Tuesday August 14, 1979

_. Dull day. I won't bore you with the details of the office. Later, Ally and I sitting on a sofa. Imagine the scene. She's reading 'Decline and Fall', and I'm eating perhaps the juiciest, squirty orange ever grown. Ally is soaked in orange juice, pips dangling from her perm, the pages of Evelyn Waugh's masterpiece stuck together.

Ally started reading 'Watership Down' but didn't get past page 18. I can understand why.

In the news: Princess Margaret and Roddy Llewellyn are on holiday in Marbella. They flew out 'incognito'  to a villa owned by the Philippines ambassador to the UK. When will she make a honest man of him?

Poor, maligned Princess Anne enters her thirtieth year tomorrow. Since her marriage to 'Fog' Phillips [fog because according to Charles he's 'thick and wet'] she has gone into a steady decline in the affections of the public. According to a new biography she and the Prince of Wales hate each other, and the prince resents Mark Phillips, considering him to be of low intelligence.

-=-

Tuesday November 15, 1977

Princess Anne gave birth to a son at 10:46 this morning. The news came into the office about half an hour later. Master Phillips weighed in at 7lb 9oz and he is fifth in line of succession to the Throne. I never doubted that the child would be male. The only sadness is that he is born without a title. On the six o'clock news we saw a 61 gun salute on Tower Hill. The captain was with HRH for the birth. Great news, anyway. Long Live the House of Windsor! (7pm).

Now you will probably be physically sick at what I am about to relate. Are you sitting comfortably and suitably close to a bucket, and in a strong chair and with a large glass of Scotch close at hand? No, it's just that I'm still battling through a certain library book and I'm only on page 785. Alexandre Dumas needs a kick in the rear.

Back to the Royal baby (11.45pm). On the nine o'clock news we saw the Queen leaving St Mary's Hospital, Paddington, after visiting Princess Anne and her grandson for half an hour. She looked very, very happy. Dad was listening to Mum and I discussing possible names and made a few suggestions of his own. Master Elvis Phillips was one, and Bing Phillips another. Mum says John, Charles and Philip will feature, and I'm sure Charles will be in there somewhere but can't imagine Philip Phillips. Other old favourites spring to mind like George, Edward, even William or Richard - and Andrew after the prince of that name. Oh, it's bloody wide open really. Mark Junior, perhaps?  Mark Phillips seemed to be hideously unprepared for confronting the media this evening. His speech, or lack of it, has become much worse and his embarrassment even made Angela Rippon go a bright shade of pink.

Watched TV after diving into the bath. Saw a play on the BBC which almost put me off my supper. Unadulterated violence and bad language.

-=-

Friday Apirl 8, 1977

Good Friday. Helen Malin, 23. Out of bed at 10.30 this morning. The sun is shining down merrily too. Why not go out for a walk, Michael, and feel all that warmth on your little legs? Yes, I will. I go down into Guiseley and purchase a birthday card for dearest Judith. I then sauntered round to Bedside Manor to deliver up my greetings card in person with strict instructions for her not to open it yet. In fact, I'd slipped a letter in with it and had to partially write it in the telephone box on Fieldhead Road and partly on the footpath outside Guiseley School.

Judith entertains me to coffee but looks ill because she has fallen foul of her dentist earlier this week, and her wisdom teeth had been extracted on my birthday, of all days.

Old photographs and her cat were the principal subjects discussed at great length.

I went home for a non-existent lunch with Mama, who is in a foul mood. (Dad is still on his back under the car all covered in motor oil). Mum's mood worsens and the combined effects of her miserable face and the film 'South Pacific' didn't do much for morale. But at 5 o'clock, as if by magic, the film was interrupted by a news flash and a smiling Richard Baker announces that Princess Anne is expecting a baby in November. Joyous news indeed. For such an announcement to come on Helen Malin's birthday is fate indeed. I believe we have a bet on Princess Anne's maternity dates. Fancy. The Queen a grandmama! Good Old Captain Phillips. I was beginning to doubt his masculinity somewhat. Three cheers for them all.

High Society

John and Maria come up at 6.30 for ten minutes. John's car is also knackered. Even as I write this I can hear Mama blowing her mind over her fish pie in the kitchen.

Devouring my (fish) pie I decided to remain in front of the television tonight and not to venture out to the pub, as tradition demands. Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you. My decision has nothing to do with Princess Anne's good news either. I am not clad in my Union Jack underpants and clutching my postcard of Anne and Mark's wedding. My decision was due to the BBC. Yes, a tv series about slavery that's brought the USA to a stand still - called 'Roots'. The household is in great holiday furore. Not a morsel of food or drink in the place because you know what mother's are like when it comes to leaving grub kicking around in the fridge for more than 24 hours with no one in the house to eat it? Dust is flying from suitcases, windjammers, thermos flasks, cotton nappies, &c.

Mum discusses stopping at a pub for lunch tomorrow. "What about the baby?" I ask. "Oh, we're bona fide friends". Eh?  "Well", continued mother yawning "JPH has small bona fides". Too much for me is all that.

By 11 we're watching a film starring Twiggy - Mama and Papa having retired to bed. Princess Grace and Bing Crosby are on the other channel in that smashing epic they usually put on at Christmas - 'High Society'. What this film has in common with the birth or death of Jesus Christ I simply don't know.

