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Wednesday December 28, 1977

_.Ghastly day at the YP and so I'll say no more. However, John's party tonight made up for it. Feeling decidedly Bohemian I clad myself in a collarless shirt and braces and ruffled up my hair and reintroduced that glazed glint to my disgustingly attractive eyes. Lynne Mather was there. Her reaction on seeing me was to exclaim: "Oh Michael! Haven't you let yourself go?" Let myself go indeed.  It proved to be the punch line of the whole evening. Poor Lynne looked quite well really and she seemed to fluctuate between David L and MM. It's very unusual for Dave to fall for the charms of any female, but a definite warming towards Lynne was obvious. Denise and Marita on good form.

Lynne Mather.
Helen and Graham were the best. I didn't realise until this Christmas just how much I miss Helen. Two years ago we were always in the pub together, invariably bringing the place down and seeing her again has brought these memories flooding back.

Maria was very drunk. She banged about on the piano, cig in mouth, destroying Christmas Carols.

The whole thing fizzled out long before I wanted it to. Jimmy Macdonald reckons he's a wild boozer, but when it all boils down to it he's an average drinking man of moderate nocturnal habits. Even John danced. By 3:00am it was over.


Tuesday December 27, 1977

Bank Holiday in England, Ireland and Wales.

I failed to mention that Helen (the Mrs Helen Malin) and I had another bet yesterday. After paying her the £1 note for 1975 bet we placed another wager. She says Her Majesty will abdicate by January 1, 1981. I have obviously won this one. She (Helen, not the Queen) has moved to Peterborough and a four bedroomed house. I'm invited whenever I fancy going.

Up at 9:30 and cleared the devastation with Dave. Sandra and Miss LD are smoking and lounging like Roman whores whilst we slave. Dave taped some of my records and I made breakfast. I was home by 11:30. No hangover or touch of the squelches. The Lawson coffee liqueur usually loosens everything nicely.

Spent the day at home chiefly discussing the events of last night with the girls. I do love David's Christmas parties.

(Uncle) John, Sheila and Valerie came at 6:30 and for six or seven hours we sampled the wine and forced food down ourselves. Disgusting really. (Uncle) John became greatly pissed and was very amusing. He invited us all to his Canary Island home and even suggested to Lynn & Dave that they should honeymoon there. Good, eh? The only sad thing about all this is that Windsor will never be the same again. Valerie is nice. To bed at 2:00am with the horror of work stretching before me. Ghastly. Tomorrow will be hideous I know.


Monday December 26, 1977

Bank Holiday in England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales.

David's Christmas party. For the first time in many years Mr & Mrs L(awson) haven't gone to Blackpool for the Yuletide festivities, but instead they spend the night at Sandra's.  The event went off with the usual bang. All the gang turned up except CB who is once again having boyfriend bother (Oh God).  Mr______made his usual quip about my dancing, and so I got my own back when he was preparing to leave. He and _____(who was surly, morose and introverted) left together and before a large audience in the kitchen I quipped: "Ay, Ay, off for our traditional screw on the Chevin, are we?" Tee Hee. Sandra was grotesquely pissed and I fear some of her lustre has faded. Linda D______ was present. A bit of a tart, I fear. _____.

Slept in my usual rooms at Tennyson Street. God knows what time I eventually crashed out.


Sunday December 25, 1977

Christmas Day. Santa Claus and all that. Merry Christmas to you all! Up at approx. 10:00am to open my presents. The bulk of my gifts consist of underpants and socks. I don't care.

John, Maria and JPH came at 2 and stayed until 4. JPH was bewildered by all the fuss and wept towards the end. Poor soul. Gt-Auntie Annie and Gt-Uncle John Kirk came for ten minutes (visiting son Raymond on Southway). I gave them the photographs I took on Dec 14.
Helen Mirren.

We eventually dined in great style at 5:00pm. Feeling bloated some 90 minutes later, and whilst everyone else slept, I decided on the novel idea of gluing photographs in a new photo album. A strange Christmas pastime probably, but anything is better than the Moscow State Circus and Angela Rippon on the TV.

Julie Ege.
This evening I sat drinking shandy by the TV set. A couple of boring films later I retired to bed bearing my pile of items of male underwear. Ah well, you can't win 'em all, Michael. Perhaps next year I'll get the TR7 and a night out with Helen Mirren and Julie Ege. Merry Christmas!


Saturday December 24, 1977

_.Got up this morning to assess my wounds. I'll probably need plastic surgery and by the look of things it will affect my fan club membership. Oh, it's terrible. I've buggered my hand too. How will I battle through my Christmas dinner?

Sarah: revolted by my injuries.
Before going downstairs I had to ask Susan where I had been and exactly how I had acquired my injuries. She told my coldly. Oh, I am a fool.

My apologies were accepted by Mum and Dad and he went off to Otley (Police Station) to deal with the swine, or at least find something out. I believe my assailant was only 16 years-old.

Sarah came over at 8 and we, the whole family, went to the Hare & Hounds. Sarah is quiet and I put it down to my injuries. Am I so disfigured that Sarah is revolted?

The atmosphere in the pub is not what I would call festive. In fact most people seem quite sombre. No doubt it's because old age is creeping up on the group and crushing the lustre of yuletide joy from our poor minds.

Sarah, pleading exhaustion, retired at 11:30. Back to Pine Tops with the whole family. Maria brought her Scottish cousin, Marian along too. But, possibly because of my condition, I just felt morose and dismal. Tired even. At 2:00am I stunned the revellers by announcing my retirement.