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Wednesday February 14, 1979

_. Valentine's Day.

I have a glowing red nose, dribbling over all and everything. More snow over night and it was a three and a half hour journey from Guiseley to Leeds. We [Jim R and I] left home just after 8, and I didn't enter the YP until 11:25am. Spend the day sniffling and coughing, generally out of breath and feeling abominable.

Reginald Maudling died early today from hepatitis. He was renowned for excessive drinking so no doubt the endless flood of booze hastened his departure. He fell from favour over his part in the John Poulson Affair and only last month he was mentioned in the scandal surrounding Sir Eric Miller. Maudling isn't going to be missed by many in his party.

Home in better time, but the snow is hurtling down again.

Today is Valentine's Day and I didn't get one bloody card. Mind you, I didn't expect one because I am out of favour with the majority of my female acquaintances. Carole is enraptured by Mick Lynch, and Jacq won't send me one because I failed to send her a Christmas card, or indeed a birthday card earlier this month. As for Christine, she appears to have severed diplomatic relations since Christmas. I've written twice recently and both epistles have been ignored by the tenant of Glenview Hall. Don't worry. I don't think it's serious. Only slightly disconcerting. CB is much taken up with Doreen at the moment.

Ate a large meal at 5:30 and then went into paroxysms of sneezing. Am I perhaps on my way to join Reggie Maudling on his journey to eternal peace and tranquillity?

David of Stockport phoned at 9 and was in good spirits joking about Martyn. Retired to bed at 10:17pm with several paracetemols.


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