Tuesday January 31, 1978

Moon's last quarter 23:51.

More snow. Marita's 23rd birthday, but something of a flop. I saw her at 4:30 on Wellington Street and she mentioned something about going out for a drink - a consolation booze-up - with Chris and Denise. I readily agreed to join the party.

At home I prepared a suitable birthday card (a Mig Rhodes montage no less, made from old YP photographs) and readied myself for this unusual Tuesday night venture. But at 8:00 she phoned saying Mr & Mrs Fountain have arranged to take her out for a surprise meal, and so it's a kick in the teeth for our night out. Lynn became suspicious and said __________.

King Edward VI.

I sat reading Edward VI by Hester Chapman, brooding over what might have been. The 1540s were troubled times and I must admit I'm quite confused about the intrigues of the Seymours and the Greys. I have managed to get to page 131 though. One thing's for sure, I no longer feel sorry for Lady Jane Grey.

Margaret Thatcher's immigration speech is creating a furore. There is also talk that Harold Wilson resigned when he did in March 1976 to lessen the impact of the breakdown of the Snowdon marriage. Did I comment on the closeness of these events at the time? I believe I did. I no longer read my old diaries regularly. I'm nauseated by myself, and keep the journals in a black box under lock and key.

To bed at 12:15 with King Edward VI.




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Wednesday October 13, 1976

Leave the YP at 12 and go straight to Burley-in-Wharfedale to see Lynne. Jean is with her for ten minutes or so until she is recalled to the slave labour camp. Have a couple of drinks together. She talks about Christian names and children. She'd like more than one, and I add that one might as well have four or five. More the bloody merrier. I walk her back to Fibre Distributors at 2pm and then catch a bus to Guiseley. Home for 2.30 and spend a couple of hours painting the ruddy staircase again. Cheesed off with the whole bloody lot now. Don't eat until 7 o'clock so by the time I'm served up with the nourishing substance I'm on the verge of starvation.

What's in the news?

Richard Dunn, the Bradford boxer lost at Wembley last night to the Archbishop of Canterbury after only two and a half minutes. Dr Coggan now takes the British and Commonwealth title for the second time.

George Formby is to be canonised.

Ian Smith, the Rhodesian tycoon, is having an affair with Princess Grace of Monaco.

Michael Rhodes is to be certified.

Sir Harold Wilson and Lady Falkender have decided not to get engaged after all.

Lady Doune Ogilvy, Angus's niece, is set to mary Hereward the Wake's grandson. Hereward the Wake, as it happens, was the last [Anglo-Saxon] rebel to stand up against William the Conqueror.

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Friday April 23, 1976

Good Old Saint George's Day. Get to work at 8.30 and spend an hour altering Harold Wilson's file. He doesn't look like a Knight of the Garter at all and I can't help wondering what made him accept the honour. During his premiership no hereditary peers have been created and political honours have not been looked upon in a good light, and now he goes and accepts the highest honour 'bestowable' by the Monarch.

Ring David L at 7.30 and Sandra says he was taken to hospital a few hours before - something wrong with his heart! The whole Lawson house is in uproar and so I quickly vacate the line - promising to ring tomorrow for a further bulletin. David - a heart attack!! Horrific and nauseating.

I inform everyone in the Hare & Hounds except CB who is down with tonsilitis. Leave Carole at 11 and go to the Cow & Calf with Pete M and Martyn Cole. First night out with the lads in ages. I never usually desert Carole. Get intoxicated and don't remember much about the night at all. CD and Carol Smith were with us.

-=-

Thursday April 22, 1976

Work was uneventful and I'm not going into great detail on that miserable subject.

Carole rang twice this evening and both times asked me what was wrong. I insist that all is well, but she feels sure I'm wanting rid of her.

John came round at 9 o'clock for a bath. The Macdonald central heating system caved in over Easter and subsequently the Mac family are parading round Ridgeway smeared in four days supply of filth.

Mum and Dad went out for a drink but returned and 10.30 with fish and chips which John also endulged in. Sue also cut John's hair.

Hear on the midnight news that Uncle Harold is to become a Knight of the Garter after all. No doubt the left-wing rabble of the Labour party will find this is something they can get their teeth into, but uncle is a scheming old lad. A man cannot be Prime Minister for sixty years without picking up some of the tricks of the trade.

