Wednesday April 12, 1978

Snow again, but warm and sunny later on. Work was quite busy and the Budget dominated the papers which is a great bore. I won't notice my extra £1 I can tell you. It (the Budget) may have been Denis Healey's last one. Sir Geoffrey Howe could be at the helm by Christmas.

I am reading (from the library yesterday) the diaries of Samuel Pepys 1659-69. I always imagined the diaries covered more years than this but it seems the poor man went blind after ten years of copiously scribing away about such things as the Great Fire of London. In 1983, if I'm still here, I may well have written more than Mr Pepys, and who knows where it will all end if I'm fit and well in the 2040s. Ooh, I do feel historic.

However, the only exciting thing for me to communicate is that I phoned Jacq at 8. The poor girl's working again tomorrow and we aren't going out until Friday.

Christine phoned me on Monday and mentioned going to Yeadon Fair, but if no vast multitude of friends wish to accompany us I can't see the point of it. Jacq, Christine and I on a roundabout would look really pathetic I think. Miss Sate was very cheerful and seems to enjoy the YWCA with all its grotesque inmates and odd characters. I think she's incredibly brave and valiant.

I was reading a report today in an old copy of The Times (from last week) which stated that in 1941 Sir Winston Churchill in a letter expressed his desire to be cremated. Good heavens! How would we have managed the remainder of the war without him? Thank God they didn't grant him his wish. If Lady Churchill had been burnt at the stake in the 1940s then today Britain would have a marvellous Graham Sutherland portrait of the old boy to admire.


Canaletto ....

In front of the TV this evening. Pete N and Dave B joined us of course. The Duke of Beaufort was on BBC1 talking about Badminton (House) and the horse trials, &c. Dad made his usual cutting remarks about the aristocracy. All you need is a red face, tweed jacket, two acres and a Canaletto and Papa's wrath is immediately aroused.

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Tuesday April 11, 1978

More snow. What's more, the whole house is full of daffodils and my nasal cavity aches and squelches 'neath the strain of it all. Spring is no joy for me. Yellow is such a loud, dazzling colour.

At 12 I left the YP and sought refuge in the library. Poor P.G. Wodehouse and Alexandre Dumas were returned to the shelves virtually unread. I was violently assaulted by the library assistant because I owed 45p in fines. Crikey! Who does she thinks pays for the rotten books in the first place? Harold Robbins, believe it or not, doesn't grow on trees.

I met Jacq at 1pm and we went to the murky, disinfectant-smelling Central. I disabled the juke box when I shovelled 5p pieces into it and it's obviously only programmed to take 10s. But the obliging landlord fiddled around beneath the lid and I ended up getting 6 plays for 10p! Coo! Jacq is fagged out. She was in Thorner yesterday typing and today she's doing the same in 'Leeds 10'. She couldn't be more specific, but I think it's behind the Corn Exchange somewhere.

I told Jacq that 1978 is the year that Michael Rhodes finds fame and fortune in a new job, but I'm not thoroughly convincing. Jacq's known me long enough now to realise what a slow, sluggish worm I am. I took my leave of her at 2 and went to the bank in Guiseley for £50 which I immediately converted into postal orders and posted to Barclaycard.


Postal Order.

At home by 3:45 I heard Denis Healey on the telly presenting his 13th Budget to Parliament. This non-event was recorded for the first time (no pictures). After all the rhetoric I am probably going to receive £1 a week more in my wage packet. Retired at 11.

-=-

Friday November 25, 1977

Mr Peter Nason broke his leg this morning. This horrific news was conveyed to me at tea time by a desolate Mama. Susan is at the hospital consoling the ashen faced young man. He will be out of action until the New Year undoubtedly.  Bang goes his Christmas cheer at Oakwood Hall or any other discotheque for that matter. The poor boy has endless trouble with his legs, feet, toes, &c. It would perhaps prove far better if he were to have the lot off.

QEII: Carole's nail varnish would paint it 3 times over...

Talking of invalids and the like, I think it's about time I paid another visit to Carole. It's eight days since I last laid eyes on the fair maid. I cannot understand the change of attitude of her mother, the Dowager Lady Phillips. It was a known fact 18 months ago that her Ladyship hated the sight of me, and yet over the past weeks she's been positively angelic. However, I cannot help quivering when I view the number of presents she 'bought' Carole. The bottles of nail varnish could paint the Q.E.2. three times over. I cannot help thinking that the dear Mrs P isn't paying for it all. __________. Kleptomaniacs seldom recover, do they? Am I being frightfully cruel? Should  I perhaps give the old girl the benefit of the doubt? Oh, go on then.

Saw TV tonight until 12 and then retired to bed with my book. I received a lecture from Mummy this evening on my financial situation again. Things always become a little heated when we discuss my budget and the scenes at Westminster on the days following the Queen's Speech cannot be any worse.

