Peter says he's going to propose marriage to Carmina tonight. Otherwise a normal day on the beach improving our tans. David G visits a doctor who tells him to rest up for a few days with his wounds. Goodbye.
Go with Pete, Dave G and Glenn with Carmina and Lucia to the Playboy Club (indoor). We danced a few 'smoochies' but she's frightened to death and shakes like a leaf every time I touch her. Communication is still virtually non-existant and Lucia appears to be bored at times. Peter gets on well with Carmina.
3rd after Trinity. Independence Day, U.S.A. A hot day again - in the eighties anyway.
Go for a trip around San Antonio in a glass bottomed boat - thoroughly bored by it. The ocean bed was the quietest ocean bed I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes upon and the only conclusion I can draw is that the local marine life also take a siesta at this time of day.
Pete and I go on the beach after lunch and lay in the hot sun improving our tans for a couple of hours.
Out tonight with three Spanish ladies to the El Capone Bar and then to the outdoor Playboy Club until after 2am. Back to the hotel bar and drink until 3. Oh, if only we could understand one another. Cannot adequately describe the frustration of having a failed conversation with a lovely bird with sexy, big eyes.
The boat trip to Cala Bassa proved a fantastic experience. Three men overboard; topless fraulins; & more booze than I've ever seen on a floating vessel before.
I sank one full bottle of champagne and one bottle of white wine. Vomiting over the side at one stage. A wild frolic on Cala Bassa beach. Several maidens were aware of my presence.
Tonight: met a lot of Spanish girls in the hotel and tried to communicate with them. Had quite a laugh. From Catelonia, wherever that is.
Dominion Day, Canada. A fantastic, wet day. The chamber maids got us up at 10.30 or so, and I went down to write a few postcards. Send them all off except ones to Chris & Denise. The weather is cloudy and by 12 it's pissing down. At 12.30, Pete, Dave Glynn (the lad in the next room to ours) and I get a taxi in torrential rain to the harbour where all the Club 18-30 mob are awaiting the arrival of Miss Nottingham and Mr Smarty Pants. The rain gets worse and everyone is soaked through to the skin. We are told that the (boat) trip won't be run today and we're invited back tomorrow at the same time. Walk back to the hotel in the monsoon and take some funny photographs which I can't wait to see.
A typical Ibiza night.
Chris takes Pete and I to Manchester Airport and we arrived at about 2pm. A scorching hot day and the tarmac on the runway is virtually melting. Bid farewell to Chris at 3 o'clock or so and we sit for an hour waiting for the flight. I'm quite nervous about the whole thing.
The flight was fantastic and the views from 30-odd thousand feet were remarkable. Thick cloud on our arrival in Ibiza. It's boody ironic that we've come over a thousand miles from sweltering Britain to a place that's been cloudy and wet for the best part of a week. The hotel Pacific is great, but a sewage works seems to dominate the view from our balcony. However, I can assure you that Ibiza is a fantastic place. Never have I enjoyed a foreign holiday, or indeed a British holiday, so much. Forgive the brief entries over the next few weeks but I'm far too bust to bother writing anythging in detail. However, full services will be resumed as soon as possible.
Scorching hot day. Get up at the unearthly hour of 8.15 and have breakfast with Mum, Dad, Lynn & Sue. I accompany Mum and Dad to Auntie Mabel's at Pudsey and then we drive her to Shipley, where she's staying with a friend until Thursday. The three of us call in at the Commercial afterwards and sit in the coolness of ther lounge until 3pm. Lynn and Dave joined us for the last one. Get slightly pissed actually and this becomes plainly obvious at 3 when Dave and I drive to Morrison's in the spitfire for a bottle on Cinzano to consume on the lawn. One of the rear brake-lights of Dave's car fell off & we drove back from Yeadon with me sipping Cinzano out of the glass brake light cover! Back onto the lawn until 7.30 when Chris comes to take me up to Peter's so I can hand over £80 for the holiday.
