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Thursday August 21, 1975

Another real scorcher. I shouldn't even bother mentioning the weather because a good climate is the only thing possible in Majorca.

As usual I'm up well before the others and after drinking my traditional cold drink I go rouse them and demand immediate liveliness from both the defendants. At 12 we set off on a walk round the bay which takes us to a desolate spot miles away from all life and civilisation. The scenery is fantastic, and the cacti grows in profusion. The heat was unbearable though and when I staggered back two and a half hours later I could hardly force my lunch down. Flaking out on a bed in a darkened room is hardly the proper was to spend an afternoon on holiday, but hey, if you can't do it on holiday, when can you?

After the traditional evening in the Manchester Arms, Chris and John went down to the Don Jaime Discotheque, whilst I, accompanied by Diane and Denise of course, trotted off to the Charlie Felipe Cafe. After consuming endless pints of lager I dragged the girls to the Don Jaime where we passed a miserable couple of hours. Not a particularly thrilling place. John and Chris left before I did, and when I did eventually roll in I brought with me a 6ft long sun lounger (blue, with Queen Anne legs) and I deposited it slap bang in the middle of the balcony.



Wednesday August 20, 1975

Up at 8.30 - long before the other two and I find that it's a really hot morning. After sitting with a drink for a few minutes I decide to go for a walk along the beach, which takes about one hour. Th sun burns my shoulders, and the pain is unbearable when I had to put a shirt on when I came back for lunch.

See in the papers that the phone calls to Princess Anne are just anonymous, and not obscene. The full extent of the popularity of the British Royal Family is brought home when one sees headlines about Princess Anne on a German daily newspaper.

On my favourite subject, I don't think I've mentioned the fact that the Queen will celebrate her Silver Jubilee in 1977, in the style celebrated by George V in 1935. She (the Queen) has made it quite clear, however, that no due expense will be lavished upon the pageant which will take place in the summer and not on February 6, which is the actual accession day.

Went to a few different bars in the evening and didn't see Diane or Denise. Came back to the hotel at 10.30 to bid our farewells to Ivy, Cyril, Ken and Doris, who leave Palma at midnight. Chris, John and I then move on to the Caracola Club for the last time - we're doing something completely different tomorrow.



Tuesday August 19, 1975

I wake up at about 10 but don't really think the others could possibly do the same after the events of this morning, i.e. from 2am onwards. After crawling past us last night in the bar they helped each other up to our room and dissolved into fits of laughter. When I'd rid myself of the women, and two cheese toasted sandwiches and several gallons of Coca Cola later, I went up to the room and John said he wanted another drink. We went down to the bar where he had a pernod and I had a beer. At 3am we came back to the room, and immediately John said he was going out again. This he did, and half an hour later he rolled in after even more drink. I helped him into bed and switched off the light. Chris hadn't stirred all the time this was going on.

At 10am then I was surprised to see Chris alive, well, and kicking. Leaving John deep in sleep we go down to the bar. Chris goes off to buy a newspaper and comes back with 'The Sun' of all things and shows me the headlines on page one. 'Princess Anne gets obscene phone calls'. This really is too much. First they try to kidnap and kill her, and now it's dirty phone calls. How did some pervert manage to lay hands on the princess's private number? The Post Office says that Special Branch are listening in to all her phone calls.

Stayed at the Manchester Arms until quite late in the evening and walked Denise and Diane home to their so-called hotel. No Caracola Club until dawn, and come back to the Osiris for a couple of drinks.


Monday August 18, 1975

I seem to be waking up even earlier this week. 8.30am today! Lay in bed contemplating the ceiling until 10.30 when I rouse the two sleeping beauties from their slumbers.

We get a cool drink in the bar before nipping off to the beach, which is far too hot.

Back at the hotel we sit around in the sunshine until lunchtime with yesterday's Sunday Express. Not a very nice newspaper by any means, and I do wish they wouldn't give so much publicity to Reginald Maudling. The little creep is just as much involved in the Poulson Affair as Pottinger was, and I do think his criminal tendencies tend to colour all and everything he says.

The worst thing about this holiday is the food. I realise that we British are a fastidious bunch, but all the same I do think the menu could be improved. Oh, for the joys of Mum's cooking!

After lunch we go downstairs for a drink, and whilst I'm paying the barman John and Chris do one of their disappearing tricks. After searching the hotel from top to bottom I take a beer upstairs where I sit on the balcony to spectate at yet another storm. These Continental storms are only short-lived affairs.

Out on the town as usual after dinner. I meet Diane and Denise in the Manchester Arms, and John and Chris go off on a piss-up. We eat chips galore, and I bring them back to the hotel where, to our amusement, John and Chris crawl past us in an attempt to escape from the two women.



Sunday August 17, 1975

Up at 9am, or at least I was. John and Chris remained asleep until well after 11, but me being the athletic type makes staying abed all morning an impossibility. Sit in the hot sun with a lemonade, and Sue and Jackie from Chiswick join me later.

See in yesterday's Daily Mail that the Birmingham Pub Bombers got life imprisonment. Also saw that London had its worst rain in 100 years. Over six inches fell in under 24 hours!! It makes going abroad seem well worth while when reading items like that.

Chris and I take out tradition dip in the Med after lunch, and at about 4pm it begins to rain & does so for about an hour. We stay in the sea for the major part of it and watch the thunder and lightning crack and flash over the Majorcan hills. Return to the hotel greatly refreshed and the place feels a good deal more healthy for the cool rainwaters.

Don't go to the Caracola Club in the evening, or at least Chris and I don't, and instead we stay in the Manchester Arms until after 1am with Diane and Denise, from Carlisle. They drink pints of lager and I'm on straight pernod. Diane goes home to sleep at about 1.30 and Chris goes off for a walk with Denise. I make my way back to the hotel and clamber into bed where I sleep soundly, undisturbed by the drunken arrival of John at 5am.



Saturday August 16, 1975

Once again to the Caracola in the evening. Dance with a beautiful German girl, but we fade out because of language difficulties. If only I'd taken in all that rubbish Mr Martin used to reel out to us at Benton Park. But alas, you don't think of things like that when you're cooped up in class.

Chris leaves early and Denise and Diane from Carlisle come after he's gone. I'm astounded to hear from Denise that ______went round to her hotel room this afternoon, had a few drinks and stormed out after an argument. Why didn't he tell us? ______.

I leave at 2 and come back and sit with a couple of birds from Salford and a drunken bloke from London. They are all stoned, and when a woman from the fifth floor yells down at us to be quiet, one of the girls screams: 'piss off!' at the top of her voluminous voice. I laughed at the crudeness of it all.


Friday August 15, 1975

The telephone in the hotel room wakes us at 8.50. The coach is waiting downstairs to take us to the Caves of Drach, Majorca's answer to Stump Cross Caverns. I've never seen anyone get out of bed more quickly. Dashing out of the room we locked ourselves out, leaving the tickets for the excursion on the bedside table. The coach driver was sympathetic and said he would collect them on our return.

After a ten minute journey we arrive at the caves in almost tropical heat. They are really outstanding and beautiful - the caves that is - but it's hard to appreciate them after having had only one hours sleep. We emerge one hour later after being serenaded on an underwater lake by a chap playing a piano in a rowing boat. Offenbach and Chopin I think it was - we laughed and giggled throughout. What a ridiculous sight.

Grotesquely hot day, and after spending the remainder of the morning in Porto Christo, a coastal resort near Calla Millor, we drove back to the hotel for lunch.

Out on the town in the evening.


Thursday August 14, 1975

A really hot day, and I fear we've been doing too much sunbathing. My chest and legs are white hot, and I'm on the verge of collapse. Why have I spent over £100 to burn myself and see my flesh fall off?

