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Saturday June 7, 1975

A wonderous day. In fact, the greatest day of my life. Last night I arranged to meet Christine in Guiseley this afternoon in order to go to the 'Carnival 75' held at Nunroyd Park. We meet at 4pm and I have never been happier in my whole life.

The sun was high in the sky, and we we high in the beer tent, and CB was the sexiest looking thing I have ever seen.

After drinking cider for ages, we made our way to the edge of the park where I kissed her and told her once again that all would be well if we went out. She kept saying that it was 'unfair' and that it would be 'difficult' but I wouldn't listen. We moved across to the bus shelter and sat lovingly in one anothers arms.

Arrived back at Pine Tops at 8 or thereabouts in time to be hurried into the car and taken to the Hare & Hounds. David is home and brings with him 'The Royal House of Windsor' by Elizabeth Longford, which is now mine at a price of £3.50.

Move on to the Commercial where CB and I are like a pair of love birds. Move on further to the Red Lion at Bburley-in-Wharfedale, and then home to Pine Tops. We have a cushion fight and Dave L smashes one of Mama's lamps. We had an evening of hysterics and it was quite the greatest night of my whole life.


Friday June 6, 1975

Hot, tropical day. Is summer really here at last?

Not wanting to bore you, I'll just say that the UK is staying in the Common Market after a massive majority of the people voted 'yes' in yesterday's first referendum. That's all I'm saying on the subject.

Down to the Hare as usual. Sit with Judith R and Kathryn until someone, I think it was Carol S, informs me that Christine is in the vicinity, and what's more, she's finished with Gary. I hurry to her side and discover that this is true, but she says they'll be back together when she's been transferred into town. Mary, a friend of hers is in for the night, and John shows interest in her until he discovers she is a married woman with an eighteen month old babe. Aaarghh! They depart at 10.30 and I fall for the charms of Shirley once again. We go to Wikis, along with John, where we remain until the usual hour of 2am. She drags us back to her friends place on Tranmere, Chris Hales too, until the unearthly hour of 4am. The sun was coming up in the sky and the birds were singing when we finally made our way home.

Shirley is quite a stunning piece, but she's 15. I feel like a child molester being near her. _____________________________________________________-.


Thursday June 5, 1975

Clammy day. Rains on my way down the lane at 8am, and is scorching hot on my return at 5.15. Bloody British weather.

It's Referendum Day I know, but I'm sick to the back teeth of hearing about it.

Busy day at the YP. Mrs Johnson, who is now separated from Mick, leaves early 'full of pnuemonia' or something. We'll all go down with it in the office.

Home at 5.30 for tea. Believe now that I have no choice other than to vote 'yes' in the referendum. I find the very thought of doing so distasteful, but if I do not do so, the weight of an overall 'no' vote would be on my conscience for the rest of my days.

John and I go vote 'yes' at 8.30. We then go to the Hare where Gillian, Naomi, even CB and Gary are to be found. We also call in at the Fox & Hounds for a quick one at about 9.30. Back to the Hare I arrange to meet CB therein on the morrow. It's now two months to the very day since I told her how I feel about her, and I still feel exactly the same. Gary must go.


Wednesday June 4, 1975

The 20th birthday of Mr Ratcliffe. The post brings a letter from him, telling me of his journey down (to Hayes), and certain details about the hotel itself. A letter too from Judith R, and one from good old Dave. Tonight I persuaded John to write to Dave to remind him about the records he borrowed in April & is still in possession of.

This referendum thing ends tomorrow after what seems like months and months of campaigning and useless BBC programmes. Tomorrow night we'll all be able to breathe easily again. I'm still not going to vote, but I hate to think I am making no contribution to such a historic event. One never knows. I might be voting 'YES' by this time tomorrow night.

The Derby was run at Epsom this afternoon. Grundy won. I looked in on one of those midget tvs in the Press Hall. The Duchess of Gloucester paraded herself at the racecourse knee-deep in plaster. HRH broke her leg whilst skiing some weeks ago, but she is carrying out engagements undaunted.

Lynn and Dave sit in the dining room compiling a photo album. I retire at 10pm for a bath.


Tuesday June 3, 1975

One of the most hideous days of the year. Rain, rain, and even more rain. I went to the YP wrapped in two woollen pullovers as a protective shield against the ridiculously cold weather. Snowing in June!

Just think, tomorrow may be the last day that Britain is a member of the EEC. What a tragedy that would be if it were true. Although I do not agree with the idea of referenda and all they entail, I'm nearly persuaded to go out and use my vote. We should stay in the Common Market, but I don't like the way the people have been asked to decide. A General Election on the subject should have been offered to us - the only democratic process in Britain. We'll be one step down the ladder to hopelessness if Britain chucks herself out of Europe. Things have changed since Lord Salisbury went on about 'splendid isolation' in the 1890s.

Quite a busy day really. I sat attempting to fathom something out this afternoon. What is the difference between a step-brother and a half-brother? Does such a thing as a 'half-brother' exist at all? This line of thought began when I dug something out of the files on Martin Parsons, the step-brother of Ld. Snowdon. Ooh, and did you know that Lord Snowdon has a half-brother, Peregrine Thomas Owen Llewellyn Armstrong-Jones, who was born Nov 15, 1960? Remarkable really considering that Snowdon is 44 now. Having a brother 30 years younger than oneself cannot be a pleasant thing at all really.

Home at 5.30 for dinner consisting of roast lamb & roast potatoes. Lamb is always greasy and horrible, but the others seem to like it.

John is still minus employment but Mum may have found him a job at Moon's, her place of employment. I hope and pray he finds something soon. It's quite impossible to find anything in this economic climate.

See 'Edward VII' which is up to its brilliant standard.

Monday June 2, 1975

Holiday in Irish Republic. Last night was hilarious really. After arguing with CB about Gary and telling her of my own experience with June, we are caught almost 'red handed' sitting on top of one another in a corner by none other than Gary himself. Christine and he exchanged words and he left 10 minutes later to 'have an early night'. He doesn't love herat all and it pains me to see her virtually throwing herself at him. However, after my own experiences with JB I don't have a leg to stand on. I threw myself at her for two years without receiving anything back whatsoever!! CB isn't as mad to do a thing like that (I hope).

Worry all day about John. What with unemployment being the way it is at the moment I'm a bit dubious about whether he'll find anything easily. The poor devil looks really cheesed off.

Quiet day at the YP. Sarah is on holiday until next Monday and so the office isn't all that happy. Miss Collis brightens the place up no end.

It snowed in certain parts of England today, and in Essex snow stopped the county cricket match! The Second of bloody June and we have weather not fit for February.

CB rang to say she accidentally left the Monty Python book in the phone box last night. I had to laugh because she's been chasing after the damned thing since January.

I rang Marita to let her know I was still alive. Received a letter from David today.



Sunday June 1, 1975

1st after Trinity. It was nearly 5am on June 1 before we were all allocated places of sleep at the Ratcliffe abode. John, crippled with his ankle, and scarred for life thanks to the dog, was passed out next to me in a sleeping bag on the lounge floor, and Peter was placed on a camp bed in Chris's room after undergoing harsh recouperation treatment in the garden. The poor boy was hysterical and didn't quite know who he was, or who anyone else was for that matter.

Awoke at 11.30. Mrs Ratcliffe made me a cup of tea, and I went out into the garden to mock Peter, who didn't look at all healthy propping up a lilac tree. Mrs R bandaged J's foot and she didn't bat an eye lid when he explained just how he had received his injuries.

