Monday December 1, 1975

A gloomy, horrible day. Nothing but wind and rain, and even snow on and off. Work uneventful. Didn't go out at lunchtime and came home up the lane at 5.30 in a downpour. The fact that we are now in December didn't do much by way of glitter and joy on this day. In only hope that in the next 24 days we'll see an improvement in everyones spirits.

Mum thinks that ________ is round the bend. ______________________________________.
Little Dave B is ok because he is so robust.

Carole rang me at lunchtime and I was surprised when she agreed we shouldn't go out until Thursday. She usually goes berserk if I try to do her out her regular Wednesday evening liaison. She did however develop a wilting voice towards the end of the conversation when she said she'd kill herself if she has to wait until Thursdsay. It's frightening to know I am so relied upon.

Heard on the news that Lord Snowdon should have been on the plane with Graham Hill when it crashed. He changed his mind at the last minute having decided he had taken enough photographs - a decision that saved his life. Sarah says she thinks Princess Margaret would have liked her husband to have been done away with. The press may make out that Tony and the princess lead an unsteady married life, but I'd never take Sarah's view.

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Sunday November 30, 1975

Advent Sunday. St Andrew's Day. Wake up feeling quite normal considering the amount of alcohol I consumed at the Minstrel's Gallery.

Carole rings me from Maria's to say they are going to church this afternoon and 'do you mind if I don't see you until teatime?' I say I'll just about survive (God knows how) and return to the lounge to discuss food with Lynn and Dave. We are all on the verge of starvation and the aroma of Mum's cooking doesn't help much.

Marlene, Frank and the children come round at 2 for lunch and because of the large numbers involved we have to have two sittings in the dining room. I am on second sitting with John, Lynn, Sue, Dave and Pete.

I spend the afternoon playing a chess-like game with Frank. Really cosy it was too,and made such a change from the usual Sunday afternoon activities. Frank was clad in pink socks, orange and green checked trousers, a white shirt with black men all over it, a lime green and blue striped tank top, and a repulsive vomit coloured tie. However, I do suppose that one goes through a phase like this when one hits 30. Funny really.

The Harwoods go at 5.30 and John and I are summoned to the Macdonald residence. Mr & Mrs Mac are keeping vigil around grandfather's hospital bed but hope is fading fast. They look at his possible passing quite objectively though. I suppose to Roman Catholics death is like going on holiday.

After an hour at the Macdonald stately pile I leave, for health reasons, with Carole in the direction of home. We watch television, and that's about it really. Nothing thrilling or outrageous. Just the days events as seen through the eyes of a raving lunatic called Michael Rhodes.

NEWS: Graham Hill, the racing driver, was killed in a plane crash last night. Now I'll just go upstairs and lay down.

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