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Saturday August 30, 1975


Wake at about 11.30 and hear Mum talking with CB downstairs. Poor Mum takes these overnight visitations from my friends very well, and I'm sure no other mother in the world is more understanding.

Please don't think it odd that though I'm going out with someone Christine can still come up and stay the night. She always sleeps on a camp bed in the dining room, and the only reason why she stays in the first place is because it's impossible for her to get home after we've been to Wikis - other than by taxi that is, which is far too expensive. She leaves before I get up, and Mum and Dad drop her off in Guiseley before going on to the wedding of Philip, one of Dad's young policemen friends.

The day is cold and rainy, and after sitting about listening to the record player for over an hour Maria rings me and asks me to go round to plant the little bush I gave her the other day. I go round at 2 and receive a conducted tour of the garden of 14, Ridgeway, Tranmere Park, by Mrs Molly Macdonald, the noted Irish conversationalist and wit. I then spent an hour listening to Mrs M's childhood reminiscences which have me, 'George' and Pam Moffatt in stitches. At 5pm it's much too wet to walk home so Mr Macdonald brings me home in the car.

To the Hare & Hounds at 8.30. Dave has gone to the dogs - quite literally - to the greyhound racing in Leeds with his Dad, and the rest of the gang, including Chris, stay at the Hare until about 10.30 when we all move on to the Fox. After a chase through Ilkley looking for Martyn Cole, whose birthday it is, we all end up at the Cow & Calf. Dance ourselves to death and decide I must have danced away three and a half stones this weekend. Back to Peter Mather's place until 4.30am. Andy brings us home in style.

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Friday August 29, 1975


Friday night on the town once again. We go down to the Hare & Hounds as usual. When I say 'we' I mean me and David. Since John got possession of the Spitfire I've been excluded from his chauffeuring activities, so good old David always offers to do the honours at weekends. Carole is away for the weekend, in Norfolk visiting relatives, and so I'm free for a couple of nights. Christine beamed when she heard of it.

David and I took turns to buy rounds at the bar and I can't help being amused by David drinking port. At the mention of port I think of some bloated Horace Walpole-type figure sitting about on a Queen Anne sofa, with his gout-ridden leg reclining on a cushion. David is attracting a sizeable girth at the moment, but he just laughs off any attempts to tell him of this. Nobody can get David to go to Wikis, and even Peter Mather's offer of money is refused.

Christine B, Christine D, Peter M and I went to Wikis and CD and I danced continuously from 11.50 until 2am. I nearly died when at 1am the DJ roped Christine and I into doing the competition which consisted of blowing up a balloon until it burst - well, he told me it was a balloon, but I can assure you it wasn't. After standing on a floodlit stage inflating items of a contraceptive nature, CD and I continued to dance for another hour.Tired and shagged out I walked up Thorpe Lane with CB and CD. CB stayed the night.


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Thursday August 28, 1975


Meet Carole on the 6.30pm 55 bus and go up to Yeadon to see 'Barry Mackenzie Holds His Own' at the cinema. I saw it a month ago with David and Christine but I feel that all films starring Barry Humphries warrant a second visit. I did thoroughly enjoy it, and think Carole was quite amused, though not over the moon about it. The cinema was horribly hot and we kept getting funny looks and glares from the other film-goers when we hooted with laughter, and I can assure you that when Carole laughs she certainly makes sure everyone knows about it. Once again she excelled herself tonight and dressed as though she was going to a Buckingham Palace garden party. Everything about her it just what I like in a bird. I only hope we'll last out OK. She is a Scorpio, which does make her my type - like Sarah for instance - and I'm in constant fascination of her.

On the subject of Sarah. She departed for Corfu late tonight, and so I won't be seeing her two weeks. I have given up altogether with her. She is a darling but doesn't need me at all and I see no point in persuing someone who isn't interested in me.

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Wednesday August 27, 1975



Out with Carole to the Hare and Hounds at 8.30pm. Christine finished with Richard Wellock some ten minutes after my arrival and then told me she was horribly jealous of Carole and hates the idea of seeing us together. It's bloody ironic, isn't it? She kept saying she understood how I felt when she was going out with Gary. I just stand open mouthed, lost for words. Obviously, I don't tell Carole because I realise no love is lost between them and this item of information isn't going to improve things at all. However, I do say to CB that Carole and I are getting on tremendously and when she asks me what my feeling are for CP I say I'm very fond. At this, Christine proceeds to drink herself into a drunken state and words like 'swine' and 'cow' and 'pig' are hurled in my direction.

Carole doesn't let me see her home and insists in waiting until I'm on the bus, which is like June B all over again. Get a 33 with Christine Dibb and Christine B, and all we can get out of CB is a constant long drawn out sigh and she looks at me like an injured spaniel. To Harry Ramsden's with CD and we walk up Thorpe Lane stuffing ourselves.

Poor Christine. Are we fated to adore each other without doing anything about it?

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Tuesday August 26, 1975


I appear to have contracted a cold since coming home from sun-soaked Majorca. My throat feels like its been cut, and my head is completely blocked. Lots of people seem to be suffering from similar ailments at the moment and I'm sick and tired of standing around listening to people saying: "Oh, something's wrong when you get colds in the middle of summer." &c, &c. I absolutely refuse to believe that the weather controls, or is in any way involved, with illnesses, death, or anything else remotely connected with the human metabolism. Poppycock and balderdash.

