Showing posts with label kathleen rainford. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kathleen rainford. Show all posts

20191016

Wednesday September 12, 1979

_. Mama got me out of bed at 10 because I had instructed her to do so. After toast and marmalade I took up an axe, a saw and a spade and headed for the garden where I executed a boring, dominating willow tree [not of the weeping variety]. I received quite a few blisters for my labours and was sweating like an Olympic marathon runner. The root was a bugger and refused to give in, but neither did I, and the human element won. We humans are much more intelligent than trees..... Or are we?
Do trees blow one another to pieces in Ireland? Do grown up trees batter their saplings until they are unrecognisable? Do trees drop atomic bombs on Japan? But on the other hand did the horse chestnut tree paint 'The Last Supper' or did a Scots pine invent the electric light?

Dave L phoned again. He asks me to get him a ticket for Marita to see Dame Edna in Leeds on November 27. It's going to cost me £3 on Thursday but I do suppose Dave will cough up with the money when I see him next. I haven't seen Marita for months.

To the YP at 4:30. Kathleen had been on her own all afternoon because Carol J and Sarah were at a YP Literary luncheon. Little Gilberto from Chile is a good lad really. Kathleen insists on calling him 'Al' for some reason. His name is Gilberto. Wendy disappeared at nine for a liaison with her boyfriend and I got the bus home at 10.

Took to my bed at 11:30 and could not decide what to read.  Blimey, it was windy outside.

-=-


20190617

Wednesday August 22, 1979

_. Slept until lunchtime which is annoying. The day has passed me by. Out in the garden with Papa. He wants to move a large conifer tree from the front to the back. The offending tree is about 8ft tall and I fear for its future. My researches show that coniferous bushes are hardy, with close-knit roots. So, roll on transplant time.

To the YP at 4:30 and hear from Kathleen about of Chilean work-mate. He goes by the name of Alfredo [sic] Hernandez. ___________.

Home at 12 in a taxi driven by a poor misguided soul who tomorrow is packing everything in, quitting our shores, and removing himself to a far flung and obscure corner of the Empire called New Zealand. Blimey, I thought we had stopped doing such hideous exoduses back in the 1960s. I'd sooner emigrate to Saturn or Washington New Town. He [the taxi driver] no doubt thinks that the streets of Wellington are paved with gold.  Ate, and then bed at 1am.

-=-

20190614

Friday August 10, 1979

_. Gruesome headache. Did very little all morning and sat at my desk feeling sick and shattered. Kathleen is away, at Auntie Mary's funeral, which is convenient. I sat at my desk, with my feet up blatantly reading volume 2 of Churchill's 'History of the English Speaking Peoples' and praising God that Mrs Mary McHale had chosen this day to be reunited with her dear husband Tom. R.I.P.

To lunch with Sarah and Eileen to Da Mario's for pizzas. Shared a table with a couple of wasteful creatures who poked and prodded at their food with a total lack of interest. I felt nauseous. Leaving the restaurant we bumped into Jacq at a bus stop. ___________.

This evening Ally and I decided upon a pub crawl. We did the Hare and Hounds [I spoke to Judith], the White Cross, the Shoulder of Mutton, the Commercial [Annie and Ron Lindley have gone taking all with them]. Home at 10:50 to watch the Marx Brothers in 'Duck Soup' - excellent. Bed at 1:20.

-=-


20170906

Friday April 27, 1979

Felt acutely rough all day. Kathleen laughed at my condition. I determine to stay by my own fireside tonight. I was horrified looking into my wallet this morning. I spent £10 last night at the Elma and at Oakwood (Hall). 

Speaking to Dave W I told him that last Thursday was my very last 'Thursday night with the lads'. ___________.

So, tonight I stuck to my resolve and sat like a chunk of vegetation before the TV set. The Queen was involved in a road accident en route from Heathrow to Windsor this evening. She wasn't injured but her chauffeur-driven Rover was badly pranged. A spokesman said Her Majesty was unshaken by the incident, but I suspect she must live in fear of kidnap by the IRA.

