Saturday September 16, 1978

Full Moon 20:01 Sun rises 06:36 Sun sets 19:14

Jacq came at 8 with a parcel for me from Trixie consisting of ties, more paints, my forgotten Hitler volume, paint brushes and Japanese palet knives from Pete Holroyd's collection. The bundle must have rushed her a couple of quid in the post.

I'm in low spirits with a feeling of impending disaster hanging over me. One of Jacq's shoes fell apart at the bottom of the lane and I ran all the way home for a pair from Sue's collection. Knackered, sweaty and broncil by 9:30.

We made our way to the Crown at Yeadon in the drizzle and shit and propped up the bar there until 11. Chippy, Gus, Johnny and others came in. I hailed 'Hullo' to Chippy and he told me to 'fuck off' which I can only put down to the episode of the buggered spectacles. At 11 we staggered to Guiseley. Jacq was wearing all my clothes because she felt cold.

We bumped into Jim and Margaret and they took us back to 58, Fieldhead Road for a few beers. Margaret attempted to persuade the budgie to do his Churchill impersonation but Joey (as he's affectionately know) refused to fight them on the beaches, and said nowt.

Back at Pine Tops for 12:30. Jacq and I sat until 4:30.

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Thursday November 6, 1975

A bright cold morning. Up at 7.40 and don't have time for breakfast.

I think it is something of a coincidence that Inverary Castle, Scottish home of the Duke of Argyll, is raised to the ground by a mysterious fire on Bonfire Night, the very day before Margaret Duchess of Argyll publishes her memoirs. Old Margaret has little or no affection for her step-son, the duke, and it's a known fact that she would do anything for publicity. I will discuss this affair when more details come in.

Would you believe me if I were to tell you that Franco is being kept alive on a kidney machine? Well, he is. Juan Carlos is the one I feel sorry for. If he isn't a patient man I can't see him being happy at the present time.

Thank God it's pay day. I will have to watch how I spend it this week because I think that Carole's birthday present had better come out of it. Just what I am going to get her is a revolting problem. My imagination just fizzles out when it comes to birthdays, christmases ande christenings. She says all she would like is a solitary red rose, but I must think of something more substantial.

The traffic in Leeds at 4.30 today was like Los Angeles in the rush hour. The bus completely ignored me, and I walked all the way across town to the bus station. It was nearly 6pm when I staggered in for tea.

Mum and Dad are in stitches about Mr Monkman, who came round today to try and solve the 'BUDGIES FOR SALE' sign mystery. Evidently a car did stop on Sunday morning and a chap did enquire about blue breeders! His main reason for coming round, however, was to ask Papa to witness his will. No doubt the whole of the Monkman estate will pass to his beloved son, Tony.

Carole rings me at 8 and we talk for ten minutes or so. Seeing her tomorrow evening. Mum and Dad go to Pudsey to see the Gadsbys. John and I watch a clapped out film starring Michael Redgrave. It's quite good really - just old.

I go for my bath at 11.30.

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