Friday February 23, 1979

_. Warm & sunshine. A spring-like day with the birds clucking overhead and the daffs forcing themselves up from 'neath the leaden earth. I think our esteemed prime minister has done a deal with the lads at the World Meteorological Conference to arrange this, and if the weathermen at the BBC suddenly have a wage rise of 60 per cent we'll all know what's happened.

At lunchtime I met Sarah and Delia at Len's Bar. Delia was moaning about the head of the Leeds museums, who refuses to let her decorate the museum at Kirkstall with garlands of flowers, inside and out. She's already been refused permission to drape garlands over the famous Leeds lions at the Town Hall and is mortally wounded by the general apathy and dreary attitude of those employed in local government. It would appear that Harewood House is Delia's only retreat, and venue for her floral displays, but she hated her last encounter with the Countess [of Harewood] .

Delia discussed Jo T_____, the previous flower chairman,  saying she is undoubtedly 'perverted' and between sips of bitter lemon, adds that the woman is 'slightly lesbian'. Sarah spluttered lager everywhere. Or was it cider?

Delia says I ought to be a scriptwriter. __________.

Back to the YP at 2:30 totally cheesed off with my financial situation. Looking around the office I don't care what I do in future just as long as I can escape the clutches of the Yorkshire Post.  I do so miss 'The Times' - since that paper collapsed I long for the feel of that delicate, exquisite paper between my fingers. Alas, no more.

Sat tonight over whisky with Mum & Dad. We discussed the question of wages and what different workers deserve. Are ambulance men really necessary?  If Field Marshals were to withdraw labour would anybody notice? This dragged on for hours.

Saw Peter Sellers in a late night movie which was hilarious. The man is undoubtedly a genius. Bed at 2am.

-=-

Friday April 21, 1978

Birthday of Queen Elizabeth II

Lynn got me out of bed at 6:30 and I devoured a few slices of toast and read the Daily Mail. The Queen is 52 today. She's in the paper this morning holding her grandson, Peter, in a Snowdon portrait.

Got the 7:52 train to Leeds and met Jacq at the bus station on Wellington Street. She's wearing a hat and reading Erich Segal's follow up to 'Love Story'. It looks like sentimental slush to me.



Left for London at 8:30 and got to Victoria at 1pm. We had a few drinks at the Albert, a pub done out in Victorian style, and then afterwards walked down the Embankment towards Waterloo Bridge. For a while we queued at the entrance at the Commons for a look at the yelling and bawling mob, but after half an hour it began to drizzle and we made our escape.



To Trixie's at Muswell Hill for 5:30 where we had a massive meal of pork roll and avocado pear, &c. Trixie was in good shape and so pleased to see Jacq. Peter S is thinner. He went out with his friend Nick, and the three of us went to the BBC Social Club at the Alexandra Palace. Quite a drunken affair it was too, especially after Trixie won a bottle of Teacher's whisky in a raffle. I was drinking lager with Scotch chasers. Ugh. Yes, I did it again.____________.

Trixie drove us back to the flat pissed, driving at approx 2 MPH with windscreen wipers going like hell, but at least she stuck to the correct side of the road. On arrival home poor Trixie vomited in her palatial loo.

Bundled into Peter's bed.

-=-

Monday March 20, 1978

Work was busy. Sarah should have been back from her revolting week with the equally revolting Welsh but poor Delia broke her arm yesterday, falling over the telephone, and is, by all accounts, in a terrible state. Sarah will be tied up now playing Dr Kildare for weeks on end.

Peter James Nason is twenty today. Sue and I had tea quite alone and then Peter came and carried her off for a drink somewhere. Lynn got in later and we watched a comedy film on the BBC which gave us a good laugh. In one scene Leslie Phillips was in the bath with a steaming hot pressure cooker trying to get at the contents.

We had a few glasses of wine to celebrate Peter's birthday, and when they came back at 11 the three of us (Lynn having retired to her boudoir) cooked a meal and noshed away like pigs. Really enjoyable. They say that a camping jaunt is organised for Hawes at the weekend and I am invited with some gusto. No doubt to 'chaperone' my little sister who will otherwise be the sole girl in a tent on some windswept heath with fifteen drunken males. I agreed to join the party.

The thought of the Fox and Hounds with all those happy, smiling faces featured greatly in my decision making. Anyway, I'll have no money to speak of and the delights of darling Christine cannot be obtained free of charge. Do not, dear reader, assume that I am paying the above mentioned dear lady for carnal delights. I'm just pointing out that vodka does not grow on trees.

-=-

Monday January 16, 1978

No news from YTV. The swines have forgotten me, it seems. They'll regret this in years to come when I'm socking it to the universe. Perhaps I should try the BBC?