Bed at 1am.

-=-

20170213

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.


-=-

20160324

Wednesday January 17, 1979

Deep snow this morning. Got in Jim Rawnsley's car at 8:10 & we didn't get to the YP until after 10. Two bloody hours just to go 10 feeble miles. I do believe I have walked home from the centre of Leeds in a similar length of time.

Little Jennie is improving and becoming more tolerable, but it may be because I've resigned myself to the fact.

I failed to mention that David G returned to Stockport on Monday by the 9:30 coach from Leeds.

At the YP: the NUJ are returning to work on Monday and the prospects are not thrilling. Our card playing afternoons in the cathedral~like atmosphere of what was a busy newsroom are sadly, numbered. Kathleen is aware of our latest craze and Sarah thinks our beloved boss is saving up her accusations until a suitable day of reckoning can be chosen. _________.

Malcolm Barker: rocketed in my estimation.
Malcolm Barker has rocketed in my estimation since the beginning oh hostilities with the NUJ. No longer will I regard him as an ale swilling hyper-thyroid editor full of his own importance. Malcolm is indeed a saint, and I for one am 100 per cent behind him. Three cheers and all that. Indeed, we chatter away now like old pals. He's no longer the terrifying boss of my youth.



Home at 5pm. Snow has given way to pouring rain. Eat moussaka, heavily laden with garlic. Poor Susan complained about the after-effects all night.  One thing's for certain, Count Dracula won't be taking her for his gruesome band this dark evening.

Alison Dixon is coming up on Friday, but it's all a big secret from Lynn & Dave. It will be great to see her again. Mum, who spoke to her today, says she sounded cheerful. Retired to bed at 11:37pm. Early eh?

-=-

20140731

Thursday December 21, 1978

Sorry about this ink ~ but my faithful fountain pen is missing.

Back to the YP. Not at all festive. In fact Kathleen was quite dull. She's usually all child~like and giddy at this time of year.

Left work at 1pm and concluded my shopping at Schofield's. I purchased a wonderful Ian Dury single ~ "Rhythm Stick" and made my way home.

Susan and Peter were flat out on the settee ~ both suffering from colds. Peter was too ill to go out tonight. This stunned me. He went home at 5:30 taking me down the lane with him. It's deep in soddin' snow.

I almost froze to death on the bus. The vehicle rattled and shivered on its miserable journey to Horsforth.

To Bibi's in Leeds after having a double whisky at the Leisure Centre. It was the usual YP Library "do". Boring really. On with Sarah, Carol J, and Monica to the Regent at Chapel Allerton ~ the usual cattle market.

Slept in the Pink Suite at Ivory Towers ~ quite a laugh.

-=-

20140724

Tuesday December 12, 1978

I have just been summoned to thee bathroom by Susie who is sitting in a hot bath in complete darkness. "Michael, the bulb's just gone" she moaned. "Go and catch it then" answered I, closing the door. She was splashing hopelessly in the inky black depths. It could have proved nasty if she'd been practicing hand stands in the bath or embroidering a bed~spread whilst soaking.

Enoch Powell: fascist tendencies ...
Have you heard about the ridiculous Enoch Powell's controversial statement on the possible marriage of the Prince of Wales with a lady of Roman Catholic inclinations? The old fool ought to be shot. Obviously, we don't want to the next Queen Consort giving her allegiance to the Pope, but Powell, a Ulster Unionist MP with a little moustache and fascist tendencies is stirring up trouble. I feel sure that the prince is well aware of the impracticality of his marrying a Roman Catholic and do suppose he has no intention of doing so. I am going to state again ~ quite categorically ~ that HRH The Prince of Wales will marry an English rose from the aristocracy or landed gentry (if you can define the two) and in all probability he hasn't even met her yet.

Sarah and I are not having a half~day off together on Friday after all. I'm taking the day off and she's taking Thursday off. It's all part of Kathleen's strike measures. Stupid if you ask me.

