Friday April 20, 1979

-. We left at 7:30am for Bournemouth, with maps, compasses, carrier pigeons, &c.

Bill was navigating and I snoozed in the back of Garry's car. My red suitcase was behind at the Hollywood because it wouldn't fit in the car, and Neil had orders to bring it along in his car when they followed on.

Down past the Midlands I was in new, unexplored territory and the delights of Wiltshire unfolded before my eyes. At lunchtime we stopped off at a village pub where all the regulars resembled characters from 'The Archers'. They all addressed each other as "Mr A" and "Mrs B", just using initials. Then, when Neil and the other lads had caught up with us, we left them and moved on into further unchartered stretches of the vast unknown. Near Devizes we had further refreshment and then motored onward to Bournemouth, arriving at 5pm.

My first action was to phone Ally in Winchester and she promised to join us tomorrow lunchtime for a few drinks. The hotel proprietor, whom we called Arthur for some reason, was typical of those of his profession. He tried to tell me that the hotel - the Gainsborough - had been built for Prince Rupert, the gay Cavalier, who was a nephew of King Charles I. Given that the hotel dated from the Edwardian period I sneered at this tale. Prince Rupert died in the 1680s! Silly, old, lying Arthur.

The bar on the premises was barred and shuttered in a very ominous fashion. The seven of us visited several hostelries in the town and returned to the Gainsborough at 11:30 ~ pissed up.

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Thursday April 19, 1979

_. To Leeds with Jim R bearing my red suitcase packed with nearly all my possessions. At lunchtime I bought a ticket and passed the afternoon hanging around in readiness. It was unfortunate really because the coach to Manchester didn't leave until 6pm.

I had a pleasant chat with Ursula before marching out of the office at 5:30. Slept all the way to Manchester on the boring M62 and then got a bus to Stockport arriving there at about 8pm. I managed to get lost. The statue to Queen Victoria was facing one way, and I walked in the opposite direction. Billy told me to follow the old Queen. Dave was out searching for me and so I sat at the bar in the Hollywood with a heap of tongue sandwiches and a pint of lager, chatting with Mrs Glynn. An old boy leaning on the bar was reminiscing about the British pulling out of Malta in WW2, which was really interesting. We then discussed the pros and cons of marrying for money, and we decided it was quite acceptable. I did say that the fortune would have to be considerable before I could contemplate such a move.

Dave G came in at 8:30 followed by Bill [Wright] & Garry [Barratt]. The lads seemed quiet and subdued. Neil arrived with two other Bournemouth trippers and we sat drinking ale until 11. _________.

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Monday December 11, 1978

Wedwood Benn: future prime minister

I am very worried about Anthony Wedgwood Benn. The Daily Mail seems to think that this man is a future Prime Minister and this really worries me ~ especially at breakfast time when I am inclined to fits of morose depression. I left for the YP with a black cloud hanging over me. What's the bloody point in carrying on when communism, decay and drab uniformity lie at the end of life's sombre pathway?

Rang Janet at WH Smith's and told her to go ahead for the booking of the Ibiza '79 holiday. At lunch I dashed to the closest travel agent and picked up a Thomson's brochure to look at the Hotel Galfi. It seems quite nice. It only has 40 bedrooms. Phoned Dave G tonight. We laughed. After two hours at the Galfi everyone will know us intimately. He's going to see Garry later. Bill is dead chuffed about the whole business. The nasty part about it is that Smith's want a £20 deposit from all of us by the weekend. I collected some coach tour brochures for Mum and she fancies a trip to Yugoslavia next June as part of her Silver Wedding celebrations. Disgraceful that she wants to spend a holiday in the Eastern bloc alliance. It is no idea of fun to me. I suppose Mr Benn and his leftie pals from the House of Commons spend holidays in the Warsaw Pact countries, but Michael Rhodes never shall. President Tito can go piss off.

Saw Monty Python on the BBC followed by a Jane Fonda film. To bed hideously tired at 12:30.

