Friday August 19, 1977

The alarm clock sounded at something in the region of 6.30am and I felt quite awake and ready for action. Mum climbed out of bed and made sure I was on my feet and then returned to her boudoir wishing me bon voyage and 'God speed', &c. I got a bus at about 7.30 and arrived in a damp, cold Leeds at 8. I purchased a copy of the Daily Telegraph and a few packs of chewing gum, boarded the coach and pair and was soon off on the road south to the heart of this Empire of ours.

Changing the Guard ....

London was somewhat damper than Leeds but my spirits were high (amongst other things) due to the attention paid to me by a female fellow traveller clad in not much more than an engagement ring. A stunning beauty indeed. However, at Victoria Coach Station attempting to rid myself of a mouthful of chewing gum my hand slipped and I glued myself to the middle section of my Daily Telegraph. I met Jacqui in something of a messy state.

We passed a couple of hours laughing in a pub over the road. She says her Dad is the financial director of Ladbroke's. Blimey, are the Sate's landed gentry do you think? We went from the pub to Buckingham Palace and the Queen's Gallery, and then walked back to Regent Street, Leicester Square and all those frightfully interesting places on the Monopoly board. Saw a bit of Soho too.

Jacqui and I parted at about 4.30 and I passed some time reflecting on the young lady in question in the damp, pigeon-laden Trafalgar Square. She's having a party in October which sounds very promising indeed. Won't miss that.

Tony was late and we didn't meet until nearly 8pm. He'd had a rotten day and his superiors had mucked him about. We got to Bognor in heavy rain at 10 and I was introduced to Mr & Mrs Brotherwood. exceptionally nice people. Mrs B is something of a chatter-box and says that Tony inherited his 'gift of the gab' from her. I felt sick with tiredness and want nothing but sleep. Bed at about 12.

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Tuesday December 23, 1975

I am infuriated by an article in todays Daily Telegraph. Several Labour MPs feel that Princess Anne should be second in line of succession to the throne, instead of fourth. They think her case should be taken before the Equal Opportunities Commission and that it would be a fine gesture if the Queen was to decree that her daughter, and all future royal princesses, should be given precedence in order of birth and not by sexual limitation. It is a futile and ridiculous idea.

I've never thought of myself as a male chauvenist pig before, but it seems I'm going to be classed as one if I continue in this present line of thought.

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Thursday October 16, 1975

Up at the crack of dawn and make a few final touches in readiness for my venture south. Complete darkness awaits me outside at 6.45am as I set out, suitcase in hand, down Hawksworth Lane. I travel by 55 bus to Leeds where a slight drizzle awaits me. Meet Peter near Schofield's and he too is armed with a suitcase very similar to mine.

Our journey down is one of little excitement. After combing through the Daily Telegraph and the Sun we eat fruit gums. At Leicester we have a coffee in one of those filthy, giagantic mortuarys. Hardly a decept cup.

In London's Victoria Coach Station for just after 1pm and I'm frozen silly. Tow arm up whilst we're waiting for Chris we attempt to find a coffee bar or something, but somehow end up with my already ice-cold hand wrapped around an equally ice-cold pint of lager. It was whilst we were sat in this position that Chris found us.

Depositing our cases out of the way we proceed to do a quick tour of the famous bits of London close to Victoria. Buckingham Palace is our first port of call and I see with great pride that Her Majesty is in residence. The beautiful autumn day, and the foliage in the park made it a sight to behold indeed. Pete hadn't seen the palace before, so it wasn't a wasted journey. 10, Downing Street was also on the agenda, but as usual it looked deadly quiet. The PM was no doubt having his afternoon nap upstairs with Mary. The old story about Nero fiddling whilst Rome burned could easily adapted to Mr Wilson and his afternoon bedroom activities.

Back to Hayes and the Arlington Hotel for 8pm. We wash and change and go out for a drink. Back for 11, and we sit about laughing and watching Chris's TV until after 12. He certainly is lucky having a place like that. He will be too spoiled to ever re-adapt himself to ordinary home life when the time comes.

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Thursday March 27, 1975

Maundy Thursday. Yet another bloody busy day. Chaos and Hell Fire all rolled into one. Curious about something on the Court page of the Daily Telegraph. The Queen, Queen Mother and Princess Anne yesterday attended a memorial service for Her Majesty's cousin, Rev the Hon Andrew Elphinstone. No where have I seen anything to the effect that he has actually died. So, being highly curious I rang the Daily Telegraph to be informed that he had passed away on or about March 21. Obviously such information is of little interest to sane people, but it means a lot to me.

Sarah was in a good mood for a change and leapt to my aid when I had written a letter to Christine only to discover I had no postage stamps. She suggested I route around in the waste paper basket to salvage a respectable looking unfranked stamp to glue onto my epistle. And to think her Papa is the head postmaster at York.

In my letter to Christine I woffled on for ages about nothing. Well, when I say nothing I mean woffling on about Gary's surname - Walters. Being absolutely insane I connect Gary with Lucy Walters, the mistress of King Charles II, by making out he was her grandson.

Home at 5.15, my usual hour of late, and sit in front of the tv making little attempt to prepare for my meeting with Helen at the Hare. Both John and Papa refused to take me to the pub, so I go by bus, arriving at about 8.45. Sit with Helen, and Naomi (who John thought wasn't going out) brought us home at kicking out time.

I departed for bed after being quizzed as to what I'd been doing out with Naomi.

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