Showing posts with label jeremy thorpe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jeremy thorpe. Show all posts

20170210

Sunday February 18, 1979

_. The news is going around that a thaw is underway, but I don't believe a word of it. [Is my handwriting going down hill. Bear with me, said the raccoon]. Is a raccoon a bear? No, I don't think so. It's probably related to a bear. Half cousins probably. Like the Queen and the Marquess of Cambridge, or me and Sharon Kirk. However, this drivel is getting us nowhere. Precisely.

Over breakfast Mama suggests a trip to Auntie Hilda's after luncheon, and I add that we should go out - en famille - for a quick dose of alcohol first. It is decided upon. Mum, Dad, Sue, Pete and I head out to the Dog and Gun at Appperley Bridge. It's a long time since I went out for a drink with Mum & Dad. We discuss all going to Stockport together. It is my considered opinion that my parents do not go out enjoying themselves enough. They spend all their time home brewing and have become virtual recluses within the space of a few years.

At 2:30 we went on to 6, St James's Crescent, Pudsey [Sue and Pete having gone home]. Had a boozy, pleasurable afternoon with the Gadsbys. Joined by Steve & Tim. I am told we stayed to dinner, but don't remember this. Hilda's Yorkshire Terrier, Pepper, is a delight. Uncle Tony [the Liberal candidate] is more sensible these days and remained calm and collected when I frequently, without warning, dropped 'Jeremy Thorpe' into the conversation.

-=-



20140724

Friday December 15, 1978

Otley: market day
Rain. A generally damp atmosphere. Mum woke me to say I had to phone Gus. I did so at 11:30am and an hour later I headed down the lane in heavy rain to the Regent in Gusieley. Gus, Chippy, Neil and Johnny, &c are all there supping ale. I was damp and out of my depth because their conversation was all about their own school days. From here at 2:30 we moved to the Junction in Otley. We were all quite pissed up, and the landlord, resembling something like a rugby prop forward, kept asking us to be quiet. Peter joined us at 3, and because it was market day, we supped and made merry until 4.

Heard a few Jeremy Thorpe jokes ~ quite marvellous. At 4:30, dripping in lager, I returned home. Mother is never happy about me drinking in the daytime and afternoon tea was a bit frosty. Out again at 5:30 to the Regent in Guiseley. Had something of a headache, and no money. Took out an IMF loan from Peter, Chippy and Dave W. They lent me £8 in all, I think. A mini bus collected us at 6 and we went to a pub near Crumpet in Batley. Gus and Frank were hideously pissed and kept dropping their trousers and rolling on the floor. All quite embarrassing, so much so that Pete and I went to a pub next door and returned to the main party after a few sensible drinks. To the disco at about 10:30. Slightly rough. We all danced and freaked out in style. A band came on stage for an hour or so and we were deafened by the noise. I only indulged in a couple of drinks and danced for the remainder of the night. Outside at 2am feeling sober, tired and thirsty. The bus didn't collect us until 2:35 and I didn't get to bed until after 4:0am.

-=-

Wednesday December 13, 1978

Jeremy Thorpe: sent for trial
Jeremy Thorpe's been sent for trial to the Old Bailey __________.

I  am cheesed off tonight. Sitting around the glowing Christmas tree should have seen me full of the joys of the season, bristling with gay abandon, but this was not to be. I had been thinking about money. I am on the verge of a great financial collapse. Gus and Frank's 21st birthdays take place at Crumpet on Friday, and this event will make me destitute. Mum hasn't come forth with the offer of a loan and I can understand her predicament because she's no Gloria Vanderbilt is she? Blimey, I cannot be expected to use her purse like a ruddy tap, can I? I am going to have to resort to drastic measures and assault someone. Maybe "mug" an 85~year old spinster and make off with her old age pension. It's all very well giving these old souls a £10 bonus every Christmas, but what about us youngsters who could really spend the extra cash wisely? Life is so cruel & unfair. My best hope is to approach Susan, I think.  If she isn't forthcoming I will lower myself and ask one of the lads.

To bed at 12:05am. Ate pilchards on toast and supped a mug of tea. Ugh.