At 12 we went to the Fleece for a couple of drinks before lunch. All the gang, except the Grahams and Smiths, came in and we sat near the fruit machine laughing about last night. Peter was in high spirits considering.

Chris leaves at 5.15 this afternoon for his new post at Hayes, Middlesex. No one really wanted him to go, but he seemed in cheery form. Peter brought me and John home for lunch at 1pm.

Dave is messing about with John's car and they spend the afternoon dismantling it.

Out with Christine to the Hare at 8.30. However, at 8.15 John learned from his employers that his services will no longer be required after next week, due to lack of incoming work. We're all astounded. Poor John - redundant.


Saturday May 31, 1975

John and I go into Otley in afternoon for a lark around, but with the main intention of finding a decent tool shop for my younger brother and eventual heir. I say heir because the title will of course go to him and his children after I'm gone, because unless CB marries me, I will not produce any offspring. Christine Braithwaite is the only person whom I'd consider making my duchess.

Home at 5.30 to find Mum and Dad looking sun-tanned after a week in Scotland laden with relics and souvenirs of Balmoral and Inveraray. They tell us the tale and explain how they managed to motor 1300 miles in seven days. Glad to see them home safely.

To the Fleece with Dave, Lynn and John. I tore a hole in my trousers climbing into Mr Baker's sports car, but otherwise received no other injuries, well other than verbal ones that is. At the off-licence in Guiseley we were asked our age! Twenty years old, and people still think I'm 15.

All the mob gather in the Fleece and we move on to Laura's at 9.30. A drunken evening follows. Laura's parents are nice folk. Much nicer than I ever imagined. Her eighty-six year-old granny was a right case too. Chris, Pete M, John, Raymond and his mate, and me walked back down Town Street at 2am and we left chaos and devastation in our path. John fell off the causeway and sprained his ankle, and was then bitten by Dandy, the Ratcliffe hound, on our arrival at 21, Victoria Drive. Poor Pete had never been drunk before. And WAS he drunk!


Friday May 30, 1975

Friday again. Feeling miserable because Christine doesn't love me, and no doubt I ruined a perfect friendship by telling her I'm besotted with her. However, I'm not dwelling on that any more today.

At 8 o'clock we went to the Hare & Hounds and I was roused from my dreary state by Marian and Maura, who were sitting in a corner debating the idea of going for a meal in the Hare restaurant. Embarassment followed when I explained to Marian that I'd gone into Woolworth's, where she told me she worked, in order to have a chat, and she dissolved in a heap of hysterics beneath the table. She explained that at Gillian Barker's party she'd been too drunk to say she was a cartographer, evidently someone who draws maps, and amidst the giggles coming from her and Maura, she told me she'd never worked in Woolworth's, especially never on the sweet counter. The girl is horribly mad.

Saw poor Christine for about ten minutes. Mr Braithwaite was taken into hospital this afternoon, and her Mum didn't specify in the note she'd left as to which hospital he'd been taken. Gary took her off at about 9 o'clock.

John, Sue, Pete and me go to Wikis which is quiet really. Have a good dance. The DJ is playing a lot of James Brown. Meet a little girl from Hill Way - Shirley - who delights me. My dreams are shattered when she says she is only 15. All the same, there is no denying she is a nice looking bird. Of course, I won't see her again.

Thursday May 29, 1975

The Press is still full of the Prince of Wales's beard. Certain annals of the newspaper industry have gone so far as to say that HRH was breaking naval rules by parading himself with his moustache before his mother, the Lord High Admiral. In the Royal Navy you either have to have a 'full-set' i.e. moustache and beard, or nothing at all, and when His Royal Highness was installed as Grand Master of the Order of the Bath - brandishing a ginger moustache - he was breaking the law. Anyway, he left to join his ship, the Hermes, later on today clean shaven. And that is the end of that.

Saw 'Top of the Pops' on TV and do little else. At least it is pay day today, and £6 is going into the bank for the holiday. Bye Bye.


Wednesday May 28, 1975

A right Royal Day today. I arrived at work to find a photo of the bearded Prince of Wales on my desk, and I was startled to see how much he looked like a young King George V. Without further ado I delved into the picture archives and emerged with a photo of George V, suitably bearded of course. The resemblance is remarkable and I realised immediately that this would be a good idea for a story. 'People' the YP diary is an obvious place for such an article. However, my labours are in vain, and every time I attempt to pass on my ideas they are shouted down and ridiculed. By lunchtime I have given up hope. However, at 3 I was approached by Chris Dawson with a request for pictures of ALL the bearded monarchs of England. 'Hell', I thought, 'how many Kings of England have been bearded. Let's solve this by a process of elimination.' George VI and Edward VIII were clean shaven, and so was Queen Victoria. King Edward VII and King George V were proud beard owners, and none of the first four Georges had one. Queen Anne didn't have one, and William and Mary couldn't grow a beard between them. So, in one way or another the throne of Great Britain was beardless between 1649 and 1901. Henry VIII and poor Charles I were reasonably endowed with facial hair, but that's about all.

But alas, and alack, no sooner had I suppled Chris Dawson with images of bearded kings that I receive news of horrific consequence. Carol is shouting something like: 'He's shaved it off! He's shaved it off!' Indeed, the prince has succumbed to the razor. Carol was laughing hysterically. 'He's got a moustache now'.

The thought of searching for moustachioed monarchs didn't please me all that much. Poor Dawson returned to his desk, head bowed at the thought of losing a good story.

On my arriving home I look in at the 6 o'clock news and see the Prince of Wales endowed with a moustache dressed in robes of Grand Master of the Order of the Bath, and looking remarkably like the Prince Consort. However, I have made up my mind never to notice resemblances amongst members of the Royal Family again.

Home at 5.30 for tea and prepare to see Leeds United in the European Cup. Dave Baker joins us and we indulge in a few glasses of lager, ale, &c.


Tuesday May 27, 1975

Don't feel like compiling any events for today. In fact I feel like putting an end to this miserable diary once and for all. OK, I'm depressed and I don't know what I'm saying, but you've got yo admit, it isn't very exciting, is it?

First day back at the YP. No astounding news in the press, and 'Edward VII' wasn't on TV tonight because of the industrial dispute with the technicians.

Dave, Lynn, John and I go to the Hare & Hounds for yet another drink. This makes the total of boozy consecutive days to six. Last Wednesday at the Hare, Thursday with Gillian, Friday, Saturday and Sunday at Grassington, Monday back at the Hare of course and then today. However, it was Edward VII's fault tonight.

Home at 10 o'clock to hear on the news that a bus accident occurred near Grassington this afternoon killing 31 women and the driver. It is Britain's worst ever road accident. To think that yesterday afternoon we were driving around on the self same autobahn.


Monday May 26, 1975

Holiday in England, N. Ireland & Wales. The last Day: Awake coughing and sneezing because of the feathers in my sleeping bag. Emerged from the tent looking like a Pantomime Duck, or something. After dangling my head in the river and taking in the air I clear up a bit, but it'll be weeks before my sinuses clear properly. This allergy of mine is a tiresome hinderance. The same thing happened when I went with CB to Sheffield. All Dave Baker's sleeping bags are full of little feathers, and I never fail to succumb to the horrors of them.

