Showing posts with label aviation accidents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aviation accidents. Show all posts

20120313

Sunday March 27, 1977

Passion Sunday. I like the sound of that.  Wake up to snow and hail. Do nothing whatsoever other than eat lunch and lounge around with a crumby Sunday newspaper. To be honest with you, I don't feel greatly informative today so don't expect anything astounding.

Did you know Mr Healey is presenting his Budget on Tuesday? Yes, and I bet he makes it a good one because of Labour's precarious position at the moment. Not discussing politics anyway.

Rang Dave G in Stockport at 7pm. He and Glenn are definitely coming on Saturday for my official birthday celebrations.

The Tenerife crash, 1977.
Work 5pm-12 midnight. Nothing spectacular here either. The world's worst ever aviation accident has taken place in the Canary Islands. 7,000,000 people dead, or something. Otherwise, nothing at all. Ursula never stops talking. I bet her jaws ache.

Crikey, it's Mrs Hilda Gadsby's 41st birthday tomorrow. She is of course the wife of Norman Anthony Gadsby, prospective Liberal councillor for the Borough of Pudsey.

Home by taxi in the snow at 12. Bed with P.G. Wodehouse. Goodnight.

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20100414

Wednesday July 30, 1975


In just over one weeks time I will be boarding an aeroplane for the very first time. Obviously, I'm longing for a holiday, but I'm not all that sure about flying. Never experiencing anything like it before I cannot be afraid, because one can only be worried about something if one knows what that something is. I do not. People say it's similar to being on a waltzer at a fairground, or riding on a double-decker bus down a badly constructed road, but 300 people do not die instantly when a bus runs out of petrol, and neither are people dashed to death on a fairground ride. That is my worry. Don't get me wrong. I'm not scared of dying. I just want to die in better circumstances that's all. Is not wanting to drop 30,000 feet out of the sky onto a sun-scorched moutnain range a fear of dying? I don't think so. I want to die in bed, sometime in the middle of the next century, surrounded by weeping, middle-aged grandchildren.

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Sunday April 1, 1984

 4th Sunday in Lent Mothering Sunday New Moon Sunny, bright, &c. Smothering Sunday. All Fool's Day. Busy. Rob came and so too did th...