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20091212

Saturday December 7, 1974

YP until 4. Doesn't feel like a Saturday at all. The papers are full of the 'plane crash in Rawdon last night, in which eight men died. I wondered what all the fuss was as I passed through Rawdon. Never seen so many ambulances in one place at once.

Kathleen had a go at me this morning about doing a days' work! I sit biting my tongue because if anyone does two days work in one day it's Mr Bloody Michael Bloody Rhodes!

Do filing till 4, then attempt to get a bus home, which I do successfully at 5.30. All the buses are packed out and I don't fancy having to use West Yorkshire transport after my pass expires on Dec 21. It's back to the trains for me.

Dog tired on my arrival at Pine Tops and sleep in the chair whilst the TV moans miserably in the background. John, Lynn and Dave Baker go with the crowd to Philip Cartwright's annual Conservative Christmas orgy - attended by the Right Honourable Giles Shaw, MP no less.

I see a film with Mum and Dad and sit with a glass of horrid sherry and a packet of Polish cigs. Bed at about 12. Makes a changing staying within the precincts of ones own home.

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Friday December 6, 1974

Birth of Henry VI, 1421. Don't want to write too much. Did all the usual Friday ritual. Hare & Hounds, then the Commercial, and finally Wikis. Altogether pleasant and get slightly fresh on the lager. I still haven't reverted to drinking bitter, and I do not intend to. Campari remains a favourite though.

See Helen Willis at Wikis. She's had her hair cut in a ridiculous style. John and I walked home at 2. Freezing cold but very exilerating.

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Thursday December 5, 1974

Busy day. The bloody telephone didn't cease ringing all day. Nothing of interest to say, but I must say something because it's hardly proper to leave blank pages when ones diary is to consitute a major contribution to the historical, social, and literary knowledge of this, the 20th century. OK, we all agree I'm no Samuel Pepys, or John Evelyn or even 'Chips' Channon, but what do you expect from a comprehensive school educated creature who never set foot in Harrow or had Princess Marina for a godmother?

See TV and Monty Python. Nothing of vital interest. So I'll be saying goodnight to you all. I write this journal as though I'm addressing a party of OAPs at the local Darby & Joan. But it's not my fault.

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Wednesday December 4, 1974

Back to work. Not a very cheerful day. Kathleen says I can leave pictures for good after the weekend and move in with Sarah on cuttings -very cosy I should think.

Celebrate Carol Smith's birthday at the Hare & Hounds. Denny comes too which is a lovely little surprise. Carol gets quite intoxicated because everyone bought her drinks until closing time. I wear my old cheese-cloth shirt which Sarah has dyed a nice brown colour for me, and a blue and white 'Gatsby' style jacket. Denny and I sit listlessly by the juke box and have little do with the others. She tells me mouth-watering tales about______and we talk about a possible weekend orgy in a London hotel, &c.

Home with Chris at 11 where we have a birthday kissing session outside in the cold, wintry night air. Christine White had her share of 'snogs' (a quaint word) too. Mum is sitting in bed going on and on about the patchouli oil. Will it ever end.

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Tuesday December 3, 1974



Another good day. To Stratford-upon-Avon with Barbara, Serena, Mike Jenns, John Kirk, and Dave in the Lawson-mobile of course. The girls were horribly drunk and ploughed into a bus queue of old ladies outside a nice Shakespearian inn. Three old women died and seven were later reported 'serious but stable' in a Stratford mortuary.

A fantastic laugh it all was. Dave and I purchased a couple of pheasants and we carried them with pride through the streets. Had a few drinks before being kicked out at 2.30. Messed about near the river and took several photos.

How happy I have been this year. My entries for Dec 1973 are a painful experience. Moping for June Bottomley was a pathetic saga which dragged on for months. I was upset and depressed but subjecting you to the boring, heart-rending details was a mistake never to be repeated.

Home at 10.30 after travelling for three hours. Barbara is a darling, though she doesn't know that I know that she's a darling. Such a darling.

At home Mum starts nagging about the patchouli oil, and goes on and on...Oh for the solitude of Worcester.

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Monday December 2, 1974

A lovely drunken day. At lunchtime Dave suggests that we, and some others, should go to a pub which is about 2 miles along the River Severn, walking there of course. Dave, Mike Jenns, John Lessor, John Kirk and I go. To our horror we discover on our arrival the bakers' are preventing our consumption of sandwiches, due to the silly strike they're having. We struggle to survive on bags of crisps and Mars bars. Play darts until after 3, and drinks lots of home brewed cider. Coming back is a good deal more difficult. The mud seems twice as deep, and so does the river. Dave starts a friendly fight with John Kirk and it degenerates into a filthy mud bath and we all arrive back at college in a filthy, muddy state. I bring back a massive branch of mistletoe, which causes soemthing of a sensation in the female channels of the college.

After tea Wizard reads my fortune in some cards he frequently dabbles with. I agree with Barbara when she says that Wizard pretends he knows more about the cards than he says, when in fact he knows no more than we do! Oh God! I don't want to write any more. I never liked doing this anyway. I always wanted to be a gynaecologist.

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Sunday December 1, 1974

Advent Sunday. Henry I, died 1135. The first of December today: a lovely month indeed.

Had a good night again but was awakened at the unearthly hour of 11.0am by Mike Jenns and Steve, or 'The Wizard' as he is known. We make the best of it, and sit about with a coffee until lunch.

After lunch, Dave, Mike Jenns, the Wizard, and his girlfriend Sabia, Barbara (swoon), Noelle, and a little horror called Caroline all go in D's car to the Malvern Hills, a beautious spot indeed. We walk a few miles to the highest peak where a memorial is dedicated commemorating the 60th anniversary of the reign on Queen Victoria. Coming down a hill in the direction of St Ann's Well, I fall flat on my back staining my jeans bright green. The water from the Malvern Hills is favoured by the Queen, who drinks no other water. We call in at a good pub where I sample the lager - I drink little else these days. Back at college, Dave, Barbara and I go into the art room where I paint a caricature of her. She and Dave were reduced to hysterics at the sight of it and lay helplessly on the floor for about half an hour. She says she will treasure it forever as a reminder of my visit. Do little else tonight. Sleeping on Dave's floor. John Lessor is good fun_____.

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