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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.

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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!

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Wednesday April 16, 1975

Don't expect much today because you'll be very disappointed. You see, John is alseep in bed, and it's quite late at night and the brightness of the electric lighting in the room is disturbing his slumbers somewhat. Anyway, to recap on the days events: Saw June briefly this morning as Jim drove me to Leeds- just a very, very brief glimpse because we rocketed past her at about 60 mph. However, brief it may have been, but my poor little heart almost didn't withstand the excitement. From Horsforth to the far-flung reaches of Kirkstall I travelled with it (my heart) in my mouth.

Later the same day: John deposits me in the Hare and Hounds and then takes Chris and Naomi to Bradford where Gillian is propping up a bar. (Did you know that Chris and Gillian are, as they say, 'going out'?) You know now anyway. I was left with Helen Lockyer in her Pa's car I might add, Miss C. Smith and Mr A Graham. Reluctantly I'm dragged off to the Station on Henshaw Lane. Philip Knowles comes in with a blond chick and leaves after supping only half a bitter. Denis Healey must have gone to his head or something. Half a bitter! Yuk!

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Tuesday April 15, 1975


The Right Honourable Denis Healey, MP, Chancellor of the Exchequer, presented his Budget this afternoon, and I'm saying nothing whatsoever about it, other than he did nothing too drastic or outrageous. Just the usual load of old rubbish.

Busy day at the YP, and I'll be glad when Friday comes around again. A week off is just what I need at the moment.

I see a good feature in The Times on the Duchess of Windsor, still battling on at 78 years old. The poor old soul received sweet sod all from the British people, and the Royal Family ought to be ashamed. Three years since the duke died and they've done their utmost to forget all about her.

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Monday April 14, 1975


Not a perfect day by any means. Rang Christine at 4.30 and she told me that it was all patched up with Gary, and so I'm an outcast through and through. She didn't say I was an outcast through and through - she doesn't really have to. DON'T I KNOW IT, MATE!! A rotten let-down for my ego. Throwing yourself at a girl only to be told you don't stand a chance. Sad really. Well, what else can I expect at the grand old age of 20? I'm getting past the attractive stage.

The dear old Queen Mother flew off to Persia today for a peaceful, and no doubt warm holiday with the Shah. Dad drew the conclusion that Uncle Harold wants some cheap oil - a typical cynical view, but it's a known fact that the old Queen is a close buddy of the Shah, who nips over to Windsor often enough on private visits of his own. Must be nice to be nearly 75 and perfectly active. 'Go it old Girl!' applies just as much to the Queen Mum as it did to Queen Victoria. We want her to go on for years.

Still battling on with 'George VI'. He's just been created Duke of York in the chapter I'm on with, and it certainly makes one wonder just how many years it will be before Prince Andrew is bestowed with the same honours.

David calls in at 7.15 with an LP. He takes a few more records to tape, and spends about 10 minutes laughing and fooling with Lynn. That boy just ripples wit humour - always so full of vitality too. Must be marvellous. I'm going to Worcester on Apr 21 after all, probably until the 25th - which is the following Friday. It'll be fantastic seeing Barbara again, who is such a gorgeous character. Bed at 11.30 after reading in the lounge.

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Sunday April 13, 1975


2nd after Easter. Sit in bed, after waking up, with Wheeler-Bennett's 'George VI'. Good book really, and the more you read it, the more you realise that he was a very ordinary sort of chap.

I'm toying with the idea of going down to Worcester on April 21 with David. He goes back that day and so it would be perfectly easy for me to get a lift. His teaching practice starts on April 28, so he'll be busy throughout the days and that would mean me making my own entertainment until the evenings. It will be better than idling about at home all week doing absolutely nothing.

Dreading tonight. David and me are going to the Emmotts to meet Stephen Holmes, whom we haven't seen in 18 months. He wants some prints from stills and photographs in Mr Lawson's possession. He collects me at 8.15 and off we go. The Emmotts is a lousy, horrible place really. I can't understand why we ever patronised the place. Saw slides from the day trip to Otley in May/June 1973, and the photos of June brought it all flooding back. I've ordered quite a pile.

Home at about 10. The car nearly didn't make it, and David seemed quite cheerful considering the horrible racket it was making. See a Vincent Price film. Bed at 11.30.

