Wednesday March 28, 1979

_. A revolting wet day. It's blowing a gale at the moment [12:15am 29/03/1979] .

Auntie Hilda is 43 today. Mum phoned her this morning. Mum suggested that they team up and go to Ruby and Arthur's together at Easter. H seemed to think this is a good idea.

Sarah has been a cow all day. ______________.

Susan and Peter went out for an Indian meal to celebrate their recovery from gastroenteritis. Oh God!

I have excellent news to relate here. At 10:30 tonight the government was defeated in the House of Commons on a vote of no confidence, by 311 to 310 votes. Old Callaghan will have to go to the country at last. The Queen will be asked to dissolve Parliament in the next few days and the general election campaign will begin. April 26 and May 10 are possible dates. It looks like Margaret Hilda Thatcher will be the first woman prime minister. One Labour MP missed the vote due to illness. I'd be interested to know who that was. His vote would have resulted in a tie and the Speaker would have cast the deciding vote with Her Majesty's Government. Angela Rippon was obviously beside herself with glee whilst reading the late news. It's obvious she is a 'true blue'. No government has been defeated in this way and subsequently fallen since Ramsay MacDonald's first Labour administration in 1924, and he was succeeded by Baldwin. Poor Jim Callaghan's 'Zinoviev Letter' is the failure of devolution ~ such a pathetic subject on which to risk all, don't you think?

Things will now hot up at the YP and the build up to the general election will be all good stuff. It's an exciting time. I really pity the poor people of Paraguay or Argentina, where elections of any kind are strictly taboo. They don't realise just what they are missing. ________.

Went to bed with Agatha Christie at 12:25am.

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Tuesday November 15, 1977

Princess Anne gave birth to a son at 10:46 this morning. The news came into the office about half an hour later. Master Phillips weighed in at 7lb 9oz and he is fifth in line of succession to the Throne. I never doubted that the child would be male. The only sadness is that he is born without a title. On the six o'clock news we saw a 61 gun salute on Tower Hill. The captain was with HRH for the birth. Great news, anyway. Long Live the House of Windsor! (7pm).

Now you will probably be physically sick at what I am about to relate. Are you sitting comfortably and suitably close to a bucket, and in a strong chair and with a large glass of Scotch close at hand? No, it's just that I'm still battling through a certain library book and I'm only on page 785. Alexandre Dumas needs a kick in the rear.

Back to the Royal baby (11.45pm). On the nine o'clock news we saw the Queen leaving St Mary's Hospital, Paddington, after visiting Princess Anne and her grandson for half an hour. She looked very, very happy. Dad was listening to Mum and I discussing possible names and made a few suggestions of his own. Master Elvis Phillips was one, and Bing Phillips another. Mum says John, Charles and Philip will feature, and I'm sure Charles will be in there somewhere but can't imagine Philip Phillips. Other old favourites spring to mind like George, Edward, even William or Richard - and Andrew after the prince of that name. Oh, it's bloody wide open really. Mark Junior, perhaps?  Mark Phillips seemed to be hideously unprepared for confronting the media this evening. His speech, or lack of it, has become much worse and his embarrassment even made Angela Rippon go a bright shade of pink.

Watched TV after diving into the bath. Saw a play on the BBC which almost put me off my supper. Unadulterated violence and bad language.

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Thursday February 3, 1977

Busy day at the YP again. At lunchtime I went to Schofield's to claim Mama's repaired coffee perculator which I carry off without having to pay anything. Look in Austick's and run my fingers through 'Majesty' by Robert Lacey. I shall have to buy it.

Ring Lynne. She's getting a cold, pneumonia, or something. I feel bored and utterly flattened. I fancy having a passionate, close, sexy romance with a lusty bombshell. Lynne just isn't up to it. Where will it all end?

Jim Callaghan: Scottish referendum

To Yeadon cinema with Lynne to see 'The Omen' (Yes, I've seen it before). It is good. Lee Remick especially. She goes off to Roundhay at 11pm in a gust of wind, hail and conglomoration of other elements.

Sit with a Scotch in front of the TV watching one of President Carter's fireside chats to the Universe from his White House parlour. Greasy little man. Never trust a president with gold fillings and Mohair pullovers that's what I say.

Quake in my socks at the late night news with Miss (Angela) Rippon. Evidently, Scotland, Wales and other bits of the UK are going to have one of those referendums in November to decide whether they want to get out of the Empire or not. We under-privileged English do not have a say in the matter. The tartan maniacs and mean leek-growing sods can pull out on us at any time but we English do not have the right to say whether we want  them to go or not.  Jim Callaghan really is the bloody limit. We should have a referendum asking the simple question: "Don't you think it's about time the Labour Government resigned? Answer 'Definately' or 'Yes'.

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Tuesday May 25, 1976

A Traumatic evening. At about 7 o'clock Lynn cut her finger on a corned beef tin and collapsed in the kitchen while Sue and I looked on in horror. Lynn isn't the squeamish type at all, and I am startled to see a normal, level headed girl flaking out at the sight of a splash of blood. She was soon conscious and pulled round. The poor thing shed a few tears, but David was clowning around in his usual fashion in order to revive her. When she was fully recovered she and Sue entertained David and Peter to a meal whilst I languished in the bath 'to keep out of the way'. See a film on BBC1 - 'Three Into One Won't Go', or perhaps 'Two into One Won't Go' or was it three? Starring Rod Steiger and one of the Geeson tarts. I have seen it before and cannot say that I am impressed by it. Better than 'Coronation Street' anyway.

Bed after eleven.

(Go on, I bet you're all asking bed after eleven what? Well it isn't what you think. It wasn't eleven women, or men for that matter. Neither did I devour eleven oranges or take eleven peeps at my life-sized colour photograph of a naked Angela Rippon - in fact it was after the hour of eleven o'clock. Goodnight to one and all.)

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