You aren't going to believe this, but while we were away _______ began making visits to Pine Tops once again. I nearly fell over laughing when Mum told me what excuse my beloved ____ used on being asked why she hadn't communicated with us since Christmas. It was 'Oh, I've been too busy doing a lot of baking.' Actually ______ is in Highroyds suffering from a mental disorder and the whole family seems to have lost weight and seelp over it. They came at about 8 after visiting ______, and I did notice a marked difference in ____, who looked considerably thinner. ____is becoming colossal - a mixture between Tessie O'Shea and Hattie Jacques, all rolled in with Princess Mary Adelaide, Duchess of Teck.

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Monday August 25, 1975


Holiday in England, N. Ireland & Wales. Back to the office. Ugh. The fact that it's Bank Holiday Monday makes it worse because the thought of everyone staying in bed until noon whilst I struggled across a deserted town was far from pleasant.

See Sarah and Kathleen and they both agree that I'm a tremendous colour. Work until 1pm and then Kathleen lets me go. I get the 55 bus with Sarah and arrive home at about 2 o'clock. The weather is still quite warm, but I don't sit out in it when I arrive home. I've had enough after 2 weeks in Majorca and 2 full weeks lying around in the sun.

Sue is watching a rotten film starring W.C. Fields, which is cronic. I devour beans on toast, and then see a Marx Brothers film 'Duck Soup' which is hilarious in parts.
Groucho should be knighted in the New Year's Honours list. If Charlie Chaplin can be (knighted), I fail to see why Groucho can't.

No much in the news whilst I've been away. Some nutter saw fit to dig up the Headingley cricket pitch in the middle of the Test Match, which seems a bit of a silly thing to do, and the historic event to beat all other historic events is the re-union of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. They're going to re-marry, and at the moment they're carrying on like a pair of 16 year-olds with the first pangs of love!

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Sunday August 24, 1975


13th after Trinity. Down to the Commercial at lunchtime. Just John and I that is, where we met Andy and Keith, and a snobby friend of Andy's. The pint of lager was something of an anti-climax, because I've been longing for a drop of English ale for two weeks, and this tasted no different to the German brew, flowing like water across Spain.

People were eyeing my tan with more than a hint of jealousy. Neither Andy or Keith stayed until 2. They left before closing time!

After lunch (with wine) John and I went down to Maria's where I met Carole for the first time in a month. She really is a gorgeous looking thing, and trendy too. She reminds me of one of those models on the cover of a girls magazine. Go on, I know what you're thinking: 'Oh no, he's infatuated again'. Well, probably I am.

Mum and Dad are on an excursion of South Yorkshire, and Lynn and Dave are watching TV. At 8.30 John drives me to Maria's where I meet Carole and then set off to Christine D's on Thorpe Lane. Mrs Dibb takes the three of us to the Hare & Hounds. See all the mob and stand close to Carole all night. It was awful when CB said she was jealous of us. I'm speechless, because when I was free to go out with her (CB that is) she wouldn't.

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Saturday August 23, 1975



Homeward bound. Up with the larks at 7am, and sit about nervously for one and a half hours until the coach comes. John and Chris went down for breakfast, but I couldn't possibly face it. I sat in the empty lounge watching the rain and the waves crashing upon the beach, and the wind howling around the swimming pool and thinking to myself 'Oh God, will the plane make it?' We leave for Palma on the coach at 8.30 and we sit on the back seat along with Gary, Beaky, and Casanova, which is quite a laugh.

On our arrival in rain-soaked Palma we are met by Prince Juan Carlos who says he's sorry that General Franco couldn't come in person to see us off personally, but at 82 years-old he feels too frail to chase about airport forecourts, which is quite understandable really. After the military band send off we're flying at 27,000 feet over Europe at an air speed of 480MPH. We have whisky on the flight, and I feel quite sick over France, but the highlight of the whole thing was landing. Over the Channel John and Chris wanted to go to the bog, and so I pinched Chris's window seat and saw the south of England and London from 30,000 feet up. A tremendous sight. A few people looked queazy, but I managed to keep everything down.

Chris got a coach to King's Cross and John and I were left to find our own way out of Heathrow, which was an aggravating hours chase. After getting a bus to Victoria we find we have four hours to kill in London. Buckingham Palace, No 10, Downing Street, the Houses of Parliament, St James's Park, and God knows how many other places came under our exhausted gaze, and we were so glad to see the coach at 6pm. Four hours and 10 minutes later Mum and Dad met us in Leeds, and 20 minutes after that we were at Pine Tops. Lynn and Dave, Sue and Peter came on the scene minutes later, and we all tucked in to a decent bit of Mama's cooking. After dishing out the bottles (of duty frees) we proceeded to empty a few, and I rolled into bed at 1.30. To quote Casanova: "Well, it's certainly nice to be here." And I think that sums it all up.

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Friday August 22, 1975


Our last day here, and what sort of weather do you think we had? Well, I'll tell you. It rained, and rained, and absolutely pissed it down all day long, and the three of us sat around in the bar ridding ourselves of our last few pesetas on drink.
The German party got themselves into a drunken state, but I suppose they do it without thinking. The licensing laws in 'bier' swilling Hamburg will differ somewhat to those in Harrogate.

After dinner we sit with Sue and Jackie (the sheilas from London) but John and Chris tire easily of their company, leaving me with two drunken women on my hands. Before I know what is happening they have me on my feet and are dragging me off to the Caracola Club, where they proceed to pay my admission. I didn't really want to stay long because of the travelling tomorrow and so I sneaked out at about 1.30, knowing I'd never see any of them again. Sad, really.

Oh, by the way: the big, blue lounger with Queen Anne legs was deposited by me into the lift and despatched to the ground floor in the early hours of Aug 23rd. It finished off my evening nicely.

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