Told Sarah that CB is accompanying me to Carol's party on Dec 23, and she didn't look thrilled. She is going with Richard Burke and I haven't complained about that. Anyway, I dislike the Regent (Chapel Allerton) and by going with Christine we can spend most of the evening at the Fox.

-=-

20131209

Tuesday November 14, 1978

Full Moon 20:00 Birthday of the Prince of Wales

Thirtieth Birthday if His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales. Once again the poor guy is being bombarded by the Press and tv on the painful subject of Her future Royal Highness The Princess of Wales. It's quite obvious that the prince is biding his time and if you ask me I believe he has yet to meet the love of his life. Once he finds her I am sure he won't dither for long because the press will soon sniff her out. Come home Davina Sheffield ~ all is forgiven. She was my favourite. Poor old Wales, he must be totally sick of this idle nattering and speculation.

At the YP Kathleen remarked that I was being quiet and subdued. Why is this depression hanging so heavily over my over~worked brain? ___________________. Jacq phoned at 11. We are meeting at the Ostler's tomorrow.

Sue gave me an invitation from Naomi's friend Jill to attend her 21st (birthday party) at the Elmer next Monday night. I believe Jill is the large, well~made buxom maiden, with the big, pink, flaccid spectacles. (Ah, you thought I was going to say thighs, didn't you?)

Which lucky lady will have the honour of acting as my escort? Christine is an obvious candidate, but sadly she knows nothing of my plans as yet. Things could prove awkward, for instance, if she's down to work at the Fox (and Hounds) or is committed to a previous engagement with one of the many fellows would could be called rivals if it wasn't for the fact that Michael Rhodes has no rivals. The Philip Birdgarden's of this world grovel in the mud and slime at the foot of the colossus of my column. However, in the event of Christine making the wrong decision I could always see if Sarah will come along. She'd like the Elmer I'm sure, and I do believe Mondays are quite free (entry).

-=-



20131116

Wednesday October 11, 1978

Day of Atonement {Yom Kippur}

I took a half day today. And yes it's a free and illicit one because our beloved leader is in a pub somewhere on the banks of Lake Windermere.

A wonderful, hot afternoon. I headed into the garden with my volume 'Hitler' tucked under my arm. For the biggest part of the afternoon I read and then launched an assault on the record player.

Today is Yom Kippur. Unsure, but believe it's the national kipper packers' holiday and fishmongers everywhere are happily heading to the seaside.

Tonight I hit the pillow at 12 o'clock but was awakened at 2 by the sound of Mum and Dad fighting (verbally). I lay listening to this buffoonery for almost an hour. Eventually, Dad grabbed a sleeping bag and headed for the bathroom and dropped down on the carpet. Mum followed him begging him to quit this ridiculous vigil. She came to my room and asked me to do something. What can you say to a grown man clinging with dear life to the bath taps? Sue was disturbed too. This farce dragged on half the night. Fools.

-=-

20131115

Monday October 9, 1978

Jacq phones to say her gorgeous friend Lynda is off work with a bad back and jokingly asks what I did with her in the garden to put her in that condition.

Kathleen has gone to the Lake District for a week. Her plan has back~fired. She booked the week off thinking a general election would have been taking place this Thursday.

The Daily Mail says the goddess Princess Michael of Kent is going to have a baby in April. We shall have to wait for the official notification of this addition to the Royal House of Windsor.

Mum and Dad have squabbled about something and refuse to speak. They sat in stony silence all night while I watched "Till Death Us Do Part" the 1969 film of the famous tv series. It's obnoxious. Bed at 11:30. Poor Alison.

-=-

20130617

Wednesday June 7, 1978

Her Majesty the Queen celebrated her (Silver) Jubilee one year ago today. Our poor, overworked monarch has a nasty duty ahead of her next week. She has to entertain the 'unspellable' president of Romania at the palace for three or four tortuous days and I don't think HM will be looking forward with an pleasure to this. Wasn't HM's great-aunt Helen, a princess of Edinburgh, and granddaughter of Queen Victoria, Queen of Romania? Helen wed into that shaky Balkan monarchy which fell in 1947. However, if the said president's visit helps Mr Callagas sell a couple of verticle take-off planes to the commies it will all have been worthwhile.

