Google+ Badge


Saturday May 17, 1975

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

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

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

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


Friday May 16, 1975

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

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

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

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


Thursday May 15, 1975

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

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


Wednesday May 14, 1975

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

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

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

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


Tuesday May 13, 1975

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

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

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

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


Monday May 12, 1975

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

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

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

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

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

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


Sunday May 11, 1975

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

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

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

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

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


Saturday May 10, 1975

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

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

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

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


Friday May 9, 1975

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

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

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

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


Thursday May 8, 1975

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


Wednesday May 7, 1975

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

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


Tuesday May 6, 1975

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

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

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

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

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


Monday May 5, 1975

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

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

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