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Wednesday April 21, 1976

The Queen, 50. Do not hear the alarm clock again and Mum wakes me at 8.20. To Leeds with Jim Rawnsley and study the national newspapers immediately upon my arrival at the YP. The Queen's party at Windsor went on until 3am today - and at 2.40am Her Majesty's time of birth - she was dancing around the Waterloo Chamber with the Duke of Edinburgh.

Some papers criticised Mr Callaghan for not attending and I can only see this as a snub to the Queen. Uncle Harold Wilson and Thatcher attended and even Edward Heath. She is already a legend in her own lifetime and it's hard to imagine how we could ever manage without her.

Meet Carole at 8.10 but only have one drink in the Hare before returning to our place for a coffee. She is behaving quite differently today bit I pretend I haven't noticed. She is doing her utmost not to be 'lovey dovey' and too serious with me.

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Monday April 5, 1976

Historic day today. My 21st birthday and the departure of Uncle Harold from No. 10 Downing Street.

Lynn got me out of bed at 7.30 and I didn't feel in a birthday spirit really. She gave a beautiful clock and Susan gives me £5 - good of them.

Work was boring and my mind kept wandering to thoughts of poor Carole suffering with her bruises and scars.

Meet Carole near the Ostlers at 1pm, and although she's covered in make-up, I can still see the bruising. She gives me a (birthday) card from her mother which has £2 tucked in the front. Hypocritical keeping it? No, we spend it on booze. Why not get as much as we can out of the bastards whilst we can?

Home at 4 o'clock on the 33 bus & I teach Carole the words of '21 Today', &c, which raised a few laughs.

Susan tells me that Callaghan is the new Prime Minister. I feel a great sense of loss by Harold's departure. I'm far from being a Labour voter, but that little man with the black bags under his eyes and smouldering pipe, inspires me somewhat.

Party at Pine Tops for my birthday. Cut a birthday cake. John, Maria, Carole, Lynn, Dave, Sue & Peter, Mum and Dad. Lots of booze and chicken and chips. Carole still very quiet and looks so miserable. She's obviously ill.

Carole stays the night - 5 nights running.

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Monday March 22, 1976

It is rumoured that Uncle Harold (Wilson) will receive the Garter when he steps down from the premiership in two weeks time. The 'customary' earldom will not be accepted by the dear old thing because he's intending to carry on as an MP on the back benches.

I place customary in inverted commas because the Press always assumes that the Queen always offers an earldom to an outgoing Prime Minister at their final weekly tete a tete. This is not so. Church declined a dukedom but took the Garter, whilst Eden took the Garter plus the earldom. Macmillan refused all honours in 1963, and Home did 10 years in the Commons after his stint in No. 10. The old boy did return to the Lords as a cheap life peer a couple of years ago. Heath, I feel sure, won't have been offered anything because his relationship with Our Gracious Sovereign Lady was not a happy one - again, that is if the Press is to be believed. What is more, the circumstances of Heath's departure from that high office cannot have pleased Her Majesty.

-==-

Tuesday March 16, 1976

Christine B, 20. A hectic day really. Upset by Uncle Jack's departure.

Just before lunchtime today I heard that Uncle Harold (Wilson) had resigned (as Prime Minister) and had consequently thrown the nation into utter chaos and turmoil the likes of which haven't been experienced since Pat Phoenix quit 'Coronation Street'. Everyone thought it was a big joke at first.

The very thought of life without little Harold Wilson doesn't bear thinking about. What will become of the economy? What about the pound in our pockets?

Home and have tea with Mum & Dad. They go and console Auntie Mabel whilst Lynn, Sue and I swap bedrooms. They take over the back bedroom which was home to John and I for about four years - horribly sad and nostalgic it was.

Carole came at 8.30 and John and Maria came back from Scotland and called in to see us. They have had a great time and look well for it. The build up to the wedding had got on everyones nerves somewhat and if it had come any later I'd have either shot myself or put myself up as a candidate in the Labour party leadership struggle that will undoubtedly occur within the next few days or so.

-==-

Friday November 21, 1975

Uneventful day and night. We stayed in the Hare and Hounds until closing time and then I got a bus home with Susan and Peter.

Carole was feeling a bit off it, and because we had no transport we could see no point in her coming back to our place. We cannot really go on using Dave like a taxi - he may well catch on.

