Sunday April 17, 1977

Low Sunday. Come to think of it, I didn't feel particularly high today. Don't get me wrong, I'm not really 'low' but I have been 'higher' at former times of my existence. For instance, I was very 'high' on New Year's Eve. Oh, belt up, you fool.

John brought the car up (it ceased to function this morning) and he spent all day with Dad and Dave B messing about with it in sub-Spring-like temperatures on the drive. I read 'Your Dear Letter'. Watched a Margaret Rutherford/Alastair Sim epic. Films of this nature are usually about half way through when Dad comes in and rolls on the floor moaning: 'now you know why so many cinemas closed down in the 1950s'. I happen to like old films.

To the YP this evening. Yes, work. Low Sunday really fits now. Nothing of interest at the YP. Get on with Ursula so very well but need not comment on it here.

Saturday's nationals all fell for the Kensington Palace  'deliberate mistake' re the so-called 'Lord Culloden' fiasco. The Times especially went on to comment on what a delightful title it is, and how apt it should come back into circulation in this year, the 230th since the death of the Duke of Monmouth (sic) lost in battle there. Bollocks, if you pardon my expression.

Taxi home at 11.30pm. The driver seemed quite normal. Oh yes, I do get odd cab drivers occasionally. On particularly odd, at the forefront of my mind, considers himself to be the world's greatest living expert on snakes, and advised me how successfully to run away from one if I'm ever suddenly confronted by a venomous creature. Another is a qualified meteorologist. These cabbies trap innocent, sleepy victims, such as I, and proceed to pour out their secret plans for world domination. Oh, yes. I've met the next Adolf Hitler on several occasions en route from Leeds to Guiseley. What is worse some even attempt to be amusing.

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Sunday April 25, 1976

Low Sunday. Out of bed at 11.30am feeling quite fit. I am worried about yesterday's performance (vomit, &c) and realise only too well that I may be getting out of the habit of being pissed. Friday night was always a good night at Wikis and the following day rarely saw me with such after effects and ailments. Am I just getting out of the habit or simply too old for staying up half the night? It can't be the latter.

Sue and Lynn go out at lunchtime which leaves me alone with Mum & Dad. I wash the dishes and clear up in general which must be a flag day. Carole comes at 3pm and after sitting for half an hour without uttering a single syllable we drift off down Thorpe Lane and into Guiseley - an action packed place on Sunday afternoons.

I get a bus at about 4.30. Carole and I are definately heading for the rocks and even she is realising it now. Work 5-11. Scive off an hour early and arrive home to find everyone fast asleep. Devour half a can of baked beans. Certainly a thrilling, exciting day to remember isn't it?

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Sunday April 29, 1973

Low Sunday. Get up at 9.30. Early for Sundays. Beautiful day. Hot sun. Unfortunately I have to sit and do my international trade essay - from 10.30 till 1.30.

After lunch I go out and cut all the lawns. The birds were singing. The sky as blue as Wedgwood.
Oh why can't they weather always be like this?

Come in and sit with John who is watching "Goodbye Mr Chips", the film made in 1783 starring Charles Boyer, Mae West and Dame Laurence Olivier, etc. "Wot a load 'o rubbish". He then goes on to watch the 1903 version of "The Diary of Anne Frank", the girl who lived for 2 years in an attic cupboard and was eventually found by the Nazis, convicted and put to death for being a Jew. What a way to spend a hot, Sunday afternoon.

Mum makes tea of salad and then goes for a ride with Father. The girls go to Ally's for a couple of rounds of Badminton. John and I prepare for out trek to the Emmotts. I have a bath. Dave rings at 7.00. I am still in the bath. John takes the message that Dave isn't going out. I think: "what the bloody hell's wrong with him?" I get out the bath and ring Dave. I persuade him to come out. He picks me up at 8.10. Arrive E.at 8.30. June arrives simultaneously. E. very full. June looks delightful. We go on to the Tudor Bar, Burley, at 9 o'clock. Very posh, but full of teeny-boppers. Don'y like it very much. Came back to E. at 9.50. Stay an hour. Dave takes June to Horsforth. We secretly follow her to Featherbank Lane. She mustn't want us to see the house where she lives. She's so sweet. Come home at 11.10. Mum and Dad and the girls just retiring. John and I watch television. Come to bed at 12.30. Wore my new "bunny" for the first time. June thinks it's cute.

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