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Wednesday December 27, 1978

St John, Evangelist

Quiet day. In bed until afternoon and then I lay, like a Roman senator, in the sitting room, until someone decided to feed me.

I finally acquired a batch of medicine from the doctor, and spent most of the day gulping it down.

Sarah phoned at lunchtime and was sweet. We really should get married, or shack up together. I will kick myself when some bastard from the Regent snatches her up and slips a ring on her anaemic, yet beautiful, finger. I only hope she seeks my advice first.

To bed with Evelyn Waugh at a nice late hour. I am reminded of Tony Brotherwood's quip _________.

The name Evelyn always makes me think of a man. Mind you, so does Jocelyn, and Vivian. Am I queer, perhaps?

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Tuesday December 26, 1978

Boxing Day Bank Holiday {except Scotland}

Good King Wenceslas: when did he look out?
St Stephen

Slightly better. Merry Christmas.

John, Maria and JPH joined us. I phoned Sarah and told her I'm having it off until after the New Year (HaHa).

Sod the New Year's Honours list. Besides, who cares if Arthur Worsley becomes a CH or whether Dame Vera Lynn gets the George Cross? I don't.

Good King Wenceslas looked out today, didn't he? But  what year? I reckon it must have been in the 1000s.

Forgive the abominable handwriting. It isn't anything to do with booze. Someone has hidden my trusty fountain pen and no end of reckless searching has found it. So, I'm reduced to this scrawl with what is commonly styled a felt~tipped pen.

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Monday December 25, 1978

Christmas Day Bank Holiday {Scotland}

Still full of cold. Merry Christmas. JPH nipped my nose and it bled. Eeek. Sad news. John's old work~mate, Terry Mellors, was killed in a road accident on Friday, and John was close to bursting into tears when Dad told him at lunchtime. He just sad clutching one of his Christmas presents, looking very pale.

We ate at 4:30 and then collapsed. John and Maria {who had left for Molly & Jim's at about 4:30} came back at 10pm dressed as Scottish punks ~ John in a MacGregor tartan kilt. They danced to Kenneth McKellar records over a pair of crossed walking sticks in the centre of the sitting room. We all remarked afterwards that John would never have done such a thing just a few years ago. He's never been noted for outrageous behaviour.

Maria was bedecked like a Christmas tree with gaily painted balls hanging from her ears.

The house reeks of eucalyptus (sic)

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Sunday December 24, 1978

4th Sunday in Advent.

Christmas Eve. Lynn's first Christmas party (at Lawn Rd) tonight. I am ill and taking a Yuletide recess.

We watched a film show (provided by Marlene and Frank) of Lynn and Dave's wedding. Auntie Mabel wiped her spectacles a few times and people shuffled in their seats.

Santa Claus came at 10. Auntie Mabel exclaimed: "Oh, what a sexy old Santa!" It wasn't the real Santa at all, it was David Greenwood __________________________.

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Saturday December 23, 1978

Sun rises 08:05 Sun sets 15:55

Feel ill, so get lost. Out tonight with Christine to the Regent at Chapel Allerton and then to the Queen's in Horsforth, and then to Carol's party. Over 200 piled in. It was quite ludicrous. The combined weight of the revellers caused the ceiling of the sweet shop below to cave in. Boxes of Black Magic and Terry's 1767s were afloat in the water from the burst pipes. Very sad.

I was ill and shouldn't have gone out. CB appreciated my indisposition and sympathised. The creeps in the Regent gave us envious glances ~ I am sure CB caused a sensation because the female population in the Regent generally consists of fat tarts buried beneath four inches of make~up.

CB gave me a book for Christmas. It's by Alan Coren and called "The Lady from Stalingrad Mansions" ~ very inspiring. Home at 1:30am (?).  Pissed up.

John and Maria were merry~making with Mum & Dad. The baby is due on July 7.



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Friday December 22, 1978

Moon's last quarter 17:41

Not going to tell you much. Work was over by 1:30 and we went across to Parker's Wine Bar ~ which was ridiculous. So cramped and over crowded. Surely a danger and a fire risk? Tarts abounded. Champagne gushed everywhere at £8 a bottle. Most of the men in the place were dressed like Shirley Bassey ~ I think they were heading off to a fancy dress party.

At about 4 o'clock Carol J took Sarah and I to Ivory Towers {really Ivory Dene, West End Lane, Horsforth}, where we ate beans on toast and drank whisky.
November '63: Jack or Bobby?

Auntie Delia brought me home at 7 and came in to use our phone. She wanted to contact Bill (Collis) ~ the phones at Ivory Towers are out of order.

My throat is on fire. I think my cold is returning. By 8:30 I'm in bed and undergo a hideous night of delirium and sweat. At one point, in my dream, I was about to assassinate Senator Robert Kennedy, but couldn't understand why my calendar said it was November, 1963. I went out on the "grassy knoll" trying to tell people that it was his brother, John, who should be assassinated, not Bobby. Nobody believed me.

Yes, I'm stoned out of my miserable brain.





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