The YP is thoroughly boring today. Something on TV tonight about Myra Hindley. The revolting Earl of Longford is trying to get her paroled whilst Mrs West, mother of one of Hindley's victims, has collected 27,000 names on a petition to keep the bitch inside. I would willingly join a band of 'merry men' and go lynch Hindley is she were ever to step outside her plush, Holloway jail apartment. Surely, the rope was intended for fiends such as this?

To bed shortly after eleven. Sat reading. Dad says it's Uncle Bert's birthday tomorrow. Is he 50, or 51 perhaps? I think he was born in 1927.

-=-

Wednesday November 23, 1977

Saw the Alfred Hitchcock film 'Frenzy' on the BBC. Perhaps it should have been called 'Pansy'. A weak, ridiculous dead loss it was Mr Hitchcock, and I don't care who knows it. What a bloody let down.

Mathieu Molé

Nothing of further interest occurred on this twenty third day of November in the year old Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Seventy Seven. It's the anniversary of the proclamation of the constitution of Victoria in 1855 and the death of Mathieu Molé , French statesman, also in 1855.

I don't see that point in writing much today other than what I've already done. I don't suppose any of you readers will be upset if I never wrote another line again. But your attitude isn't going to deter me. Where would we be now if Samuel Pepys had listened to his sister, Beryl (who didn't like his writing and thought he was a puff)?

-=-

Saturday November 19, 1977

Just Susan and I closeted together for most of the day. I got out of bed at noon with a crashing hangover. For four or five hours I reclined on the sofa with a pained expression on my pale, ghastly face. Lynn went off to a wedding after lunch saying I am a disgusting specimen. She doesn't realise that we bachelors have a hell of a life with tremendous responsibilities to hold and reputations to keep up. We can't just sit by the fireside on winter evenings with a good book, perhaps watching "Crossroads" on the TV. Oh no, we have to socialise on a nauseating scale taking in parties, orgies &c, consuming grotesque quantities of spirits, wine and ale in the process. My God it's absolute hell.

with Chippy .....

The BBC went on strike tonight. I remained at home - quite alone - all the same. I even endured 'Match of the Day' featuring Wrexham and Colchester. Then I watched a Vincent Price horror film entitled 'The Amazing Dr Phibes' (1971). Not bad really.

Sue, Pete and Chippy came at 11:30 and they looked thoroughly pissed. Probably because I'm sober. We opened a few bottles. Sue was dancing in the dining room. She and Pete slept in Mum's room and Chippy slept in Lynn's bed. I made a mug of cocoa and listened to the record player.

The Duchess of Gloucester gave birth to a daughter at 2:05pm today. Unlike poor Princess Anne's child (also born at St Mary's Hospital, Paddington) this latest arrival will take a title. She'll be Lady (Christian name) Windsor. I bet Elizabeth is near the top of the list.

-=-

Wednesday November 9, 1977

Mum was taken ill after tea. Have we perhaps been subject to poisoning? God knows, but one thing's for sure - the Norfolk visit for Mum and Dad is now in jeopardy. (I bet Jeopardy is far nicer than Norfolk anyway. The climate is better than ours at this time of year, and Jeopardy has no ghastly Broads to contend with).

We watched a play on the BBC which, quite remarkably, is good. The leading lady, whose name escapes me, deserves an Academy award for her portrayal of a deaf and dumb Bradford prostitute who stabs an alcoholic pimp to death in the Lumb Lane. Wonderful family viewing. It made such a change from all the sex and violence so often awash on our TV screens in these restless times. (I'm spreading the writing out tonight because I want to get to bed).

Dumas: infatuated with typist.

You will sit back and raise your hands in horror that I'm only on page 728 of 'The Count of Monte Christo' (and I can't even spell his soddin' name right). I know it's truly pathetic, but I'm afraid the book is becoming incredibly dull. The count is certainly taking his vengeance very seriously and incredibly slowly. One would think the guy had all the time in the world. Either Mr Dumas had connections in the paper manufacturing industry or he was infatuated with his typist.

Bed at the usual time and attempted to reach page 750, but failed.

-=-

Thursday November 3, 1977

Pay day. The State Opening of Parliament took place this morning. BBC TV technicians blacked out the coverage of the 'spectacle' because they too want more cash from HM Government. When I say 'spectacle' I say so in more ways than you imagine because the Queen wore her half-moon spectacles for the first time at the opening of the British Parliament. The fact that she is become a grandmother in two weeks time must have gone to her head, or perhaps I should say face. The specs do not flatter HM one bit. I do realise that the Queen doesn't want to be a trend setter or sex symbol. The sole aim was to the read the rubbish provided for her by the pathetic government with speed and accuracy.

At tea time we had fish and chips washed down with a bottle of hock. Papa was pissed from an afternoon session with Mum, Edith and Ernest. They had been up to the Cow & Calf to enquire about a wedding reception for Lynn & Dave. It sounds impressive.