Meet two girls from Chiswick called Sue and Jackie. Down at the Caracola Club we are in the midst of a nasty incident when all the women we've had this week arrive on the scene at the same time. John ends up with 'Chiswick Sue', Chris has 'Carlisle Denise' and I have 'Carlisle Nameless'. I was so intoxicated I cannot remember her name. We had a great time and Chris and I go back to the Carlisle girls room in a local hotel. I end up falling asleep until 7.30, and then me and Chris stagger back to our hotel to the jeers of the Spanish cleaning ladies who are just starting work. Fall into bed with the prospect of one hours sleep ahead of us.


Wednesday August 13, 1975

Feeling rough and grotty I awoke fully clothed on top of the bed at 11am. John and Chris are lecturing me in a sarcastic manner on the subject of 'burning the candle at both ends', and making belittling remarks about me in general. I told them that John had been a good deal worse on Monday, and lied my head off when I said at least I hadn't been sick. They didn't know I'd deposited my vomit over the balcony.

At 12 we have an appointment with Doris and Ivy on the terrace, and after one Coca Cola Doris persuaded me to return to my bed. I do so readily, and sleep until 3pm, missing my lunch. Recover sufficiently in the afternoon to take a dip in the sea, and then the pool, and by dinner time I'm OK.

Back to the Caracola Club in the evening and meet a completely new bunch of women. They're from Carlisle this time. The ones we had on Monday incidentally were little Kent dwellers. John and Chris depart at 3, but I stay until 5am doing Spanish dancing with the locals and smoking my bloody head off.


Tuesday August 12, 1975

A terrible drunken occassion. At 7.30 we, that is John, Chris, me and 30 others from the hotel went to the Barbecue. When I say 'the barbecue' I mean the weekly piss-up in the open air for the tourists - the sort of thing that's the same at resorts all over Europe. John and Chris didn't get drunk at all, but I made friends with two sexy over-50s named Doris and Ivy, who bought me a bottle of local champagne, &c. Didn't feel too bad on the coach coming home, but after having had a pernod in the bar followed by a black coffee, I was quite ready for anything. Getting up to our room I happened to bump into the lads from next door, and they gave me a large glass of Tequilla. That finished me off, good and proper. After yelling abuse at a crowd of Germans I went on to vomit over the balcony and then fell through the french windows onto the floor. Insensible just isn't the word for it.


Monday August 11, 1975

The pattern now seems to have set. We lounge around all day without a care in the world. In the pool for half an hour, and flat out on a camp bed or lounger for the next half an hour, and then repeat.

John drank too much and was violently sick all over the bedroom after returning from the Caracola Club at 3am. Not a pretty sight.


Sunday August 10, 1975

11th after Trinity. A lovely day, but not as warm as we imagined it would be. Laze around all day in and around the swimming pool, and spend just a bit of time on the beach.

The Caracola Club once again in the evening where British women seem to cry out for good British men. The German population seems to have arrived in Majorca like a plague of locusts, and a nice Yorkshire accent warms the hearts of millions of our fellow country women.


Saturday August 9, 1975

Get into Victoria Coach Station at 5am and immediately make enquiries about how to get to Heathrow. An amiable little porter directs us to a British Airways terminal and we get a bus direct to the airport at 6 o'clock. We make our way to the departure place, and what a relief it is to find Chris waiting! Success! We'd made it! (Forgive the Queen Victoria style punctuation). You have no idea what it meant to know that no hitch had arisen.

Fly at 8.05am. Unforgetable experience. The plane was quite smaller than I imagined it would be. John was near the window, Chris in the middle and I was in the aisle. The sun was brilliant above the thundery London sky, and two hours later we were in the heat at Palma airport. John's case came on another flight, and we messed about for hours waiting for it.

The hotel was reached by about 3pm and we were impressed by it. After all, it is a two star one.

Have two great meals before going out on the town. Find a discotheque called the Caracola Club, and stay until 2am. I am asbolutely sure we shall all have the time of our lives here in Majorca.



Friday August 8, 1975

Last day at work for over two weeks, and I can't say I'm sorry to get away. Home at 6 o'clock in pouring rain. Thunder and lightning. The lamp in Lynn's bedroom exploded (in the storm) and quite unpeturbed she went on drying her hair with the hairdryer plugged into the same socket!

We were chasing round the house stuffing things in suitcases - Uncle Jack, Auntie Mabel, Marlene, Frank & the children arrived after tea.

At 9 o'clock we'd finished everything and John went off to the Hare with Maria to say a final goodbye. I went down with Lynn and Dave for a quick pint but didn't enjoy it one bit. It's a nerve wrecking experience going off to the other side of the world with only a younger brother and an absent minded bank clerk (no insult intended, Chris).

Mum and Dad take us to the Wellington Street bus station at 10.30 and we bid our fond farewells. Leave Leeds a few minutes after 11 and I'm awake all night until we get into Victoria coach station at 5am. John slept, as he usually does, like a three month old baby. Lucky lad.


Thursday August 7, 1975

John and I go to Morrison's in order to get a few vital provisions for the holiday. Spend a couple of quid on tooth paste and such like, and then go down to the Fox for a quick one. See Peter N, who is having his usual Thursday lads night out without Sue. Leaving the Fox the car runs out of petrol, and we ring for Dave B to come down in order to re-fuel. We walk up to the Hare and have a few drinks before coming home at 10. Give Mum a box of chocolates and see a few TV programmes.


Wednesday August 6, 1975

Incredibly warm day. Meet the gang in the Hare. We all sit outside, and we, that is John and I, say goodbye to everyone until the end of the month. Christine B is in tremendous spirits, and I'm quite sure now she regrets not going out with me when I asked her.

Miss Akroyd and 'Mr WH Smith' join us. The second time since Saturday!_______.

Home on the 33 bus with the two Christines. I fell and grazed my hand giving CB a piggy back, but this is soon forgotten when CD robbed the sum of 94p from the West Yorkshire Bus Co, and we both dashed to Harry Ramsden's for fish and chips.


Tuesday August 5, 1975

Eek! It's only four days until the holiday! My first ever aeroplane journey! Two whole weeks away from all those worries!! Oh, the sun! The sea! The women! Aaarrgghh!! All these exclamation marks are too much to bear!!


Monday August 4, 1975

Holiday in Scotland and Irish Republic. A beautiful day again. See in the paper that the temperature in Roundhay Park (Leeds) yesterday reached 90 degrees farenheit, and if that isn't some kind of miracle I don't know what is.

A historic day indeed. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother is 75 years-old today, and I'm sure she'll manage to give us 10 or 15 years more brilliant service in the future. Saw on the 6 o'clock news a sizeable crowd sing 'Happy Birthday, Dear Mother' to her outside Clarence House, and I only hope Willie Hamilton was watching. People like him must really feel as though they are banging their heads against a brick wall on days like this. The Queen is throwing a party at the palace this evening and all the Royal Family are attending except the Prince of Wales, who is on a fishing holiday in Iceland.

Dirty little (news)papers like the Sun are known to say that when it's cold over here the Royal Family board planes for sweltering regions on the equator. But here we are at boiling point in Britain, and Charles has boarded a plane and fled to the Arctic!

A feature in the EP says the Queen Mother is the first Scottish-born Queen of England. I am damn sure that one of the Plantagenets took a bride from over the border, and just for the record, the Queen Mother is a Hertfordshire lass! Sometimes I wonder just where we dig up our journalists.


Sunday August 3, 1975

10th after Trinity. Go bugger off. 93F throughout the UK. Holding a pen isn't advisable in such weather conditions. The hottest day since July 1948 - 27 years?

Saturday August 2, 1975

The same applies today, and that is: Go away will you? I'm sure you've got better things to do than sit here reading old diaries which aren't of any importance at all.