After breakfast (another fried one) we go into Grassington for one final boozing session. The town is full of Morris Dancers, and when they came in the pub we couldn't hear ourselves speak for the jingling of bells and other clattering noises associated with this hideous village pastime.

After spending an hour in the pub we made our way home, via Appletreewick and other scenic places.

On our arrival at the Devonshire Arms we find a note pinned to John's car from Mum and Dad, who'll now be in Scotland. He managed to get the car going, and we were home for 5 o'clock.

After tea we go to the Hare & Hounds (just for a change) and I spend the whole time chatting with Christine, who passed a miserable weekend quite alone. Gary was away pot-holing - creep that he is.


Sunday May 25, 1975

Trinity Sunday. Day Three at Grassington: Nice day. Beautiful weather, though probably just a bit windy. After waking up at the same hideous, and unusual time as yesterday we once again partook of a fried breakfast, which isn't agreeing with John at all.

We intended going off to Malham, but because of the time we changed our minds and decided to go swimming at Skipton Baths. Spend a good afternoon in Skipton, and feel greatly rejuvenated after my first splash around in a pool for what seems like decades.

Back at the tent we lounge around in deckchairs listening to the Top 20 on Radio One. Well, Pete and myself did this. John and Chris were busy frying tea.

After the traditional fried meal we bung a few stones in the river and collect wood for another camp fire and generally prepare ourselves for the coming onslaught of alcohol.

To Linton and Grassington drinking. John is back on form again and we manage to deplete the beer stocks of several Yorkshire pubs.

The second camp fire proved successful again, but we are all melancholy because it's our last night. Chris was acting daft when he saw the full moon, complaining that he believed in the likes of Dracula and other creations of Hammer Horror Inc. & Warner Brothers. It was impossible to make him see reason. We ate baked potatoes on the fire, and argued whether Princess Anne had done the right thing by marrying Mark Phillips.

Bed at 2.30.


Saturday May 24, 1975

Day Two at Grassington: Don't awake until about 11am which is quite remarkable. I always imagined the campers would have to crawl out the sack at the crack of dawn because of the rumpus created by cocks, and other various poultry, or because of acute cold, and lumpy ground, &c. But strangely enough, the night was tranquil and I slept like a log throughout.

After a greasy breakfast and a splash in the river we drove into Grassington for a general potter about. Nothing of great consequence, so we motored around aimlessly and fell upon Kettlewell. The sky was very dull, and the air bracing, and so we nipped into the nearest warm haven for a few hours. As it happened it turned out to be a pub, a most congenial experience. We came out feeling a good deal more good humoured then when we went in , and so our tripwasn't in vain.

Aysgarth was the next port of call and we were unimpressed by the falls therein. Not a particularly stunning sight.

Back to Grassington's ale houses in the evening, and John ended up drinking tomato joices because of a stomach disorder. He blames all the fried nosh, but I can't help thinking it has something to do with the alcoholic intake of yesterday.

Back to the tent for a camp fire until after 1am. We're all getting on better than I imagined we would. Peter isn't the swine I always imagined he'd be to camp with.


Friday May 23, 1975

Day one of the Open Event at Grassington. At 6.30 John and I go to the Hare in order that I can pick up my jacket which I accidentally left under the juke box on Wednesday. We stay for a few drinks. Peter and Chris come in. They're laden with the precious tent and various other camping odds and ends.

Mum and Dad go to Scotland tomorrow. In the new car too. They haven't been off, quite alone, for any length of time before (not since the famous honeymoon anyway) so it should be quite a fantastic break.

Back to the Camping Trip: Horror of Horrors! John's car broke down near the Devonshire Arms, Bolton Abbey, and we had to dump the car in the pub car park. The four of us piled into Pete's van and we bombed into the Dales, weighed down with tons of camping gear and miscellaneous rubbish.

After to failing to get on a camp site we deposit ourselves in a field, next to the Wharfe, about ten minutes out of Grassington. The tent was erected before 9.30 and we made the pub in Grassington shortly after. Although the pubs close legally at 11pm, the Forester's Arms in Grassington was open to customers at 11.30, which amused John no end, though Peter did seem a little edgy. ________.


Thursday May 22, 1975

Gillian and I go see 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail', a full-length feature film, at the ABC Cinema in Bradford. Really hilarious. We both sat snorting like pigs throughout, and ached with the strain of laughing all the way home on the bus.

We called in on Naomi for ten minutes or so, and I walked Gillian home.

Home at about 11pm to see the new CAR!! A Toyota Corona or something. A beautiful shade of red, and quite the joy of Papa, who vows he's never seen anything like it. He never imagined that the day would dawn when he was the owner of a car free from rust!



Wednesday May 21, 1975

Another beautiful day. Sarah comes into town with me at lunchtime and I drag her around several banks and a Post Office - on Barclaycard business. After paying up this month's installment we walk leisurely back to the YP.

Sarah really is a lovely bird but somehow I never quite feel at ease with her. I'd have asked out years ago if only I'd been blessed with the right amount of courage and 'get up and go' spirit. She will be 23 in November, but I don't suppose that matters much. After all, I am 20. Anyway, what is the use in me getting on like this? Grief, I take a gorgous bird out for a lunchtime drink and I come home with ideas of starting a permanent union! Oh, I forgot to mention that when I said we'd gone round Leeds. At 1.40 we called in for a quick one before resuming our duties in the dismal structure of Yorkshire Post Newspapers Ltd. I'm still in love with CB anyway and I don't care if you think I'm a crazy, mixed up youth who happens to fall in love with everything in eye make-up, because I would never feel like I do about Sarah if Christine hadn't resumed her relations with 'Lord Baden-Powell'.

Christine rang at 4.15 and said she'd be in the Hare tonight and went on to say that she'd be 'lost and all alone' at the weekend when I am away. Every time I mention Gary she laughed as though something was in the air, but refused to tell me any more. Anyway fans, hang about until midnight when I'll complete the chronicles of today's events.

.... Later: You'll be hanging around for a long time if you expect any more tonight.


Tuesday May 20, 1975

Hot day. At lunchtime I have a few photographs taken for my ten year passport. They look really grotty, but not all that bad when you think it costs about £2 to be photographed by a cravat-wearing Old Etonian with a lisp and double-barrelled name for something very similar, but probably a bit more glossy. Don't take this as an insult to Lord Snowdon please, because nothing was further from my mind. OK, he may be an Old Etonian with a camera, but he doesn't lisp, and hasn't worn a cravat in donkey's years.

At 4.30 armed with a bottle of Lucozade I marched on Leeds Infirmary and threw myself upon my ailing aunt, the one and only Mabel Paine. I didn't recognise her at first because she seems to have lost a good deal of weight since we last met, but otherwise she was very cheerful. The thought of having cancer worried her to death (Oops) of course, but they've assured her now that it's all clear. No more treatment required, and by Sunday she'll be a free woman again. I really despise hospitals. The smells and the general lay-out make me weak at the knees. It was so nice to get out into the fresh air at about 6 o'clock - away from the stench of death and illness. I only hope to God that I'll never have to spend any length of time in such a place. Mind you, by the time I'm 60 they'll have done away with hospitals and they'll be injecting OAPs with cyanide. The nice, easy way out.

See 'Edward VII' at 9 o'clock, and retire at 11.


Monday May 19, 1975

Oh well, what can I write about today?____It happens to have been an ordinary Monday.