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Saturday April 12, 1975


Marlene, on the phone, gets me out of bed at 11.45. Debbie has mumps and so they can't come on Sunday. I offer my condolences then go downstairs on a mission of mercy for John, who wants a glass of orange juice, and I'm not the sort of person to see a close relative suffer when the antedote is so close at hand. Whilst getting John's juice I find a letter awaiting me from Christine. She says "you ought to be more bold where women are concerned", and I cannot agree with her more. Not many people think I'm shy. I somehow conceal it behind a mask of foolery, but I really am quite like a guinea pig, or expectant rabbit, as far as showing my feelings for young ladies are concerned. Not that guinea pigs or expectant rabbits are scared of showing their affections for young ladies in the first place. Of course, they do show affection, quite boldly, to lady guinea pigs and lady rabbits, which is an example I should get into the habit of following.

Go to Yeadon with Mum and Dad at about 3 o'clock and I lay hands on a copy of 'Lady Marmalade' by Labelle. A wonderous record indeed.

At 7.15 Sue, Peter, Mum, Dad and me go up to the Stone Trough for a meal. Why? Well, it's part of my birthday festivities carried over from last week. Very pleasant, except for the fact that the waitress begrudged giving us anything. Back at 11 o'clock and sit with Dave and Lynn in front of a revolting old film on the BBC.

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Friday April 11, 1975


Friday night again. OK, so Friday night usually does follow Friday day, but it's just that I like Friday nights particularly and you'll never fully appreciate just what pleasure I get from writing 'Friday night again' at the head of the page. After all, I ought to be able to write just what the hell I like at the top, middle or bottom of any page of my own choice in this diary. I did buy the bloody thing with my own money, just in case you've forgotten. Anyway, let's not get silly about it.

Traumatic evening. Christine is in the Hare and Hounds without Gary - they had a squabble at work and he declined to say he'd take her out. I love her you know, and the thought of her going out with that emaciated little bank clerk with nine inch hips and no hair repulses me like I've never been repulsed before. But as the ancient Chinese proverb says: "that's the way the cookie crumbles'. Move on to the Tudor Bar with David, Chris, Carol, Helen, Christine D, Christine. Leave at about 10.30 for Wikis. With Christine all night, though we do not enter into the subject of our relationship until the very end. At 1.50 we go sit outside in the cool air, near Chris's car, and we talk about us. She thinks a lot about Gary and is annoyed that I didn't make my feelings known before this point. But you know what they say about true love and the fact that it never runs smoothly? Well, mine hasn't had the opportunity to run at all yet.

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Thursday April 10, 1975


Excuse me, please, but I'm in an awkward position for writing at the moment. Yes, I'm propped up in bed and it's only 9.30pm. No, I'm not ill, or anything. I just fancied the idea of an early night. Besides, this afternoon, I laid hands on a scruffy looking copy of 'King George VI: His Life and Reign' by John Wheeler-Bennett. Yes, you're quite right, I did read it years ago, but I always think it pays off to re-read something a few years later in order to fully understand and appreciate what was actually penned.

So here I am. What else can I tell you? Oh yes, more snow today, and in the world of politics, our good friend the Prime Minister has announced that the EEC referendum will take place on June 5. NOT THAT I WILL HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT!! No, Sir, Uncle Harold and his Cabinet will have a long wait if they expect to see my little cross on the bottom of the nasty little ballot paper. A very long wait indeed.

Anyway, George VI is awaiting my attention, and so I'' say goodnight.

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Wednesday April 9, 1975

Do forgive me, but I'm not really in the mood for reeling out tons and tons of rubbish herein.

Rang David at about 7.30 and he jumped readily at the idea of going out for a quick slurp at the Hare & Hounds. John, capably at the helm, drove me down to Tennyson Street at 8 where we were kept waiting for David as usual. Gary was watching TV and attacking a large packet of peanuts, and I seemed to be stood for ages.

David and I are dumped in the Hare carpark and John disappears over the horizon in the direction of Naomi, with whom he must be horribly in love because his whole life revolves around her every gesture, movement and word. Chris chauffeurs Andy, Linda and Carol and the six of us sit near the juke box. Helen comes in straight from college - the poor girl was ill for two days following Saturday's vodka swilling contest on the coach going to Pontefract. I warned her anyway. The seven of us moved on to the Queen's on Apperley Lane, where an educational lecture is sparked off by the portrait of Queen Mary over the fireplace. Questions like: 'Was she Queen Victoria's daughter?' and 'isn't that the Queen Mother?', &c, &c were directed at me.

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Tuesday April 8, 1975

Up at 7.30. Jim gives me my usual lift and when Kathleen comes in I receive permission to toddle off for a half day. I had one owing, so it's all quite legal. Go into town with Sarah and by 'If', the record which takes the Micky out of Telly Savalas's single.