Dave Baker's party. Need not say any more. I know what went on, and I'm the only one that matters.


Friday August 1, 1975

OK, so its the first of August. I don't see why that should signify a sudden flurry of the written word herein. If you must know, I'm feeling remarkably lazy, and not at all creative. Bye, bye.


Thursday July 31, 1975

Pay day. And a party over at the Central in honour of Alan Brooke and Peter Milburn, who are leaving to join Pennine Radio. The EP won't really be the same without them.

At 5.30 we all went across to the upper room of the Central, where Malcolm Barker and Geoff Hemingway are holding court like Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.

A small crowd gathers to pay homage to the two who are leaving us, and Geoff Hemingway makes a brilliant speech. Sarah and I nip downstairs to the bar, and I'm sloshed well before 7 o'clock. Kathleen goes at about 7 and I stand with EP reporters. Sarah is deep in conversation with Angela Barnes and Roy Holland and we have little communication until she drags me, like a wailing schoolboy, to the last bus. I profess my undying love for her, as I always do on these occasions, but I don't think she likes the idea.


Wednesday July 30, 1975

In just over one weeks time I will be boarding an aeroplane for the very first time. Obviously, I'm longing for a holiday, but I'm not all that sure about flying. Never experiencing anything like it before I cannot be afraid, because one can only be worried about something if one knows what that something is. I do not. People say it's similar to being on a waltzer at a fairground, or riding on a double-decker bus down a badly constructed road, but 300 people do not die instantly when a bus runs out of petrol, and neither are people dashed to death on a fairground ride. That is my worry. Don't get me wrong. I'm not scared of dying. I just want to die in better circumstances that's all. Is not wanting to drop 30,000 feet out of the sky onto a sun-scorched moutnain range a fear of dying? I don't think so. I want to die in bed, sometime in the middle of the next century, surrounded by weeping, middle-aged grandchildren.


Tuesday July 29, 1975

Another hot day, but cloudy. I don't fancy writing tons of literature today. Michael Rhodes is feeling incredibly idle.

Monday July 28, 1975

Lovely hot day. Summer is back again. The papers are harping on about the Prince of Wales's latest girlfriend. However, I'm not even going to mention it, because it's obvious to all intelligent life forms on earth, that these women who are frequently linked romantically with the prince are nothing of the kind.

I am going to say something about another guest of the Queen at Windsor this weekend. Namely Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia, the biggest royal t**t this side of Nell Gwynn. I know she's a relative of the Duke of Edinburgh, but I fail to see why Her Majesty should wish to be seen associating publicly with her. I can't see the logic. They don't go near the Harewoods at all, and he's only been divorced once. Princess Elizabeth has had one divorce and her 2nd marriage to Neil Balfour can hardly be called happy and stable. Tut, tut, Ma'am.

Home at 5.30 after a miserable day at the YP. It's now obvious that Sarah is impassioned by another, so to speak, because I laid a bet on with myself that she wouldn't patronise my party and she's cooled off thoroughly in her approach to me. However, I am not going to worry about it.

Carole rang from St Ives at about 7 o'clock and I wasn't very polite with her because I had just overheard Peter telling Sue that he'd seen her in the Fox with another bloke last Thursday. I'm not the jealous type, but it is a crafty, underhanded move on her part: especially after she got on at me so much because I said I liked going about with Sarah occasionally.

Dave B, Peter, 'George' all come round, and I give 'George' a guided tour of the garden. Mum and Dad ring later. They've been in Cromer today. They seem to be having a good time.


Sunday July 27, 1975

Miss Dibb got me up at 10.30 and I really did feel fit and well. So too did Christine, but poor Dave B had gone down vomitting like Lynn. They are so alike when it comes to being sick.

No damage had been done, and all was well. Sue and the girls began with the meal, and John managed to sup seven pints of canned ale before 1 o'clock. At 1 Chris came for us, and Peter and Martyn joined us at the Commercial and later at the Hare. Back home at 2 for lunch after meeting Andy, Pete M and Keith. Andy always laughs at John as though he's some kind of comedian. I sleep after lunch until about 3.30, then I have the gruesome task of preparing for work.

Alison drives me to the bus stop in Dave's car, and I get a bus arriving in Leeds at about 4.45. Work until 12 and get a taxi home. Nothing much happened and it seemed to drag by. Home at 12.15 and they're all in bed - even John, who usually spends all his time at 'George's'.


Saturday July 26, 1975

I didn't really have enough space yesterday to go into any more detail about 'George's' party. At one stage 'George' and I got carried away and we fell on the band, but all in all we returned without any injury. After the meal we came back to the Macdonald's for a few more drinks - champagne and cigars - and we staggered off home, or perhaps I should say we drove off home, and staggered up to bed.

Six or seven hours later we were out of bed and waving bye bye to Mum and Dad, who are going down to Ruby and Arthur's in Norfolk. Mum wasn't too pleased about me having a party tonight but Lynn used her charm and convinced her that all will be well. However, I was feeling terrible. A hot bath, which normally clears hangovers for me, didn't do so, and I thought the end had come.

'George' and Carole came round at 11am and I insisted on playing Rachmaninov's 2nd piano concerto and lying quite still on the settee. Carole isn't my type at all really and I don't see how we've managed to keep up the pretence for so long. She leaves at 12 and I won't see her until the end of August. Dave B managed to deflate her umberella (see foot of July 23) and I think it could be symbolic of our relationship.

The party: all went to the Hare at 8. Me in new trousers. Stayed there until about 10 o'clock. Stand with Dave L and Christine B all night. Dave is still my best pal after all these years and it's quite incredible how well we get on. The three of us come back to Pine Tops before the mob and we make a start on the drinks. All the usual come, other than Miss Carol Smith, and the only strangers were a few Durham University students who came with Ray. MM and Marita came looking like a pair of blacks and were quite jolly. Dave passed out upstairs just after 12, and the next to go was Lynn, who was violently sick, &c. Poor Christine drank vodka until it spewed out of her ears and she did nothing but cry. I took her for a walk at about 2am up on the common, and she lost her ear-rings. That didn't help matters, and it beats me how she always manages to lose expensive jewelry when she's drunk. The Braithwaite collection must have dwindled somewhat since Christine started drinking.

Al Dixon's brother, Graham, was also having a party, and Dave B, Martyn Cole, Al, and me went up for half an hour. It was completely dead and useless. On our return home I bedded down in the dining room next to a snoring Christine B, who looked like (in Dave L's words) a Japanese Mud Wrestler.


Friday July 25, 1975

Great evening. John and I go down to the Hare at 7pm for a few drinks before going round to 'George's' for the coming onslaught. 'George' is 17 tomorrow, though you'd think she was much older. This isn't intended as an insult by any means, because I like her very much. We go to the Macdonald residence at 7.30 and meet Hugh or Hew, her brother, and his wife. The women take hours to get ready, and whilst the gentlemen are waiting we consume quite a few whiskies.

I know it's shameful, but I can't remember the name of the place in Bingley where we dined. I distinctly remember spilling a glass of red wine over the table and on Jimmy (Macdonald), 'George's' older brother, but the service was perfect and the waiters were falling over each other to clear up the mess. A trio played soft music whilst we ate, and after the meal they had a bash at a few rock 'n roll numbers. 'George' was playing the piano and Jimmy did a turn on the drums. Hilarity.

Carole, who I was supposed to partner, was incredibly dull, and didn't eat a thing, which put me off her straight away. She doesn't eat meat, fish or vegetables, and takes rellish in baked beans, and other crude substances. Is is down to her Roman Catholic upbringing? Mr Macdonald refused all offers of cash, and footed the bill himself. 12 of us: Mr and Mrs Macdonald, Hugh and his wife, Jimmy, John, 'George', Pamela Moffat, Carole and me. Sorry, I mean ten of us. Phew, it must have cost a fortune.