I rang Rhodeses Coaches this lunchtime and booked a vehicle for Nov 29th. So it's Brummels here we come on Saturday night. I shall have to contact David about the trip. He only misses them when he finds it impossible to get home, and I know how much he'd love to go. My main worry is that we won't be able to raise the £25 necessary. However, Brummels should be able to entice some of the more discerning members of the happy breed.

Juan Carlos joined the ranksof European monarchs yesterday. Old General Franco decided to call it a day after what seems like months of hanging on. Spain will probably fall into a pit of chaos and anarchy now - like Portugal - and I can't see Juan Carlos reigning for very long. One thing's for certain, he doesn't have the worry and strain of planning a Silver Jubilee like our poor, over-worked Sovereign. The London Transport people are even considering letting loose a batch of silver painted buses in 1977 to celebrate Her Majesty's 25 years on the throne! The Queen herself wants none of it, if you ask me. I'll bet you a pound to a penny that devious little Uncle Harold is going to use it to some political advantage - that's if he's still in No 10, Downing Street in 2 years time.

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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.

-==-

Tuesday October 21, 1975

To the office with Jim Rawnsley at 8.30. Items of interest in the news: Crown Prince Fahd of Saudi Arabia arrived at Heathrow yesterday and I was amused to see our beloved Prime Minister grovelling on his hands and knees on the tarmac, in homage to the fat, arabic potentate. The Duke of Gloucester too was in the official welcoming party and I noticed him running after the crown prince in a feeble attempt to make polite chit chat. Little Richard was no match in the race to the VIP lounge and whilst Fahd and the Prime Minister were busily knocking back the duty free vodkas, HRH was fighting his way through the body guards yelling: "I'm Richard of Gloucester. I'm supposed to do the talking!" (No he didn't, I'm just getting carried away).

Nothing much else in the news other than Ireland and I'm not going to dwell on that.

Carole rang me at work and so too did CB, who was going out with Michael Ives until Saturday when she became intoxicated at Mark Naylor's 21st birthday party and left him to his own devices. A little raver she is!

Carole rang again at 8pm and we chatted for ten minutes or so. We are going out tomorrow night and I'm meeting her at 8 o'clock. I always clam up on the phone and can only really talk to Carole when we meet in the flesh.

Heard on the news tonight that General Franco had a heart attack today and is probably on his last legs. He's 82 so I'm not surprised. If I last as long I'll go quite happily.

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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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Sunday April 27, 1975

4th after Easter. Yet another beautiful day. Wake at about 11.30 and go down for a coffee. Sit glancing at the Sunday papers which I don't normally do because they're a load of old rubbish. See that the Labour party have voted with an enormous majority to pull out of the Common Market when this so-called referendum is thrust upon us in June. A tremendous blow it will be for the Prime Minister, and it wouldn't surprise me if he was to hand over all his powers to Wedgwood Benn. Then the Nation can relapse into total confusion and madness.

Everyone is talking about a camping trip at Whitsuntide, and so I'll have to save the pennies. Also, June 14 is the day that the holiday people want their money. Aaarrghh!

Depleted numbers out for a drink tonight. Just John, Chris, Carol and myself. After starting at the Hare we move on to the Station Hotel in Guiseley, where I've never set foot before. Don't like the place much. Move on to the Emmotts - horrible; then the Station on Henshaw Lane for the last one. The four of us have a good argument about politics. I try to persuade them not to vote in this coming referendum, and am pleased to hear that John and Carol agree with me that we shouldn't really be having one at all. Unconstitutional and pathetic it really is. Chris is of course a staunch Conservative and thinks we belong in the EEC - I quite agree with him, but refuse to believe that the British electorate should be allowed to make the decision. Harold Wilson just wants to pass the blame onto us when everything goes wrong.

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Monday April 14, 1975

Not a perfect day by any means. Rang Christine at 4.30 and she told me that it was all patched up with Gary, and so I'm an outcast through and through. She didn't say I was an outcast through and through - she doesn't really have to. DON'T I KNOW IT, MATE!! A rotten let-down for my ego. Throwing yourself at a girl only to be told you don't stand a chance. Sad really. Well, what else can I expect at the grand old age of 20? I'm getting past the attractive stage.