Work was busy. Sarah looked stunning, but I can't fill three quarters of a page with those small details. After all, I'm no Shakespeare or Oscar Wilde. Especially no OscarWilde. I don't want to go down in history labelled a 'Brown Hatter' or a Lord Alfred Douglas, or 'Pansy'.

What's in the news then? His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is growing a beard. The Daily Mail says he's following in the tradition of King Edward VII and his grandfather, George V. But King George V is not the grandfather of the Prince of Wales. George V, as you well know, was grandfather of the Queen, and subsequently the great-grandfather of the bearded heir.


Sunday May 18, 1975

Whit Sunday. Another scorcher. Up at 12 and do nothing before luch, which is always the case on Sundays. After roast beef and Yorkshire Pudding I nip down Tranmere to see Gillian - the femme fatale of Guiseley. Mrs Upton is a _______.Not forgetting the Jodpurs (can't spell this) and car wash leather. Gillian yells the usual abuse at her mother before coming back to Pine Tops to recline in a deckchair on the lawn with ice-cream and Mum, Dad and Lynn and eventually Dave. A really hot afternoon and would have been tranquil but for the fact that JR was screaming her ruddy, little head off two doors away. And when I say screaming, I really mean SCREAMING.

Gillian goes at 5 after laughing with Lynn about shorthand.

Dave comes at 5.30 and we have a laugh by having tea in the car. Why did we do that you are all asking? Well, the radio batteries are flat and the car radio is the only thing working at the moment, and so it came to pass that crumpets and ham sandwiches were had in the front seat of Papa's Cortina.

Lynn and Dave join us at the Hare, and we move on to the Black Bull, in Otley where I partake in a few too many Skol Special Strengths. Ray and his mate John joined us and Sunday night proved riotous for a change.



Saturday May 17, 1975

Hilarious day. Mum got me out of bed at 12 to accomapny her to Morrison's for the weekly pile of nosh and general necessities. In unbearable heat we chase about the shop for the best part of an hour, picking Sue up at the hairdressers on the way home.

A 2pm Gillian comes round with 'Diamond Dogs' by Bowie, and after half an hour the two of us decide to pay a call on Chris, who is messing about with his guttering (roof guttering and all that) with the aid and assistance of John of course. After messing about on a couple of buses Gillian and I arrive at Horsforth at about 2.30 to discover Mrs Ratcliffe pottering around in the rubble of what was once 21, Victoria Drive. She was all covered in paint saying things like: 'Oh, Chris and John disappeared half an hour ago down Town Street'. We sat about waiting for the two workers to return and when they do we follow them outside and clown about on the lawn, eating ice lollipops and making foolery and merriment. John dangling about at the top of a ladder just didn't look safe, and Gillian felt quite sickly just watching him. Home at about 6 in a mild drizzle to have tea.

Mum and Dad are at Leeds General Infirmary visiting Auntie Mabel, and therefore I make the tea consisting of fish fingers and peas. Very nice too, although I say it myself.

Out to the Hare & Hounds at about 8 and Gillian more or less tags onto me for the night. After a disagreement in the Malt Shovel, Burley-in-Wharfedale, the happy family splits up and Laura takes her mob to Ilkley and John, Gillian, Christine Dibb and I go to the White Horse in Burley to see Cousin Dorothy. We leave at about 11.10 after exchanging reminiscences with Dorothy. Played dominos for the first time in years.


Friday May 16, 1975

Have a good time with Sarah today and I'm sure she is aware that I quite like her. When I say quite like her I mean a bit more than that, but mourning for Christine prevents me from saying what I feel.

Oh, I don't think I've told you that Gary seems to have hypnotised poor Christine again and they are 'going out' once more. I put 'going out' in inverted commas because they don't actually 'go out'. In fact, he 'goes out' somewhere and Christine 'goes out' to the Hare & Hounds and stands about all evening making excuses for him. The day I see them enjoying themselves 'together' I will run up a Union Flag and sit in the middle of Hawksworth Lane in a naked condition, blowing bubbles.

In town today I bought a shirt. Brilliant it is, with a little man on the front. He's riding a bicycle or something. Went to the Hare and Hounds and of course Wikis and everyone seemed to be interested in it (the shirt). Drank quite a sizeable amount of alcohol & revelled in the delights of a drunken Gillian and weird Marian. Naomi was drunk and goes to London to a party on the morrow, and I can't help feeling disappointed that she isn't going to be my sister-in-law.

Home in Laura's car at 2am or thereabouts and stagger straight into the pit. Sleep soundly.


Thursday May 15, 1975

It's pay day today, and once again the little man in cashiers seems to have forgotten my extra payment for working nights a couple of weeks ago. Kathleen deals with it and vows to me that next Thursday I will receive the miserable pitance owed to me.

Saw 'Top of the Pops' which was utter rubbish as usual, and you'll never believe this, but I went to bed at 9pm! Nine o'clock no less. If you are astounded you have every right to be because I cannot have been in bed at nine since I was six or maybe seven years-old. It wasn't that I felt particularly tired either, but the television got on my nerves so much I just had to escape. 'The Wonderful World of Jacques Cousteau' or something equally Walt Disneyfied. Aaarrghh! Putrid, nasty BBC programmes are sinking even lower.


Wednesday May 14, 1975

Busy day really. Overcast and cloudy again. Home at 5.30 and have tea straight away. I'm always half starved on an evening, because I rarely eat anything during the day.

Poor Auntie Mabel didn't have a cyst after all. It was cancer, and whilst they were operating on her today they removed her breast. A horrible, petrifying thought I know, but if it stops the malignant thing from getting any worse that is all that matters. I'll have to call in and help cheer her up one afternoon this week. It must be horrible being in hospital. I'd like to think I was going to be healthy and reasonably fit until the day I drop dead, and as long as that happens I'm not bothered about how, or in what circumstances, I am removed from this fair earth.

I'm in two minds about going out tonight as is always the case on a Wednesday. One thing's for sure - at least I'll see Christine because I know for a fact that when she says she isn't going out she always does. It's heartbreaking to see her crawling around Gary.

A morbid occasion we are having today, but it's just the way I feel.


Tuesday May 13, 1975

Weird day. Cold, sunny, thundery, and then quite warm. I couldn't really fathom what it wanted to do to us at all. However, the sun shone at 4.30 when I went for my bus which is all that matters really because it is the only time of day when I'm exposed to the elements.

Auntie Mabel went into hospital today in order that a surgeon could examine her breast. It may be a cyst, but one never knows, what with breast cancer on the increase. Auntie is a reasonably healthy woman and at 56 she stands every chance of making a brilliant recovery. Poor Marlene will worry though, because she is totally devoted to her mother.

Do nothing this evening other than look in at the television which is a good night tonight. See 'Edward VII' of course and once more revel in the delights of Annette Crosbie's Queen Victoria. Also see a programme on the war years in the north of England. Horrible scenes of devastation in Sheffield and Hull and moving film of visits by King George VI and Queen Elizabeth to the bombed areas. Dad was quite choked because he was eleven when the VE Day celebrations were going on, and all that ancient, crackly old film brought the memories flooding back to him.

I'd like to write more but the difficulty in sharing a bedroom with ones younger brother is that they sometimes feel awkward and tired even though it's only 11.30pm. So before he climbs from 'neath his sheets and kills me I'd better conclude this entry and retire. Goodnight everyone, and God Bless.