Thursday July 24, 1975

As far as mechanical objects are concerned I am a complete and utter failure. You may recall that when I last borrowed an umberella (Dave B's) I had the misfortune to render it useless in Guiseley Railway Station when it jammed just as my train was approaching. Well, I suppose you are asking 'why bring this up?' and 'what's it got to do with us?', &c. Well, I'll tell you. When I arrived home at 1am this morning from Carole's I found that her Dad's umberella, which she had kindly lent me, and jammed in the up position and no persuasion of any kind would make it close up. Had I been on the platform of one of the many our great British railway stations I would have had to smash it to pieces with my bare hands, but because I was at home I took relief in the knowledge that it would come to no harm on the garage floor. And it's out there even now, 24 hours later. Not even John can do anything for it. Poor Mr Phillips isn't going to be happy when he finds out.

In her capacity as Mistress of the Robes, Sarah accompanied me to town for a trouser purchasing session. I managed to get a pair costing £9.90, which is the most I've ever forked out for trousers. We took an extra half hour for lunch and managed to fit one in the Generation Bar. I was livid and drained of all patience by the imbecility of the bar staff and I nearly died of thirst too. Efficiency is a must behind a bar, and that wench certainly had none.

I actually rang Denny this afternoon to see if we really need typhoid jabs - her being a travel agent I thought she'd have been notified. She said it didn't matter either way really, and something about it (the jab) taking four weeks to get into the blood! I ask her to come on Saturday night, and it all seemed like old times again.

Home at 6 and Carole rings an hour later to see if I want to go for a meal with the Macdonalds and John and herself tomorrow. I think 'Oh sod the expense' and say yes. She goes away for two weeks at the weekend, and I', still hell bent on retaining my absolute freedom. I must, I bloody well must.


Wednesday July 23, 1975

Another queer day. More like April. It's pissing it down and I'll not dwell on the subject any more.

Work was uneventful and Sarah wasn't feeling too well. I'm willing to bet a small fortune on the subject of Sarah attending my party on Saturday. She's been very secretive about the whole business and every time I mention it she quickly changes the subject. Who cares anyway?

Home at 5.30. Mum is having tantrums about everyone and everything again. She didn't improve much either when Lynn put her foot in it and mentioned we might be having a party on Saturday night. I cringed at the mention of it. Women! Give me a family of boys any day.

The weather is horrible and I'm not looking forward to this evening's orgy with Carole at the Hare. She is all very well, but when the Queen is on TV no competition arises. I am rotten, aren't I?

Down to the Hare with John at 8.15. See Gillian and Naomi who are back from Newquay, where they had two hours of sunshine last week. John collects 'George' and Helen comes long of her own free will. Carole arrives at 8.30. She tells me her name is Phillips. Just think, if she'd been a boy and called Mark and joined the Queen's Dragoon Guards I'd now be a friend of royalty. Back to her place, just the two of us, at 10.30 and I stayed until 12.20. Walk home in pouring rain with her Dad's umberella. Don't get too wet, and on my arrival home I devour a bowl of chicken soup with plenty of pepper on.


Tuesday July 22, 1975

Up at 7.55 feeling grotty. Having a birthday celebration on a Monday night isn't the wisest thing to do at all really.

To Leeds with Jim as usual, and work like hell all day. Some days I feel uncommunicative and doing piles of work is an alternative to chatting up Sarah and chasing her round the office.

Feel blocked up and stifled, and not looking forward to the jab I'll be receiving later on this week. John should be collecting the stuff from the chemists tonight, and so the doctor will be giving us the needle within a few days. Ah well, I suppose it's better than coming home from holiday and dropping down dead with typhoid.

I forgot to mention it, but Chris rang on Sunday from London saying he was having an injection too. Poor sod, I think he's very lonely down there.

Home in the rain at 5.30 and have tea. Sue began working full-time today at the hairdressers where she's been part-time for years.I can imagine her with a salon of her own in a few yaesr time. Just think, all the six of us employed people now. No more schoolchildren in the clan until grandchildren start rolling in.

Carole rings at 6.30 and I say I'll see her in the Hare at 8.30 tomorrow. Also meeting Christine B tomorrow night and probably Dave L too. I have no money but don't think for one minute that I'm going to let that get in my way. No, I don't do too badly really.



Monday July 21, 1975

Susan's 16th birthday. She gets a stack of presents and I almost died laughing at the card from Dave L. It had a bloke on a motor bike on the front with a large letter eight in the top corner! What will he come up with next? It seems like a lifetime since my 16th, and I really don't want to dwell on it.

Work was quite busy really. I was saddened to see that the only son and heir of Lord Ingleby died at the weekend. That's another title doomed to extinction.

Go to Whitelocks with Sarah and Dave B.

Home at 6 o'clock and leap into the bath. Everyone is running around all panic stricken. All ready by 7.30, and Peter comes round with a beautiful ring for Susan. That must have set the poor boy back a few bob.

Lynn, Dave, Sue, Peter, Martyn Cole, Alison, Christine D, 'George', John, Mum, Dad and me of course, all go off for that long awaited feast. Not too impressed by the place (the Coniston, Idle), and I sit flanked by John on my left and Christine D on my right. A noisy time I had too! Christine gets worse. A young bloke plays records while we eat, and afterwards we all dance. Dave takes a few photographs and we down alcoholic refreshment until 11.30. Back home for coffee, chocolates and a few more photographs. Upstairs to bed at 1am feeling whacked.


Sunday July 20, 1975

Nice lunch. Sit in the front garden with Lynn, Dave, John and 'George' and have some revolting salmon sandwiches for tea. God only knows just what they put in those little tins. I'm 99 per cent sure it isn't fish anyway.

Finish reading 'Bertie', a novel about Albert Edward, Prince of Wales by Tyler Whittle. The book was a good deal better than David Butler's.

Listen to the radio as usual, then have Carole on the phone. She's ringing from 'George's' and she wants me to go round and see her, but I say 'no' and stick to my guns throughout. She says: 'Dave will be seeing Lynn and John will be seeing Maria. So why can't I see you?' I fail to see the connection, and leave her moping calling me a 'rotten sod' &c.

Sit with Mum through a Burt Lancaster film and then see an Italian one with sub-titles. Come to bed at about 12.30 feeling miserable again. Where is that happy, smiling lad that was Michael Rhodes? Sad, isn't it?



Saturday July 19, 1975

Mess about round the house all day. Pay out some money to Lynn, who is going into town with 'George' and Caroline on a shopping expedition. No doubt they'll return laden with gifts for Susan's 16th birthday. We're all, that is 12 of us, going to the Coniston at Idle for a meal on Monday, and I expect it will be an intoxicating more ways than one.

John and 'George' are having a quiet Saturday night again, and Chris isn't coming home this weekend, so I expect a very quiet evening. Go to the Hare with Dave L. Meet Pete M, Christine D, Helen and Caroline, who looks sexy. I'm having doubts about whether I should remain cool towards her. I was ecstatic to hear she's going on holiday next weekend for two weeks. So Sarah can come to the party and we'll have no clashes. Move on to the Westbourne which is grotty, and then to the Ring 'O Bells, also in Otley. A wet night, and David goes home at 11, leaving the remaining five of us with little else to do but go to the 'Pernod Night' at the Cow & Calf. We all had a free pernod and a few other drinks and left at 2am. Had heart to heart talk with Carole in the back of Peter's van but she takes nothing in.


Friday July 18, 1975

Wet day. Lounge around in bed until 11.30 because I'm working at the YP tonight. Fridays are horrid at work, but at least I'll save myself a bit of money. Under normal circumstances I spend £3 or £4 on a Friday night.