The snow belts down like hell all the way home and I fly up the lane clad only in my little green jacket. I don't see why I should revert to the wearing of winter garments just because the weather doesn't know whether it's coming or going.

Lunch with Mummy, Daddy and Susan (she's still on Easter holiday!).

Write to Christine. Don't ask me what I put. I become possessed and all thoughts are afterwards blanked from my memory. Love is a wonderful thing - especially in Spring time even if it is deep in snow.

You know when I told Christine how I felt about her she replied: 'How can you? You've never even been out with me.' But that's how I am. Worshipping from afar is what I do all the time.

See TV all evening. Part II of 'Edward VII'. Excellent, and the characters are just as I expected. Bed at about 11.30.

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Monday April 7, 1975

Back to the old routine. Up at about 7.30 and sit with Lynn over a cup of tea. Mummy didn't wish to emerge for the morning ritual of pretending to enjoy ones cornflakes and shrivelled bit of toast.

With Jim Rawnsley to Leeds. Eileen arrives at 8.30 with an engagement ring firmly secured to her finger. She gives me a cock and bull story about not really being engaged until July, but I fail to grasp the point. After all, what is the reasoning behind getting engaged to get engaged? Bloody nonsense it all is.

Go into town at lunchtime and get a card for Helen's celebratory event tomorrow. Twenty-one the poor soul is. She was so bloody pissed on Saturday I doubt very much whether she'll be recovered as yet.

Praise be to God!! Chris had official confirmation of our holiday on Saturday! It is quite sealed after all. I harboured doubts in the back of my mind that something would go wrong along the way, but feel quite satisfied now.

Haven't heard from Christine since the traumatic experience she undoubtedly went through on Saturday night. I wonder what reaction she'll give me? Her excuse the other night was that she was too drunk and too shocked to take any of it in.

Ring Marita and say I'm sending her a massive memoranda about all the references I've ever made about her in my diary since 1973. She's on the verge of hysteria at the end of the conversation. What a girl she is!

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Sunday April 6, 1975

Low Sunday. Up at 10.30 - my throat crying out for liquid refreshment. Dave B is doing the housework downstairs, and Neil is sat in the lounge with an extra large grin on his face. For ten or fifteen minutes I sit incapable clad in John's dressing gown clutching a glass of God sent orange juice. Dave took a few photos of me, and then I disappeared into the bathroom to prepare for the arrival of Mr Lawson.

Dave comes at 11.15 and we drive to Pannal near Harrogate in heavy rain. Meet Taff, a friend of Dave's from Worcester College of Education, along with his girlfriend and a snobby cousin. The snobby cousin was accompanied by his even snobbier girlfriend, Dorothy. We went to the Travellers' Rest where we had some truly obnoxious lager, and then move on to the Scott's Arms at good old Sicklinghall. Dave I kept getting lost on the country roads, and we finished up supping rum and oranges until 2pm. Driving home we pass Harewood House, and I persuaded Dave to come look round. He thought the gardens were fantastic, and I was surprised when he took an interest in the interior of the stately pile. Haven't been to Harewood for about six years, so I'd forgotten what most of it was like inside. Dave enjoyed ths story about Lord Harewood and Miss Patricia Tuckwell. Went into Harewood Church in the hope of getting a glance of the last resting place of the late Princess Royal, but don't see anything. Once again, I feel as though I'm well on the way to puncturing my bladder, and my exit from the little church can hardly be described as dignified.

Home at 5. Fish and chips with John, Lynn and Dave. See tv all night. 'Bedazzled' starring Peter Cooke and Dudley Moore was fabulous. Laughed myself into a semi-coma, or just about anyway.

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Saturday April 5, 1975

Here it is again - my birthday. Excuse me if the writing is different but I'm using a strange pen. Yes, as I was saying, here it is again. Happy Birthday, Michael, Baby! My teens are done with forever. The days of youth are through and as Dave L pointed out, I'm 'a fifth of a century old'.

Wake up at about 10 and make tea for poor, darling Christine, who is sound asleep on the lounge settee. It begins to snow, and we sit about laughing and joking for about an hour. She disappears down the lane in a blizzard and I settle down to open my cards.Dave L's is the best. A bereavement card! 'Our Sorrow is with You at This Time', and words to that effect. Play about with the typewriter and entertain Gillian, who calls round with my birthday card.

Mum and Dad are in a foul mood to start with, but pull round in the afternoon. £4 from Mama, and £3 from Sue and Peter.