Sat by the television this evening.

-=-

Tuesday May 17, 1977

Feel grotty all day. Stomach ache mainly, and anorexia. All the same I forced down two sandwiches and a pea and ham soup - but could easily have done without. You don't want me collapsing at work do you?

Kathleen suggested that I ought to go home early, but like King Charles I (you know, him with the ginger hair and no head) I decided to be a martyr instead.

Carole: grandmother's accident

Carole rang at 3 and we decided to go out again on Thursday, again to Oakwood (Hall). I asked whether her mother had been knocked down, the victim of a road traffic accident and she laughed saying: "Oh no...
it 's my grandmother". It seems that the old lady fell in the path of a van belonging to the Gas Board and passed a night in Otley Hospital emerging with three stitches. Carole's attitude is quite frightening and she insists that the sight of ones beloved Grandmama disappearing beneath the wheels of a bright yellow NEGAS van isn't half as horrific as it sounds. Having no living grandmother myself I can never experience such a phenomenon.

Spent an evening in front of the television. The headlines on the 9 o'clock news was the royal visit to Scotland. It's the first of the 'Jubilee tours'. The BBC must have taken leave of their senses. A royal item to be the first item on the news? Surely the first such thing to occur since the abdication Edward VIII.

Took a bath after the royal spectacular and then returned to the drawing room to find Mama reclining on a sofa sipping delicately at her glass of Guinness. No other exercise whatsoever is allowed - Dr Jacques's orders.

Sit with a mug of cocoa and decide I feel much better. My bowels have improved tremendously since tea time. I cannot help thinking that Uncle Bert might have brought a virus with him from darkest Nottingham. Dearest Uncle will get his head kicked in if I find this to be so.

-=-

Friday Apirl 8, 1977

Good Friday. Helen Malin, 23. Out of bed at 10.30 this morning. The sun is shining down merrily too. Why not go out for a walk, Michael, and feel all that warmth on your little legs? Yes, I will. I go down into Guiseley and purchase a birthday card for dearest Judith. I then sauntered round to Bedside Manor to deliver up my greetings card in person with strict instructions for her not to open it yet. In fact, I'd slipped a letter in with it and had to partially write it in the telephone box on Fieldhead Road and partly on the footpath outside Guiseley School.

Judith entertains me to coffee but looks ill because she has fallen foul of her dentist earlier this week, and her wisdom teeth had been extracted on my birthday, of all days.

Old photographs and her cat were the principal subjects discussed at great length.

I went home for a non-existent lunch with Mama, who is in a foul mood. (Dad is still on his back under the car all covered in motor oil). Mum's mood worsens and the combined effects of her miserable face and the film 'South Pacific' didn't do much for morale. But at 5 o'clock, as if by magic, the film was interrupted by a news flash and a smiling Richard Baker announces that Princess Anne is expecting a baby in November. Joyous news indeed. For such an announcement to come on Helen Malin's birthday is fate indeed. I believe we have a bet on Princess Anne's maternity dates. Fancy. The Queen a grandmama! Good Old Captain Phillips. I was beginning to doubt his masculinity somewhat. Three cheers for them all.

High Society

John and Maria come up at 6.30 for ten minutes. John's car is also knackered. Even as I write this I can hear Mama blowing her mind over her fish pie in the kitchen.

Devouring my (fish) pie I decided to remain in front of the television tonight and not to venture out to the pub, as tradition demands. Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you. My decision has nothing to do with Princess Anne's good news either. I am not clad in my Union Jack underpants and clutching my postcard of Anne and Mark's wedding. My decision was due to the BBC. Yes, a tv series about slavery that's brought the USA to a stand still - called 'Roots'. The household is in great holiday furore. Not a morsel of food or drink in the place because you know what mother's are like when it comes to leaving grub kicking around in the fridge for more than 24 hours with no one in the house to eat it? Dust is flying from suitcases, windjammers, thermos flasks, cotton nappies, &c.

Mum discusses stopping at a pub for lunch tomorrow. "What about the baby?" I ask. "Oh, we're bona fide friends". Eh?  "Well", continued mother yawning "JPH has small bona fides". Too much for me is all that.

By 11 we're watching a film starring Twiggy - Mama and Papa having retired to bed. Princess Grace and Bing Crosby are on the other channel in that smashing epic they usually put on at Christmas - 'High Society'. What this film has in common with the birth or death of Jesus Christ I simply don't know.

-=-

Thursday October 24, 1974

William Wilson born 1875. United Nations Day. 

My half day. Arrive late at the YP after seeing Sue Crosby on the bus. She's now at art school studying the structure of fungi and broken chimney pots. At about 11.20 somebody tells me that the Duchess of Gloucester has given birth by caesarian section, but they leave me guessing as to its sex. It's either the Earl of Ulster or Lady ___Windsor.