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Sunday November 19, 1978

26th after Trinity 6th Sunday before Christmas

Out of bed at 11:30 feeling quite well, considering. Dave is in no state to do anything. He was pale, short of breath, and all conversation died when his grandfather placed a greasy, eggy breakfast before him. He started to make strange noises from the back of his throat and he quickly fled the room. He disappeared to his bedroom for half an hour.

I joined Bill, Garry, Steve and Paul (?) in the bar. All laughing at Dave's plight. Garry said his banana wine bottles are sticky and empty. Another marathon drinking session followed and we laughed at and abused the barmaids through the alcohol fumes and the clouds of green tobacco smoke. What a life! Dave joined us at 1:45 looking considerably better. He put down his new~found recovery to a turkey sandwich which I cannot see as being relevant. We had turkey for lunch afterwards.

Tonight we went to the Swan pub in Edgeley ~ our first port of call ~ and then to the Nelson, where Bill has worked in the bar for many years. We stayed there until about 11. Fish and chips on the way home. A film on the tv took us to about 1am. It definitely pays to stay over at Stockport on Sunday nights. I calculate that I have had 35 pints of lager since Friday!

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Saturday November 18, 1978

Sun rises 07:23 Sun sets 16:08

Pisses down all day. At 12:30 Dave G and I went to Garry's where I wrote a couple of birthday cards ~ one to Carole and one to Jill, whose 21st (birthday party) is at the Elmer on Monday. The lads thought I'd taken leave of my senses. Followed by a fruitless quest for postage stamps. Why don't post offices open on Saturday afternoons?

Had a few drinks at the Nelson and Little Jack Horner's and then headed back to the Hollywood where we were joined by Bill and Steve B. A pissed~up lunch was followed by an afternoon sitting in front of a dull tv. I couldn't survive for long in this environment. Lily Glynn says it's because I'm not a 'townie'.

Billy predicts I will be married within twelve months. I shuddered at this hideous prophecy.

Tonight we left the Hollywood by taxi and went to Rotter's Disco at 11. A pleasant night but I wasn't on top form. In fact I felt down right bloody miserable. Back to Garry's for banana wine until 4:30am.

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Tuesday October 10, 1978

Dave G phoned from Stockport. He says Bill, Garry and Steve are definitely coming on holiday with us next year. He's eager to book already, but I told him I'd contact him later in the week. He wanted me to go to Stockport this coming weekend but we have promised to go to Burley~in~Wharfedale.

I told Sue that Dave is thinking of Ibiza next year already and she didn't commit herself. Lynn and Dave have shown interest in Ibiza '79 as did John and Alison but that was before he did this swine of a thing to her. ________.

Mum and Dad are still acting weirdly and our lounge isn't exactly the conversational centre of West Yorkshire. Ice hangs in the atmosphere.

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Thursday July 6, 1978

Last day at the YP for a fortnight.

At home I said goodbye to Mum and Dad and Lynn. They'd been to say farewell to Edith and Ernest, who leave for Paignton next week. No doubt we'll see them in September.

At 6:30 this evening went with Sue and Pete to the Shoulder of Mutton where we met Chippy & Gus for a few drinks before leaving for Stockport.

We went to Stockport at about 8 and stayed at the Hollywood for the evening. Bill and Garry made an appearance and once again my hair style was the focal point of the conversation.

I do not intend writing page after page for the two weeks I am away. Traditionally I write from notes as my journal hasn't travelled with me since 1976 when I'm sure _____________.

When the pub closed we hung around for about half an hour and then piled into taxis to Manchester Airport. Checked in at midnight. The sexy, blond air hostess informed us that the flight would be leaving slightly EARLY.

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Sunday June 25, 1978

5th Sunday after Trinity

Excessively cold day. Had a very comfortable night's sleep. Woke at about 11. Grandad Glynn (minus dentures) made our breakfast of eggs and bacon.

The usual Stockport luncheon followed which consisted of about five pints between 12 and 2 with Garry, Dave and Billy. Billy goes on about his niece's wedding. Garry joked about my hilarious trousers. I'm definitely taking them on holiday after this reception.