Monday May 12, 1975

It is 38 years tolday since the Queen Mother was crowned Queen Consort of England in Westminster Abbey. The poor old chap around whom the service was centred was taken from us some 23 years ago, but I am sure that the Royal Family will be thinking about him today.

A wet and nasty day really. Stay inside the YP until it is absolutely necessary for me to go out at 4.30 for my bus, and get quite a soaking making my way home.

Nothing of great interest is in the news today. Just the same old Common Market Referendum trash and more propaganda about Mr Wedgwood Benn. One MP said the other day that Mr Benn would be Prime Minister before Christmas, and I don't think anyone could ask for a worse Christmas present. The very thought of Britain's answer to Hitler and Mussolini rolled into one being installed at No 10, Downing Street, is something I really don't want to dwell on.

Kathleen is back tomorrow and that is something else I don't wish to spend a lot of time thinking about, because life is hectic and unnecessarily 'panicky' when she is in the office.

Christine still dominates my thoughts. That girl doesn't know just how much I love her, although she always gives me a beautiful smile and calls me 'biased' when I attempt to talk her out of her infatuation for Gary taking over altogether. Such a tease she is really. However, she is quite aware of the fact that I will never give in. Christine Mary Dacre Braithwaite won't be rid of me until I am dead and buried.

The Royal visit to Japan is just about over and it seems to have been a tremendous success. The Queen's looked lovely all week - fashionable too - and no doubt we can expect a sizeable trade agreement with the Japanese shortly. The monarchy certainly pulls in the needed cash from abroad.


Sunday May 11, 1975

Sunday after Ascension. Approximately 1am: Somehow the photo of Barbra Streisand isn't as beautiful as it was the other day. What can have happened? Do you want me to tell you? OK -- you see I'm so violently in love it isn't conceivable. Why do I always manage to become impassioned with a woman who finds it impossible to feel the same way about me? I might as well become infatuated with Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones because I'm sure it would be more profitable than pursuing Christine. Women in love with other people are to be avoided at all costs- that is if you're the 'give in' type - which I AM NOT!

12.30pm. Susan and Peter went to the Hare & Hounds for a meal last night, but joined me in a drink first. John and Co went galavanting off on another Saturday evening pub crawl in the far flung reaches of the Yorkshire Dales. I put my foot down and said I would stay in the Hare tonight no matter what. Christine came at 8.15 and after S and P had departed into the restaurant we were left quite alone. After discussing the loss of her purse and the loss of her Gary we proceeded to drink gallons of alcoholic refreshment - on the whole a superb occasion. Lynn and Dave came in for the last drink and after seeing C onto her bus we came home (Dave, Lynn, Sue, Pete and me) to Pine Tops to see TV until about 1.30.

Anyway, I've filled in half a page discussing the events of yesterday which leaves me little room to discuss the events of this day, but I'll attempt to do so now.
Warm and sunny with a fair amount of cloud, but not a patch on last Sunday. Arose at about 12 and had lunch immediately .

Mum and Dad went to Marlene's for tea and came back with the news that Auntie Mabel has a growth on her breast - cancer? It looks very likely. Poor old Auntie.

Dave and Lynn entertained me at home in the evening and we polished off another bottle of wine.


Saturday May 10, 1975

Life is a tragedy really. The girl upon whom I'm quite willing to lavish my wealth, affection and charm refuses to accept it because she is passionately in love with a 4ft 11ins bank clerk who lives in the shadow of Highroyds mental Hospital.

As you are already aware from the previous entry, poor, darling Christine had her purse 'removed' from her handbag in Wikis and then it came to pass the we (the 2 of us) walked home up Thorpe Lane, in order to drown our sorrows in orange juice. It was intended that she should occupy the camp bed, but just like Lord Randolph Churchill 'forgot Goschen', I forgot Uncle Harry. I deposited her in Lynn's room after telling her that I'd never go out with anyone again and that the remainder of my life would be dedicated to the Roman Catholic priesthood, or something.

Up at 10 today or thereabouts and made breakfast for Harry, John, Christine and self. Poor Mum was ill last night, and so food is the last thing she wanted this morning. After devouring a hearty breakfast and casting a few soulful glances at Christine, Harry goes, and so too does Christine with John to Horsforth. Hells Bells and Buckets of Blood, I love that girl! But all in vain. All in bloody vain.

Before leaving me with little hope of furthering my aims Christine said she'd be in the Hare at the usual time. I too say I'll be therein. John comes in at about 6 and says that neither he or the rest of the gang are going to be in the Hare tonight, which means that Christine and I will be more or less alone, unless Lynn and Dave join us as they sometimes do. I have no room here, and so I'll fill in tonight's detail in Sunday's entry. Wish me luck, pals.


Friday May 9, 1975

To Wikis with Christine. We walked from the Hare & Hounds. At first I thought I stood a chance of winning her over, but Gary is still very much on her mind.

Sue went to Wikis for the first time, and quite a failure it turned out to be. A failure for me and Christine anyway. At 1am we noticed the small detail that she'd had her purse knicked by some creep in our midst. About £5 and her Barclaycard plus all her photographs and a key. We spend the last hour working out when it was last seen and so on and so forth - all to no use. Not to be found anywhere.

Anyway, she is staying at Pine Tops and so we walked up Thorpe Lane with only one tearful incident.

Uncle Harry came at tea time and he, along with Mum and Dad, paid us a flying visit to the Hare & Hounds at about nine o'clock. John didn't stand a chance with Naomi, and likewise I didn't stand a chance with Christine. I don't really want to be woeful but I'm doomed to bachelorhood from the very start. Women have a jinx on me, and I'd be a lot better joining the Roman Catholic Church. What sort of pay does a Pope get, I wonder?


Thursday May 8, 1975

Ascension Day. Pay Day. I'm not writing much, because I don't want to. Love sick, I am. It rained all day, and I attempted to buy a camera in Boots in Leeds, but they only accept Barclaycard if you produce a cheque. Who do they think I am?


Wednesday May 7, 1975

After 11pm: Forgive the cheap, horrible biro. I am quite madly in love with the most enchanting girl I have ever had the honour to meet. Quite seriously I mean it when I say that Christine Braithwaite....(gap on page) followed by (10.5.75)... Oh what's the use? Forgive this slight folks, but it's no longer May 7 - in fact it's the afternoon of Saturday May 10, and the heart rending, passionate whimsies of my heart (written in biro that is) seem futile at this stage.

To get back to Wednesday. Christine rang me this afternoon and told me that Gary finished with her on Sunday. She is horribly cut up, but it is the first time that anybody has done this to her. We meet at the Hare at 8 and she says it would be impossible and wicked for her to go out with me because she feels it would be a false cover-up of her own feelings for that lunatic, Gary. Home at 11 after attempting to team John and Naomi together again. A sad failure I'm afraid.


Tuesday May 6, 1975

Peaceful day without the chaos of Kathleen. A beautiful hot day, and it really is a crime to be trussed up in an office - without windows - for a rotten £30 a week.

Bumped in Speed, the EP cartoonist, and he says I really ought to have a word with Malcolm Barker about my future. He says it's dead easy being a reporter, and didn't seem to think that my lack of 2 'A' levels was a hinderance. And so, it's Malcolm Barker here I come!

Carol J was rabbiting on about the Queen abdicating in a few years time to make way for the Prince of Wales. A load of codswallop! The very word 'abdication' will strike horror into the heart of any member of the House of Windsor after the trauma of King Edward VIII. Besides, the Queen is a very healthy, dedicated sovereign, who vowed on her 21st birthday that 'whether my life be long, or short I will serve the British Commonwealth of Nations with all my heart' or words closely resembling this.

