Tuesday March 30, 1976

Home at 4.30 and call in next door to see Douglas about the trip on Saturday. He says that he and Susan will definately come, and so that should put Jackie in with a chance. She's quite taken a fancy to Douglas, and he doesn't seem to have a girlfriend, so who knows what might occur? Ring Marita. She doesn't know whether she can make it or not, and the same applies to Christine White. Jackie rings me at 10.30 and I tell her about Douglas. She's quite excited really.

Carole came up at 8.45 and stayed for about an hour. I am concerned about her eyes. She can barely see to the end of her nose, and although I joke about it, I do think she should consult an optician. David took her home in the spitfire at about 10 and the car refused to start for about ten minutes and Pete, Dave and I had to push it up and down the drive with Carole at the wheel. A cold night.

Callaghan won the second ballot for the premiership when the result was announced at 5.30pm. Foot was in second place and Healey was eliminated. The result of the final vote will be announced on my birthday and it will also be the 21st anniversary of the resignation of Churchill and the succession to the premiership of Eden, who is still battling away on a remote Sussex cattle farm, I think. Callaghan is the obvious choice really but he's a spineless middle-of-the-road type, and with a wife who answers to Audrey how can you blame him?

Wednesday December 31, 1975

New Year's Eve. Go to work in pouring rain and a blizzard at 12.30. Collect my pay and dash straight out for the 1 o'clock bus.

In Guiseley I buy Mum and Dad a bottle of whisky for the New Year and birthdays rolled into one, and get them a {birthday} card each from a newsagents shop. Home at 2 saturated to the very bone.

John is watching a Charles Chaplin film and I watch some of it with him.

Meanwhile: that night. To the Hare & Hounds with Carole and the mob. Stay until 12.30. At midnight it all seems like a terrific anti-climax and no one is happy or joyful at all. I give Mia, the landlady, a kiss. David takes Carole, CB, Chris and I to Maria's, where she's in bed with 'flu. Mrs Mac gives us a drink and we stay for an hour or so.

Back to Pine Tops where quite a crowd is gathered - in fact all the usuals other than Chris and CB are here. Douglas Snr and Douglas Jun from next door come, and so too do Mr & Mrs Blackwell. Ernest fell down the stairs and nearly killed himself, and the only other incident was when Lynn threw Andy and Linda out after an argument over the choice of records. I drank the traditional skin-full.

The girls retired at 4am and so did Mama and Papa who were absolutely marvellous as usual. Dave L went home, and Dave B, Pete, Doug and myself went on drinking until nearly 6am. I did masses of washing up and clearing round before collapsing on the settee at 7.30. {Dave B had the floor, Pete had 2 chairs}.

THE END

{I could go about the year ending and 1975 going forever, but I won't. Idleness and tiredness in general prevent me from discussing the finer points of Hogmany.

Do not miss the 1976 edition of Michael Rhodeses thrilling memoirs!!

This is MLR signing off until another year.

Good night and a Happy New Year to all.


God Bless.

-==-

Wednesday December 3, 1975

The weather was a bit improved today. Basil, the postman, had to admit the the sunrise was one of the best he's ever seen.

I propelled myself in a Leeds direction by train this morning. Jim Rawnsley must have died or something because I haven't laid eyes on him since Friday. Not to worry. He was old anyway.

I met Douglas, from next door, at the station and remind him of our boozing date at 1 o'clock. He says he'll come, but doesn't look all that certain.

Meet Dave outside the Ostlers at 1 o'clock and he says that Douglas isn't coming. After one drink we decide to go round the shops and look for Lynn's present. Dave kept drifting towards windows full of engagement rings, and I kept having to bring the poor lad back to his senses. However, when the day eventually dawns when he and Lynn want to make fools of themselves at the altar I certainly won't haul him away from the ring shops because he will make a good brother-in-law. Do I hear wedding bells? (I know you're all bloody sick of me throwing in that cliche, so why don't any of you have the guts to admit it?)

At home tonight I busy myself industriously. Press trousers by the score and take up the hem (of a pair of trousers). Carole rang at least three times (bless her) and I am disturbed to hear that her brother has hit her and given her a bruising. The swine will feel the full weight of my fist in his throat if he does so much as raise his fist in her direction again. These 16 year-old adolescents want watching good and proper.

I sit down and watch the 10 o'clock news on ITV which is appallingly done (or is it apallingly?) It was badly done anyway. It may sound snobbish and 'Olde Worlde' but it takes a lot to beat the good old BBC. I could read the news better than Reginald Bosanquet and Sandy Gall put together, and in saying that I'm insulting myself really. John Snagge would turn in his grave if he were dead.


-==-