Wednesday January 26, 1977

Pissed up indeed. Lynn Rhodes (my dear sister) fancied going out for a jar or two with me in the absence of Mr Baker, and I readily agreed. We caught a bus to the Hare and immediately entered into the spirit of the thing. Simon (Denise's work-mate) and his lady friend with the name that escapes me, sat with us and he was 'eyeing' Lynn all over. He thought I was indulging in a bit of  the old 'One-Two-Three-Knees-Up-Knickers-Off-Blossom-'Op-into-Bed-with-Me-My-Old-Fruit' and seemed saddened when I explained that Lynn is my sister. CB was in. She wasn't on form. Where was that famous humour that brought tears of joy to the eyes of thousands at many of the London Palladium matinees? It was because she was driving. The curse of the 20th century is the motor car. The prime example of the 'evil' wrought by this innovation is Christine Braithwaite.

The Trav....

Martyn came into the Hare and after depositing Lynn on the last bus at 10.45 or so the two of us went to the Stoney Lea at Ilkley with Karen, his sister. What a ruddy dead loss! Only six of us in the damned place and at midnight the bar closed and we were out on the street. This did not deter us. With Andy Dale and Chris (his next-door neighbour who was in the police force) we went on to Il Trovatore, or El Lavatori, or whatever, which was once the Minstrel's Gallery. I demolished the best part of £7 and ended up in such a state. God. Was I gone? Blotto. Slept in Martyn's lounge from 4am to 7.30am. Please don't ask me how I felt.

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