Nothing of vital importance today. I knocked about the garden after tea and inspected Uncle Albert's apple tree, which is growing marvellously. To think that 6 years ago my old uncle took a pip from an eating apple and laid it in a little pot. It now stands about 3ft in height. Old Mother Nature is a genius, and besides, Uncle Albert had a way with plants that assures its future prosperity.

'Edward VII' was on TV again tonight and again I must say that Annette Crosbie plays a marvellous Queen Victoria. Truly a wonderous actress.


Monday May 5, 1975

Holiday in Scotland. I always loathe and despise Mondays. Why this is so I fail to understand. Probably my devotion to the Yorkshire Post and the prospect of eight hours solid work ahead of me has something to do with this.

Kathleen is on holiday and so I'm left with Saturday's EP to deal with, and this doesn't cheer me up. This paper is riddled with trash. and so after I've glanced through it and disposed of it, I snatch a look at todays nationals. Nothing of interest other than the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh's state visit to Hong Kong, and endless tosh on the Common Market issue. I really am becoming worried about the sanity of our future Communist Prime Minister, Mr Wedgwood Benn, alias the 2nd Viscount Stansgate. He really is a left-wing creep. I for one will book a one-way ticket to New Zealand on the morning he moves into No 10, Downing Street. Horrific he really is.

See TV all evening and throw myself into Lady Randolph Churchill before hitting the sack.



Sunday May 4, 1975

Rogation Sunday. A beautiful day. Up and out at 11.30 and fall into a deckchair in the garden until lunchtime. John has been idiotic since his breach with Naomi and I hope for all our sakes that he'll soon pull round because quite honestly he's making life hell for me. It niggles me the way he only thinks about ale and cars - I suppose he thinks he should behave like that when he surrounds himself with such bores as ____. John's even talking like him now. Boasting about all the near misses he's had in the car and how he screeched the brakes, &c, &c. The horrific thing is that one day they'll be no near miss and the world will be minus another human being. Tragic it really is.

Heard last night that Christine went home from the Hare early because Gary didn't arrive to see her. He uses that poor girl horribly. Treats her like dirt, and she puts up with it. I still feel a lot for her, and she refuses to believe me, or at least refuses to acknowledge it. She's known for years (2 at least) how much I admire her, but somehow hates the idea of anything coming of it.

On Friday before going into work I took 'King George VI' back to Leeds Library and took out 'Jennie: Lady Randolph Churchill' by Anita Leslie. Quite a good book and I realise that the TV series starring Lee Remick was taken almost word for word from Miss Leslie's book.

At about 4 Uncle Peter and family call to see us. My peaceful rest on the lawn with Lady Randolph is disrupted by Peter's delightful daughters - who are sweet really. I ended up playing 'tig' with them, much to the amusement of Dave, who is working on his car on the drive. Peter is one of my favourite uncles. _______.Lovely day, and we are all a lot more healthy for the sunshine.


Saturday May 3, 1975

John wakes me at about 11.30 and I feel quite rotten again. Headache and sore throat. On making enquiries I discover that we're all the same in the house. John, in the car, departs in the direction of Horsforth. He's going to Chris's then down to Charlie Brown's for some car tyres or something.

I do most of the housework. (Just thought I'd slip that in, and I'd like to make it quite clear that I'm proud of it. Men who can't do the ordinary household chores are pathetic). Play a few records but feel as though my head is about to explode.Mum and Dad come back from Bradford and they say they feel the same. Mum kept saying that we might have a gas leak or something, but surely if this was the case we'd all be unconscious or dead?

This evening was one of the most nasty, uncomfortable affairs I've ever really experienced. To start with, John went to collect his idol ___ and he was persuaded to call in at the revolting Station 'just for a quick one'. I had a pint of Guinness which ruined my evening because it stuck in the pit of my stomach like three tons of reinforced concrete. After collecting Linda, Carol and Miss Dibb we made our way to the Devonshire Arms near Bolton Abbey - a most hideous tavern, full of old clapped-out idiots in tweed trousers. From then on things went down hill and the gang ended up in Burnsall. I was with Lynn and Dave and noticed the horror on Mr Baker's face at the mileage we were doing. When petrol is 70p a gallon I couldn't agree more with him. Never again.


Friday May 2, 1975

I saw Harold Macmillan on the TV last night and I must say that he's made my mind up once and for all on this referendum nonsense. I always said that I would never vote in any referendum, because it's an unlawful abomination, yet the TV and the papers had almost made me change my mind. I would have voted for staying in, but that's besides the point. No, Mr Macmillan convinced me that it would be a disgrace to vote on June 5. What is the point in having a Houses of Parliament when they are just going to hand over all important decisions to us. And let us face it, the Common Market isn't a matter of life and death. We have gone through two world wars and we, that is the ordinary plebs, were never given the chance to state our views on that subject. Good old Harold Macmillan. They don't make 'em like him anymore.

Work at 5pm. I never object to working nights until the actual day comes along, when it's all too late to do anything about it. Friday night without Wikis is just pure, unadulterated Hell.

On my arrival at that saintly place, the Yorkshire Post, I settle down for an extremely quiet night. See nobody until 12 and the only convseration I really have is with the telephone operator when booking my taxi. Pinch a picture from the throw-out drawer of Barbra Streisand - the sexiest thing I've ever had the pleasure to see on the screen.

On my arrival home I dig out a picture frame from underneath a pile of rubbish in my cupboards and Miss Streisand is formally established on the table near my bed.

David B has had the photos developed from the orgy we had after my birthday. Some brilliant ones of me the morning after!

John is in bed when I eventually climb the stairs. Mum stays he staggered in at 11.45pm with blurred vision and a slow, slurred voice. Pissed he was. Lucky swine.


Thursday May 1, 1975

Almost completely recovered now. I thought I'd be laid low with pnuemonia by the end of the week but luckily it won't be so. Pay day again. My wage isn't all that cronic really, and I know I'm always complaining of lack of funds, but if I earned £7,000,000 per week I'd still be moaning and groaning by Wednesday night.

I informed Kathleen today that I want, and indeed will have no matter what, Friday June 13, off. This will mean that I can travel down to Windsor on Friday morning - go out with John, Sheila and even Chris - then go into London early on the Saturday morning for the Trooping the Colour escapades in the Mall. It would mean me having to return home on the Sunday to be back at the YP on the following morning.

Chris goes to Windsor at the very beginning of June until December, and I can't help feeling envious. If Utopia or Paradise really exists I somehow think that Windsor will not be far away.

News items: Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones is eleven years-old today. Saigon fell to the communists yesterday and is now Ho Chi Minh City or something equally hideous. Princess Anne and Capt Mark Phillips are stranded in the Australian outback after plane trouble. The Queen left Jamaica after the Commonwealth PM's Conference and is now on the way to Japan with the duke for an official visit.

This Princess Anne thing sounds funny. I can just imagine the Royal party stuck there with the sun blazing down. Is wallaby edible I wonder?

Papa is still doing the lounge, and I must admit it looks brilliant.


Wednesday April 30, 1975

Feel much better today but am not too happy yet about my throat. My nose is clear, but I fear the contamination will creep down to my chest. It always does.