Anyway, Sarah finally got away today. Can you believe that her grandmother stood on a red table in the garden in Horsforth waving franticly as Sarah and Delia flew off from Yeadon? Such a pleasant, Goon-like sight that must have been.

The YP is hell without my whistling knee-grasping companion. Kathleen ought to retire _____________.

20130612

Wednesday May 10, 1978

A hot day. I have a red face after last night under the sun ray lamp.

Had an interesting conversation with Kathleen this morning on the subject of political assassinations and kidnapping. She mocked and ridiculed me when I said an 'Aldo Moro situation' could easily arise in this country. For instance, old Harold Macmillan could be snatched from his bed tonight and murdered and six weeks later his body could be dumped in Mayfair. This, in violent 1978 is no preposterous, hypothetical statement. Kathleen screamed with laughter, saying political horrors of this natured originated in Britain and that we have now tired of killing our elder statesmen. To illustrate her argument she said: "Look at Spencer Perceval for instance."

I think she's missing the point. The antics of bewigged 18th century politicians cannot be likened to Red Brigade terrorist atrocities in Italy. It is only a matter of time before a leading British politician is held hostage by a fanatical English (or Irish) group.

Sarah and I howled as Kathleen ranted on about the Black and Tans and Carson, Spencer Perceval's assassination and the plight of Marie Antoinette.

"Go eat cake", Kathleen, dear, that's my advice to you.

It was announced at 2:30 that Princess Margaret and the Earl of Snowdon are to divorce. It seems that Tony wishes to marry Lucy Lindsay-Hogg.

I cannot imagine the Princess marrying Roddy Llewellyn following the recent attacks upon her and her way of life. What with this and the fact that she's still hospitalized with gastroentiritis I don't think the Queen's sister will be a very happy woman today.

Have had pleasant transport experiences this week. British Rail have enjoyed my company on several mornings and nights (except Monday) and Papa accompanied me yesterday and today. The fare to Leeds is now 37p one way for me. I do believe that in the early 70s I only used to pay 44p return. The robbing pigs.

A letter from David L awaits me tonight. He simply says he's using Dad as a reference for a job in general management at Littlewood's. He's applied for a job there. Poor David's become so disillusioned with teaching. I am sure that the responsibility has aged him.

I phoned Jacq at 7:10pm. She was out. I'll bet some Greek has her out somewhere in a wine bar. They are invariably called Panos.

Ursula phoned several times tonight with enquiries about Princess Margaret's divorce. (i) How many royals have divorced since King Henry VIII? (ii) Could Lord Harewood's illegitimate son, Mark Lascelles, ever be King of England? (iii) Did King George IV divorce Queen Caroline?

I told her about Princess Marie Louise's divorce from Aribert of Anhalt in 1900, and Princess Victoria Melita's divorce in 1901 from the Grand Duke of Hesse. Both these women were granddaughters of Queen Victoria. I told her that Mark Lascelles was excluded from the line of succession, and on George IV's divorce I told her that Caroline died whilst the trial was still going on in 1821, and so, no.

However, Margaret's divorce is the closest in relationship to the monarch since Tudor times.

Saw 'The Winslow Boy' on tv tonight starring Eric Porter and the Dotrice female. It was excellent.

To bed with a sun-tanned glowing face at 11:35.

-=-







20130204

Friday February 17, 1978

Sarah.
Hangover all morning. Sarah and I went to the Highlander for a few drinks at lunchtime and it helps to clear my head nicely. We arrived back at the YP at 2:30 to a frosty reception from Kathleen. It's always the same when we leave Carol alone. She always pulls Kathleen to one side in order to blacken our characters, and K falls for it every time. Sarah went home at 4 half pissed. She and John Mac are hitting it off. She tells me she's never been out with anyone quite so calm as John. _______.

