Sunday March 25, 1979

_. 4th Sunday in Lent

Drizzle, murky and gloomy. Emerged from my den with a hideous hangover. Glanced at the Sunday papers and ate grapefruit and oranges. Thoroughly boring newspapers, and I cast them aside. Who wants to read of the sexploits of a tarty 25 year-old bird from Solihull? I most certainly do not.

Discover "The Secret of Chimneys" by Agatha Christie and re-read it. Quite a light hearted read for Dame Agatha.

At a reasonable hour I made toast and tea for Mum and Dad and went up with my Mothering Sunday present [a bottle of 5am perfume]. Mum had a card from John in yesterday's post. Susan is absent, staying over at Peter's, and Lynn didn't come  - she sent a bouquet yesterday. So just the three of us here all day. I think Mum and Dad had been arguing. I sensed an atmosphere.

So, sat and read "Chimneys" all day and watched the film 'Khartoum', starring Lord Olivier. I made myself a T-bone steak and chips for lunch. Mum and Dad refused to eat.

Phoned David L at 5:30 and he came here at 8 and we joined Sue & Pete at the Commercial for lager and jars of cockles and mussels. David bought us all a Black Prussian, or was it Russian ? [Coca-Cola, vodka and Tia Maria]. We laughed about old times and I had a blow by blow account of Sandra's wedding last month. She now has two step-sons by the name of Williams. Sue and Pete seemed OK.

Saw 'The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner' starring Tom Courtenay and Sir Michael Redgrave.

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Friday October 6, 1978

Woke up with a really bad head at 7:30. I annoy Sue because I refuse to be enthusiastic first thing on a morning. After all, I didn't actually climb into my bed until 4am, and that came after gulping down more plonk with Jim & Margaret. It's Margaret's birthday on Tuesday ~ another excuse for a party.

Work was like Hell on earth. My eyes took on a scarlet hue and a pale, revolting complexion took over and occupied my face. However, at 1pm Sarah, Carol J, Eileen and I went across to Parker's. It was hideous. I simply could not drink and felt quite faint.

Eileen was like a stuffed osprey in the natural history section of the British Museum, or wherever they store the stuffed, glassy eyed birds. Sarah met an old flame and proceeded to chat him up. I could take no more and wandered outside at 2 and sat on a wall to wait for them. All too ridiculous for words.

Jacq phoned this afternoon and asked: "Is this Let's Be Nasty to Jacq Week?" __________________________________.

After tea Auntie Mabel, Marlene, Frank. Mark & Debbie came bringing the cine film of the wedding. It's marvellous and well worth seeing. I was too tired to be at my best with relatives. Bed at 11:30.

Lynn, Dave, Sue and Pete set off late to Alison's to be kitted out with bridesmaid dresses, &c for the forthcoming marital celebrations. They're due back late tomorrow.

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Saturday May 27, 1978

A hot, stinking day. I felt revoltingly ill and close to death. At 12 we went with Trixie and Pete S to the Five Bells at East Finchley where I performed my 'dead man lying on the floor' routine for anyone who cared to watch. They were all sinking pints of beer like Billy Ho (sic) but all I could do was moan and grovel about in the deep grass with my clammy fingers wrapped feebly round a tomato juice. ________. Trixie Holroyd however is just perfection itself _____.

Another party at Trixie's tonight ~ a dumping ground for homosexuals and Polish refugees with wealthy wives, and women wearing pink pullovers adorned with white beads and with faces that go numb after only two gin & tonics. All called Jack, Beryl, Dick and Celia. The food, chatter, booze and general atmosphere was a delight. Slept in the state bed.

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Saturday April 15, 1978

Moon's first quarter 14:56

Sun rises 06:06

Sun sets 19:57

Quite revolting. What words can adequately describe the horror of a furry tongue, and eye balls like mushy peas in a sea of blood? My throat resembled the floor of the Black Hole of Calcutta. To make matters worse Jacq and I were compelled to walk to within one mile of Burley-in-Wharfedale in blazing sunshine, to suffer the agony of scraping walls, helping to demolish walls, and such like for almost eight hours. No Jew in any of the luxurious Russian labour camps can ever have suffered like poor Jacq and I did. And all this for no reward of any kind. Truly, we did a great Christian thing this day. "To labour and not to ask for any reward save that of knowing we do thy will ~ Amen".

At about 12 Jacq and I took a lunch break and devoured fish and chips and supped one meagre drink in the Red Lion. We laughed a good deal because we were so exhausted and couldn't stop ourselves.

Back at Lawn Road we were joined by John who talked a good deal of mumbo jumbo with David. At 5 my dear brother brought Jacq and I home. He's lending me a suit for Gina's wedding next week.

Peter, yes Peter Nason, made pork chops, &c for dinner, and we all ate at about 6pm. I almost fell to sleep across the table.

Jacq and I went down to the bus stop with every intention of going into Leeds to watch 'Close Encounters of a Third Kind' at the Odeon cinema. We stood for an hour an no omnibus came and so once again we had to resort to consuming booze. The Yorkshire Rose, our first port of call, then on foot to Yeadon and the Clothiers. We had a quick dash round Yeadon Fair, which was ridiculously muddy, before heading down Henshaws Lane to the Woolpack Inn.