The dear old Queen Mother flew off to Persia today for a peaceful, and no doubt warm holiday with the Shah. Dad drew the conclusion that Uncle Harold wants some cheap oil - a typical cynical view, but it's a known fact that the old Queen is a close buddy of the Shah, who nips over to Windsor often enough on private visits of his own. Must be nice to be nearly 75 and perfectly active. 'Go it old Girl!' applies just as much to the Queen Mum as it did to Queen Victoria. We want her to go on for years.

Still battling on with 'George VI'. He's just been created Duke of York in the chapter I'm on with, and it certainly makes one wonder just how many years it will be before Prince Andrew is bestowed with the same honours.

David calls in at 7.15 with an LP. He takes a few more records to tape, and spends about 10 minutes laughing and fooling with Lynn. That boy just ripples wit humour - always so full of vitality too. Must be marvellous. I'm going to Worcester on Apr 21 after all, probably until the 25th - which is the following Friday. It'll be fantastic seeing Barbara again, who is such a gorgeous character. Bed at 11.30 after reading in the lounge.

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Thursday April 10, 1975

Excuse me, please, but I'm in an awkward position for writing at the moment. Yes, I'm propped up in bed and it's only 9.30pm. No, I'm not ill, or anything. I just fancied the idea of an early night. Besides, this afternoon, I laid hands on a scruffy looking copy of 'King George VI: His Life and Reign' by John Wheeler-Bennett. Yes, you're quite right, I did read it years ago, but I always think it pays off to re-read something a few years later in order to fully understand and appreciate what was actually penned.

So here I am. What else can I tell you? Oh yes, more snow today, and in the world of politics, our good friend the Prime Minister has announced that the EEC referendum will take place on June 5. NOT THAT I WILL HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT!! No, Sir, Uncle Harold and his Cabinet will have a long wait if they expect to see my little cross on the bottom of the nasty little ballot paper. A very long wait indeed.

Anyway, George VI is awaiting my attention, and so I'' say goodnight.

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Tuesday March 18, 1975

Quite a day of excitement really. That treasured relic of the Parliamentary system, namely Uncle Harold, announced today that the Labour government is in favour of our nation remaining a member of the Common Market. I can't really see why he made such a fuss about it in the first place. The one good thing which the late Mr Heath did was to obtain our membership of the E.E.C. and at the time I thought it was most childish of Uncle Harold to say he'd bring us out. Anyway, the so-called referendum will decide categorically what we're going to do - but if both Conservative and Labour parties think we should stay in, I fail to grasp why we have been consulted at all. I'm intending ignoring the referendum when it comes. Futile things like this should be of no concern to the general public at all. It's a bloody disgrace really.

Snowed again today. Weird weather. Went for a jog around Leeds at lunchtime. Consumed a couple of sandwiches in Park Square and made several useless attempts to lay hands on a copy of 'Private Eye'.

The editor ran around the library in a flap this morning shouting 'Sheila Viscountess Devonport' in a hurried voice at irregular intervals. No news cuttings were to be found on the dear, noble lady, but I did lay hands on a photo, dated 1952. 'Devonport. Sheila Viscountess D-E-V-O-N-P-O-R-T. Lady S-H-E-I-L-A Devonport. She's a viscountess. A peeress. L-A-D-Y S-H-E-I-L-A-D-E-V-O-N-P-O-R-T'. OK, we get the message. We enquire exactly what's happened to the peeress to cause such a panic. He says she's been kidnapped by the Black Panther, and leaves the library laughing hideously. Clearly not a devotee of the aristocracy. We later discover that she's only been forced out of her home in the early hours of the morning, and that no harm has befallen her at all. No doubt you're overjoyed on hearing this.

The Duchess of Kent was in Leeds today on university business.

See a Cary Grant and Doris Day film on BBC2 and stagger to bed at about 11 with P.G. Wodehouse, after listening to Uncle Harold talking a load of old rubbish on the late night news. It's really terrible the way he's trying to hoodwink everyone over this referendum nonsense.

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Tuesday March 11, 1975

It's even more noisy in the bloody office today. Kathleen had headphones on all day.

Read an interesting article in the recent News of the World re Lord Snowdon and Lady Jacqueline Rufus Isaacs. It says that Lady Jackie, the daughter of Lord Reading, was "very much in love" with Lord Snowdon, and that the affair had started in 1969 when the couple sat at the same table in a West End club. Evidently, his Lordship visited Lady Jackie's flat two or three times a week under the pretext of calling on her brother, Viscount Erleigh,and they managed to see each other frequently in 1970 without more than a handful of people knowing. When the story was grabbed by the Press in 1971 the affair had to cease. It says Lord Snowdon never visited the Reading family home again, and Princess Margaret ignores Lady Jackie when they occasionally meet at parties.