Afterwards David, Mr Glynn and I watched a dreadful Tony Curtis film after which I was the only conscious survivor.

Before long it was the World Cup Final between Argentina and Holland. Bill and Garry came to watch. At half time with the score at 1-0 to Argentina the lads took me to Manchester where I boarded a coach full of rebellious children ~ nothing short of yobbos ~and off it was to Leeds.

Home by 10:30. Glenda Jackson's 'Touch of Class' was on tv. Poor Mum hasn't been too well. I am worried about her really.

David, Lynn and Dad have decorated the bedroom at Lawn Road.

-=-

Sunday May 7, 1978

New Moon 05:47

Sunday after Ascension

Slept in the dining room after concocting a breakfast of cheese on toast with poached eggs and fish cakes for Jacq and I. It sounds quite revolting but we ate it like starving fiends. Lynn & Dave woke me at 9:30 and after a few coffees I was OK.

Weather ~ strangely dry. The sun put in an appearance. Mum and Dad went with Lynn & Dave to Burley. Jacq, Sue and I sat looking through old photograph albums. We howled with laughter at the one of me picking my nose ~ in Goldthorpe Park with my Uncle Albert.

Dave of Stockport, Billy Wright and Garry Barratt came her just before 12. With Jacq, Sue and Pete we went to the Commercial. It was good to see them. A quiet start but we ended up roaring with laughter. I don't think Jacq took to Bill at all.

At 2 we returned home for an impromptu afternoon party. Shortly afterwards Uncle Peter, Auntie Jean, Julie, Beverley and Penny came up the lane in a massive, American automobile (borrowed). It was unbelievable. Moore booze was consumed. In all the activity we hadn't noticed that Bev was drunk (aged 10). It embarrassed me greatly because I was 'Major Domo' on the bar. The poor kid. Uncle Peter, in typical form, merely laughed it off.

John, Maria and JPH came and stayed until midnight watching 'Ben Hur' on tv. A diabolical film, but it astounded Victorian audiences all over the world when it was first released in 1867.

Baby (JPH) is thin and tall and toddles at high speed, like a road runner. Mum, as usual, is besotted with the young fellow.

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Sunday December 11, 1977

3rd in Advent. Not a very comfortable night. Dave and I were tucked up in the same bed again. Me at the bottom and Dave at the top. I kicked him several times in the face.

We eventually took breakfast at noon and went straight into the bar for yet another session. I cut down my alcoholic intake drastically. Bill was amusing. He seems to have taken a shine to me. We chatted away in Rotter's like we were ancient friends.  I fear Garry is very shy.

Queen Victoria: is that a smile?

At 2 we had lunch and watched 'Royal Heritage' with some film of Balmoral including scenes of the Queen and Duke (of Edinburgh) dancing Highland reels at a ghillies ball. The royal way of life is no different to what it was in Victoria's day. Princess Alice, Countess of Athlone was featured too and she said she'd once asked her grandmother, Queen Victoria, whether she had ever said "we are not amused" and the venerable old lady flatly denied she had ever uttered such a sentence. Princess Alice is disappointed. Victoria, she says, is a much maligned monarch.

At 7:30 after bidding farewell to Mr & Mrs Glynn Dave, Bill, Garry and I went to Manchester. More booze (only a slight amount though) and at 8:30 I left for home. Won't be seeing the lads again until the New Year. Dave is working on New Year's Eve. Home by 10:30.

Mum is knitting me a 'sloppy' pullover which, to the horror of all present, doesn't even fit over my head. Certain amendments are going to have to be made, I fear.

Back to the YP in the morning. It's going to take a super human character to get through the day.

-=-

Saturday December 10, 1977

Mum woke me at 7:30. I felt ghastly. Close to death in fact. I was in two minds about whether I should stuff my £2 bus ticket to Manchester and just go back to bed. I didn't. I have splashed curry sauce all over my new trousers. Stood in the bathroom looking at my piteous reflection. I nearly vomited. Oh My God, the Christmas season is upon us again!

Garry Barratt.

