I started to keep a journal in January, 1973, when I was 17 years old ~ and compiled it as if it was written for a future grandchild.
Transcribing from handwritten volume to blog may take some time ...
Prepare to visit Muswell Hill. Got everything packed and then went for my appointment at 69, Silverdale Drive, with my brother and dear sister-in-law. Went at 8:00 and stayed until 10:30 or so. JPH is almost walking. He calls me 'Mick' which sounds hilarious. A real darling, he is, and by far the most attractive child I have ever laid eyes upon. One day I expect him to make a thunderous impact on the film world or maybe figure on the political scene. Maria is so like Molly. A good evening. I managed to collect some of the gear John pinched from me at the New Year. He brought me home, and I finished packing my meagre, pathetic belongings.
Not writing anything today. It's my diary and when I say I cannot be bothered you should accept it. I'm glad of one thing though. January is over until 1979. Once this lousy month is out of the way it's a clear run to daffodil time, frisky lambs, and tulips waving in the Spring breeze. Marvellous eh? Would Wordsworth have been proud of my sentiments?
Carry on with poor King Edward VI. It's a bloody shame he didn't live longer. But, come to think of it, if he hadn't died prematurely England would have never had a Queen Elizabeth I, and look what a loss that would have been? If she hadn't reigned then I now would have been writing this in Spanish because Philip II would have undoubtedly made England a Spanish colony after his Armada victory over Drake. But, hang on, would the Spanish Armada have set out at all if Edward VI had still been on the throne? Would Sir Francis Drake have been in such a position too under another monarch? Oh, God. What hole am I digging here?
Would Clement Attlee have been Labour party leader if Hereward the Wake had never existed? One could go on like this indefinitely. Alternative history. Fascinating.
More snow. Marita's 23rd birthday, but something of a flop. I saw her at 4:30 on Wellington Street and she mentioned something about going out for a drink - a consolation booze-up - with Chris and Denise. I readily agreed to join the party.
At home I prepared a suitable birthday card (a Mig Rhodes montage no less, made from old YP photographs) and readied myself for this unusual Tuesday night venture. But at 8:00 she phoned saying Mr & Mrs Fountain have arranged to take her out for a surprise meal, and so it's a kick in the teeth for our night out. Lynn became suspicious and said __________.
King Edward VI.
I sat reading Edward VI by Hester Chapman, brooding over what might have been. The 1540s were troubled times and I must admit I'm quite confused about the intrigues of the Seymours and the Greys. I have managed to get to page 131 though. One thing's for sure, I no longer feel sorry for Lady Jane Grey.
Margaret Thatcher's immigration speech is creating a furore. There is also talk that Harold Wilson resigned when he did in March 1976 to lessen the impact of the breakdown of the Snowdon marriage. Did I comment on the closeness of these events at the time? I believe I did. I no longer read my old diaries regularly. I'm nauseated by myself, and keep the journals in a black box under lock and key.
Jacqui phoned to make certain I am visiting her next weekend. Of course I am. I rang Dave G to let him know that the holiday is booked and he gave a sigh of relief. It was all worrying. No doubt the Rt Hon Merlyn Rees, MP, worries in this fashion every morning. One day it's the fire brigade, and the next day it's the police.
I phoned CB. She and Philip H patched things up on Sunday. God, she was pissed!
Coming home from town I bumped into Naomi (not exactly 'bumped' because she was at the steering wheel of a vehicle whilst I was on foot). She told me that Carole was in tears on Saturday afternoon and that they both (she and Fogarty) telephoned apologising for their silly behaviour. I hadn't been aware of all this. Naomi saw Carole this afternoon, who said that Peter F is an ass. My apologies to Carole are now very necessary. I ruined her afternoon, but at the same time I'm resentful of Fogarty's attitude. He should not be allowed to get away with it.
Laughed with Naomi about the marvellous food and the visit to the Wharfedale Gate. She's had everyone moaning about the choice of pub, and demanding explanations as to why we had to endure Saturday night therein. Yes, that was my fault.
Tonight. Read the Lord Peter Wimsey book and actually finished it. Can't say I'm all that impressed by Miss Sayers. I have read quite a few of her books and each one has left me cold. Rather boring, long-winded and lacking in that 'hold' which novels of this type should inflict. Dame Agatha (Christie) does it to well.
A nauseating day. Out of bed at 10:30 which is far too early. Sit around like a paraplegic for most of the day, generally annoying everyone.
I forgot to mention that Tony was at yesterday's Bacchanalian spectacular. ______.
Lunch was good but I could barely keep my eyes open to devour it. Endure several films on the TV and attempted to read 'Lord Peter Wimsey'. Fail miserably.
Execution of King Charles I at Whitehall.
I forgot to phone Dave G about the holiday, but then I forget most things. That's all for today now. You ought to be thankful that I bothered writing anything at all. Blimey, why should I become a martyr just for your sake? On the subject of martyrs didn't King Charles I meet his maker on a day at the end of January? Hold on a minute, I'll just go look it up in Burke's (Peerage). Yes, he was decapitated at Whitehall on January 30, 1649, and buried at Windsor. That's 329 years ago tomorrow. Poor bugger.