The beloved Prime Minister is 59 years old today. He celebrates at Dublin Castle where the EEC talks are going on, and never again will I say nasty things about him because he's done so much for the Queen's pay rises and the Civil List. He's a decent old sport really, and I don't suppose it's his fault that he was born with all these confused ideas about politics. Someone really should discover an antedote for socialism, because when that day comes Harold Wilson will require a sizeable injection.

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Thursday February 27, 1975

More ruddy fog all day. I don't mind snow. I can tolerate frost, ice, rain, heatwaves and hurricanes, but I draw the line at fog. A lung congesting white blanket which does nothing but depress all who who into contact with it. Sickening.

We all, other than Kathleen that is, evacuate the library and perch in 'the Black Hole of Calcutta' as Ronnie Wilkinson would say. Bogged down cutting yesterdays EP and todays YP.

Escape to the Central with Eileen again for our Thursday afternoon booze-up. This is becoming quite a regular thing, and I only hope we can manage to keep it up. The trouble is I become so tired after a lunchtime drink. By 3.30 I'm invariably snoring under a desk or in a semi-coma behind a filing cabinet. Out at 4.30 and home by 5.15.

Tomorrow Uncle Harold and the Labour government more or less celebrate their first birthday. I say 'more or less' because the general election was on Feb 28, but the late Mr Heath didn't resign until the middle of August or something. Please do not think that my views about the government have changed in any way. That would be the last thing I'd want. It's just that I've made up my mind that Uncle Harold isn't such a filthy old Bastard after all. In fact, he's quite human really. If he changed to a Tory I'm sure he'd do everyone a favour. Anyway, he pushed the Queen's money through parliament last night, which was good of him.

Let the Bells ring out! Marita just rang. She's coming out with us the weekend after next.

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Monday February 24, 1975

More bloody fog all day. Creep to the YP with Jim in the car, bumper to bumper all the way. See in the papers that Uncle Harold is to make a statement in the Commons today about the 'Royal shares' leakage. On the 6 o'clock news tonight Harold says the reports in the Morning Star are true, and Scotland Yard are looking into the whole affair. Some filthy swine has obviously waited until the Civil List is about to be debated before dropping this bombshell. Many MPs want to know how we can possibly justify giving £450,000 to the Civil List when private royal finance interests are unknown and shrouded in privacy. The poor Queen can't be enjoying her Mexican visit at all.

Home at 5.15. Lynn is in bed with funny pains in her stomach. Mum says she's had some idea that something's been wrong for about 10 days, and appendix cannot be ruled out. She doesn't look too good. I'll be glad when the doctor has seen her in the morning.

Old Mrs Thing across the road was found dead in bed last night. I hate people dying without letting people know - most inconsiderate, and it's always such a messy business what with the police and the Coroner, &c, &c. I delivered her morning paper many years ago, but otherwise I never came into contact with her.

John discovered this evening that Naomi's papa is a vicar! Yes, the Rev A.B. Downing is listed in the telephone directory as living at Naomi's address, so it must be the case. Please remind me to watch my language when I meet her again.

-=-

Wednesday February 12, 1975

Ash Wednesday. Back out to the Hare again tonight. This week is like September 1973 all over again - or seems like it. Going down to the pub every night is a habit I wouldn't mind taking up again.

 John, Naomi, self, Chris, Laura, Helen (Jane's sister), and Carol S. This Naomi is the sexiest little thing I've seen in years. Doesn't look like she's short of a few bob, either.

Back to Gillian or somebodys at the new end of Tranmere. I say somebody because I'm unsure whether that is her name or not. Have a coffee and stroke the persian cat, Samantha. Home with watery eyes and itchy nose at 12. These foolish allergies are a bloody rotten bore.

The Prime Minister announced his intention to increase the Civil List from today. The vile Labour MPs were astounded by this action, and a certain Hon Member for Mid Fife said it is the most outrageous pay-claim in 200 years. It's not as if the four hundred and odd thousand extra will go in the Queen's pocket, as it were. The extra cash is only going out in household expenses. Her Majesty will feel no better off at all. A lot of misguided sods down at Westminster need shaking up a little.

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