The Grand National today. L'Escargot won. Mum, Dad, John and I backed eight horses each. Dad had the winner and Mum the second.

To the Hare and Hounds at 7 with Mum, Dad and John. Darling Christine joins us ten minutes later, and I tell her that I'm crazy over her. She doesn't believe me. I'll have to wait to see what reaction she profers.

Everyone gathers and the coach leaves for Kikos at 8.30. A forty five minute journey and I almost burst my bladder on the way. Fantastic evening. Rum and orange all night. Involved in a slight tussle and cut my finger, but nothing horrific. Bit of an orgy really. Had a request played and carry on very nicely. Leave at 2.15 for home and have a 'Sing along' on the way with Mr Lawson and Miss Braithwaite. Cook until 5 for Jackie and Neil and crawl into bed at about 6 o'clock.

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Friday April 4, 1975

My last day as a youngster of the world. No more teens. Gone forever in the chimes of a ticking clock. The last minutes of my youth passed in the company of darling Christine and Lynn & Dave at Wikis. It was Lynn's first excursion to Guiseley's top place of entertainment.

After an hour in the Hare & Hounds Dave L suggested that we go, once again, to the Woodhouse Moor Fair. Christine, Dave, Helen, Christine Dibb and me go, then move on to Wikis - other than Dave that is. The fair was brilliant. I had five goes on the waltzer with Christine. She doesn't know that I'm crazy about her. I shall have to tell her before very long. I feel like shouting for joy at the thought of her, and just seeing her gives me a thrill like nothing else experienced by my person.

As I've already said Lynn and Dave came to Wikis with Christine and myself. We (C & I that is) danced for hours and I was choked at 1.30am when the DJ announced: 'A club member, Mig, is twenty today, and this record is dedicated to him'. It was 'How Long' by Ace. It's very rare that I am lost for words, but I just didn't know what to say. I love Christine but she doesn't know it. This will have to be remedied. Her reaction is immaterial - just as long as I can get it off my chest. Home in Helen's car at 2am. Christine and I chatted until 4.30. She slept on the settee.

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Thursday April 3, 1975

Rarther a long day really. Drew up an edited version of the Royal Family Tree this lunchtime, showing the descent of the Queen, the Gloucesters and Kents from Queen Victoria and Mr Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. Sarah was really fascinated and said that for the first time in her life she can understand the different relationships. It goes to show that my little perversion isn't a complete waste of time after all.

Now for other things. Only one more day left for me as a teenager. A revolting thought and I don't want to dwell on it, but somehow it won't get out of my mind. Marita says it's horrible at first. Well, one thing's for certain. What's that? You can't avoid birthdays. No, Siree.

Ring Christine this afternoon. Have a scream down the phone and I told her the joke about the nun and the jester. OK, I'll tell you too: What is the definatition of a nun riding on a jester's back? VIRGIN on the ridiculous! Bum, bum.

Oh. Here's another. The Grand Old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men.
His case comes up next week.

Everyone a gem, ladies and gentlemen.

Dave L brings his recording equipment round at 8.30 and stays until 12. A bugger of a job changing plugs all the time. Snowing like hell it is too - on April the bloody 3rd! Might just as well be December.

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Wednesday April 2, 1975

Feeling much better today. The day flew by, and with Kathleen off (until tomorrow) I wassn't pestered or continually quizzed all the time about my movements.

Nothing spectacular in the news. Nasty Mr Shelepin, of the KGB, went home this afternoon after three or four days of ridiculous publicity. The newspapers went insane over his every move.

The poor Queen is to endure a gruelling state visit to Japan commencing May 7, and a rumpus is going on at the moment about whether or not she'll visit to the Tomb of the Unknown Japanese Warrior. I hope not. After all, the blackguard probably mutilated half the Green Howards with his sabre before some little private put a bullet in his brain. Keep Japan to the Japs and leave our Queen alone. That's what I say.

Christine B rang at lunchtime and I said I'd meet her in the Hare at about 8.30. She said she'd bring Maura with her. I must ask Miss Tobin if she wants to join the party on Saturday night. I'm crying out for folk to fill this 29 seater bus. I only hope and pray that it will be something of a success.

Aaarrghh! I'll only be a teenager now for a further two miserable days. Two days!! God, I'm becoming so old. My days are numbered. My hair is greying and falling out along with half my teeth. Poor, miserable looking sod that I am.

To the Hare, where Jane arrives shortly after me. Revolting, creepy Gillian comes over to us, but I don't egg her on about anything. Christine comes in, and we have a laugh, but unfortunately Gary got in the way. It's about time he went.

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