Got the 9:30 bus out of Leeds. An uneventful journey. I slept for part of the way. Met Dave at 12 and we began drinking on the spot. By 3pm I'd consumed about seven pints of lager. Dave and the boys bashed about playing billiards or pool or whatever they call it. I wasn't even a bit pissed. I realise how disgusting and horribly working class I sound. I may just as well be a coal miner or sheet metal worker if my social life is anything to go by.

After a meal prepared by the great Lily Glynn we went out to the Armoury in Stockport for 8:30. From here we went with Bill (Wright) and Garry (Barratt) to Rotter's disco ('First there were discos, now there's Rotters', is the slogan). We each had to put a £3 deposit down before the management would let us in the God damn place. I think the poor misguided souls took us for rogues! We did get the money back when we staggered out at 2:00am. We did have a good time. Why can't someone open such a place in Guiseley or immediate vicinity? They'd make a bomb. Oakwood Hall is the closest thing and that's light years away in comparison.

On the way back to Dave's it happened. Yes, I was sick. All my own doing.

-=-

Sunday October 30, 1977

21st after Trinity. Had a few drinks at lunch and watched TV in the afternoon and returned home at 8.30 (arriving at Pine Tops at 10.20) after having a drink in Manchester with Dave, Bill and Garry. Sorry it's so brief, but it's better than:-
a) a kick in the balls,
b) a letter bomb, or
c) syphilis, or even
d) Syphylis.


-=-

Saturday October 29, 1977

Woke with a ghastly hangover at 7am. Dear Mama was, of course, my alarm system. My God - the whites of my eyes were bright pink - a horrible Rhodes give away if ever I saw one. From the depths of deepest Berkshire to the bleak hills of Cumbria if you should ever come across a man with bloodshot eyes you can guarantee his lineage. Just like the wearer of the Crown of St Edward owes his glory to Alfred the Great, the man with the eyes of a purple hue does so because of Lawrence the Great, commonly called Rhodes. (God, my mind is wandering again).

Hollywood Hotel.

I was in Stockport by 12.30 and went with David G to the Hollywood where we sat drinking in the billiard room until 3pm. Billiards. A pathetic, mindless pastime. Bashing little balls into little holes on a big, oblong, green table? Why not take up missionary work in Saigon instead?

Out to the County Club at 10 with David, Bill (up to his usual standard of insanity), and Garry. These 'cabaret evenings' are all very well but not really my scene. Loud, lewd comedians and the like. I'm not a fan of sitting in a chair drinking and clapping simultaneously as well as taking in the comic's obscenities. I'd sooner be drinking in a dark, perfumed grotto with James Brown records pounding rapturously. Oh God!


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Saturday September 17, 1977

I have very strange thoughts about the events of last night. Sarah became so ridiculously miserable _______. From what I remember of our visit to Wetherby Delia and I were eating carnations and slapping turkeys before we left for home. (For some reason a very large, uncooked turkey was sitting in the bath in the upstairs loo of the private flat of the pub where we made merry).

Turkey slapping ....

I was up at 9.30 and expected a call from Delia about returning to Harewood for coffee, but the summons never arrived. Had a bath and left at 12.30 for Stockport.

I was in Manchester by 2.30 and managed to get through the blockade of Manchester Utd fans who were attempting to sabotage the Lord Mayor's Parade. I got lost in Stockport and arrived at the Hollywood after 4pm. Dave G was awakened from his afternoon slumbers and he greeted me with yawns and bleariness of eye.

Tonight to Stockport County Club with Dave, Steve B, Garry B, and Bill (Wright). Bill is one of the most hilarious people I have ever met. We just acted wild and really daft. At one point an act on the stage just stopped to watch us lads performing. In tears laughing. Mind you, it doesn't take Agatha Christie to fathom that the drink intake was at the bottom of the cause of this revelry. Back to the Hollywood at 2.30 not that I can remember anything about it. Stockport always guarantees severe intoxication and in most cases, paralysis. Visits here should perhaps be banned. Perhaps Margaret Thatcher will put a stop to it all next autumn.

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