Monday November 10, 1975

Monday morning again. Sarah is off with some undisclosed illness, and of course Kathleen never comes in on Mondays. So we have a busy day really.

Derek Foster brings over a letter from the Duchess of Leinster who is complaining about the way the press have treated the duke over his bankruptcies. She says he's been ever so upset about the things we've said, and adds "people do make mistakes when they are young", and it is wrong of the press to keep harping on about the past. I agree with the duuchess in all these things except the bit about the duke making mistakes when he was young. His Grace is now 83, and he was a bankrupt until 1970. I hardly think that "making mistakes when you are young" applies to a 78 year-old man.

Ring Marita at her place of work and tell her of the engagement. She is bowled over by it. __________. Marita also says that she'll inform MM. I always laugh at Marita. Don's ask me why, because if you do I'll only give you a negative reply.

Home at 5.20 as usual and Carole rings me. We decide not to meet tonight. _____. However, she rings again at 8pm from Maria's and I invite her round here. She arrives while I'm in the throes of 'Coronation Street', and we have a coffee with Mum, Sue and Peter. Carole is like a child in many ways and one would never believe that she is older than Lynn. So many things have to be explained to her in great detail. I sometimes feel like a teacher when we're together. Quite an attractive schoolgirl she is, too!

See a film at 9.20 "Quatermass and the Pit". I liked it. We then saw (Uncle) Harold Wilson speaking at the Lord Mayor's Banquet. I'm horrified what I see staring at me from the tv screen. A haggard, pale, anaemic old gent who doesn't like being with us at Christmas. These past few months have certainly aged him beyond his years. Let us hope that the shining example set by General Franco will not go unheeded at No 10, Downing Street. He finishes speaking at 11.30 and I then walk Carole to Menston. It's a nice evening and the walk did me some good I'm sure.

Home at 12.45 and leap with relief beneath the sheets.

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Monday June 30, 1975

Pleasant day, but piles of work to do. Sarah and I go shopping at lunchtime, and I lay hands on a new T-shirt for the coming Spanish trip. It cost £2.99 which isn't bad. The last one I got was £3.50. I'm not really making excuses, but the weather was so hot we just had to have a drink. So into the Ostlers we hurried and drank three pints of cider between us ( I had two thirds of the three pints). We arrange to do Town Street again next Friday, but starting at the Fleece instead, and at 7pm too. I can hardly wait.

Home at 5 feeling starved again. After tea I chase around the back lawn with the mower and do a good job of it I think. Dad was spraying all the roses with fly killer, and Susan was watering her 'night scented stocks' - so on the whole we made an industrious little bunch.

Do sod all in the evening other than read a really revolting book about King Edward VII and the Press, by a Yank called Robey, or something, and I really think it numbers among the worst books I've ever clapped eyes on. The memoirs of Raffaelle, Duchess of Leinster were the worst, but this thing comes a close 2nd. He's convinced that Queen Victoria was perverted sexually and insists of inventing members of the House of Lords. 'Earl Russell of Clarendon' for example. There's never been such a peerage title.

Saw Mr William Hamilton, MP, on TV tonight. He was discussing his book 'My Queen and I' - a revolting pack of lies and abuse. Hermione Gingold, the actress, really pulled him, Mr H, to pieces, and he hadn't a leg to stand on. This so called 'honourable' member for Mid-Fife ought to be transported to Uganda to take the place of Denis Hills, who faces a firing squad there on Friday. I'm sure Britain wouldn't mind, and General Amin isn't bothered who dies so long as he sees blood flowing. Sad really.

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Thursday April 25, 1974

Relax all day. Get books from Guiseley Library: 'Clouds of Witness' by Dorothy L. Sayers, which is very good; and the memoirs of Rafaella, Duchess of Leinster, which I haven't had time to inspect yet. Cold, but sunny day.

Go to the YP at 5. Kathleen is busy all evening and we see little or nothing of each other. Feel very irate when I see they haven't given me extra pay for working Thursday night, and Kathleen says something to the effect 'you could bang your head against a wall', etc, which I doubt would do very much good at all.

File pictues of the Queen of Denmark, who is to pay a state visit to the UK next week. She certainly looks a lovely lady, and I intend watching the BBC programme about her on Sunday.

Get a taxi at 12 but feel astounded when he says my journey is not on account! It costs me £2.40, which is obscene when one takes my pay into consideration. Austin-Clarke may as well be a stuffed effigy for all the work he does, and they (the YP that is) are not going to get away with this. Bed at 2 after sitting tucked up with Dorothy L. Sayers, Lord Peter Wimsey and a cup of cocoa.

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