No call from Jimmy Mac this evening and so 'Operation Drop' is abandoned. I loathe that pub anyway.

Lynn phoned me at work to tell me Mum and Dad have gone to Ambleside for the weekend and won't be home until Sunday night.

At home Sue is getting ready to go out and is drinking cherry wine by the half pint. By 8 o'clock she'd sunk the whole bottle. It's good to see I'm not the only piss artist in the family. By 'going out' time David is not back from Gloucester and so I went to the Fox & Hounds with Sue and Pete. Joined by Pete M, Chris, Martyn and Tony. My boots were received with the usual wisecracks. At 10:30 I went with Sue and Pete for some food and came home. It was cold tonight. I was compelled to drink whisky.

-=-

20130131

Friday February 10, 1978

Mike Holman's party at the Wellesley. Sarah, John MacM and I went from the YP at 6, but first I must say something about the catastrophic day.

At breakfast I decided to go by train to the vast metropolis that is Leeds. On the train I discovered, with horror, that my jeans had split open and that I was revealing all and everything to the Ilkley/Leeds inter city travellers. The woman in the seat opposite me certainly got her 37p worth. It was a good thing I had an old pair of pants at the office to change into. My arrival at the YP was received with some hilarity. Kathleen's eyes shone with delight at my predicament.

Finding my pre-war trousers incompatible with the 1978 way of life I went at lunchtime to Schofield's where I purchased a new zip fastener, a needle and cotton. Sarah did the seamstress bit after Kathleen's departure and by 5:30 I was once again clad in my faithful jeans. Good old Sarah.

Anyway, back to Mike Holman's party. The first two or three hours were somewhat dull. The booze flowed like the Danube, River Trent and Lake Windermere merged into one. Sarah and John Mac were soon pink and giggly on gin and we endured Edna Mason's dramatic entry which would have brought colour to Shakespeare's cheeks. However, things cheered up with the arrival of Tom Greenwell's assistant leader writer who is insane. He had us rolling uncontrollably in heaps on the floor. All the man could talk about was the Republic of Upper Volta and rabbit breeding.

Ursula, Wendy and others poured in and of course John Cameron, who said I'd make a nice lad once I reach puberty. Very amusing is Mr Cameron. At some unearthly hour we returned to the YP and drank in the editor's office from crates of warm, bottled beer. The little men from the Wire Room were amusing and told me things about Edna Mason that cannot appear here. Chris Oakley made a good speech for Mike and we consumed more beer before Wendy grabbed me and brought me home to Guiseley. It must have been 2:00am.

-=-

20130109

Tuesday January 17, 1978

I went out to work at my usual hour and woke up eight hours later on my own doorstep with my hair ruffled and my clothing in a state of disarray  carrying in one hand a bloody axe (dripping blood all over the pathway) and bearing in the other blood stained hand the head of Miss Kathleen Rainford, a former librarian.

I must have flipped my lid behind a filing cabinet, or something. The police were on the scene within minutes and Assistant Chief Constable Ron Buttock, CID (Crime) formally charged me with unlawfully removing a librarian's head during library hours.

My five minute appearance at Otley Magistrates Court was one of a historic nature. The Lord Chancellor (defending) wept openly as Donald Best, JP, presiding magistrate, found me guilty on eight counts of head removing in office hours. Bail was refused and although reporting restrictions were not lifted, Mrs Doris Watkins skirt was.

Goodnight.

-=-

20121206

Wednesday November 30, 1977

St Andrew's Day. A ghastly day. Just Kathleen and I in to do all the work. By 4:30 I was dead to the world. Didn't even have time to take a lunch break. I phoned Lynn this morning to enquire about acquiring a morning coat with tails from one of her mad associates. She settled it straight away and this saves me £8 or £9. Sisters can be very useful at times.

Striking firemen (1977).
______. This morning Jim Rawnsley gave a lecture on his view of the firemen's strike. He really let rip. He thinks all the striking firemen should be put up against a wall and shot. Blimey, we don't live in Chile or Argentina, Jim! (I almost said Spain here, but they are becoming more sensible and non-reactionary lately).