-=-

20140108

Wednesday November 29, 1978

To Burley~in~Wharfedale with Sarah at 5:30. She looked gorgeous in her new fur coat, but was pale. I am sure she is anaemic.

We sat with Lynn in the cold, drinking sherry and waiting for David, who was putting in some overtime. He came in at 7:30 and we watched "Coronation Street" and giggled. ____________.

Sarah was not impressed by "Edward and Mrs Simpson". It wasn't one of the better episodes of the series.It dealt with Wallis's divorce from Ernest.

The sherry quietened Sarah a good deal and by 10 o'clock she was almost asleep. The news on ITV had us in hysterics. We had the details of Norman Scott's evidence at Jeremy Thorpe's committal proceedings at Minehead. Intricate details of sexual assaults, buggery in the House of Commons, vaseline, towels, ministers without portfolio, &c. All good stuff.

Home in the fog and freezing conditions at 10:30. It was a long slog. Sarah's fur coat was frozen solid. Poor soul.

-=-

20131210

Friday November 17, 1978

Up at 7 feeling slightly groggy. It became steadily worse as the day went on. Sarah and Carol J are going to London for the weekend and so Ursula came in to do a daytime shift. It was good to see her again. For a thirty year~old mother of two she remains quite sexy.

At lunchtime I drank Eno's, the 'tummy settling' concoction. It worked quite well. At 3:30 I left for Manchester and got there in record time. I was bashing on the door of the Hollywood Hotel by 5:30.

Had a mixed grill. Watched Alastair Burnet reading the evening news on the ITV. Jeremy Thorpe's case comes up at Minehead on Monday. Some of us are making bets that Thorpe's clothes will soon be found piled up by some fast flowing river or picturesque ocean seascape. He could well follow the example set by John Stonehouse.

Dave G is bearded and in fine form. We went with Bill, Garry and Steve to see Stockport County play Newport. It was a diabolical game which ended in a 1-1 draw. Watching the planes circling above waiting to land at Manchester was a far more interesting pastime.

Back to the Hollywood with a select mob of football supporters. We drank about 10 pints each and generally had a riot. Bed at 1:30 or so after watching 'The L~Shaped Room' on Granada TV.

____________.

-=-

20131112

Wednesday August 23, 1978

To Lawn Road again. Far too busy painting to sit here with my pen.

A general election is almost on the cards now for October 5, and not October 12. The latter date is too close to Yom Kippur, the day of Atonement, and Jim (Callaghan) wants all the Jewish votes he can lay his hands on. Also, Jeremy Thorpe's day in court has been postponed until the second week in October so that it won't interfere with polling.

Let us hope and pray that Margaret Hilda will be spending her 53rd birthday in number 10, Downing Street. (That will be October 13). Oh, I'm on tip~toe with excitement.

-=-

20131101

Friday August 4, 1978

New Moon 02:01

Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother is 78 today. I do believe that in six years time she will be the longest lived Queen Consort. Queen Mary was 85, and Queen Alexandra was 80. No Queen of these Isles has lived longer.

Tonight Dave L came up at 8:30 and we went to meet Jacq at the Y.W.C.A and then went over the road to the George, opposite the (Leeds General) Infirmary. It was after 9 before we had a drink and so the evening was slipping quickly by. Dave quite liked the George and he noticed that most of the customers looked like hospital staff. He laughed that it 's an ideal spot to have a heart attack or bout of botulism.

(Botulism is something one gets from eating tins of John West salmon. "It's the cans that John West reject that don't kill you" &c. Dave is laying on a salmon sandwich supper at his party and intends displaying the serial number of the can on each sandwich. My God, aren't we a sick bunch?)

I was home at 11:30 and watched a bit of television. I've been grinning to myself all day because Jeremy Thorpe and three others have been arrested on charges of conspiring to murder Norman Scott between 1968 and 1977. That's buggered the Liberal party once and for all. Mr Steel definitely won't be wanting an election in October. The person I feel sorry for is poor Marion.

--

20121026

Wednesday October 19, 1977

Mist and rain. A grotty day indeed. Sarah, John McMurray and I went to the library together. Sarah disappeared into the art section, John into music, and I buggered about in the biographical works and in fiction.

