Saturday December 24, 1977

_.Got up this morning to assess my wounds. I'll probably need plastic surgery and by the look of things it will affect my fan club membership. Oh, it's terrible. I've buggered my hand too. How will I battle through my Christmas dinner?

Sarah: revolted by my injuries.

Before going downstairs I had to ask Susan where I had been and exactly how I had acquired my injuries. She told my coldly. Oh, I am a fool.

My apologies were accepted by Mum and Dad and he went off to Otley (Police Station) to deal with the swine, or at least find something out. I believe my assailant was only 16 years-old.

Sarah came over at 8 and we, the whole family, went to the Hare & Hounds. Sarah is quiet and I put it down to my injuries. Am I so disfigured that Sarah is revolted?

The atmosphere in the pub is not what I would call festive. In fact most people seem quite sombre. No doubt it's because old age is creeping up on the group and crushing the lustre of yuletide joy from our poor minds.

Sarah, pleading exhaustion, retired at 11:30. Back to Pine Tops with the whole family. Maria brought her Scottish cousin, Marian along too. But, possibly because of my condition, I just felt morose and dismal. Tired even. At 2:00am I stunned the revellers by announcing my retirement.

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Friday December 24, 1976

It's not only Christmas Eve. In fact it's also King John's 810th birthday today! Happy Birthday, Your Majesty*** Wherever you may be ... probably in a more sober frame of mind than I am now. Last night I slept in the spare room at Stuart's flat above Smith's, and he gave me a lift home at 7.30am. Dave B was sleeping in the lounge and his semi-pissed future brother-in-law made him a cup of tea and sat underneath the Christmas tree chatting with him for half an hour or so.

At the Central with Judith

Down to Leeds in the Spitfire at 8.30 - singing all the way, and my arrival at the YP creates something of a sensation. Why? Well, how many people go to work pissed up other than ___, _____, and the editor? Work is lousey and Mr Michael Rhodes can barely focus on the damned newspaper. Horrible. By 12 o'clock we, the blessed library staff, are having our usual Asti Spumante party behind the filing cabinets. It was all a bit flat. Is it true that good old Santa Claus is coming tonight?

At Pine Tops, Christmas Eve 1976

***I don't think King John was ever a 'Majesty'. He was a Lord Sovereign Highness, or something like that.


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Wednesday December 24, 1975

Christmas Eve. At 12 o'clock we went over to the Central, which was like the Black Hole of Calcutta. Fighting to get to the bar proved tortuous and we just about died of thirst while queueing. Sarah goes home at 2.30 and Carol J and I leave an hour later after I'd given massive drunken Christmas kisses to all the drunken females spread around the pub. Eileen just about had me on the floor. She was with her younger sister, Christine.

At 4.30 I'm home and feeling dog-tired as I always do after lunchtime boozing. I fall asleep in the bath and climb out at 6.30 to a roast pork sandwich and a selection of pickles and onions.

By 8pm I'm all well again and Carole arrives just as I'm about to set off and collect her from home.

We go to the Hare where everyone is assembled and I sit with Mr & Mrs P for a couple of hours. We leave at 11 after witnessing a scuffle in which Rick Ryder prominently featured.

Dave L reminds me about his party on Boxing Day. Carole, Lynn, Dave, John, Maria, Susan, Peter all come back to Pine Tops for supper and drinks. At midnight we open most of the presents and I'm thrilled to see that Carole's bought me an instamatic camera. We are all up until nearly 3am and the lounge was devastated with Christmas wrapping paper by the time we'd finished. Dave B took Carole home.

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Tuesday December 24, 1974

Christmas Eve. YP till 12 before the festivities begin. At 12 I go outside to meet John who is coming into Leeds for the booze-up in the Central Station pub. He comes up to the library and waits while we open our presents and knock back a glass of cinzano bianco.

The Central is packed out - unbelieveable. Sarah, John and I spend most of the time at the bar. Peter Lazenby and few of his 'Roundhead' Sealed Knot friends go almost hysterical when I tell them that Sarah is descended from Bridget, daughter of Oliver Cromwell, and General Henry Ireton. Praise upon praise was lavished upon her. However, they didn't go so far as to buy her a drink. Sarah, John and I left Leeds by bus at about 3 o'clock. The massive crowd in the Central prevented us from being rendered incapable with ales and spirits, but we weren't all that sober. Devour a few layers of chocolates while travelling home.

At home Mum is prepared for Christmas. Have tea - the first meal of the day for me, before going out on the town to the Hare at 8.30. We stay until 11.30 and nobody seems really enchanted with festive cheer. Come home with Lynn and Dave Baker and sit about merry-making until the early hours.

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