-=-

Thursday October 27, 1977

Phoned Chapel Allerton Hospital at 11.30 and spoke to a nice nurse who spoke for a while about Carole. She is extremely ill and today underwent tests for some nameless disease which everyone is keeping quiet about. No point in passing on any messages either, because she's too drowsy to comprehend anything.

I contacted Christine this morning (10.20am) and we arranged to go to the Fox and Hounds tomorrow night. This should prove exciting and pleasant after the stagnation of recent times.

Thatcher: grey and toothless.

Denis Healey presented a Budget yesterday and by the look of things I'll be getting a £20 or £30 tax rebate at Christmas. Better than putting your feet in acid I do suppose. It's chilling to hear that Mr Healey intends presenting three or four more budgets before going out of office, which means that the nauseating government may be with us until the Spring of 1979. Poor Margaret Thatcher will be grey and toothless by then.

No Squash this evening. Sarah must have gone off the idea, but I can't say I'm heartbroken. Sarah's ups and downs get on my nerves and hitting balls against a brick wall are not the top of my priority list at the moment.

-=-

Tuesday March 29, 1977

No comment on the Budget. Better day than yesterday. No more snow, but still very cold.

J|udith: hates children.

Saw Judith in Guiseley at 5pm and walked her home. We're going to the Hare on Thursday night. I only hope Kathryn won't join us. She's a sweet old thing, but Judith must be sick and tired of her constant presence.

Judith says she hates and despises children and would never want any of her own. Weird. Children, in my opinion, are supreme. The only horrific aspect in having offspring must surely be watching them grow into moronic adults. I certainly feel moronic as I approach my 22nd birthday. My zest for life is ebbing. That vitality gone. I even have lines under my eyes. No grey hair though.

I must write to Dave L in Gloucester. I feel a bit guilty about what happened when we last met. We barely spoke a word to each other all weekend for some obscure reason.

Evening: Wrote to Stuart in 'Gay Paree'. Send him membership of our Silver Jubilee Lechery Club.

Hauxwell: ordinary 

See a programme about one Hannah Hauxwell, a perfectly ordinary Yorkshire woman who everyone is making a tremendous fuss of down in London, Lady Wilson included. Even the Duchess of Gloucester spoke about her.

Sit with Susan who is knitting a pink jumper for Peter. It takes all sorts to make a world, doesn't it?






-=-

Tuesday April 6, 1976

Budget Day. Mr Healey didn't do much at all and I don't know why the BBC bothered covering the 'event' because sweet sod all resulted from Denis's lengthy oration. However, beer is going up 1p a pint and the price of a bottle of Scotch is going up by 32p. Callaghan's first day at No. 10, and I bet Audrey's made friends with all the neighbours. What colour scheme has she decided upon for Jim's bedroom?

Carole rings at 7.30pm whilst I'm out pruning the roses, to say - or rather to sob - that 'the family' (if that's what they can be called) have ignored her all night, and she mumbles about killing herself. I cannot be expected to continue gardening after being told that my girlfriend is about to end her life so I lay down my shears and meet her on Thorpe Lane. We go for a long ramble, taking in Esholt Woods, Westfield fish and chip shop and the Yorkshire Rose. Carole looks horrific and I'm sick and tired of the whole affair. Why should I be depressed by a domestic squabble that's too inferior for words? Carole never gives me any of the details so how can I be expected to sympathise? She's a good deal happier when we part company at 11, and arrange to meet in Guiseley tomorrow night.

-==-

Tuesday April 15, 1975

The Right Honourable Denis Healey, MP, Chancellor of the Exchequer, presented his Budget this afternoon, and I'm saying nothing whatsoever about it, other than he did nothing too drastic or outrageous. Just the usual load of old rubbish.

Busy day at the YP, and I'll be glad when Friday comes around again. A week off is just what I need at the moment.

I see a good feature in The Times on the Duchess of Windsor, still battling on at 78 years old. The poor old soul received sweet sod all from the British people, and the Royal Family ought to be ashamed. Three years since the duke died and they've done their utmost to forget all about her.

-==-

Tuesday March 26, 1974

A horrid day. The so-called Chancellor of the Exchequer introduced his first budget this afternoon and everyone is quite livid about it. Electricity is going up by 30 per cent and my train fares will cost me an extra £5.20 per annum. But, he didn't clobber the pensioners, which is a worthy thing I suppose.

At lunchtime I trapped my finger in one of the filing cabinets and my finger nail went black within seconds. This incident rendered me useless for the remainder of the day.

-==-

Monday March 25, 1974

The Minority Labour Government presents its first Budget tomorrow. No doubt it will be an absolute stinker. Healey may be a Yorkshireman but he won't be doing anything for his fellow county-dwellers. I'm dreading the possible tax increase. Mother thinks he's a delightful little man - all fat and jolly, etc. How can any sane woman fall for the charms of this latter day Stalin? poor Mummy, one fears for her sense of reason...