John laughed when I told him that the first book I borrowed from a library (aged 11) was 'Queen Mary' by Pope-Hennessy. He told me he knew a guy who lived with Mr Pope-Hennessy, who was of course a leading homosexual. The author was stabbed to death by a fellow flat-mate about three years ago.

Norman Scott.
On the subject of homosexuals the Jeremy Thorpe/Norman Scott Affair is back in the news. It now transpires that a 'prominent' member of the Liberal party payed a young man to shoot Mr Scott. It is for poor Marion Thorpe that I feel great sympathy. From Harewood House to the gutter in ten years. ________________.

Marion Thorpe.
John Grady phoned. He was very excited. He told me that Hylda Baker lives in Bolton. I told him I'd phone Granada TV tomorrow to get some information about her for him. He really is obsessed with dearest Hylda and I cannot help blaming myself. John Grady was once a normal lad without a care in the world.

Saw part III of 'The Norman Conquests' and Lynn and Dave came to talk about churches, flowers and big wedding cars.









-=-

20101117

Tuesday May 11, 1976


Another boring day at work. Sick to death of the damnable place. Should I run away to sea or not? What sort of lolly are Admirals of the Fleet on at the moment?

Leave (the YP) at 4.30 and get soaked in a bloody downpour. Home for dinner with Mum, Dad, Lynn & Sue. Mum and Dad discuss family marriages and things and say they want plenty of notice before the three of us take the plunge. I assure them they need not worry about me rushing down the aisle in a hurry. I'd like to be the last one in the family to be married off - the first to arrive and the last to leave.

Don't bother reading the papers today. They're all full of trash. 'The agony of Jeremy Thorpe', &c. and 'Marion keeping vigil at husband's graveside', &c.

CB rang at 2.30 and I told her about the weekend. She was amazed that Chris took Carole out. We had a good laugh at the general state of affairs. She is still going strong with Roger. No more to be said about that.

-==-

Monday May 10, 1976


A bright warm day. Boring at work and uneventful. Jeremy Thorpe resigned as Liberal party leader this afternoon, which is no surprise really. After seeing several letters from him to Norman Scott published in this morning's papers it was obvious he had to go. No doubt Cyril Smith will be pushing his way to the front line now.

Meet Carole in Guiseley - quite accidentally of course, and walk with her to Ridgeway where she's going to see Maria. She seemed composed and calm. She was pale and drawn and I made no attempt to act soft with her. She asked me why, on learning of her suicide attempt, I had not sent her a bunch of flowers! I told her quite seriously that circumstances almost made it possible for me to send her a wreath. She called me a 'sod'. I ask her to pass on my regards to Maria, but don't think they'll be conveyed.

Home for tea at 5.30. The news is dominated with Mr Thorpe's resignation. I can't help feeling rather sorry for him. However, the world isn't quite ready for sexually deviant political leaders.

Watch TV all evening and have a bath at 10.15. Finish 'Service with a Smile' by Wodehouse and begin 'Bachelors Anonymous' and retire to bed after midnight.

-==-

20101012

Saturday February 7, 1976


Up at 8.50am which must be the earliest I've been up on a Saturday since I gave up Saturday mornings at the YP last Jan.

Have a bath and get a bus to Carole's. I catch her with a cigarette. She says she was only smoking because she thought I wasn't going to turn up. If she ever gives up I will eat my right ear.

Go to Otley market and buy a £3.95 waist coat which matches my levi-type jeans, and buy a film for my camera.

We got off the bus at Hawksworth Lane and Carole left her suitcase in the luggage rack and we almost lost it for good, but her presence of mind retrieved it within seconds of us alighting.

Set off for Uncle Harry's at 1pm. Stop for a few drinks in Skipton and arrive at Ravenglass at 4.30 or thereabouts. After roast beef and Yorkshire pudding in his wonderful little cottage we go to a local pub - all nine of us - and stay until after 11pm. Carole doesn't say much and I think she finds it hard to communicate with Uncle Harry, who is perhaps too 'deep' for her.

Back at the cottage Harry puts on a Spanish record and raves about it all night. By 1am everyone - except me - are shagged out, and drifting off to different sleeping spots, but Uncle H and I sit by the fire until 4.30 to solve the problems of the world.