We had a drink in the packed Dyneley and then went to the Travellers' Rest on the Harewood Road (surely, Crimple?). Lynne, who also took Peter & Anne, drove into the Harewood House drive and received a slight nod of acknowledgement from the gatekeeper. No doubt he thought she was Princess Anne coming to make amends with her shunned Uncle George.
After much deliberation Lynne, Peter, Anne and I went to the Damn Yankee in Harrogate for a pizza - they were absolutely massive.
Anne seems to have come out of her seclusion somewhat and was very pleasant. Stayed at Peter's until dawn. Lynne drove Anne and myself home and my fond farewells were said. Staggered to bed feeling bloated after my enormous pizza.
Have a half-day and say bye bye to the Yorkshire Post and all its inmates until July 12.
Meet David B at Whitelocks after purchasing a new pair of trousers and a t-shirt in near tropical conditions. I am not one usually over-awed by the heat but the weather this afternoon is just too much to bear. Home at 3.30 and sit on the lawn with Dad listening to Pennine Radio.
Mum makes strawberries and fresh cream for tea which go down a real treat. Ring Lynne at 7.30 to hear her views on how the evening should be spent. To my horror Mrs Mather tells me Lynne is still working and says she'll ask her to ring me back. Working at 7.30pm in this climate! Poor, misguided lady. She rings at 8 o'clock and says she'll drive over for 9.
We go to the Hare & Hounds where we meet Chris, Peter, Anne, Andy and Linda. (Linda nearly killed Andy when she heard of what took place on Wednesday and says _____).
Another sideline to Wednesday evening is that Peter says he'll not touch one drop of alcohol when he's in Ibiza next week. How ridiculous. This will have to be knocked on the head. Move on to the Red Lion at Burley-in-Wharfedale and see John and Maria who come in at 10.30. We all stand outside and have quite a pleasant time really. Lynne wanted to move on to a disco but when she, Peter and Anne got back to our house the whole scheme fell through. Eventually Lynne and I went for a walk around Tranmere and sat drinking coffee at 3.30am. Yes folks, another late night.
Carole rang me at work to wish me a nice holiday and she tells me she is going to live in London and get a job down there within the next few weeks and that I'll never see her again. Both Peter and Chris have seen her and Denise with Chris Denby - so I think poor Carole is just inventing stories about seeking her fortune in London to get on my tits.
John comes at 8.30 and we watch 'Monty Python' for the last time. At 9 the two of us go to the Hare for a quick one and he brings Maria down at 9.15. Mum and Dad come in at 10 o'clock and the five of us have a pleasant family 'piss-up' - excuse the crudeness today, but we all have these moments don't we?
Mum and Maria are getting along like a house on fire. __________________. John was saying that the house is just about ready although they don't want to move in before August. They'll definately be in before baby arrives.
Out to Grassington and then onto the Miners' Arms at Glasshouses (surely, Greenhow?) with Chris, Peter M, and Andy Graham. The latter mentioned is indeed a rare sight in public life these days without the ever watchful Linda Smith lurking somehwhere in the shadows.
Peter got terribly drunk and the so-called highlight of the evening was the return journey when Andy seriously attempted to uproot every sign post between Bolton Abbey and Guiseley. Chris had about ten road signs stacked in the back of his van by 1.30am and I found the whole operation ridiculous and not in the least amusing.____________.
A warm, pleasant day - not that I see all that much of it locked away in the Yorkshire Post offices. However, a smile plays upon my lips when I think where I'll be this time next week.
Get home at 5.15 and devour a long awaited, much needed meal. See the 6 o'clock news on the BBC: the Queen greeting President Giscard d'Estaing at Victoria. Keeping up with the old 'Entente Cordiale' and all that. It's intriguing to know that the president can speak fluent English and we all know that the Queen can speak fluent French, and so in which language did they chat? The president and his wife both descend from Louis XV King of France. If I'm not mistaken, I think the Queen descends from Louis XV's grandfather, who was father of Henrietta Maria, wife of King Charles I. (I shall look into this more closely).
