John comes up at 7 o'clock to say Maria and the baby have a touch of cold and can we go down to see them another night instead. Lynne and I had intended taking a few bottles down to number 69. Instead we go on something of a pub crawl. Red Lion, Black Bull and Hare & Hounds. We discuss all manner of popular topics. Birth control, sex, marriage and Roman Catholicism. Called in at Harry Ramsden's - a rare spectacle these days. No CB out tonight.
To the Black .... Oh Sod it! Start again. To the Brown Cow in Horsforth at 8.15 with good old David L and eventually Marita, who arrives at 9.30, or so. Haven't seen David for months, and by all accounts the going is hard. He's returning to Gloucester on Friday in order to construct a duck pond, or something. A great chap is Dave. Marita is her usual self. Always on about old times but ________________.
Aren't I a bitter, twisted old git? Must be the influence of Lynne. Somehow I don't think Marita likes her at all. On arriving tonight she enquired: "Oh, how's whats her name ... Princess Anne .. getting on?" She refused even to say Lynne's name.
Home at 11 o'clock and watch the David Frost/Sir Harold Wilson quiz. I quite like Sir Harold even if he is a damned socialist. He's better than the current incumbent of 10, Downing Street, anyway. Audrey Callaghan is a nice bit of stuff though. Her tits! - Cor!! Jim sure knew what he was doing when he got her knickers off. Here endeth the crude, nasty bits for today.
Leave the office at 4 o'clock thoroughly pissed off. Salad for tea, which is thoroughly boring, but Mum does her best with it. I have never enjoyed a salad. Soggy lettuce and a bashed up old tomato - crap.
Tony comes up at 8 and the two of us go down to Ilkley to meet Stuart. To the Black Horse at Askwith and then on to the Black Bull at Otley. They like the Black Bull - it's the first time either of them have been. Discuss age and Tony thinks I'm implying that he's an old boy. I never class him as being of a different generation. He bloody well isn't, that's why. Eight years is no real gap. Up to the Hare & Hounds where Tony is in a trance at the sight of 'Winifred', who has him under some sort of spell. They say she closely resembles the late Miss Akroyd or 'Fanny' as she's affectionately known to the millions of W.H.Smith employees throughout the country. Home at 11. Some talk of a party in Manchester on Saturday. I don't know what to think about it. Even talk of going to Old Trafford in the afternoon! Christ! Anything for a bloody laugh.
Work at 9.30. Sarah isn't too well. Bugger about and manage to finish for 2.30 or so. Home by 5.15. Have a bath and then Lynne comes up at 8 o'clock with my luggage. Put on my new trousers, red shirt and cardigan. Just the two of us to the Hare & Hounds at 8.30 for an hour. She goes home afterwards [to Gipton Wood Crescent that is] because Aunt Lil has her evening meal ready. Quite a good night at the Hare. We are becoming more and more close I think. [We are] staying over here this coming weekend. She's coming on Friday and going straight to Thornton-le-Dale after we've been out. The weekend after I'm going to Thornton-le-D with her on Friday [Nov] 5, and coming back on Sunday [Nov] 7, to go to Auntie Delia's luncheon.
See the Queen on TV at 11 o'clock tonight officially opening the National Theatre, on the South Bank. [The South Bank of what? Not of the Ouse, I think]. A modern, updated version of the National Anthem was played at the opening and, in my opinion, I think that perhaps the composer should be hanged with piano wire. Nauseating it really was. Bed at midnight.
Oh, by the way. Auntie Mabel, Marlene and Frank, Mark & Debbie came at 6.30 for an hour. Sorry, I forgot to mention it earlier.
19th after Trinity. United Nation's Day. Up at a late hour again and devour one of Mrs Mather's nice breakfasts. Lynne and I then set to and wash her car. One hell of a job. In the midst of this we go for a walk around Thornton-le-Dale parish church and then for a few miles down a quiet lane to a place the name of which escapes me [Dalby?] Back at 4pm to complete the polishing of the car. A lovely, autumn afternoon.