Got home at 5 o'clock. Mum and Dad are back from Luton. The funeral isn't until Tuesday and so they brought Edith & Ernest home too. They're going back on Monday.

I phoned John G in Rawtenstall. He is very well, in case you're interested.

Change of ink from red to black: I feel a little 'off it'. Almost as though I have a cold coming. In the bath at about 11. My neck aches. If it becomes any more painful I won't hesitate to chuck in work tomorrow.

-=-

20121122

Tuesday November 8, 1977

Quite a good day at the YP. A new journalist, John Longman, came into the library and I spent the day with him showing him the ropes. He seems quite a decent sort really.

Kathleen was in a strangely pleasant and unruffled mood. Is her sailor boyfriend in harbour at the moment, one wonders?

Princess Anne: married stableboy.
Read in the papers that Princess Anne is going to be delivered of the young Mr Phillips in hospital, probably the King Edward VII Hospital for Officers. So very sad and a horrid departure from tradition. Young Lord Ulster and Lord Nicholas Windsor were hospital born but no other royals so near the Throne have been. Ah well, I suppose somebody somewhere will call it the march of progress.

I heard, with horror and nausea, Kenneth Kendal announce on the nine o'clock news, that Princess Anne's child will not receive a title of any kind and will be known simply as Master or Miss Phillips. Born in a common hospital, and without a title! What a let down. My God, 'Private Eye' was right when it said, two or three years ago, that Gt Britain's decline could be traced to the sad day when Princess Anne married her stableboy. As the years go by I rely more and more on the deliberations of that knowledgeable organ, 'the Eye'.

Mum and Dad went to the Cow & Calf with John and Maria at 8.30 and did not return until almost 1am. ____. Afterwards they took refreshment at 69, Silverdale Drive. ______.

-=-

20120819

Friday September 9, 1977

Busy at the YP. Just Kathleen and I. However, after eight hours toiling we were still living and I was out and finished for the weekend.

Tony took John and Maria to Blackpool for the day, and he rang at 6 to say he'd be over in a couple of hours with Martyn. To the Harrogate Arms where we met Naomi, Carolle Jones, Graham Peel, the Royal We, Carole, Fogarty, Dave Lazenby, Ron (Denise's Ron), and others. I just didn't feel right. Was sick to death of everyone. __________. Miss Phillips was a pain in the neck. Why does she have to be so bloody childish? Oh, what does it matter anyway? In 200 years time who'll give a damn? Three pints later we left for home.I informed them of my visit to Harewood next Friday. They want tickets too, but when I say they're £8 they fall into a silence. I say I'm staying in tomorrow, but neither believed me I think.

Mum and Dad were watching an ancient film 'Family Way' and I plonked myself down with them.

-==-

20120817

Tuesday September 6, 1977

Lady Jane Wellesley
Chatting with Uncle Harry tonight we decided to form a new political party. The National Rhodes Party, or the NRP. I'm going to be chancellor, Mum is going to put on her big hat and make history by being the first woman Home Secretary, and Uncle H is earmarked for Prime Minister. The small moustache and grey hair are his credentials. We haven't yet decided just what job Dad will fill, but no doubt we'll come up with something. A good idea, don't you think? We would do a damn sight better than Mr Callaghan and Company, of this I'm sure.


The YP was up to its usual standard. Kathleen was a pain in the neck and Sarah was in a ghastly mood all day. So we had quite a cheerful time of it.

Harry: Prime Minister.

One of the papers (the Sun, I think) says Lady Jane Wellesley is back on the scene with the Prince of Wales. The woman is in her 27th year and I hardly think she's up to any rigorous sessions of child-bearing which will of course be necessary if she marries the heir. Besides, we don't want a Queen with ________.Will she do for Prince Andrew, perhaps?


Watched TV tonight. Mum, Dad and Harry went to the Commercial for a quick one, and it was on their arrival home at 10.30 that the plans for Britain's new political leadership emerged.

-=-

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 ...