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Saturday December 10, 1977

Mum woke me at 7:30. I felt ghastly. Close to death in fact. I was in two minds about whether I should stuff my £2 bus ticket to Manchester and just go back to bed. I didn't. I have splashed curry sauce all over my new trousers. Stood in the bathroom looking at my piteous reflection. I nearly vomited. Oh My God, the Christmas season is upon us again!

Garry Barratt.
Got the 9:30 bus out of Leeds. An uneventful journey. I slept for part of the way. Met Dave at 12 and we began drinking on the spot. By 3pm I'd consumed about seven pints of lager. Dave and the boys bashed about playing billiards or pool or whatever they call it. I wasn't even a bit pissed. I realise how disgusting and horribly working class I sound. I may just as well be a coal miner or sheet metal worker if my social life is anything to go by.

After a meal prepared by the great Lily Glynn we went out to the Armoury in Stockport for 8:30. From here we went with Bill (Wright) and Garry (Barratt) to Rotter's disco ('First there were discos, now there's Rotters', is the slogan). We each had to put a £3 deposit down before the management would let us in the God damn place. I think the poor misguided souls took us for rogues! We did get the money back when we staggered out at 2:00am. We did have a good time. Why can't someone open such a place in Guiseley or immediate vicinity? They'd make a bomb. Oakwood Hall is the closest thing and that's light years away in comparison.

On the way back to Dave's it happened. Yes, I was sick. All my own doing.


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