Have lunch at 12.30 and Mum gets on at John and I about getting innoculated against typhoid, which is spreading like wildfire in Majorca at the moment. Several cases have been reported in Britain recently, but we haven't been notified by our travel agent who should surely warn clients about pestilence & disease. John is terrified at the thought of being 'jabbed', and he wants me to ring Denise first to see if we really do need one. I ring at 2.10 and she isn't in either at Smiths or at home. I'll have to contact her at the weekend.

Sarah rings me at 2.30 to say they've got some booze at work and wants to know whether I'd like to come early to join in. I get to the YP for 3.45. Have a drink with the girls until 5pm, then start work. Quite uneventful really, though Kathleen was cheerful and greatly improved.

Anne Simpson leaves tonight, and at 11pm as I was leaving for my bus I bumped into her and we had a chat. Iv'e never quite liked her, but she thanked me for all I'd done for her, and I modestly replied it wasn't much, at which she replied 'nonsense, you've been a great help'. Good Old Anne! Home on the 11 o'clock 33 bus. Warm night. Get in before 12. See the end of a horror film and leap into bed for 2am.


Thursday July 17, 1975

Another wet and humid day. Busy at work, though I can say Kathleen's been much more cheerful since her holiday.

Sarah and I went into town at lunchtime and I bought a pair of clogs for £6.99. When I got them home only Lynn seemed to like them, and Mum wasn't very talkative at all really. I don't know what is the matter with her lately, because one day she's a bundle of happiness and others she can be nasty and uncooperative and spiteful. Is it her age perhaps? I always thought that women didn't change, as it were, until they were 45 or 50 or so. However, I'm no authority on it.

Sarah bought a pair of knee-length socks and a pair of plimpsolls. We had a quick one in Whitelocks before returning to the grindstone. A wonderous thing that girl is.

At 8.45 tonight Dad drove me down to the Hare for my appointment with Caroline. I don't think anything about her at all, and was quite repulsed by her when she hooted with laughter tinged with mockery at the fact that I'd failed my driving test twice. Admittedly, she's quite attractive, but beauty is only skin deep. After standing with Caroline for ten minutes I spy Judith R with Kathryn. They stand with us until 10.30 along with Jimmy Elkington and a drunken Jehovah's Witness. Caroline won't let me buy her a drink, and we don't speak. I go back to Judith's for a coffee and chat with her and Kathryn until 1.30. Walk home, and it was quite fine.


Wednesday July 16, 1975

John rocketed into the upper classes at 6.30 this evening when he became the proud owner of a 1970 J registered Triumph Spitfire - a white convertable one. I'm not jealous really because it's not a thing which comes easily to me. (This is supposed to be funny).

At 11.30 this morning Eileen answered the phone and spoke to Fanny Cradock, the deep-voiced lady who cooks on the telly. She asked if she could come in and look at a 1914 file of Yorkshire Posts. Obviously, Eileen said yes, and ten minutes later Fanny was in the library shaking my hand and thanking me for finding the 1914 file for her. She was quite nice really, and not a bit like the bitch you think she is on TV.

John took me to the Hare in the Spitfire at 8, and Caroline, Maria's pal, more or less picked me up. I told her a lie and said I was going out with someone from work, at which she made the classic reply: 'I don't care. It's you I want. I don't mind sharing.' How could I refuse her after that? I find her sexy and sensual, &c, but she's a bitch and she'd like to think I will be crawling after her professing my love.However, I'm determined not to be captivated this time. I said I'd meet her tomorrow, and I'll regret it no doubt.


Tuesday July 15, 1975

Dave, Christine and I went to the cinema this evening. We left at 6.30 for Leeds to see 'Barry Mackenzie Holds His Own', a follow up to 'The Adventures of Barry Mackenzie'. The film really was first class and the three of us enjoyed it because we are all of the same humour.

Christine finished with Roger on Sunday night after a 'courtship' or four or five days. We laughed when she said she was going off to Manchester on Saturday night for a meal with a strange bloke. Not writing any more. I'm in a bloody hurry.


Monday July 14, 1975

Why do the wrong women always fall for me? This so-called Carole says she's passionately in love with me and is prepared to undergo any hardship which might entail going out with me. My current infatuation is for Sarah and until my feelings change I cannot see me touching anyone else.

It was awful at work because Eileen got onto the subject of 'how horrible it would be to go out with someone who worked at the same place' &c, and my heart was pounding, and I kept trying not to look at Sarah, who was doing the same trying to keep her eyes from me. What would it be like though if I did take her out? The office would come to a standstill I do suppose, and they'd try to make it hell for us. Carol Johnson for one would never give her assent to our relationship because she is horribly envious of Sarah and thinks I am far too unworthy. Nothing short of the Aga Khan for Sarah would satisfy Carol J. However, I can forsee her coming down to earth with a bang shortly. Sarah is for me, and on the 26th I'm going to do my damned best to get her once and for all.


Sunday July 13, 1975

7th after Trinity. It really is amazing how refreshing a night out at a discotheque can be. It is perfect exercise and I'm sure that one could go on the dance floor at midnight feeling stodgy and short of breath and leave at 2am feeling something like a cross between John Conteh and Erroll Flynn, i.e. perfectly healthy and full of vitality.

Dave L and Christine D were brilliant last night. You should have seen the wrestling match they had on Ilkley Moor! I'm saying no more on the subject.

See in the Sunday Express, that the Duke of Leinster, Britain's longest serving duke, is to make his debut in the House of Lords later this week at the age of 83. He inherited the peerage in 1922, but has been unable to sit in the Lords because he was an undischarged bankrupt until recently.

Don't go for a lunchtime booze with Chris due to lack of funds, and watch TV all day. Carole plagues me again, and I have to go round to 'George's' to shut her up. I can see that she isn't going to be easy to get rid of.


Saturday July 12, 1975

Up very late and have lunch almost immediately. Dave B comes round in the car and he persuades me to go along with him and Lynn to Bradford on a boozing/shopping spree. (Well, he didn't persuade me at all really. Actually, I invited myself along, but I always think a diarist should be allowed to use a bit of poetic licence.) John and Maria came along too, and the five of us had to squeeze into Dave's little car.

The girls went off shopping for an hour and we three went to the Queen's. Played a few records on the juke box and consumed a few pints, and met the ladies at 3pm outside Chelsea Girl, which was quite a nice arrangement.

At 4.30 we went back to George's. Sorry I keep calling her Maria. I sometimes forget. Meet a friend of hers called Caroline who prefers to be known as Carole. Good looking, but not quite right in the head - rarther like ____in character. At 7pm she, that is Carole, rings me and more or less asks me out. I say she can join us at the Hare & Hounds for a few drinks, but make no other suggestion at all.

Lynn and Dave continue to kid everyone one about being engaged, and she's wearing a ring costing 8p! Poor Chris was so stunned he had to sit down!

Dave L took us to the Cow & Calf pub and at 10.30 tghe inevitable happened and we went downstairs to the disco. We all had a great time, and Christine D, Carole, Dave came back to Pine Tops for coffee. It was foggy and raining over the moor tonight.


Friday July 11, 1975

Worked 5pm-11pm tonight. Went straight down to Wikis afterwards. It looks horrid when one's sober, and only Lynn and Dave were in. They were pretending to be engaged, and everyone at the Hare seems to have taken it in. Home at 2am feeling a bit merry.


Thursday July 10, 1975

Another sunless day. Hot and damp and completely overpowering. Oh, I didn't mention that on Monday David L arrived home and he will be knocking about with us until the new term starts in September. He rang me on Monday night for a chat. The poor chap will be horribly bored, and he's only getting £5 social security.