He says he won't be around for much longer and if he's still here in five years it will be a miracle. I tell him he is not an alcoholic, but he says he's seen hundreds of men like him on mortuary slabs and that he most certainly is one. 'You see, Michael' he said 'you can tell an alcoholic not by what he drinks, but by what he doesn't eat.'

I do know that Harry has the apetite of a sparrow with stomach cancer. I fear for him very much. Typical, that out of all my uncles my favourite one has to have suicidal ambitions. He's not too late to be cured, but he hasn't the will to live. Other than this we talk about Margaret Thatcher, Airey Neave (who he says is the real power behind Mrs T), communism in Britain, fascism, King Juan Carlos, holidays in Spain, Mr Jeremy Thorpe, homosexuals, and Harold Macmillan. And throughout we have the Spanish LP banging away in the background keeping a good many of the guests upstairs awake.

-==-

20101011

Thursday February 5, 1976


Another wet, horrible day. Work was a load of crap too. Left at 4pm after working through lunch and travel home in daylight which is unusual.

Carole rang me at work whilst I was out of the office. Eileen made it sound urgent and so I rang C at Bradford. She didn't want anything in particular but reminded me she's coming to my place straight from work. (By 'straight from work' of course she means straight after she's spent half the evening round at Maria's gossiping.) Women!

Nothing in the news other than the Jeremy Thorpe affair again, which is getting boring now. The Press get onto a good thing and then go and ruin it by ramming it down our throats.

Carole comes at 6.30 and I make her beans on toast. We then watch 'Top of the Pops' together with Mum & Dad and at 8 0'clock get a bus to the Hare. After messing about for half an hour in the lounge we go through to the tap room where we win £1 on the domino lottery.

Carole is something of a celebrity in the Hare & Hounds tap room because she's the only woman there under 50 years of age and under 18 stone, and the locals look upon her as a second Jayne Mansfield or Raquel Welch.

-==-

Wednesday February 4, 1976


Efficient day at the office because Kathleen is at the Doncaster office for the day visiting the Vivien Nicholson-type female who came over here for the week not too long ago.

Sarah is in high spirits and I may be thick - you've probably known all along - but I think that sometimes she quite fancies me. Don't get me wrong. I've no plans to involve myself with her. No plans at all. Carole is the one for me at the moment.

I write to Carole again (I wrote yesterday) and spend all lunchtime at it.

Sarah and Eileen leave at 4 o'clock and I work with Carol until 4.30.

Marita is on page 1 of the EP! Pictured with her postman. Evidently he sent her a card on her birthday, or something, and her Dad was so touched he wrote to Malcolm Barker, &c &c.

Jeremy Thorpe is asking to resign now (as leader of the Liberal party) and the whole business is becoming more and more involved.

I don't see why he should resign because he's homosexual. If we can have a woman leading the Conservative party and a man leading the Labour party it seems only right and proper that the leader of the Liberal party should be something in-between. The man is a fool for offering to resign in the first place. In these promiscuous times I can't see the public objecting to the sexual escapades of a politician. (I do really. Just trying to write something controversial).

But seriously, Jeremy Thorpe may be a first class politician and I feel sad that he shouldn't have to go simply because he fancies young men with nice legs. After all, just look at Edward Heath. He is as bent as a £12 note but most of the Tory party continue to idolise him two years after his death. They'll be telling us next that Margaret Thatcher is a lesbian.

Home for tea at 5.30 and attempt to get in the bath afterwards which is foolish because John and Susan are on the same caper and they show more cunning that I do.

Carole rings twice. The first time we just have a friendly chat, but on the second call she's near to tears complaining about the way her mother and father treat her. They really are a pair of swines and I tell her to be more ruthless with them. The poor thing is far too soft and servile to fight back. She is coming to tea tomorrow night and we're going out afterwards most likely.

I go to bed with a cup of cocoa at about 10.30 to escape the winter olympics on TV.

-==-

Tuesday February 3, 1976


Busy day at work. Kathleen gets on my nerves at times. She fusses over such ridiculous things. Frustrated - that's what she is. A man would do her the world of good. Maybe a little crude, but true.