The Woolpack.

A couple of drinks later we decided to call it a day. Neither of us had been bounding around with joy and a lifeless expression hung over our gaunt features. At about 10:30 Jacq got a Leeds bus and I walked home. It was a pleasant evening and I bounded home under the twinkling stars.

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Saturday December 10, 1977

Mum woke me at 7:30. I felt ghastly. Close to death in fact. I was in two minds about whether I should stuff my £2 bus ticket to Manchester and just go back to bed. I didn't. I have splashed curry sauce all over my new trousers. Stood in the bathroom looking at my piteous reflection. I nearly vomited. Oh My God, the Christmas season is upon us again!

Garry Barratt.

Got the 9:30 bus out of Leeds. An uneventful journey. I slept for part of the way. Met Dave at 12 and we began drinking on the spot. By 3pm I'd consumed about seven pints of lager. Dave and the boys bashed about playing billiards or pool or whatever they call it. I wasn't even a bit pissed. I realise how disgusting and horribly working class I sound. I may just as well be a coal miner or sheet metal worker if my social life is anything to go by.

After a meal prepared by the great Lily Glynn we went out to the Armoury in Stockport for 8:30. From here we went with Bill (Wright) and Garry (Barratt) to Rotter's disco ('First there were discos, now there's Rotters', is the slogan). We each had to put a £3 deposit down before the management would let us in the God damn place. I think the poor misguided souls took us for rogues! We did get the money back when we staggered out at 2:00am. We did have a good time. Why can't someone open such a place in Guiseley or immediate vicinity? They'd make a bomb. Oakwood Hall is the closest thing and that's light years away in comparison.

On the way back to Dave's it happened. Yes, I was sick. All my own doing.

-=-

Saturday October 29, 1977

Woke with a ghastly hangover at 7am. Dear Mama was, of course, my alarm system. My God - the whites of my eyes were bright pink - a horrible Rhodes give away if ever I saw one. From the depths of deepest Berkshire to the bleak hills of Cumbria if you should ever come across a man with bloodshot eyes you can guarantee his lineage. Just like the wearer of the Crown of St Edward owes his glory to Alfred the Great, the man with the eyes of a purple hue does so because of Lawrence the Great, commonly called Rhodes. (God, my mind is wandering again).

Hollywood Hotel.

I was in Stockport by 12.30 and went with David G to the Hollywood where we sat drinking in the billiard room until 3pm. Billiards. A pathetic, mindless pastime. Bashing little balls into little holes on a big, oblong, green table? Why not take up missionary work in Saigon instead?

Out to the County Club at 10 with David, Bill (up to his usual standard of insanity), and Garry. These 'cabaret evenings' are all very well but not really my scene. Loud, lewd comedians and the like. I'm not a fan of sitting in a chair drinking and clapping simultaneously as well as taking in the comic's obscenities. I'd sooner be drinking in a dark, perfumed grotto with James Brown records pounding rapturously. Oh God!


-=-

Monday September 12, 1977

A ghastly day. Staggered to work feeling like Anne Boleyn must have felt after her tragic loss. Lady Jane Grey too, and Lord Haw Haw. Yes, my head was far from well. Abominable is a far too mild an adjective to use. By 12 noon I was moaning, yawning and close to tears. I phoned Tony who was also very close to death. I informed him that I could stand no more and on putting down the receiver I lost consciousness and fell crashing to the floor from my desk. Some amiable editor must have carried me from the building and placed me on an omnibus because I regained consciousness somewhere in the Guiseley area at about 1pm.

Luncheon was also a great strain and afterwards I fell from the table and into bed. You'll be pleased to know that by tea time I was more or less back to normal. Oh what a time. As I grow older my hangovers get steadily worse. By the time I'm 25 I shall be paying regular visits to one of those rehabilitation centres. You may laugh, but it's true.

Autumn: nationalised?

Some of that famous glint came back to my sad old eyes at 7.30 when 'Coronation Street' came on the television. It's programmes like this that make life so well worth living, folks.

Nothing much more to say, playmates. Have you enjoyed reading this page? Good. September is always such a nice month, don't you think? Or have the authorities in your era scrapped the old months system? Well, it wouldn't surprise me if they have nationalised autumn.

-=-

Sunday May 15, 1977

Hereward the Wake

Rogation Sunday. Up at 6.30am with the biggest hangover history has ever seen. The combined hangovers of Hereward the Wake, Edward the Confessor, Napoleon, George Bernard Shaw and Mitzi Gaynor only equal half the one I experienced this morning. Water. All I wanted was water. I would have willingly swapped my best girl for a glass of chilled H2o. Dave obliged by rushing to the bathroom and bringing me a cup full. Passed into unconsciousness and slept until about 10.30. Discuss Glenn's disappearance but we decide not to visit his residence just in case he never made it home last night. Good God. Suppose he's fallen into the Manchester Ship Canal?

Mitzi Gaynor.