Work was OK today. At lunchtime I got yet another £2.99 T-shirt. It makes three in three weeks. Some cheese and onion sandwiches didn't go down too well, and I sat for an hour with a cup of tea to recouperate.

Saw in the YP that typhoid, cholera, rabies, diphtheria, influenza, and many more succulent diseases are currently running havoc in Majorca. No doubt the travel agent will contact us for instructions about innoculations and things. Is it worth going on holiday for two weeks to come home only to drop dead?

Christine rang me this morning. She got on about the party I'm having on July 26. I knew from the way the chat went that she wanted to bring someone. I said 'bring just who you like', and she replied: 'will you mind?' I retorted: 'No'. She blurted out: 'Well, you should do!' I knew she was thinking of bringing Roger - who knocks about in the Hare - but neither of us mentioned names. We didn't have to. She is a little beggar, isn't she?


Wednesday July 9, 1975

A damp, dark and humid day. Horribly hot and unpleasant. Remember, with horror, that I am working nights on Friday, which means no boozing session with Sarah. Please, for God's Sake, please do not think my life revolves around the consumption of alcohol. It doesn't. I could go to the Hare & Hounds and just drink water and be just as happy, because the society and the friends are all that matter really. No doubt ______ would think differently. No one likes a drink better than me, but it isn't number one on my list of priorities.

Gillian rang me at 7.30 just as it was beginning to rain, and I took it upon myself to scrounge a lift. Her Mum brought us to the Hare & Hounds, and we went our separate ways once we were in. John walked down with 'George' and Christine came on the bus. Peter was in too.

CB and me get on like a house on fire and I will always be fond of her, but I think I've made a bit of a fool of myself over her. Leave the Hare at 9.30 and have one in the Commercial. It's far too hot and we leave at 10.20. Peter M drives me home.


Tuesday July 8, 1975

Kathleen came back to work today. She looked years younger with her new haircut and bronzed body. I only hope her holiday has cheered her up a bit. Sarah goes off on a half-day and so we can't indulge in our usual ale swilling practice.

I go off on a birthday card buying expedition at lunchtime. Denise will be 19 on July 10, and although she has been living in sin with the dirty old branch manager from WH Smith Ltd, Bradford, I do not see that as a reason for ignoring the occasion.

On the subject of birthdays, June is 19 years old today. Somehow I think she should be older really. Still a teenager, and we haven't been going out for two years! A horrible brat she is.

'George' invited us round to her place at 8 for a few drinks, and John, Lynn, Dave, Sue, Peter and me all indulged. Stayed until after 11, and the little dog made my eyes run, and nose water. Or was it the other way round? George's Mum tried to keep us, but we shook her off, nicely. Home and in bed before 12 after beans on toast..

It's odd how I do not love Christine any more. It just goes to show how immature I am if I can discard someone and cool off completely after only a matter of weeks.


Monday July 7, 1975

The weather has changed. Heavy cloud everywhere, and I'm of the mind that summer for another year is over.

Went to the Ostlers at 12 with Sarah for a few drinks. I thought somehow that I'd be embarrassed facing her after professing my undying love for her, but I feel nothing of the kind. She said that the only thing which prevented her coming home with me was the fact that she was working on Saturday morning. This sounds feeble, considering that I would go to the end of the earth for her if she asked me to, but we all love one another in different ways, don't we? The Ostlers was quiet and we didn't see David. I'll say just one more thing today. Sarah is gorgeous.

Historic evening: Mum and Dad went out for a drink and came back with the news that Dad is going to resign from the police force and they are going to apply for a pub somewhere. No doubt the chief constable will be besides himself with grief when he hears the news. It's no use him thinking about the chief's feelings. If Dad isn't happy he should hand in his helmet and collect his cards. A pub will of course mean bye bye to Pine Tops - our home for five years - but Mum says she's always been a wanderer, and five years in one place is probably as much as she can tolerate.

Bed at 12 after the Family Council fell through.



Sunday July 6, 1975

6th after Trinity. A beautiful day. The hottest one yet this year. Went down to the Commercial with Chris and John. Andy and Linda were stood in the car park with Carol, and so too was Dave B. It was really too hot to do anything. Even drinking was a strain. The so-called Bradford Jet-Set were cluttering up the place - as usual - and the snobs who gather in that place every Sunday afternoon are disgusting. I see no pleasure in standing about watching Jason park his Lancia in a sticky corner. No indeed.

Mum and Dad came down for a quick one at 1.30, and at 2 we came back to Pine Tops and had greasy Harry Ramsden's fish and chips on the lawn. Chris came up so that Dad could sign his passport photographs.

Lynn, Dave, Dad, Sue, Pete and John played 'badminton' on the lawn, and I put 'badminton' in inverted commas because what I saw looked like a re-enactment of the Battle of Waterloo, or a cross between the Normandy landings and the riots at this year's European Cup Match! It was too hot for me. I kept falling into a darkened lounge and looking in on a Bette Davis film.

John went round to 'George's' this evening, and I stayed home with Mum. Dad was working at 10pm. Saw a 1955 film on BBC2 about the last few days of Hitler's life. A German film it was, and a lot better than Frank Finlay's portrayal.


Saturday July 5, 1975

I cannot really understand where my hangover is this morning. After all I drank last night it's a miracle that I'm not permanently damaged from the stomach upwards. My liver loo, cannot have enjoyed the bashing it received. After all, what's my liver done to me to deserve that. Poor Sod.

However, though I have no hangover, I do feel really tired and shagged out. The tennis men's singles final was on the TV this afternoon and I nearly fell into a coma watching Arthur Ashe beat the hell out of Jimmy Connors.

At 5pm I disappeared to my room and slept upon my bed until 6.30. I awoke feeling a good deal better, and refreshed.

Joh staggered me this evening when he said he was going to Maria's - sorry, I mean 'George's' - for the evening and not going out for one single drink at all!! This is incredible.

Chris rang and I said I'd see him at the Hare at 8.30. After seeing Barbara Stanwyck in 'The Titanic', I was surprised to see Chris calling for me in his Dad's car.

We went down to the Hare, where we were joined by Mr Mather, and we thought we were in for a boys' night out. However, Helen and Carol are in and they join us. Gillian takes a few photographs of us lads in the car park, and I can't quite get over just how crude that girl can be at times. The five of us move on to the Black Bull in Otley for a few, and come back to the Hare at 10.30 for a last look at the place before closing. Carol, Chris and I go on to Harry Ramsden's for fish and chips, and I'm home for 11.30. Spend the next hour or two watching a weird Julie Christie film on the BBC with Mama.


Friday July 4, 1975

Independence Day, USA. Don't worry. It's now a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and I'm sat on the lawn in a stone cold sober fashion. However, it does say Friday at the top of the page, so I won't mess about any longer. Here goes: I met Sarah on the bus at 7.30, and we had to meet Carol on Broadgate Lane. We decided not to bother about the Fleece, which is too far down the road, and so we started off in the Stanhope - a tatty looking place by anyone's standards. We got off on the right footing, and I had a pint of cider, Sarah had half of cider, and Carol half of lager. Sarah was the epitome of loveliness as usual, and we continued in this pattern of alcoholic consumption in the King's Arms, Black Bull, Brown Cow, Grey Horse and the Queen's Arms. Carol and I varied it a bit in the Brown Cow by having Stella Artois, and then in the Queen's I had a whisky, and Sarah a gin, because they'd run out of cider. After the Queen's I remember very little in order. Sarah and I staggered up to her place, and I definately remember falling over once. I also remember telling Sarah that I loved her, and that was why I worked 'at that bloody place'. She bundled me onto a bus, but two stops further on I climbed off and tried to find her, but arrived instead on the main road. Luckily, or so I thought, I got a lift to Guiseley, but unluckily, the driver was homosexual, and he put his hands on me. Punches were exchanged, and I climbed out of the car. Ghastly, I know. But what can you do about a thing like that? Got home at 12.30, and then walked down to Wikis. Lynn and David were in, and I fell flat on the floor in drunkenness. A fantastic evening though, and I hope Sarah won't be offended by anything I've said to her. I meant it all, anyway.


