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.

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Monday October 13, 1975

Quite busy at work today because Kathleen isn't back until tomorrow and Carol J is away with Brian from the engraving department having a dirty weekend in Blackpool.______.

Her Majesty the Queen returned to London from Balmoral today, and event which coincided with the first sitting of Parliament since the summer recess. John Stonehouse went to the Commons to protest his innocence and was generally ignored by his fellow MPs. So all in all the only person to acknowledge him since his return from Australia is Mary Wilson, wife of beloved Uncle Harold. The old girl must be something of an embarrassment to the Prime Minister at times.

After work I go straight down to Carole's where I find her looking greatly improved. She keeps apologising for something she says she did on Saturday afternoon, but I refuse to accept it because as far as I am concerned she is totally blameless of any misdemeanor. Believe it or not, we sat about on her bed playing Monopoly! It isn't a game I really enjoy, but the invalid seemed to take pleasure in it. Mrs P tried to make me have some tea with them but I flatly refused. I never feel hungry until later on.

Carole is a love. She says she is coming out with me on Wednesday evening because I go south on Thursday. I must bring her a present back from Windsor.

Home at 8.15 and have eggs and bacon. After devouring this I sit about for an hour and go to bed at about 10pm.

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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.

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Tuesday January 14, 1975

As you can see, I have purchased a bottle of ink and can now scribe here in the correct form. I consider it a disgrace to write my journal in rubbishy biro. Future generations don't want to see before them a page written with an instrument of the 20th century far more horrific than the atom bomb and John Stonehouse, MP.

Slade, the pop group came in state to the YP today. A scruffy bunch they are too. Dave Hill is minute, just about reached up to my knees. Sarah and I bumped into them at the top of the staircase on the 2nd floor. They went down by the stairs and we went in the lift. Don Powell, the drummer, was giving everyone filthy looks and to sum up I'd say they fancied themselves.

Home for tea at 6 o'clock. Mum and Dad are out and Lynn makes tea. Quite pleasant it is too. A letter awaits me from David, Thane of Worcester. He's not going to MMs at the weekend which is a big let down. He also had news of MM thinking about leaving poly! Strange tale indeed from my far-off friend.

Christine rang me at the YP. She's arranged everything with Marita and they're meeting in Leeds at 6pm on Friday. We're all getting the train at 6.45 or something like that.

I'm getting excited now. It's only 346 days to Christmas. Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle All the Way! Despatch a reply to David. He had me in stitches about blackmailing me with certain pictures he's got of ____, drawn by me, and passed on to him without thinking of the consequences. Mum and Dad are in Askern I think.

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Saturday December 28, 1974

Death of Mary II, 1694. Feeling quite well, which is unusual for Saturday mornings. Lynn and I sit listening to the radio until 8.0am. This John Stonehouse case is a right bloody fiasco. It makes one wonder just how many other vice-ridden, corrupt sods flock each day to the Palace of Westminster to help govern this nation of ours. It's a nasty embarrassment for 'Uncle' Harold and his so-called Labour party.

Work until 3.30 when I decide to pack up and go. I was only half an hour early - no catastrophe.
John, Sheila and cousin Valerie came after tea, and John and I only had a few minutes with them before departing for Horsforth. The Ratcliffe party commences in the evening and is a tremendous success. The clan meet in the Fleece, a nice little ale house which we rarely visit throughout the drinking year. See June. We don't speak. Miss Bottomley fails to excite my emotions like she did once upon a time.

The party is underway by 10.30 and goes on until 11 the following morning. I can't remember much about the occasion at all, though I do recall a certain enjoyable experience with Christine Braithwaite. I gradually drank myself into a state of semi-consciousness & Denny was the only one who came to my aid. We walked all over Horsforth together and I felt much better afterwards. Home with Lynn, David, Christine Dibb and Denny at 4am.

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