Dave accidentally locked his bedroom door with the key inside and we spent half an hour trying to break in. Eventually we used a large built gent from the tap room as a battering ram. Dave and I were in the bar by 12.10 and ale was supped until 2pm. joined by Garry and another guy whose name escapes me. At 2 Dave and I take lunch in the private apartments of the Hollywood and we shared a bottle of wine (Chevalier de la Rose Grand vin De Bourgogne. Importers H. Sichel and Sons Ltd, W2). Not too bad.

Glenn called on us with his holiday money (£145) and the three of us went to the pool room for a game. Laugh myself stupid at Dave who clowns around like no one I've ever known. At 7 o'clock it's time to part. Had a word with Jim Glynn and went to the bar and bought Mrs G a drink and said farewell. The lads took me to Manchester at 7.30-ish and I was home by 10.30 with £290 in my pocket. The lads are coming on June 3 and I plan to go back to Stockport on July 9, the day before 'Operation Ibiza'.

Martyn and Tony are at Pine Tops and M gives me a blank cheque for tomorrow's pilgrimage to WH Smith and Sons. Bath and bed at approximately midnight.

-=-

Thursday January 27, 1977

Don't ask me how I felt today. Oh, my head! Oh my eyes! Oh, my throat &c! To be honest, I think I'm going to die. Yes, it's that bad.

Chris Ratcliffe.

To the Hare at the usual time after taking a whole day to recover. Joined at the pub by Martyn & Chris and at first we're somewhat lethargic. I even sup tomato juice. Our indifference to enjoyment and total lack of vitality is reduced by the arrival of Denise, Naomi, Carole and Karen (a vassal of Miss Akroyd and a pupil of Fieldhead in days long gone by). The reason for the glut of female revellers can be put down to the fact that Miss Downing is celebrating her birthday tomorrow. At 10.30 in snow, shit and hail we all go to the former Minstrel's Gallery (Il Trovatore) again. Martyn wrapped himself around Naomi all night and I paid more attention to Denise than I should have done. Talked with Carole and she seems to think that I loathe her and frowns, scowls, and passes doubtful glances in my direction all night saying I've 'changed'. Well, we all have to change, don't we?

Il Trovatore, Ilkley.

Blimey, we can't go on living life exactly like we did the year before. We come home at 2.30 and Chris and I have a nasty incident in the van over the moors. He just lost control of the vehicle, went into a skid and left the road. A sobering little move it was.

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Saturday November 13, 1976

Miss Mandy Phillips

Oh God. What a hangover. Tony's on the phone at 10am and wakes me. Says he's coming over later. I stagger about the house doing my best to make myself look normal when John, Maria and John Jun arrived at 12.30. The infant is growing more beautiful every day and is much stronger. He's smiling more as well. Tony comes at 1 o'clock and he takes me down to Bradford in the car. I'm feeling really ill. We go through a car wash and in order to cheer me up he tapes the proceedings. Yes, we are raving lunatics. Go into WH [Smiths] and see Denise for the first time in months. She promises to come up tomorrow. She and Tony didn't seem at all antagonistic towards each other. Back home at 3. I nursed the baby for an hour or so until I began to feel better. Ring Lynne and speak to Peter M too. Martyn rings me and we arrange tonight's session.

To Ilkley with Tony at 8.30. Collect Martyn and then Stuart. Up to the Craven Heifer [Addingham] and then on to Bingley where we pick up a couple of girls. Miss Mandy Phillips, of Thornbury, Pudsey, and another girl, Margaret, whom we decide to call Heidi because of her Tyrolean dress. On to Oakwood Hall where more pilage, plunder and rape took place. Didn't get in the state I was in last night however. Back home to Pine Tops at 2.30 and entertained the lads for more than an hour. Laughed like Hell at the 'Excuse me, Miss' track on the Monty Python [Live at Drury Lane] LP. It really does work wonders. Bed after cheese on toast. Goodnight.

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Thursday September 9, 1976

The day that could have been the most eventful day of the year went by without any news from Maria. Dad saw her this lunchtime and he says she had visited the doctor and he's now arranged to see her on Tuesday. Oh God I can't stand all this waiting. Anyone would think it was my baby she is having [don't even think about it].

Stagger to work with what might be termed a 'hangover'. Feel bloody awful. Tell Kathleen my decision to pack in at noon and she offers up no opposition. I get a bus at 12 o'clock and get home for lunch at 12.45. Mum is on edge about Maria. It must be a terrible experience becoming a grandparent at 41. Blimey, in 20 years time I could be 'grandad' material!

By late afternoon I've recovered and by the time Lynne gets here at 7pm I'm in good shape. We go to the Red Lion at Burley [in Whafredale] with Sue & Pete where we see Naomi, Carole and another girl. On to the Rose & Crown in Ilkley and meet Tony and Stuart. At 10 o'clock the four of us go on to Oakwood Hall for a couple of hours. It resembles a scene from the new Hitchcock epic 'Carry On Up the Black Hole of Calcutta'. Ghastly. Tempers were frayed. Home at 12.30 and to bed with Hunter Davies's The Beatles'.

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