Meet Mum at Moon's Mill at about 1. She informs me that her car key is broken in the lock. After about half an hour chasing around Guiseley Papa arrives in a police car with a spare key on his person. Home at 1.30. Mrs Rawnsley is having difficulty with her lawn mower and Dad goes round there for half an hour to mend it after taking Mama back to Moon's for the afternoon.

2 hours later: I have just realised that all the horrible things people are saying about this country are quite true.It is a sign of our decline towards oncoming communism when the BBC fail to report the birth of a baby in the Royal Family - nay, a baby who is now tenth in line of succession to the Crown of the United Kingdom. The BBC places greater importance on the price of coal.

--==--

Friday April 20, 1973

Good Friday. I feel really terrible. My conscience will never let me rest. And all because of the BBC.

Yes, the BBC put on a film which stirred my religious feelings. Dad frowned when I told him that I believed St Bernadette really saw the Virgin Mary at Lourdes. He went on to query why it was only Roman Catholics who have these visitations. Poor man. He must think that all the people in the Bible were Roman Catholics too - when of course they were Jews. I was so interested in the film that I was half an hour late for the CW. Sue was having eggs - thinking I wasn't going to turn up. Toffer merely laughed. Sue was in an awful fluster at about 9 o'clock. She hardly spoke for the remainder of the evening - unlike Sue altogether. I was in a daze for the largest part of the evening - due to the fact that the film was tearing at my conscience. What pain I was going through. At least my faith in God was boosted, which can never be a bad thing.

Came home at 1.30. Had 2 boiled eggs and retired.

--==--

Monday April 9, 1973

Got up at nearly 8 o'clock. After breakfast I went to Leeds on the 9 o'clock 55 bus. Arrived at 10 and spent half an hour walking around trying to find the place of my intended x-ray. Cross the threshold of Leeds radiography centre at 10.30. A nasty, authoritarian bitch asks me to take my jacket off and stand in front of a screen pulling my shoulders out of their sockets in the process. She tells me to take a deep breath and then flees the room. Forcing me back into my clothes she shouts "next" and I find myself out in the brilliant sunshine again after only 2 minutes inside.

Being an intelligent person I brought Auntie Mabel's gift voucher with me. I made my way to Boots where I bought the BBC 50 years commemorative LP. It costs me £3.75, but my voucher helps towards the cost. Got a 35 bus at 11.15. Home for 12 - just in time for lunch with Mum and Dad who like my new record very much. I played the entire record which takes us to 1.45.

Mum suggests I stay at home this afternoon to complete my essay on Napoleon III - which I do. After 15 sides of paper and three arguments with Dad I find that is 4.30. No matter what Dad says - even utter rubbish - he can make it seem perfectly correct. He ought to have been a university lecturer. We argued about the Duke of Argyll living in France and only coming back to Britain for free medical assistance. All I can say is: well, it's a free democracy and people should have the right to come and go whenever they please. However, Dad hates the idea of people sciving off paying taxes. Anyway, the Duke of Argyll died yesterday which only goes to show that the national health system is out-moded and useless.

June rang at 7 thinking I must have contracted a malignant tumour after being x-rayed - very sweet and amusing of her.

-==-

Saturday April 7, 1973

After breakfast I went into Bradford with the £2 gift voucher from Auntie Mabel and Uncle Jack, etc. I intended buying the 50th celebration recording of the BBC, but Boots did not have it. Instead, I went to the Library where I met Michael Attenborough in the History Room. We both stood for about half an hour looking for something suitable on the Suez Crisis 1956. Very little was to be had. However, I did manage to lay my hands on a volume of Harold Nicolson's diaries and letters which covered the Eden administration. Nicolson was obviously a brilliant writer, but he approaches his diaries in a somewhat peculiar way, for example: where I would say "Sue went at 2 o'clock, and John came in moody at half past 3", he says: "The Queen dies at 10.20am and Winston announces it to the House in sobs at 10.40". Almost as though he's writing his diary there and then as the events occur! Most unusual.

Came home at 3.30 and had a late lunch. Went into the lounge and watched the annual Oxford-Cambridge boat race on tv. Cambridge won for the 4th year running and Oxford were 12 lengths behind at the end. Poor Blighters. Watched "Dr Who". Had tea at 6.30 and made a mad dash down Thorpe Lane to be at the Chuck Wagon for 7. Sue and Toffer spent the largest part of the evening arguing with one another - Pauline and I merely looked on. We were not too busy for a saturday night. Sue R had her hair tied up in some kind of head scarfe - and resembled some peasant from the French Revolution - really very amusing. We were home by 1.15. Lynn and Susan were still out babysitting, and I sat reminiscing until they came in at 1.45.

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