Good day really - Kathleen was off again - she always is lately, and I must admit that the atmosphere is a lot better without her dashing around finding unnecessary jobs for everyone to do. These women will do absolutely anything to get out of taking life at a leisurely pace.

Home at 5.20 to find Mama preparing the lounge for the coming onslaught of dust-sheets and paint cans. After tea I help Dad splash a bit of emulsion around and manage to watch a 'St Trinian's' film and a good documentary about the death of Hitler in between. Hitler died 30 years ago this week.

Whilst I was making busy in the lounge John was busily drinking with Chris and Co in several of Guiseley's ale houses. I rarely miss Wednesdays supping sessions, but today, mainly for financial reasons, I decided it would be wise to do so.

(Christine rang at work to say that Maura isn't joining me for a drink at lunchtime tomorrow. She gave no excuse, and I suppose Christine's been having words with her. I'll say no more about that.)

Before leaping into the bath I talk with Dad about me buying his car! Yes, actually buying a motor vehicle. He says I'll be the first on the list when the times comes for him to sell, and Mum agrees that it would be a good idea. I'm pulling myself together at last. I know I've always let life slip by without even realising - so unlike John - but the time is now ripe for meto begin a new trend.


Tuesday April 29, 1975

Feeling grotty and fear that a cold is creeping upon me. All day my throat's been sore, and a funny cracking sound affects my ears everytime I swallow. My sinuses aren't too good either. Detest feeling like this and hope and pray that a sudden recovery will soon be achieved.

Discover at the YP that I'm down for working on Friday night. Not that it matters and I do suppose it's a blessing in disguise really. What with the holiday pay-up date looming on the horizon, and the prospect of another months Barclaycard I'll need every single penny I can lay my hands on.

This afternoon I suddenly remembered that Jon Lesser (David's room-mate at Worcester)wanted some photostats of the Selby Coalfield development, and so I flew round the office with panic burning in my eyes in the attempt to find his address. Eventually I succeeded and delegated the job of doing the photostats to Eileen. Jon is a good bloke really. David never ceases to torment him, but he only does it in fun of course. It strikes me that David always needs a 'Jon Lesser' wherever he is. When in Guiseley his 'Jon Lesser' is John Rhodes, and he does anything to plague and chaff him. Also, the fact that Jon is _______is also a never ending source of amusement for David, who collects millions of ___jokes when he is on holiday, just so that he can lay in bed at night, when back in Worcester, and hurl them at his tortured room-mate. However, David Lawson will always be my dearest friend and until the end of my days his sense of humour and unparalleled wit will be of endless joy to me.


Monday April 28, 1975

Dull, but humid day. First day back at the YP since Apr 19, and I didn't feel like working at all. Not too busy actually. Have a laugh with Sarah about flags and when they should be flown. Even I got into a confusion about certain aspects of this. For instance, if a member of the Royal Family dies on the birthday of another member of the Royal Family, the Union Flag remains at full-mast unless a statement saying otherwise is released by the Palace. This what happened last June when the Duke of Gloucester died on the Duke of Edinburgh's birthday. Imagine the confusion if a member of the Royal Family died on St George's Day along with former Prime Minister Lord Avon and the Chilean head of state!

See in The Times that the new Duke and Duchess of Norfolk spent a few days with the Queen at Windsor last week. No doubt Her Majesty informed the duke that she'd give him the Garter as soon as one becomes available. They're normally announced on April 23, but I think the membership of the order is full up at present. By all accounts Uncle Miles won't have long to wait. Viscount Montgomery is far from well, and he's pushing 90 or so...

The decorating in the dining room is just about complete, and the lounge is next on the list. My fingers are quite itching for the feel of a paint brush, but we've no white emuslsion in storage at the moment.

The TV is boring tonight. I continue with 'George VI' by Wheeler-Bennett. The old king did a good deal towards making Anglo-American relations what they are today, with his friendship with President Franklin Roosevelt in the war years. I am an ardent monarchist and probably biased on the subject, but I fail to see why these anti-monarchist people cannot see that the Royal Family are the greatest ambassadors the world has ever seen. Prince Charles at this moment is doing what the Duke of Windsor did in the 1920s, and so little credit is given to him.


Sunday April 27, 1975

4th after Easter. Yet another beautiful day. Wake at about 11.30 and go down for a coffee. Sit glancing at the Sunday papers which I don't normally do because they're a load of old rubbish. See that the Labour party have voted with an enormous majority to pull out of the Common Market when this so-called referendum is thrust upon us in June. A tremendous blow it will be for the Prime Minister, and it wouldn't surprise me if he was to hand over all his powers to Wedgwood Benn. Then the Nation can relapse into total confusion and madness.

Everyone is talking about a camping trip at Whitsuntide, and so I'll have to save the pennies. Also, June 14 is the day that the holiday people want their money. Aaarrghh!

Depleted numbers out for a drink tonight. Just John, Chris, Carol and myself. After starting at the Hare we move on to the Station Hotel in Guiseley, where I've never set foot before. Don't like the place much. Move on to the Emmotts - horrible; then the Station on Henshaw Lane for the last one. The four of us have a good argument about politics. I try to persuade them not to vote in this coming referendum, and am pleased to hear that John and Carol agree with me that we shouldn't really be having one at all. Unconstitutional and pathetic it really is. Chris is of course a staunch Conservative and thinks we belong in the EEC - I quite agree with him, but refuse to believe that the British electorate should be allowed to make the decision. Harold Wilson just wants to pass the blame onto us when everything goes wrong.


Saturday April 26, 1975

Dad decorating the dining room aroused me from my slumbers at 1pm. Mum came in from the hairdressers and we had lunch immediately. Susan rang Peter to question him about last night and I couldn't help thinking how obnoxious and yak it would be to know a female would be ringing to get all the gruesome details off you the morning after. Let's hope I'll never be in that state.

Saw Maura and Marian last night, and Sandy Lawson. Indeed, it was my night for women. The most enjoyable __at Wikis for ages.

I'm glad I've been able to catch up at last with the diary. It's now about 6.30pm on April 26, so order is once again restored.

A beautiful day really. Cannot understand our weather. One week it snows, and the next week we are struck by a heatwave.

For 52 years the Queen Mother has been a member of our Royal Family. This day in 1923 the Duke of York married Lady Elizabeth Bowes Lyon and all's been well since. A true milestone in the history of Great Britain.

To the Hare at 8.30 and the gang go to Addingham on a minor pub-crawl. These are getting more regular as of late. Have a laugh with Christine White and Stuart (Newton), who are tremendous fun. Back to Pine Tops to see 'The Third Man'. A good film which always makes me think of Dad. He likes it so much.


Friday April 25, 1975

It's now about 2pm on April 26. Please forgive the entry for yesterday. To get back to the beginning of Friday: Awoke at 8.30 and went to breakfast for the first time. Devoured a few mediocre baked beans and some revolting bacon before idling back to Dave's room - intollerable heat conditions. The weather has made a dramatic change. David has persuaded me to use his British Rail student pass, which can get me a ticket home for half price. We rush through Worcester to Woolworths where I get a photo taken, then crawl to Shrub Hill Station in a nasty traffic jam, glueing my photo over that of David's on the way there. Get my ticket without any hitch and the train leaves immediately.

Home to Leeds at 3pm after a tiring journey. Pine Tops is achieved at about 4pm.

All the family well - it's nice to see them again. I don't often say it, but I do love them all.