After tea I venture onto the lawn where I am sitting at this very moment compiling this diary. A warm, typical June day - even at 7pm. Heard from Tony today. He's busy all week and doesn't think he can make it until Friday. I won't have any cash before Thursday anyway.
John comes round at 7 o'clock and we drive down to Silverdale and look at his house through the windows as he isn't in possession of the keys yet and besides, it's too late to collect them from the site manager. Things seem to be coming along nicely but he's in no great hurry to move in.
Give Lynne a ring at 9.15 and Mrs Mather enquires: "Oh, is that Stephen?" It is so embarrassing when that happens. The silence lasted for about 20 seconds and then I asked to speak to Peter, but she says he's at Chris's. Lynne was out, of course, with Janet in Harrogate.
Warm but overcast day. Work was uneventful and not particularly strenuous. Hear that poor Dennis Haywood broke his arm when he fell off the quay at Blackpool yesterday. He seemed to be in great pain throughout the evening session in Skipton and now I understand why. Mick Johnson came in to see Carol J and exaggerated greatly his tale of the whole of yesterday's events. After the big build up with promises of alcoholic poisoning one could almost say it was something of an anti-climax. Enjoyable though.
A quiet evening at home. Watch a film at 9.20 on BBC1 entitled 'The Landlord' which is amusing. Certain aspects of American humour can be hilarious - espeially the female comics.
Retire to bed at 11.30 and read 'Princess Margaret anbd her family' which seems daft in the light of the events of three months ago. One picture in the book shows HRH at a house party in the autumn of 1973 where one of the male members in the group is named as 'Roddy Llewellyn, former Olympic showjumper'. The author is obviously confusing the young lad with his father, Colonel Harry Llewelyn. Apparently, this occasion was the first meeting of the princess and her young beau.
1st after Trinity. Evening Post Father's Day trip to Blackpool. Need I go into the details? Spent most of the day with Peter Lazenby, both wearing bowler hats. In fact, Peter's was a top hat and the label inside read: "By Royal Appointment to HRH The Duchess of Connaught." She died in 1916-18 or thereabouts which makes the hat virtually Victorian.
Everyone attempted to get pissed, but it wasn't half as bad (or good, which ever way you look at it) as people told me it would be. Poor Denis Haywood fell off a jetty and injured his arm but otherwise we had no casualties. Home at 12.15 still wearing my bowler (hat) after sitting in the Albion pub in Skipton from 7.30. A good day indeed. Father's Day too.
(HRH The Duchess of Connaught died March 14, 1917, aged 56 years - MLR).
Mum & Dad's 22nd wedding anniversary. The occasion was somewhat marred by the fact that poor Dad was late home because of the National Front demo in Bradford this afternoon. He gets in at 8 o'clock and they both go out for a quiet drink. Lynn, Sue and I bought them a silver plated tea pot, milk jug and sugar bowl, &c.
Tony and Carol J come in at 9 o'clock and he tells Mum it was I who was violently sick on Thursday night. We all laugh at th cover-up and then we go up to the Cow & Calf pub for a drink, with Lynne. A nice evening, and we sat in the floodlit gardens at Oakwood Hall and devoured pizza. They (the pizzas) are much nicer than the Damn Yankee creations & even better than the supposed brilliant objects served at the Flying Pizza. Peter and Anne arrive at Oakwood at midnight or so but we don't see much of them. Lynne and I dance quite a bit ___________________.
Home at 1.30 or thereabouts to find some sort of wedding anniversary party going on. This orgy of hysterics falls though at 2am and Lynne and I have the lounge to ourselves until the unearthly hour of 4am. Please understand one thing. Lynne and I are not serious. After the traumatic events of the last couple of months I am in no mood for a lengthy, strenuous affair.
Anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo. For the first time in three years I didn't send June Bottomley the traditional safety pin. Now that she's engaged I don't think it right for me - an ex lover - to keep up a correspondence of any kind with her.
Horrible drunken night at Oakwood Hall with Tony. Went to Ilkley to see Stuart first and he comes with us to the Rose & Crown for a quick three pints. He just got out of hospital this morning. He has an absess on one of his tits. In fact, when stood sideways, he looks very much like Raquel Welch. He (Stuart) departed for home at 9.30 and Tony and I continued to Oakwood Hall where I succumbed to the evils of cider. Home at 1am. I was blind drunk and on inviting Tony in for a coffee I was violently sick. Mum was awakened and when she questioned me about it after Tony had gone I said it was HE who'd been sick.
Take a half day. Meet Marita and Denise in Leeds at 12.30 and go to Parker's (Wine Bar). Have a Scotch egg which cost me 35p and a pint of lager. Thirty-five pence for a solitary boiled egg wrapped in sausage meat! Poor Marita is compelled to return to work at 1.30 & Miss Akroyd and myself purchased a bottle of wine and sat for another hour or so. Marilyn (Wheeler) was in with a woman I presumed to be her mother and I could see her looking at Denise. No doubt she'll be reporting to Mrs Johnson tonight.
Denise and I chat about very little really. Feel bored and tired. She says she is taking her mother to the Canary Islands on July 11, and not going away with Carole after all. Plans were well underway, but Miss Phillips rang her yesterday to say she couldn't get the same holiday dates as Denise after all. They're off to the Edwardian Club to a 21st (birthday party) on Friday night. I nearly vomit at the mention of the place. What is more, Carole's told Denise that it's a 'classy' discotheque! Get home at 5.30 and eat a hearty meal. Blimey, I forgot to mention that after we left Parker's we ventured into the city museum and art gallery for a couple of hours. Cultured buggers, we are.
Chris rings at 6.30 to see if I'm going out and I say yes. Lynne isn't out but I'll ring her tomorrow to see if she can fit me in on Saturday. Write her a letter and go put it in her hands when Chris and I go collect Pete. Go to the Scott's Arms and the Three Legs at Wetherby. Chris tells me he is madly in love with Denise and would do anything for her - even marriage! God Almighty! It's just like been seventeen all over again!
Get home tonight feeling whacked. No doubt I'll be in a state of great exhaustion by the time the holiday comes around. I can't make up my mind about Lynne. She's certainly attractive and I know from the last time (Oct-Nov '74) that we get along nicely, but __________________. I also think Peter objects to Lynne being part of the 'happy family'. However, if I do go out with Lynne again I don't want her to be in the same room as Carole & Co. That was the trouble last time. Too many people dictated what we were going to do and where we where going to do it. I think she's fabulous and incredibly sexy. __________. Our temperaments are so similar. Go on, I know what you're thinking: "What in God's name are you doing here, Michael, when a girl like that is wandering around Bramhope in an unattached condition?"
( A squashed green fly).
David L 21. Go into the office at 9.30am. Mr Lawson came of age today. Poor David appears to be in a bad way actually. What with the duodenal ulcer and the failure to get a teaching position I cannot imagine him having a wild, revelrous (sic) birthday at all. To be compelled to passing a sober 21st birthday doesn't bear thinking on. MM and Marita are of course going down (to Worcester) at the weekend and I did intend to join them until I discovered that it clashed with the YP Father's Day trip to Blackpool & my name has been on the list for some considerable time. David can easily take offence that I fear he will cut off diplomatic relations when he learns I won't be able to make it to Worcester - my last chance to visit before he finishes for good at the beginning of next month.
