Tuesday February 20, 1979

_. Kathleen is mad. Her very existence entirely justifies the presence in our society of acid bath murderers, insane axe-men and left-wing schizophrenic rapists. ___________________.

Yesterday I met Jacq at lunctime and paid her the customary £5. John phoned tonight. Maria isn't having the baby until August, and so he is delaying bringing her down for the confinement. I don't like the idea of them being up there in that barbaric land. _____________.

Susan cut my hair tonight. No trace of a perm now, and I feel quite smart. It's a sort of Duke of Windsor-John Snagge-Kenneth Kendall-Reggie Maudling-Ian Ogilvy-Roger Moore-King Farouk coiffeur. I've even got a side parting. Mum doesn't like it but says I look like John.


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Wednesday December 3, 1975

The weather was a bit improved today. Basil, the postman, had to admit the the sunrise was one of the best he's ever seen.

I propelled myself in a Leeds direction by train this morning. Jim Rawnsley must have died or something because I haven't laid eyes on him since Friday. Not to worry. He was old anyway.

I met Douglas, from next door, at the station and remind him of our boozing date at 1 o'clock. He says he'll come, but doesn't look all that certain.

Meet Dave outside the Ostlers at 1 o'clock and he says that Douglas isn't coming. After one drink we decide to go round the shops and look for Lynn's present. Dave kept drifting towards windows full of engagement rings, and I kept having to bring the poor lad back to his senses. However, when the day eventually dawns when he and Lynn want to make fools of themselves at the altar I certainly won't haul him away from the ring shops because he will make a good brother-in-law. Do I hear wedding bells? (I know you're all bloody sick of me throwing in that cliche, so why don't any of you have the guts to admit it?)

At home tonight I busy myself industriously. Press trousers by the score and take up the hem (of a pair of trousers). Carole rang at least three times (bless her) and I am disturbed to hear that her brother has hit her and given her a bruising. The swine will feel the full weight of my fist in his throat if he does so much as raise his fist in her direction again. These 16 year-old adolescents want watching good and proper.

I sit down and watch the 10 o'clock news on ITV which is appallingly done (or is it apallingly?) It was badly done anyway. It may sound snobbish and 'Olde Worlde' but it takes a lot to beat the good old BBC. I could read the news better than Reginald Bosanquet and Sandy Gall put together, and in saying that I'm insulting myself really. John Snagge would turn in his grave if he were dead.


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Sunday November 3, 1974

21st after Trinity. Wake at 11.30 and lay in bed with the radio on until after 12. Nice lunch again, followed by a hideous Danny Kaye film on TV which put the dampeners on everything.John goes with Mum and Dad to Bradford to collect his car which somebody's been trying to fix since before Adam was a lad. Lynn sits in her room doing her college homework and Alison and I sit in the dining room catching quick bursts of recitals of Lynn's essays from upstairs. (Yes folks, I do have a sister who talks to herself). A good afternoon, but uneventful.

Decide to go out quite alone tonight and never intend going out with Lynne again. The infatuation is over at last after 27 days. Just before John and I go to the Hare, Lynne rings from Harrogate and says she may be going to the Hare with her friend (in her car) at about 9 o'clock. I say little and make it quite obvious that I don't care what she does with herself. Dave Baker brings Lynn and Carol, and Chris comes very late as usual. Ray brings a college friend called John and so too comes Laura with that big-headed swine, Martin. All back to Pine Tops for coffee.

Carol was behaving most oddly tonight and never made any attempt to communicate with poor John. Bed after reading 'Lord Emsworth & Others'. (PS - Lynne went at 10.30 and said goodbye as if she was a bishop leaving a village fete after performing the opening ceremony. What else can one possibly say?)

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