To the Hare and the Commercial tonight. Beautiful evening and we stand in the Commercial car park. Sue and Peter are out with us and Peter joins the party to Wikis. Nice lad he is, and he and Sue seem inseperable. Except for tonight at Wikis that is. He rarely leaves her alone though.


Thursday April 24, 1975

Yes, it's still April 26. What can I possibly say other than that David and Pete Allen were on teaching practice and they deposited me in Birmingham for the day. (Well, 11.30 until 4pm). The ruddy weather was too unbearable for words. After tramping around the place, for the first time ever, I collapsed in the cathedral park and devoured several sandwiches. Went with Dave to HIS pub from 7pm till 11pm. He works therein Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Propped up the bar all night, and fell into bed exhausted at 11.30. John Lesser was entertaining and creating chaos all night, but I survived. Oh God! I'm too pissed to write any more. Yes, pissed, and I don't care who knows it. Ta Ta all.


Wednesday April 23, 1975

St George's Day. It's actually still about 2.50am on the morning of April 26 so I can't deny it. However, casting my mind back to this St George's Day does create certain problems. I could quite easily say that I've forgotten what exactly occurred on this day, but in saying so I'd be wrong because I know for a fact that in the evening of this day that David, Gordon (a college pal of David's)and I went to the Camp, where he took me in Dec. for the nice sandwiches, but the bread strike prevented the participation in such a delightful grapple. (OK, you don't understand any of this, but neither do I. After all, it's nearly 3 o'clock in the morning).

As I was saying, the three of us went to the Camp after messing around at college all day, and indulged in one or two drinks and admired the guinea fowl, which looked really succulent.

Honestly, this is an unearthly hour, and I do have two days entries to fill in and so I'll be turning over the page now. Bye Bye. (Now you know just what state I'm in when coming home from Wikis.)


Tuesday April 22, 1975

I'd be lying my soddin' head off if I was to say I was actually writing this on April 22, 1975. In fact, if you must know, it's about 2.30am on the morning of April 26. So once again, I beg forgiveness for this disgusting betrayal of journalistic rules.

Well, after safely arriving in Worcester the events of this day were truly magnificent in the extreme - in fact, never before have I enjoyed myself like I did this night. (Forgive the English, but it's 2.40 and I've just staggered in from Wikis).

At 10.30pm on April 22, David, Serena (a beauty from college), Carol (another dame from college), Lynn (another dame from college) and yours truly went to Sacha's Disco in Worcester. After supping gallons of vodka (it was a double for the price of one) we staggered back to college, taking two hours to do so, when ordinary, sober folks do the same walk in 25 minutes.

I cannot express what joyous feelings I have about this evening, though I know they will be forever imprinted on my mind. Michael Rhodes.


Monday April 21, 1975

Rainy, nasty day. The Queen's birthday. Uncle John says it would be advantageous to visit Windsor at this time because something is always happening.

I'm about to leave, with Dave, for Worcester. I do not intend taking the diary with me, because I'll have other things to do, and I don't like letting people in on the secret that I'm a day-to-day diarist. However, whilst I'm down yonder I will make the odd note or two so that I can come home and fill in the details, and indeed you'll not be able to tell I've been neglecting this truly historic record.

So, I'm on my way now. All packed and ready. Pity about the weather, but what do you expect in Britain in April? What do you expect of the weather in Britain at any time? Precisely.


Sunday April 20, 1975

3rd after Easter. Quiet day really. Do nothing other than watch the TV until some unearthly hour. Saw about six films in all. Idleness, pure unadulterated idleness.

John went out for his Sunday night ale supping session and so too did Mum and Dad. Sue and Peter were babysitting, which left me, Lynn and Dave in one another's company all night. Looking forward with rellish to tomorrow's excursion to Worcester. Dave is collecting me at about noon.


Saturday April 19, 1975

Rainy morning and I'm disappointed because yesterday seemed so promising. Conned into thinking Spring had really arrived.

The girls are at work and so too is Papa and Mama is at the hairdressers. John and I are playing records all morning until Mama comes in with chicken and chips for Sue, John and myself. I've done nothing but eat like a pig all day and it feels horrid. Too much food - it lies so heavily in the pit of ones tummy. What a weird word "tummy" is. So upper class.

Feel sorry for John who is a bit sick about Naomi and her daft proposition. I tell him of David's idea to go the Edwardian Club tonight and I think he'll come. The proudness of we Rhodeses will prevent him from going out with Naomi again I think. Once he thinks he's been used it's curtains for the young lady, and rightly so.

Christine rings at about 3. The bird is crazy. After last night's incident with Gary she says very little other than that she was crying just because she was drunk. I don't believe her. That lad has her under his thumb, and I loathe seeing them together.

John, in his mourning, goes off with Chris and the mob to the Dyneley Arms. David and I go to the Hare (me in John's suit) in expectation of arranging a party to go to the Edwardian. Only Martin (of Carol Smith fame) and Christine Dibb turn up, then Lynn and Dave of course. After two or three drinks we move on to the Black Bull in Otley - the best pub around. At chucking out time it's back to Pine Tops for coffee. Bed at 1.30.



Friday April 18, 1975

Last day at the YP for one whole week! All Hell will be released next week when I'm away because Kathleen is off for 3 days too - and so the three remaining will have our work to do. Home at 5 after seeing Clifford Howland on the 33 - a real freak he is.

Prepare for the usual battle for the bathroom. Lynn, John and I do war over possession rights but we're all ready for 8-ish. Sue and Pete decide to go to the Hare too. Get quite merry in the Hare. Lager and Campari - an intoxicating concoction. Poor Christine is out on her lonesome and Gary doesn't roll in until about 10. At chucking out time I see CB going out with David, tears rolling down her face. I attempt to chase after her, but she shakes me off saying she'll ring me tomorrow. I don't suppose she will.

Down to Wikis where Naomi tells John she wants a break for three weeks or so - i.e. she's trying to give him the boot in a cowardly fashion. These women think us men were all born yesterday.

Denny was out tonight but didn't say much._______.Little Sue enjoyed herself and I think that Peter should merge into our company more often. The boy never sees life other than what goes on at 58, Hawksworth Lane.


Thursday April 17, 1975

The name Barbra Streisand will forever be imprinted in large capitals across the frontage of my heart. The woman should be knighted or perhaps canonised by by Pope Paul or something. Joan of Arc, Gladys Aylward, Queen Victoria, Germaine Greer and Princess Anne can ALL stand aside for this lady. Boy! What a Girl! Those eyes! That nose! That figure. God! Dave, Sandra and me went to to the Odeon in Leeds to see 'Funny Lady' in which Miss Streisand excelled all bounds of things which one normally excels. It finished at 10.30 and we nipped into the Take and Bake in Headingley for chicken and chips. Sandra devoured a nasty looking sausage and baked spud with crumbly cheese all over it. The car windows were so steamed up that David had to guess (more or less) where the bloody road was. Sandra looked sexy. I still don't believe she's as old as she surely must be - if you know what I mean. Well, she only looks 21-22-ish, no older than say Sarah - and yet her son Gary must be eight if he's a day. Wonderous it really is. Home at 11 to chat with Ma and Pa for half an hour. I try to persuade them to say they'll go to Windsor for a weekend with me in 3 or 4 weeks time but all Mum can talk about is my holiday in August and how much I'll have to save for it. Once again I'll finish with one word. Yak!