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Tuesday September 30, 1975

A wet, unpleasant day. The end of September. It has been a lengthy month this, and we can now settle down in front of the TV on these unsettled evenings to watch such thrilling things as the Labour party conference from Blackpool, and all those adverts urging us to buy our Christmas presents early whilst we still have time. The prospects aren't thrilling at all when one thinks about it.

Work was uneventful and nothing is in the headlines at the time being. The usual rubbish about whether the Labour leadership will survive the party conference is all over the front page, but otherwise nothing of interest at all.

Home on the 5.15 (bus) for fish and chips (again). They do say that this greasy creation forms the staple diet of the working classes, and I tend to agree. I also think that they are the staple diet of the middle and upper classes because if you could see some of the people who queue for miles in all weathers outside Harry Ramsden's you'd know what I mean.

That is about all for today other than to mention that the Gadsby pair called upon us at about 8.30. They went out with Mum and Dad, and on arriving back here, we sat until nearly 1am talking about National Service, the energy crisis, politics and all the other useless subjects. Came to bed at 1.30 after compiling a letter to Carole. The first class post is eight and a half pence now! I'll have to try to curb my letter writing activities.


Monday September 29, 1975

To the YP after 10am. Sarah isn't sexy any more, and I'm going to stop writing about women in these pages because I am frequently making a bloody fool of myself. I change my mind like nobody's business.

Hear from 'George' this evening that Carole is ill in bed with one of her funnny heads again. At 8pm John takes me down to Menston and I buy him a drink in the Hare & Hounds. It is a bloody nasty wet night, so I'm relieved when he takes me straight to Carole's door.

Mrs Phillips bundles me upstairs where the Angel is propped up in bed looking like a ghost on the operating table. We sit watching TV. (Yes, she's the owner of a little portable one), and I stay with her for a couple of hours. I sit hunched on her bed and laugh at the pathetic sight of the rose I gave her on Friday night. There is is, all wilting upon her dressing table. She was reading, and re-reading the letter I wrote to her some days ago, so I think it's about time I created another one for her. The Darling Girl loves me I think. I hate people loving me - it gives me the frightening sense of having to be reliable, responsible and faithful. However, she is perfection itself.


Sunday September 28, 1975

18th after Trinity. Wake up at about 11am I think. John is still asleep and I go downstairs to investigate. Carole is lively, and so too are Sue & Peter who are carrying on like wrestlers in the lounge. 'George' is busy making cups of inviting, hot tea for all who want it. When John rises he proceeds to dash off to Ridgeway with 'George' and Carole, Sue, Peter and I remain for the so-called breakfast/lunch combined.

The four of us devour bacon, beans, mushrooms, fried bread, &c, and plenty of tea. Chris and Andy call in to see us before going to the Commercial, and I make (yes, you've guessed it) more hot tea, this time for Mum and Dad. Poor Mama is under the weather and lays motionless beneath her sheets like a Mummy - if you pardon the expression.

Sit with Carole all afternoon, and we watch a Tyrone Power film called 'The Mark of Zorro'. Corny, and ridiculously out-dated.

I worked 5pm until 10.30, and leave Leeds on the last bus.

John's party was a tremendous success again, and it looks like becoming something of an annual occasion.

Lynn and Dave are now over their first year of courtship and who knows just what the future will bring for this happy couple? Mum whispered the other day that she thinks they may be engaged when Lynn is 18. Who knows?

Home at about 11.15 and I eat masses of rabbit stew, which is delicious beyond words. See the end of a lousy James Dean film of which very little need be said.


Saturday September 27, 1975

John's birthday party. Mum is cooking all day and is in a foul mood after hearing from Tetley's that they haven't got the New Inn. She really is shaken about it and says they won't try for another pub if that is how they treat people, but that is hardly the right attitude. To get anywhere these days you have to fight, kick and cheat to do everything possible to secure your choice. Life's a rar race.

At 4pm I meet Carole in Guiseley and we buy some flash cubes for her camera and walk back to our place eating lollipops in the rain. Romantic is the word you are looking for.

To the Hare & Hounds at 8.30. Mum and Dad come down with Bill Stott and his wife, and all the gang gathers in readiness for the party. The guests are too numerous to mention, but you know who they are by now. Back to our place at 11 after talking with RM who is just out of Armley Jail. He stabbed someone in Yeadon and went down for nine months. Silly little sod that he is.

