I met David (Glynn) at 5:20 at the bus station. Sitting waiting for him clad in my dirty long raincoat my thoughts turned to _________. The National Coach station was a frequent haunt of ours during our 'romance'. Very nostalgic. It was such a pleasant little affair while it lasted, but it was never really on as far as I was concerned because her constant 'pushy' attitude killed the molecule of respect that lurked in my weird metabolism. _________________.
Dave is in fine shape but looks older. We got home at 6:45 for dinner. The snow didn't help much. Lynn and Dave are here and they invite us to stay at Lawn Road tomorrow. Sue and Pete are asked too. We dined and drank pea wine and then went down to the Fox & Hounds with Sue & Pete. (They have been going out together for 5 years today). Dave was quiet and complained of indigestion and drank brandy to settle his stomach. Sue & Pete left us to go dine at Queen Anne's Table in Ilkley.
Martyn, Peter M (moustachioed), & Steve Hudson came in. Dave enjoyed seeing them. I became quite pissed. Martyn, the bitch, said I resembled Peter Egan's portrayal of Oscar Wilde in the ATV version of Lillie Langtry's life story. Mr Cole is moving to Stockport to be the assistant manager of Samuel jewellers there. Steve Hudson has had a perm. He says I am always pissed. He might be right.
At 10pm we moved on to the Shoulder of Mutton. CB said she'd phone me tomorrow, but she was far from being her usual ridiculous self. In fact I hate the fact that these days she is always on the other side of the bar to me. She isn't cut out to be servile and certainly no barmaid. In my (drunken) stupor I told Chris R that I am in fact going to marry Christine when I'm grown up, say about thirty. Oh God! I can't wait for that tale to be circulated.
At 11pm Chris and Steve H came back to Pine Tops. We drank lager and pea wine and looked at old photographs. Mum was furious because I was so pissed, and to make matters worse I dropped a glass on the kitchen floor. Dave went and sat with Mum. Dad totally ignored me. Sue and Peter came in. She was in tears. They'd spent £17 on dinner and it had been diabolical. The food inedible. Poor sods. What a rotten fifth anniversary. Watched a blurred Sophia Loren film, but then it was probably my vision and not the telly's fault. Bed after 1am.
The papers and TV (yes, the media) are over-doing it a bit on the subject of the Prime Minister's Caribbean summit on the island of Guadeloupe. The nation may well be in a state of chaos & turmoil, but I fear the presence of James Callaghan in this current crisis can only make matters worse. Besides, one cannot expect the Presidents of France and the United States and the chancellor of West Germany to discuss world affairs in Barrow-in-Furness, can one? Some murky Berni Inn in the north of England may be fine for the likes of little Audrey Callaghan, but Madame Giscard D'Estaing is a different kettle of fish. She's descended from Louis XIV of France, you know.
The journals of Richard Crossman are proving a bore. He was a typical trumped up Socialist intellectual with baggy pin-striped trousers and a Georgian mansion in Suffolk. To be a Labour cabinet minister you have to something of a hypocrite, don't you?
Mr Dave Glynn phoned tonight. He's coming to Leeds tomorrow and I plan to meet him at 5:15. Such a genuine person and very likeable. Lynn and Sue adore him. He brings out the clown in Susan and the flirt in Lynn, and in Lynn's case this is quite an easy thing to achieve.
Stay by my fireside all evening. Jim and Margaret came here at 9 and we watched TV and consumed lager and chunks of port pie. These meetings never differ from week to week.