Saturday June 12, 1976

A day upon which I should truly be ashamed of myself. It's the official birthday of Her Majesty the Queen and subsequently Trooping the Colour in London and I am not there to lend my support. In 1972, 73, 74 and 75 I have always made a point of attending, and indeed it became something of a ritual, but what with the up and coming holiday, lack of funds and lack of a suitable escort, I decided to give it a miss this year. I climbed out of bed at 10.15 to view the spectacle on television. The weather in London looks perfect and I sit long-faced staring at the TV regretting my decision to stay at home. Please do not take this break in tradition as a decline in my loyalty to the Throne. My feelings on this subject have changed in no way and I need elaborate no more on them, because you, dear reader, are very well aware of my royalist leanings.

Lynn and I go into Otley this afternoon and give the shops a good going over. At 5.30 I attempt to take her for a drink at the Black Bull but to our horror discover the pub isn't open! Home on the bus cursing the English licensing laws.

Peter M and I go out for a drink this evening. Start in the tap room of the Menston Arms, then the Malt Shovel and get to the Hare & Hounds for 10 o'clock. John and Maria are there having a drink and we have a good chat. Chris comes shortly afterwards and the three of us go to Oakwood Hall where Carole and Denise can be seen. At one stage it became so hot inside that we piled out at the back and onto the lawns. Carole had minor hysterics at one point but I ignored them. I do not like being cooped up with her is discos & don't intend being so gullable in future.

-==-

Tuesday June 1, 1976

The First of Bleedin' June.

Up with the larks at 7.20 and devour a few slices of toast before making off down the lane at 8 o'clock. Jim Rawnsley doesn't pick me up as he usually does and so I have to travel by bus like a peasant.

Carol is not in the office & so I cannot speak to her about Friday night's excursion to the Emmotts. Sarah is in good form. She says she'll come to London on June 12 to see the Trooping of the Colour. It would be nice to arrange a party from work because I am rapidly running out of suitable chaperones. John was always a good companion on these adventures but circumstances of course prevent his continuing in this capacity.

Blimey! 26 days before Peter and I bugger off to Ibiza for a fortnight! Just three and half tiny weeks! I'm in two minds about declaring a State of Emergency because I feel so unprepared for the holiday. I have a passport, I will have three weeks pay. Clothes? Do I have suitable gear? Eeek! All these things have to be looked into!

See a Jimmy Cagney/Bogart 1939 film on TV and go to bed at 11pm after discovering that I haven't smashed all the glasses Mum has accused me of smashing. She expects everything to be in its correct place, and had not bothered looking in one of the other kitchen cupboards where they nestled in complete safety.

-==-

Sunday June 15, 1975

3rd after Trinity. Awoke at 11.30 and feel quite refreshed and cheery for the first time in two days. On the coach last night I calculated that in the space of 24 hours I'd only had two hours sleep. However, I could never miss the Trooping of the Colour, and any loss of sleep is well worth it.

Oh, by the way. In Carnaby Street yesterday it cost me £1 for John and I to have our photograph taken by a shady little character. We left him with our names and adress, handed over the money, and watched him disappear into the crowd laughing his head off. Whether we'll ever see our photos is a debatable point, but one thing's for sure, these Londoners can spot tourists and smell the money at a distance of 600 yards. You should have seen the bee-line he made for us through the crowd!

Heard from poor Mum this morning that she bumped the Toyota yesterday afternoon. Evidently, she had a collision with the Vicar of Burley's car, and the paint's been scratched down one side. She was terribly upset yesterday, and to bring her round they, that is Dad, Lynn, Dave, Sue and Peter, took her out to Burley House for a meal. She says Dad took it beautifully.

To reflect back to yesterday again, I think I'd better say something about why I felt so rotten. Admittedly I'd had a boozy do at Wikis, and only two hours sleep, but when I awoke at 5am the pillow case was covered in blood from my nose, and since then I've had 'pins and needles' down one side of my face. The sort of feeling you get after an injection at the dentist. I'm going to see a doctor tomorrow evening. It's quite worrying really.

Christine rang at 2pm and we're going out tonight. She went to the Cow and Calf last night with Christine D and Carol S - I can imagine the time they must have had! What a combination.

Go to the Hare with John at 8.30. No ale or lager at all due to the dispute, so I start on tomato juices. Christine is in a foul mood and I get depressed when she mopes uselessly over Gary. We move on to the Yorkshire Rose, that is Christine, Carol, 'George', John and I. Outnumbered by women! A remarkable phenomenon indeed. After one drink (half a lager) at the Yorkshire Rose, we move on to the Station on Henshaw Lane. A miserable night really.

-==-

Saturday June 14, 1975

The great day here again. Dad wakes us at 5am and after consuming one cup of tea between the two of us we chase down the lane, John driving the cortina of course, to the Station Hotel, where we wait for the coach to London. This is the fourth consecutive trip to the Trooping the Colour I've been on - '72, '73, '74 and '75. John has accompanied me on the last three.

Besides being the Queen's official birthday it is also David's 20th. I have despatched a card to Worcester conveying my best wishes. Knowing poor David, he'll hate the thought of waving bye bye to his teens, but it comes to all of us in the end.


We mount the coach and off and away. We aim to meet Chris outside the Odeon opposite Hyde Park Corner at 10am. Alas, this is not to be. The ruddy thing catches fire or something (the coach) and we are sat in a lay-by from 6.30 until 8. The horror of knowing at 10am that Chris was waiting for us when we were still 50 miles from London just ruined everything. John slept all the way, and I felt hideously tired.

Get into London at 11.25 or something and we go straight to the palace where we see the Queen return from the Trooping. The Queen Mother and Princess Margaret and all the rest were in open landaus as usual. I could hardly enjoy any of it in the state I was in. Sweating like a pig, and weak at the knees. It was so hot, humid and cloudy too.

At 1pm after the (RAF) flypast we staggered to Carnaby Street (via the tube of course) where we had a few drinks (me on coke) until 3. We then rang home to get Chris's hotel phone number and then contacted the hotel leaving a message telling Chris to meet us at the Tiger Bar before 9pm, when we would have to leave.

At about 4 o'clock I was too tired to do anything other than lay down, and so we made our way to the Tower. At first we sat on a bench opposite HMS Belfast, but I couldn't keep my eyes open. We both went to the garden of rest, a memorial for all the merchant seamen killed in the two World Wars, and I slept soundly for an hour. At 6 we went in to the Tiger Bar, where I had a few pernods, cokes and tomato juices. MET CHRIS AT 8O'CLOCK. Success at last! We handed over the £180 holiday money and had a few more drinks. Our coach left at 9pm. But at least we achieved our aim. I'd given up hope of ever seeing Chris at all.

-==-

Monday June 9, 1975

A beautiful summer day, but it's back to work for the working classes. Nothing really devastating in the news other than the rehearsal for Saturday's Trooping the Colour. The Prince of Wales, in the guise of colonel of the Welsh Guards, took the salute in the place of the Queen, who never attends her own rehearsals.

Sarah is back from Spain looking quite tanned, and I can't say I'm not pleased to see her once again. Things just don't seem right without her around. Like all my relationships, the one with Sarah is platonic, only more so.

Later that night: John drags me off to the Yorkshire Rose for a quick one, then down to the Hare for another quick one, then home and sat in front of the TV before 9.30. Not bad going, eh?

-==-