at the flat - blank. I enjoyed Peter Lazenby's rendering of 'In The English Royal Family' and 'Three Ha'pence a Foot'. Peter Mather came in and sat in a corner with a boring little woman and they didn't speak. Tim and Paul think I am insane taking redundancy. They say I will be bored by Wednesday. We shall see. To bed, or perhaps I should say, to the floor, at 3am. 

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Friday April 8, 1983

 I did my usual work and finished at 12, and went out to buy films for my new camera and go the building society, &c. I was late back at the office, not intentionally, which was odd because in 9 years I have rarely returned late from lunch. I walked quickly through a damp Park Square thinking of the many solitary lunches I have spent in its boundaries. Back at the YP Sarah was exclaiming and gasping.She had bumped into Marilyn Wheeler in town who told her that Carol J and 'President Carter' were married in Leeds on March 31, and are now living in Middlesbrough. We suspected as much. 

Work stopped at 2:30 when Kathleen returned and place the camera on my desk and a large card signed by everyone on the editorial floor. No fanfare and no Eamonn Andrews leaping out from behind a potted palm. All very low key. I know I said I didn't want a fuss but this is ridiculous. At 4 I took Geoff a paper cup full of wine and he was surprised that I haven't been presented with my gifts in the usual way. He came over to Kathleen who said: 'Oh, I didn't want a fuss'. To which he replied: 'But you aren't the one who is leaving.' Then, the real nail in the coffin came when I didn't collect my severance cheque. Kathleen phoned personnel to be told that the man who deals with the redundancy cheques is on holiday and 'can he come back on Monday for it?' With that I packed up my things and left. I kissed Kathleen goodbye as I departed. I may never go back. I want to see Geoff again and will find him at the Town Hall Tavern. I blame Kathleen for my shoddy treatment.

Home with my camera. All excited. We ate and retired early. The end of an era.

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Thursday April 7, 1983

 My penultimate day at the YP. Unbelievable. Got in at 9 and found Sarah and Margo flapping about. Some ghastly homosexual is holding a 12 year-old boy hostage in Gipton.

Kathleen arrived at 9:45 with my camera and flash gun. She locked them away in a cupboard. I posted my Tetley's application form and Geoff says he will phone their PRO tomorrow. We'll see if it has any effect.

I went around the office asking people to attend on Saturday. Dave Pitts, Philip Thingy, Darryl Wills, &c. All were very nostalgic. 

At 12 I walked out as usual with Sarah and suggested having a quick one in Len's. She accepted. It's the first time we've done such a thing since either of us married. We talked about ___________ and the riotous night when Lynn & Dave got engaged. Even more nostalgia. ________. Back at 1. Spoke to Delia (who phoned for Sarah but I took the call). She was very gloomy. 

Kathleen was dull all afternoon and collected more money. £60 so far. Incredible and very touching. Later I phoned Dave L, who was sombre. He's coming on Saturday. Afterwards I phoned Marita, who is now living at 12 Rawdon Road, Horsforth, with MM of course. They are going to Denise's wedding on Saturday, but may come on afterwards.

Home for 6. We couldn't be bothered with the form filling. (I re-typed one to Sam Smiths). To bed at 9:30.

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Wednesday April 6, 1983

 Off to the YP for the last Wednesday of my library career. Kathleen came to see me and said they have collected £52 for me so far, and asks what I want them to do with the money. I am astounded. I didn't expect such a sum. Bloody hell, Carol J only got a dictionary. I have a brainwave and went out at lunch time and looked at the price of an Olympus trip. (£39.50), at Comet, and a Phillips flash gun for £13.  Phoned Ally.

Saw Jacq at Dacres and told her of my impending 'retirement' and gave her details of the party. No doubt she'll come along with Lynne. Back at the office I made tea for the girls. It's the least I can do when they have collected so much. Sarah says that Bob put a fiver in and wrote a great epistle on my leaving card. It's Margo's theory that people give more when you stare at them intently when they take out their wallets.

Sarah says we have been instructed to fly the Union flag one day next week, and no one knows why. Is Diana to be made a Lady of the Garter, she suggests? No. The King will make his Queen LG when he succeeds to the throne. Is Andrew to become Duke of York? No. Not while Koo (Stark) is vacant. That would never do. Yes, if he marries a nice aristo like his big brother. Davina Sheffield, now Morley, had a son the other day. That is no reason to put up the flag. I'm intrigued. I am not going to be in on these things anymore, but to be honest I've had enough. I desperately need a change.

Home at 6:30 in sunshine. Complete Tetley's and Younger application forms, and agree to send them tomorrow. I phoned Auntie Mabel. She says she will pray for us in our redundant state. I get the impression that she thinks I am making a mistake. To bed at 10:52. Ally reading about a guest house for sale at Haworth for £46,000.

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Tuesday April 5, 1983

 My 28th birthday. Snow on the ground, but sunshine. We had a bad night in bed and I hardly slept a wink. Nylon sheets are the worst thing since sackcloth and ashes. We slid around like Torvill & Dean. Eggs and bacon. Mum gave me a card and £5. They came into the bedroom singing 'Happy Birthday' Dad playing the spoons like an old music hall act. At 12 we went into Settle. It's market day and seething. Saw Alan Bennett, the playwright,  who came so close I could have reached out and touched him in ladies underwear. The ladies underwear stall at the open air market that is. We fell into the Royal Oak to celebrate the commencement of my 29th year. The place was doing a roaring trade. Ally say eyeing the bar staff. She is saddened because my presents are at home. Things like that do not worry me. We said our goodbyes and returned to Bradford. Karen and Steve are great fun.  We drove past the house in Haworth Road where, Steve says, a woman groped with his genitalia, in 1975. We collapsed. Ally gave me a card full of beautiful verse she had found in the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations. Socks, underwear, a book on home wine making, and a pullover, but says I can have the main present, an Olympus Trip 35mm camera next week. Went into a coma in the bath, and couldn't get out to speak to Dave G who phoned at 9. In bed for 9:30.

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Monday April 4, 1983

 Bank Holiday in the UK (Except Scotland)

Up early and wallowed 'neath a soapy fermament. It is Uncle Peter's birthday. He is 54.

Sue and Peter came at 10 with a bruised and battered Christopher, looking like a survivor from HMS Galahad. He had fallen whilst attacking the neighbour's cat. We motored up to Horton. With Mama and Papa for 11:30. Papa looks ten years younger and both are loving every minute of life at Waltergarth. They gave Christopher lunch and we went to the Crown with Karen & Steve. We had a fiasco over a missing cornish pasty. The bar staff were agitated and accused us of eating one pasty too many. The place was swarming with Japanese hikers. Afterwards Dad decided to take us on a stroll across a plouged field and I fell, measuring my length in the sheep turds. Poor Christopher, clinging hold of his pushchair hand rail, with white knuckles and bilging eyes as we hauled him over the drystone walls. We returned to Waltergarth looking like Turkish mud wrestlers. Wine, women and song this evening. Watched Dudley Moore's 'Ten', boring. Steve snored in the chair. Joined by John from Scotland looking well. Sue and Pete went off at dusk and Karen said they would drop us off , but the time ticked by and we wended up staying another night. I was hideously pissed.

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