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.

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