Party is a tremendous success. The food went as if a plague of locusts had descended upon it, but the drink lasted quite well. Mum went to bed at about 1am feeling 'off it' but otherwise no casualties were accounted for. I lasted out until about 5am and had the usual cheese on toast with Martyn Cole. Carole went up to sleep at 3. The poor girl is hopeless with drink.


Friday September 26, 1975

Do not wake until after 11. Staying in bed for hours on end is shear bliss. No work. Absolutely free until Sunday night! These days off are such marvellous things. (OK Michael, don't get carried away about having a few hours off work. It isn't the 'be all and end all' you know).

Finish reading The Duke & Duchess of Windsor by Ralph Martin. How much in love they were. The final chapter left a lump in my throat. The Queen should really feel ashamed for not letting the poor bloke do a job for us in Britain. All that talent and ability was rejected simply because he married out of the Establishment. Shameful.

To the Hare & Hounds with Carole at 8.30. Christine is in. I'm uneasy when both she and Carole are together. The animosity between the two is transmitted straight at me. With Peter M and Christine D in his van to Wikis. Carole and I don't dance until the final record, but we got on well enough. See Ann Greep, Marian, Maura, Lynne Mather, &c. My old girlfriends all in one night! Ann Greep especially was a surprise. I thought she'd married a guy called Ellis from Essex (no it's not a Limerick) and never imagined laying eyes on her again. At 2am walk Carole to Menston and then walk home. Arrive at 3am. Have a drink with Dad and then go to bed.


Thursday September 25, 1975

John's birthday. A wet day, and I come home at about 4.30 after getting a thorough soaking in town at lunchtime. I buy John the LP 'Rock Your Baby' by George Macrae, which is a bit old now, but he likes it all the same. Lynn and Dave buy him a pair of driving gloves and a spark plug remover (of all things) for the car. Carole (bless her) came up at about 8pm with a 'Three Degrees' LP and 'George' bought him a pewter tankard.

At 8pm the Gadsbys called in for a few minutes to give John a card. __________.Lynn, Dave, John, 'George', Carole, Sue, Mum and I have a little booze-up celebration. The only absentees are Papa at work and Peter, who is down at the Fox & Hounds boozing. We all get merry. Some merrier than others, and I walk Carole to 'George's' where she is staying.

John isn't having a proper party until Saturday, which is traditional for his birthdays. Mum will no doubt excel herself in every way when the day actually comes. Her cooking is so good. She puts Fanny Cradock to shame.


Wednesday September 24, 1975

Two years ago at about this time we all drew the conclusion that our beloved Prince of Wales would make Miss Amelia Rose Clifton his princess. Rosie Clifton, however, must have different intentions, because after finishing with the prince at Balmoral she tagged herself along with old Prince Michael of Kent. This romance too proved useless because earlier this year she married the younger brother of millionaire Lord Vestey and became the Hon Mrs Mark Vestey.

The horror story circulating Fleet Street at the moment is that His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is attached to MRS Rosalind Ward, a married mother with two children. Tut, tut. This will never do. The Duke of Windsor was all very well, but we don't want another one. The prince will be 27 in November and if he's not married soon I intend washing my hands of him.

Let's hope Prince Andrew will find the marriage market easier to deal with when it falls his lot to give the nation a Duchess of York.

John's birthday tomorrow. I think I'll buy him a record or something similar. He's the owner of far too many pullovers, shirts, socks and trousers and they're beyond my price-range at the moment.


Tuesday September 23, 1975

It feels like a Monday today because it's my first day back at work since the weekend.

I ring Carole at work and we decide to go to the cinema this evening. 'Mandingo' starring James Mason and Susan George, which is all about slaves and plantation life in America in the 19th century. I've heard that it's full of sex and violence, but when we eventually see it at 8.30 tonight it is very mild and typical indeed. Fancy, travelling all the way to Leeds to see a film which could easily cheer the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury himself. However, we did like it and it gave us the excuse (not that we need one) to sit huddled together in a dimly lit room.

Home on the 10.45 35 and I call at her home for a drink. After saying my fond farewells I walk home. Luckily I missed the rain, which just stopped as we alighted from the bus.

Home at about 12 and continue reading the Duke & Duchess of Windsor by Ralph Martin.

John is still at death's door, but he vows he'll be well again for his birthday celebrations on Thursday.