Go to Rawdon at 8pm at get a lift to the Dyneley with Marita - it's Lynne's 19th birthday celebrations. Denise, Chris, Pete, Lynne (looking ravishing) arrive at the Dyneley and after one drink we go to the Scott's Arms (at Sicklinghall) again. Lynne and I went with Marita. Fail to get into the right spirit and behave in a sombre fashion all night - even at Denise's where we go afterwards for coffee. I tell Lynne I'll ring her in the week when I'm more wealthy. She tells me about her situation when her Mum & Dad move to Thornton-le-Dale. She'll stay with an aunt in Leeds until Christmas and then consider her position more carefully.
Trinity Sunday. Lynne is nineteen today and last night I gave Pete a card to pass on to her. It is a birthday card designed for a 90 year-old but the picture on the front is so pretty I didn't think she'd notice the slightly exaggerated number.
A beautifully hot day. Sit out on the lawn until 3.30 and then wash my hair in order to make myself presentable for tonight's laborious stint at the YP. Leave for Leeds at 4pm looking something like a cross between a lobster and a beetroot. Sat in the sunshine in Guiseley for 45 minutes waiting for the bus - and when it arrived it was packed to the very brim. (Do buses have brims? Discuss). Worked until 10.30. Bored to tears. Absolutely nothing to report in the news and I fail to see why I should continue filling in this page with the usual clipped, badly punctuated trivia. However, this diary isn't here to make me happy. It's here for your benefit. What is boring and dull to me now maybe of great historical importance in 80 or 90 years time. In fact, by the time Lynne's birthday card is applicable this diary may well be selling as a rare manuscript at Sotheby's for £70,000.
A day upon which I should truly be ashamed of myself. It's the official birthday of Her Majesty the Queen and subsequently Trooping the Colour in London and I am not there to lend my support. In 1972, 73, 74 and 75 I have always made a point of attending, and indeed it became something of a ritual, but what with the up and coming holiday, lack of funds and lack of a suitable escort, I decided to give it a miss this year. I climbed out of bed at 10.15 to view the spectacle on television. The weather in London looks perfect and I sit long-faced staring at the TV regretting my decision to stay at home. Please do not take this break in tradition as a decline in my loyalty to the Throne. My feelings on this subject have changed in no way and I need elaborate no more on them, because you, dear reader, are very well aware of my royalist leanings.
Lynn and I go into Otley this afternoon and give the shops a good going over. At 5.30 I attempt to take her for a drink at the Black Bull but to our horror discover the pub isn't open! Home on the bus cursing the English licensing laws.
Peter M and I go out for a drink this evening. Start in the tap room of the Menston Arms, then the Malt Shovel and get to the Hare & Hounds for 10 o'clock. John and Maria are there having a drink and we have a good chat. Chris comes shortly afterwards and the three of us go to Oakwood Hall where Carole and Denise can be seen. At one stage it became so hot inside that we piled out at the back and onto the lawns. Carole had minor hysterics at one point but I ignored them. I do not like being cooped up with her is discos & don't intend being so gullable in future.
Booze-up day again. Eileen and I make our usual venture across to the Central at 1 o'clock and pass a pleasant hour over a lager or two. We bring a few cans back at 2 for Sarah to have a few drinks as well. One can exploded showering the whole interior of the Yorkshire Post building with a splattering of Heineken.
Meanwhile, that night: Go to the Dyneley (Arms) at 8.30 with Chris, Denise and Carole. (Denise is, of course, staying with Miss Phillips). Meet Pete M and Anne, Raymond Bond and Anne's sister, Carol - and of course the lovely Lynne, who is dressed completely in black. We sit together (Lynne and I that is) all night and are not particularly put off by Carole staring at us throughout. Everyone seems to be getting round to my idea of thinking that poor Carole is slightly 'loony'. Her eyes are certrainly strange and certainly her whole appearance is one of a madwoman. I never feel quite safe now when I see her and always my eyes fall upon her revolting wrists and I think to myself: "God! Is that mess all my fault?"
Move on to the Harrogate Arms near Harlow Carr Gardens until closing. John and Maria came. (They joined us at the Dyneley at 10pm. Lynne brings me home at midnight and stays for over an hour).