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Tuesday April 5, 1977

My birthday today. The usual type really. Up at 7.15 and devour kippers and drink tea. Get £4 from Mum and a £3 postal order from Lynn. Sue gave me £5 on Saturday.

Will I see my Jubilee?
To the YP in best jeans and jacket. Have a session this lunchtime with Dave B at the Ostlers. Had three or four pints and was quite pissed. They're frantic in the library trying to find King George VI's first private secretary when he succeeded to the throne in 1936. It was Sir Alan Lascelles, of course.

Carole rings to wish me 'Happy Birthday' for yesterday. When I tell her it's actually today she retorts "Oh, no it isn't!". OK, Carole pet, you win.

Birthday cards from Denise, Judith, Dave L, Marita & MM, &c. Dave G rings to profess congratulations and so does Auntie Mabel. (Mum, Dad, John, Maria and JPH go off to Auntie Mabel's for tea).

I eat at home with Lynn, Dave and Sue. Lynn goes off on a driving lesson and Sue, Pete and I go out for a drink. To the Hare, then the Black Bull, then back to the Hare. Quite a good night. Had fish and chips too.

Retire to my chambers at 12.27am. Goodnight One and All!

How many more years have I got? (The way things are going I can't see me having a Silver Jubilee ......my Silver Jubilee that is).

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Monday April 4, 1977

Thoroughly ordinary sort of day. Just routine at the YP and usual at home. No telephone calls or great news other than the astounding information that the Duke of Beaufort is 77 years old today!

Piss off Michael. You don't half talk a load of shit at times.

                                          POEM
Duke of Beaufort.

Good Old Duke of Beaufort,
You're Seventy Seven today,
with all that luscious parkland,
You're a C*nt with a capital K

(c) MLR.

No, to be honest, I don't like being vulgar. Besides which I'm a leading fan of all dukes of all age and varying fortune. It's quite a while since I made such a silly entry as this. Yes, indeed.

S H I T 


Oh sod it! You've guessed by now I'm doing all this just to waste space. I can't bear to see blank pages in the diary. I bet Evelyn Waugh or Samuel Pepys never did this. Mind you, that's probably why they're famous. Publishers like Michael Joseph or Lord Weidenfeld will be far from enthusiastic by my contribution on this page.

Retire to bed at 12.15am on the morn of my 22nd birthday.

-==-





Sunday April 3, 1977

Palm Sunday. Palm Sunday indeed. With Dave G, Glenn, Christine, Lynn and Dave B, Mum & Dad to the Commercial at noon. The locals didn't trot ahead in front of me throwing palms and other objects of flora in my path. Dad wasn't astride a donkey either.

with CB: in perfect shape.
Lynn is like a zombie. Dead to the world. We all - that is everyone on the above list - felt recovered somewhat with the medicinal intake of alcohol. Alas, the drink must have effected my eyes because the ink here has changed to something strongly resembling black currant. Was I drinking vodka and black last night?

CB is in perfect shape. Just like old times. It makes life well worth living. All back to Pine Tops for luncheon. Horrified by the idea of working this evening. It's pouring with rain too and CB looks expectantly at people, fluttering her eye lashes, in an attempt to get a lift to the bus stop. No such bloody luck. We walked into Guiseley in a deluge and waited for what seemed like all eternity for the public transport.

Nothing of interest at the YP. Dead in fact. Ursula is a nice girl. I'm a nice boy. You're a patient reader.




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Saturday April 2, 1977

Wait all day for Dave G and Glenn. Watched the Grand National on TV at 3.30. Red Rum won for the third time making history. We had a private bet on at home. Sue backed the winner.One of mine fell at the first fence and had to be destroyed.

with CB, Ruth and Dave G.
The lads arrived at about 4 o'clock. They're both in great shape. Tea of haddock flan, then down to the off licence for booze and on to the Hare. John, Maria, Lynn, Dave B, Sue, Pete, Chris R, Miss Dibb, Graham Airey, Andy, Linda, Carol Smith and boyfriend, little Jean, and later Mum and Dad, CB, Judith and Kathryn, &c. All back to Pine Tops. A real piss up. Don't remember much. Do recall wearing sunglasses and annoying people playing John's mouth organ. I almost set myself on fire trying to take a group photograph from the top of the fireplace in the lounge. Freaking out until 5am.

As far as I know only Martyn, Ruth, Judith and Kathryn, Dave G, Dave B, Glenn and I were the only ones remaining at dawn, and others, who have no grave but the sea, may well have been fighting it out until the bitter end. I found refuge in my bed. CB was unconscious on Lynn's bed and subsequently my sister was relegated to sleeping on the bedroom floor. I did the washing up and clearing around before passing out. Yes,I am made of the stuff that made England great. Christopher Columbus, Robert the Bruce, Hereward the Wake - all stout Englishmen who pioneered to achieve the greatest empire since F.W. Woolworth opened all them shops.

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Friday April 1, 1977

Up at 9 with great expectations for the Pig & Whistle expedition. Sadly however Judith is a very different person this morning when I telephoned Bedside Manor. "I'm not going, Michael", she says "...and that's final".

So I made do playing at Harry Wheatcroft in the garden until Dad rolls up and shouts from the window something about going shopping with promises of a drink thrown in to bait me. I readily cast aside my shears and hurtle up the garden like Lilian Board. (Sorry, it's something of a dead personalities morning with Harry Wheatcroft and Lilian Board).

Shopping was hell at Morrison's but it was all made worthwhile by a drink in the Clothiers's. Down to collect Mama from Moon's (Mill) and the three of us bugger off to the Commercial for lunch. Roast beef and onion sandwiches and gallons of Stella Artois.

Ron Lindley.
Ron (Lindley) is an absolute scream. He has such a face that says everything without him having to speak a word. His very expression sums up the situation perfectly.

To the Hare & Hounds tonight with Sue and Peter. CB is on top form - a great time we have. Miss Braithwaite appears to be back to her normal self once again. Martyn and Ruth, Chris and Peter M join us and we move on to the Regent in Guiseley at 10.15 until closing time. No juke box, but quite a good place. CB and I laughing all the time. She's not sure about tomorrow night but I'll no doubt be seeing her in the pub even if she cannot come along to the Gang Bang.

All to the Chinese restaurant where I'm robbed of 95p by a greasy chink with dirty finger nails. The food is ghastly. No wonder the average china man dies at 27.

-=-