After [the] evening meal we watch TV all night but my allergy to the cat and dog renders me completely useless. Drink whisky but I'm so blocked up I can barely taste it. Bed at 12.30. Took a sneaky photo of Lynne compiling her diary sitting in bed. Should prove funny when results come through. I always enjoy muyself at Lynne's parents' house. When I compare them to Mr & Mrs Phillips it's quite incredible. Total opposites. Poor Carole. With a Mum & Dad like that why bother reading horror stories?
It's rumoured in the Sunday Express that the Duchess of Gloucester is pregnant. We shall have to wait and see.
Don't get out of bed until 1.30pm on Saturday afternoon. Mr & Mrs Mather are decorating the lounge. After lunch Lynne and I go shopping to Scarbrough. I get a pair of black trousers and a red shirt with 'San Francisco Giants' inscribed all over it. A cold, dismal day, but we have a good laugh. Back in Thornton Dale by 6 o'clock and call at one of the pubs in the village for a pre-dinner drink.
At 9 o'clock we set off to Brummel's in York. Arrive after 11 and remain until 2am. Had a great time. The music really is 'our sort'. The place was packed to begin with but we soon found a vacant space. Lynne and I merged our resources and managed to come away with a few bob for the coming week. I only consumed three or four pints of lager all night and on our drive back to Thornton-le-Dale [nearly 30 miles]we were serenaded by fantastic music on Radio Luxembourg. Made cheese on toast at 3am and woke Mrs Mather in the process but didn't suffer anything quite as traumatic as what would have befallen us if Mama had been in Mrs Mather's shoes, or perhaps bed. Bed at 3.30.
Lynne and I go to the Damn Yankee at Harrogate at 8.30 for a pizza. Fantastic. Then go up to Thornton-le-Dale calling in at the Royal Oak at Old Malton first. Get to Thornton-le-Dale by 11.30 and find Mrs Mather in not too good a mood, but she soon cheers up. No Peter of course. Only Mr & Mrs M and Karl. It takes Lynne some time to unwind at weekends. Work dominates her poor mind until well into Saturday. A darling she is though. No more for now.
Nelson had one of his 'off days' 171 years ago today. Trafalgar Day, that's what it is. It's also the 26th anniversary of the christening of Princess Anne. Just who else knows this mundane detail, other than Princess Anne, and I'm willing to bet she hasn't written about it.
See 'Top of the Pops' and then go down with Lynne to John & Maria's. Our first visit to 69, Silverdale Drive. Have a few beers and take 9 or 10 pictures of John Philip Hugh who is incredible. The most beautiful baby I have ever encountered. To adequately describe the little lad is a bloody impossibility. Maria will make a good mother I am sure and looking at John [Snr] I see he is still somewhat baffled by it all.
Home at midnight or so because poor Lynne had to go to Roundhay. The poor kid is forever on the bloody move. Going for a pizza on Friday before trekking up to Thornton-le-Dale for the weekend. Goodnight to one and all.
Go straight to [John] & Maria's from the YP. Beloved John Philip Hugh is sleeping upstairs & Maria and I chat about old times over a coffee. Discuss the 'George' days. John comes in at 5.30 and the four of us [that's including a slumbering J.P.H. Rhodes, of course] go up to 14, Ridgeway, Tranmere Park, Guiseley. Molly is besotted with her grandson. Her other three grandchildren, Anna, Andrew and Katie are belting around the house like hooligans. In fact the whole scene is reminiscent of a Manchester United football match. Stay to tea, which is made by Anne [Maria's sister-in-law] and consume a couple of glasses of wine in the process. Give John Philip Hugh a lengthy nurse and he is, or appears to be, on the verge of starvation. Molly feeds him whilst we have tea. Don't leave until 9.30, and arrange to visit them at number 69 with Lynne tomorrow night.
Mum and Dad have been to the Bridge Inn at Ingleton. They come home with tales of wonderment, but I'm sceptical about the whole business. I won't say anything else on the subject until we take up residence there, and if we don't you'll never hear of the bloody Bridge Inn again.