Thursday July 3, 1975

Another gorgeous day. We haven't had a drop of rain now for about five weeks, and it's absolutely fantastic.

Sarah Elizabeth Collis and I go to Whitelocks again, where we meet David B. Those two get on with one another like a house on fire, and David amuses Sarah really phenomenally. The two of us stagger back to work in the blazing heat and we don't tell Carol or Eileen that we've been out together. They believe what we say, though we do slip up occasionally, but quite unnoticed. A real darling, Sarah is. We're doing Town Street tomorrow night, so don't blame me if the writing on Friday's page is illegible.

See TV all evening, including 'Top of the Pops' which is full of rubbish.

I'm not writing any more now, so you can just get lost, the lot of you.


Wednesday July 2, 1975

A horribly warm day. 77f in Leeds at lunchtime, which is hot for our climate up here.

Another Sarah day today. Dave B rings me at 11.30 to see if I want to go for a drink and I say I'll bring Sarah along too. We leave the office at 1.10 and don't get back until 2.30, but S is regent in K's absence, so who is there to complain?

We have one or two ciders and then walk back to the YP complaining that we, us two, were never meant for work. We were born to lay around all day on a beach in St Tropez or Biarritz - drinking rum from long, tall glasses, full of ice cubes the size of building bricks. Unfortunately however, that life is not to be. Great wealth is not for the likes of peasants 'like wot I am'.

Meanwhile: Back at Pine Tops: Lynn and Dave in the usual Wednesday spirit go down to the off-licence for the traditional apricot wine. The final part of 'The Poisoning of Charles Bravo' was excellent, and the beautiful Mrs Bravo died at the end. However, our drinking, and the TV play was interrupted at 9.30 when MM and Marita came to see me! Haven't seen them since Easter, and considering the time lapse, they didn't really have much to say. He'd had his hair cut.


Tuesday July 1, 1975

Dominion Day, Canada. The start of yet another month. 1975 will be gone before we really begin to appreciate it. Warm, nice day again, but a little cloudy over Leeds.

Before I say anything else I'd just like to lodge another complaint about 'The King, the Press and the People: A Study of Edward VII' by Kinley Roby. Well, it's not a complaint as such, it's just a warning to future biographers of American birth writing about English royalty. DON'T. And when I say don't, I mean please do not write about English royalty when it's painfully obvious you know nothing about the subject. It's as bad as me writing a critical study of Abraham Lincoln!

It really is remarkable how the nation is going crazy over King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra. Derek Naylor, much against his will I might add, has been forced by our beloved editor into writing a five-part feature in the EP on King Edward and the Tranby Croft 'Baccarat Scandal.'

_____It's awful working with someone when you are besotted with them (Sarah). I can understand what the situation was like with CB and Gary. It will never work out, but we can always try. Friday will be an historic night indeed, and if I don't make a move then I might never receive the opportunity again.


Monday June 30, 1975

Pleasant day, but piles of work to do. Sarah and I go shopping at lunchtime, and I lay hands on a new T-shirt for the coming Spanish trip. It cost £2.99 which isn't bad. The last one I got was £3.50. I'm not really making excuses, but the weather was so hot we just had to have a drink. So into the Ostlers we hurried and drank three pints of cider between us ( I had two thirds of the three pints). We arrange to do Town Street again next Friday, but starting at the Fleece instead, and at 7pm too. I can hardly wait.

Home at 5 feeling starved again. After tea I chase around the back lawn with the mower and do a good job of it I think. Dad was spraying all the roses with fly killer, and Susan was watering her 'night scented stocks' - so on the whole we made an industrious little bunch.

Do sod all in the evening other than read a really revolting book about King Edward VII and the Press, by a Yank called Robey, or something, and I really think it numbers among the worst books I've ever clapped eyes on. The memoirs of Raffaele, Duchess of Leinster were the worst, but this thing comes a close 2nd. He's convinced that Queen Victoria was perverted sexually and insists of inventing members of the House of Lords. 'Earl Russell of Clarendon' for example. There's never been such a peerage title.

Saw Mr William Hamilton, MP, on TV tonight. He was discussing his book 'My Queen and I' - a revolting pack of lies and abuse. Hermione Gingold, the actress, really puled him, Mr H, to pieces, and he hadn't a leg to stand on. This so called 'honourable' member for Mid-Fife ought to be transported to Uganda to take the place of Denis Hills, who faces a firing squad there on Friday. I'm sure Britain wouldn't mind, and General Amin isn't bothered who dies so long as he sees blood flowing. Sad really.



Sunday June 29, 1975

5th after Trinity. Sunny, but windy day. Get up at 10.30 and have breakfast. Mum and Dad go off to Nottingham for the day leaving us to our own devices.

Lynn goes to Dave's for the day to do the cooking whilst his Mum and Dad are away for the weekend - I'll leave the rest to your imagination (only joking), and John goes off to 'George's' for the same thing. I feel almost starved all day, and after sitting through a boring Bette Davis film I leap into a cheese sandwich and devour a nice hot bath.

An hour in the bath re-vitalises me for the evenings onslaught, and after a bit of persuading I get Sue and Peter to come to Harry Ramsden's with me for fish and chips. At 7.45 after devouring a pleasant meal, I head off towards the Hare & Hounds, where I meet Carol just getting off the bus. All the mob gathers as usual, and I find solace in Miss Rushworth, who seems adicted to the Hare these days.

Christine D and I walked home up Thorpe Lane. We laughed ourselves hoarse, and the incline of the hill didn't make things much better. Lately, I've come to appreciare the wit and humour of CD, who has everyone in stitches every time she opens her mouth. Have a coffee with her before returning home at 12. Lynn and Dave greet me on my arrival home, and I bid them goodnight.


Saturday June 28, 1975

Last night was such a good night. It just goes to show that a change does one the world of good.

After a lazy day we all went down to the Hare & Hounds - even Sue and Peter - and I was surprised to see Helen Lockyer with the party again. She's finished with her latest boyfriend and is returned to the 'happy family' once again. We always welcome our deserters with open arms and harbour no grudges. The 'prodigal son' and all that.

I get quite merry in the Hare and at 10.30 we all, eleven of us I think, pile into Peter's van and head for the Cow & Calf. Christine tells me I'm 'off hand' but I don't think I am. Anyway, what does she expect from me? If she'd have snapped her fingers a few weeks ago I'd have been on my knees - her total slave - but now I'm hardening too. She keeps saying she'll never be hurt again, and that too applies to me.

Don't really have a good time like last Saturday. I can't stop thinking about Sarah. Why? I've known her for eighteen months, but never before have I felt so different. I've always fancied her, but never really took it seriously, or expected anything to come of it. Admittedly, November 5 was different, but I blame that on the alcohol.

Home at 2.30 in Peter's van. Ten of us coming back because Helen rang her Dad. Immediately to bed.


Friday June 27, 1975

Feel grotty and ill for the best part of the day. Like a bloody fool, I took two more tablets with my breakfast, and they didn't agree with me at all. However, having upset Mum already, I didn't want to worry her even more, so I left for work without mentioning to her just how ill I felt.

Sarah was beautiful today. She always makes a fuss of me, and was an absolute angel about me feeling bad.

Eileen was back from Spain, all white and pickled with alcohol - and so I delegated a lot of my powers to her.