Sarah says Delia is planning for the day when I move into her place as a lodger. I thought they were having me on about this, but I actually think they would like me to stay there Monday-Friday when Mum & Dad go to Kirby Malzeard. That's if they ever do go to the Henry Jenkins Inn.

Carole rings this evening - 8.50 actually. She has one of her headaches. These crop up every couple of months or so. I can't figure it out how they keep recurring.

George Waite calls in to see John & is surprised to hear that J is going to beat him to the altar. George is getting married on June 19.

See "Fawlty Towers" starring John Cleese which is fantastically funny. Much better than 'Monty Python' because it's much more mature.

This Jeremy Thorpe affair makes me laugh. I'll write more on the subject later, but you mark my words when I say Jeremy is more involved than he cares to admit. Much, much more.

Bed at about 11.30.



--==--

20091220

Saturday February 22, 1975


Don't climb from 'neath the sheets until 12.05. Take a liberal breakast (not Jeremy Thorpe on toast) then John suggests a trip in the ailing car. We go up to Yeadon, but don't stop, and rocket in the direction of Otley. On our arrival at the place of Thomas Chippendale's birth we seek solace in the Black Bull, a homely ale house of little ostentation, with friendly, genial locals. Only consume one pint each before venturing home.

We spend the remainder of the afternoon with Sue & Pete in the lounge playing a selection of records old and new. Mum in the meantime attempts to bake cakes in the kitchen, and we only realise at tea time to what extent she went to make such a vile creation. If you'd seen the cake you'd certainly realise I'm not exaggerating.

At about 7 I departed to the bathroom with a pair of nail scissors and a mirror. Half an hour later I emerged with a new hair-style - semi-short and shaggy, but quite good really considering.

To the Hare & Hounds again. Dave is home again and once more in our midst. So we were garaunteed an eventful evening. John, Naomi, Andy, Linda, Peter Mather, Carol and her latest friend went to Rockerfellas leaving the remaining people in the Hare until nearly 11. Dave goes off to Mick Orchard's at 11, saying he'll sdee us in two weeks, and the remaining chosen few come back to Pine Tops to see a pathetic film, 'The Reptile'. Bed at 1.30am.

-==-

20091216

Wednesday January 15, 1975


The new Whitaker's Almanack for 1975 fails to give an accurate account of the order of succession to the throne. No mention is made of the little Lascelles baby who, according to the Sunday People, was born in September 1973. This babe of the Hon James and Mrs Lascelles is 21st in line of succession. I'm surprised that the YP haven't done anything on it. But I do suppose that Lord Harewood consulted Mr 'Call me God' Linacre and told him that no report at all would be welcomed by himself and Mrs Jeremy Thorpe and others.

On the subject of minor, forgotten royalty, I'd better mention something about Princess Anne and the new royal personage that never was - Capt. Phillips. The royal pair have recently visited Rowley Hall, ten miles from Hull, in good hunting country - with the intention of purchasing the place. Buckingham Palace officials who lie until they lie about the lies they're said already, say that the princess is looking for a place of her own before they're turned out of Oak Grove in 2 years time. Hull does seem a bit out of the way and off the royal beaten track, but I suppose Mark would like the peace and quiet.

A busy day. Sarah is in better spirits. Kathleen too cheerful - on the verge of hysteria. Argue, in a friendly vein, with Sarah this morning on the subject of that repulsive creature John Stonehouse. She said he's committed no crime in using the name of a dead man to creep off to Australia. Only the other day a bloke was sent to one of Her Majesty's Holiday Camps for doing the very same thing with someone elses passport.

-==-

20091208

Monday October 7, 1974

Weather terrible all day. Read biography of the Prince of Wales all night, with the exception of the 9 o'clock news. Denny rings after 9 to give her impressions of the letter I wrote to her on Saturday. She especially liked the bit about my not writing any more 'in case Auntie Evelyn sees this letter'. She's put one in the post for me, and I should be on the receiving end by tomorrow morning. See the election thing on the TV again, and decide that in this coming General Election I am going to vote Liberal. Neither Mr Wilson or Mr Heath have achieved anything int the past four and a half years, and I'm developing a growing admiration for Jeremy Thorpe. Besides, the liberals have had long enough out of office to have made some decisions about exactly what to do when they get in. (P.S. Harry, the driving instructor, calls after 9 to arrange my future driving lessons with him. I'm to take test on November 20, and have about six lessons before that. Should earn a few bob out of it for himself.)