Home at 6 feeling a lot better. A bath and a brush up brings me round, and I prepare to set out for Horsforth to meet Sarah and Mrs Johnson. We attempt to do the whole of Town Street, starting at the Old Ball. But we end up four pubs further on at the Brown Cow at 10.30. Still, it gives us the excuse to do it all again next weekend.

After leaving Carol at 10.30 I walk Sarah home to West End Lane. It's lovely to get my arms around her, and I'm sure she feels a little something for me too. I met 'Auntie' Delia for the first time. Not at all what I expected, but somehow Sarah is a bit like her in character. Her Dad just walked into the room and belched, but he's endearing in a funny sort of way. I kept saying I'd walk home, but 'Auntie' protested and offered me a lift in the car. Sarah and her Mum brought me home, and I hadn't so much as laid a lip on her all night. I'll have luck one day though, you mark my words.


Thursday June 26, 1975

A rotten day. I took several of those tablets at teatime and went out to the Fox & Hounds with Christine at 8, where I had one pint of cider. The two of us then moved on to the Hare, which was open for the first time in a week, where I had another couple of drinks. Suddenly I felt all peculiar and odd. John noticed that I was 'off hand' with him for some unknown reason, and 'George' too seemed curious about the way I was 'carrying on'.

When I got home at 11 I was rude to Mum and upset her, and then I went into semi-hysterics. Upsetting everyone in the house was unforgivable of me, and I vowed to Mum that I'd never take a tablet from that bottle again. I've not felt spot on since bloody Ludlow prescribed them for me a week ago. It really was an awful experience, and I never want to have anything like that happen to me again.

To get back to better things. I met Dave and one of his mates in Whitelocks at lunchtime and bought them a few pints each because they were so short of money. His pal is obsessed with sex and it seems horribly immature to hear people like that go on and on. We all know how we feel about the opposite sex, but I don't see why it should be the sole topic of conversation every time men gather together under one roof. I'm not odd, am I?


Wednesday June 25, 1975

Lynn and David entertained me over a bottle of apricot wine this evening. John was, quite naturally, out with 'George', and Susan was babysitting. Mum and Dad being out at the pub, we had the house free. Saw episode two of 'The Poisoning of Charles Bravo' and all I can say is it must be a good programme because I rarely remain indoors for the sake of a TV programme, but this is an exception. 'Edward VII' is another one of course, but I never go out on Tuesdays anyway.

Bed at 11pm after having fish and chips for supper. A warm night, and I lay in bed with the curtains drawn back admiring the night sky and the beautiful stars.

(Oh, by the way. I met Christine in the Ostlers at 12.30 today, and we had a few drinks. Believe it or not, I've lost my passion for her now, and feel 'head over heels' with Sarah.)


Tuesday June 24, 1975

I know it's naughty of me, but it's now a week since I laid pen on this diary, and even me, the genius that I am, cannot possibly recall totally what actually occurred on June 24, 1975. However, you will, no doubt, be interested to know that Sarah, Mrs Johnson and I are 'doing Town Street' on Friday. When I say 'doing Town Street' I really mean to say 'doing a pub crawl down Town Street', which means exactly the same thing, but the former covers up a good deal of what actually is going on, if you follow my meaning. Oh, shut up, Michael.



Monday June 23, 1975

Scorcher again. Don't feel really tired at the YP and have a great time with Sarah. Kathleen is on holiday and Sarah's the regent in her absence as it were. At lunchtime we go out on the Barclaycard scive. I draw £4 out and borrow £10 off Sarah, then draw £10 out and give her it back. That girl must really fancy me, you know, because how many girls would invest £10 in a boy and come out with the words: 'I'm not bothered when I get it back, so long as I have some before July 7'. Goodness overfloweth, indeed.

After visiting the bank she takes me to the hairdresser, Nicky & Carlo in the Empire Arcade and I actually have my hair cut! Historic occasion indeed. Return to work looking a new man. Both girls there like it, and I must admit, I feel a lot better for it.

Home at teatime to find Uncle Harry reclining on the lawn. It is nice to see him, and since learning of his successful attempt to escape the clutches of the police force he looks pounds better. I sit on the lawn with him, Mum and Dad, and they all approve of my haircut.

At 8 we go to the Menston Arms and argue all night about people like President John Kennedy of the USA, and whether he'll ever be canonised as a saint or not, because somehow I think he will. The first Catholic US president will not go unrecognised, you mark my words.


Sunday June 22, 1975

4th after Trinity. Hot and fine. Up at about 11 o'clock for a meagre cooked breakfast, and Mum is going on about us going round nexy door for cocktails or something. Since the Smiths left last week we've had very little to do with the new tenants, although I can't say I haven't noticed the daughter, because I most certainly have. We shall have to watch things in that direction.

No doubt you'll all be wondering about Christine and me. Well, it's difficult really. Until Gary finished with her I was besotted and beside myself with passion for her, but with me having the roving eye that I have I seem to have cooled as of late. Sarah creates a problem because I have always had a spot somewhere inside for her, and that fact that Sarah, Carol, John and I are going out on Saturday doesn't help me at all really. Oh, I'm saying no more about that anyway.

After deciding not to go round to the neighbours after all, John and me go down to the Commercial, where Chris and Christine are waiting for us. We have one drink and then say bye bye to Chris until next weekend. Christine comes back to Pine Tops and we lounge on the lawn until after 'Pick of the Pops' finished at 7. She likes me even more now, and as Gary is fading I'm becoming all the more stronger.

Linda's party tonight: Go with Peter M, Lumsden, Raymond and John. The only girls allowed other than the college girls are Carol and Helen. Get quite pissed on cider and the thing lasts until about 3am but I don't want to write much about it. However, I will say it was better than I thought it would be, and we had a great time.


Saturday June 21, 1975

Another scorching day. Absolutely beautiful and I honestly think that 1975 may be a decent summer after all.

Dave B comes over at 12 and he, Lynn and myself go down to Guiseley for fish and chips and then over the road to the Station Hotel where we cool off under a large umberella, and drink nice, cool lager.

At 2pm we make our way to Fieldhead School, where the so-called Summer Fair is under way. John comes down with 'George' and her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Prince. A smashing little dog he is, and he's quite taken with John. 'George' assures me that the dog is quite sane really and he only likes John because he's confusing him with her older brother, Jack.

The crowd goes once again to the Fox and Hounds, and then we decide to go to the Cow & Calf for a change, so we move to the Lister's Arms first for a quick one. Have a hysterical time with the two Christines - so funny together.

At the Cow: Get drunk on cider and end up pouring a pint over Christine D - she then throws her drink over me - we're in a right state. No hard feelings are felt though and we dry out very quickly. I'm quite successful in chatting up the lady who looks after the coats, and she is put through the agony of wearing my braces, which I tighten up incredibly far. Everyone finds it hilarious that I'm closeted with her after 2am. John was quite worried & wondering where I'd gone.


Friday June 20, 1975

A scorching day. Too hot by far to stand around in pubs and such like, but I do all the same.

Because of the closure of the Hare we all meet in the Fox again and I nearly pass out in the heat. Christine and Mary come down, and the drivers consult one another about the choice of the next pub on which to pay a call. They decide on the Malt Shovel in Menston, so we all depart thereto. Stand with Christine and Mary all night really, because John is so taken over by 'George' - it's quite incredible. How he's managed to forget Naomi so soon astounds me. Sue and Peter are also with us, and they are absolutely first class. No complaints at all about them.

Eight people were allocated to the cortina for the return journey, and you'll have to see tomorrow's entry for the consequences. John took Christine to Mary's place in Yeadon, where she's spending the night, and he also ferries Christine D to her villa on Thorpe Lane.

Sue, Pete and me fall about at home in hysterics in the lounge. I was rarther intoxicated. High spirits ruled the closing events of the day.