-==-

20091113

Tuesday September 24, 1974

Typical Autumn day. Very bright, sunny, but cold and chilly.

Nothing in the newspapers worth mentioning, though the electioneering bumf is once more rolling off the Press. Anthony Crosland attacked dear old Margaret Thatcher, who, if I remember correctly, abolished school milk and performed a great, kind service to the millions of little milk-haters throughout the United Kingdom.

Mother says she's lost heart with creepy little Harold (Wilson), and intends placing her vote with Mr Thorpe on Oct 10th.

Marita rings me at the YP in the morning and says she'll be at the Generation Bar in order to celebrate John's birthday tomorrow, and Denny rings in the afternoon to say the same thing. Quite looking forward to Wednesday's birthday gathering in that small ale cellar beneath the Jubilee pub close to Leeds Town Hall. With some relief on my part, though not on John's, tomorrow will see the legalisation of his drinking habits, which have gradually increased over the past 2 years.

Sit watching TV all evening. Nothing other than election rubbish, which deals with speculation that another so-called Labour peer is planning to defect to the Liberals. Harold Wilson refuses even to accept that Lord Chalfont is a member of the Labour party. Cowards way out I say.

That aristocratic drunkard, Lady Jane Wellesley, is making a name for herself in electioneering circles. Her brother Lord Douro is a Tory candidate in the Islington constituency, and she's going round the streets singing slogans and handing out leaflets. The Prince of Wales can hardly marry a girl who has led an active political life, and I suppose this is the straw that'll break the camel's back. Her drinking was bad enough, but this?


-==-

20090616

Friday June 14, 1974

Scorching hot day. Up at 8.30 after a terrible night. Far too warm for comfort. John and Sheila go off to work and I persuade John to leave the house at 10.15. See in the morning papers that the Prince of Wales is dating a 20-year-old American, Laura Jo Watkins, and she was in the House of Lords yesterday to see him make his maiden speech to the peers.

Outside Windsor Castle by 10.20. A crowd gathers to see the goings on. See Edward Heath come, then Jeremy Thorpe and finally Harold Wilson. The Royal procession leaves Victoria Barracks, and 5 princes follow the cortege: the Prince of Wales, Duke of Edinburgh, the new Duke of Gloucester, the Duke of Kent and Prince Michael of Kent. We have a perfect view of the mourners, and they process through Windsor to the castle passing John and I not 3 yards away. Didn't see the Queen because she was already at the castle before the funeral.

Because of the heat John and I return to the house, where we see the funeral on tv.

Later: we take John and Sheila to the Hart and Garter in Windsor for a meal. Very enjoyable, and the bill, excluding wine etc, is only £7.50. Home and bed at 12.

-==-

20090606

Sunday March 17, 1974

3rd in Lent. St Patrick's Day. Out of bed at 12.30 - which is really 11.30 because we altered the clocks at 2am. Truly pathetic. Why should we always be messing about with the precious time I don't know. It seems so wasteful. I've been robbed of an hour.

Nothing much happens today - only the horrid political situation. Mr Heath and Uncle Jeremy all planning to destroy old Wilson tomorrow, and the tv people are getting excited about the possibilities of a constitutional 'nasty'. All the news bulletins are saying the same thing. What will the Queen do with Mr Wilson? Will she send for all the party leaders and let them fight it out at the palace? Quite tiresome really. Anyway, Her Majesty is far away from Buckingham Palace at this moment in time. Indonesia actually. No doubt she'll have to fly back from the clammy temperatures of wherever she is to pat little Harold on the head and say: 'Now then, what's all this then?'


Billy Don't be a Hero by Paper Lace.

-==-

Sunday March 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn British Summer Time begins 3rd Sunday in Lent Bacon sandwiches and the Sunday Telegraph. Fuss about the Queen's visit to ...