-=-

Wednesday August 18, 1976

Sarah [Collis] & Peter [Baker] come over at 8 o'clock. The three of us go see John & Maria where they inspect the rabbits and introduce Lucy [Sarah's shih tzu] to Prince [Maria's King Charles spaniel]. John gives Peter blank looks when the latter attempts to lassoo the dogs with Lucy's lead, but Sarah & I just laugh. Neither John or Maria seem impressed with Peter. Much too 'kinky' and childish I fear. The three of us leave at 9.15 and go to the Fox & Hounds, and then move on to the Horsforth Leisure Centre where they show me round the place. See Marilyn [Wheeler] playing squash. Afterwards we go to Brian's the fish and chip shop at Headingley, and devour large quantities of food. Peter, because he doesn't really know me, thinks I'm the type who enjoys listening to jokes. I do not. I find difficulty in laughing at tales of Irish citizens visiting brothels, and other outrageous anecdotes of the sexual activities of nuns, and coarse, unwholesome rhyms about Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs. However, Peter is a good laugh, despite the nasty things he said about Capt Mark Phillips. Evidently, they [he and the captain] were at Marlborough together, and Mark's sexual frolics were far from healthy.

-==-

Thursday November 13, 1975

A cold, crisp, typical autumn morn. To Leeds with Jim. I don't know what I'll do when the day dawns when I find myself Jim Rawnsleyless. The man has been like a chauffeur to me for the best part of three years, and the thought of actually driving myself to work or catching a revolting bus is too bad a thing to even be considered. They don't make good servants like him anymore, you know. They are a dying breed and the world will be a less happier place when they are no more.

Finish at 12. Christine B rings. She's working in Leeds until the end of the month and says we'll have to meet one lunchtime for a pub crawl. I let out a burst of hideous, nervous laughter when she says she and Philip are meeting this lunchtime for summit talks. It will be a year since she finished with him on Boxing Day, but if Elizabeth Taylor can tie the knot once more with Richard Burton I fail to see why they cannot. CD said something was afoot, and I now know what she meant. CB also came out with some unkind remarks about her latest attachment. From what I saw of him last night he did not seem all that formidable, and if anything he struck me as being a cheerful, decent chap. She is seeing him for the last time on Saturday, but I can't help thinking she's making a mistake.

I go into the town centre and drift about wondering what to buy for Carole's 18th birthday next week. I espy a locket in a jewellers window and immediately purchase it. John's given me the money to get her 'Atlantic Crossing' the Rod Stewart LP and I have no trouble getting that either.

Home in the bright sun at 2.15. See in the papers that poor Princess Anne is laid up at Oak Grove with influenza. Tomorrow will be her second wedding anniversary and still we wait anxiously for signs that the marriage has been consumated. It's all very well for Mark Phillips to persue his career in the army, but his first duty must be to secure the throne and give the Queen her first grandchild so to take her mind off the Australian constitutional crisis.

I have no lunch and sit doing absolutely nothing at all. (Well,if you must know I've spent nearly two and a half hours filling in this diary properly).

Carole rings at 4.15 and guesses that I've bought her a locket straight away but when I say "Ah, but what sort of locket?" She replies immediately "a silver one". Dead right, she is, and I'll have to buy something else now for a surprise.

We meet at 8.30 and go to the Hare with John. Maria is at her piano teachers place playing, and so he's quite free and unattached tonight. We buy each other pernod and oranges and have a few lagers too. By 10.30 we are a bit popped up.

Haircut day for Carole on Saturday and she's worried sick by it. I tell her not to be daft. Vidal Sassoon won't make a complete bugger of it.

-==-

Monday September 22, 1975

Up at 9.30. Ernest Blackwell is in for a cup of coffee with Dad and Sue, and I show him 'The Story of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor' by Ralph Martin (which I bought on Saturday by the way). The book is really excellent and I believe theirs is the greatest love story of all time. To give up the throne for a woman!

Back to this diary peeping lark. I was mad with Carole. Reading someone elses diary is like opening someone elses drawers and reading other peoples mail. It is worse in fact. However, I'll bear no grudges and continue to say horrible things about people whether they are reading it behind my back or not.

She rang me at 11am to ask if I still loved her. Of course I do. She must think I am a cruel swine. I love her in a silly sort of way really, and she is the only girl I have fallen for who didn't knock me off my feet at first sight. Strange really.

Today is Mark Phillips's 27th birthday. I am disappointed really. Twenty-seven years old, two years married life behind him, and still no grandchildren for the Queen. A fortune teller in one of the Sundays says Princess Anne is going to have a baby girl next year. I am no medium, and it certainly takes no magic powers to se that 1976 will see Princess Anne in the Olympics, and no offpsring will appear until late 1977, or even 1980.

Carole comes round with Maria at about 8.30. We sit and drink Campari in the dining room and I give Carole a free hand with the record player. We don't really have the same taste in music, but Tamla Motown is just about bearable. I walk her home at a ghastly late hour and then walk all the way back in a slight drizzle.

Leap into bed with the Duke and Duchess of Windsor which is a tremendous book.

-==-

Sunday May 25, 1975

Trinity Sunday. Day Three at Grassington: Nice day. Beautiful weather, though probably just a bit windy. After waking up at the same hideous, and unusual time as yesterday we once again partook of a fried breakfast, which isn't agreeing with John at all.

We intended going off to Malham, but because of the time we changed our minds and decided to go swimming at Skipton Baths. Spend a good afternoon in Skipton, and feel greatly rejuvenated after my first splash around in a pool for what seems like decades.

Back at the tent we lounge around in deckchairs listening to the Top 20 on Radio One. Well, Pete and myself did this. John and Chris were busy frying tea.

After the traditional fried meal we bung a few stones in the river and collect wood for another camp fire and generally prepare ourselves for the coming onslaught of alcohol.

To Linton and Grassington drinking. John is back on form again and we manage to deplete the beer stocks of several Yorkshire pubs.

The second camp fire proved successful again, but we are all melancholy because it's our last night. Chris was acting daft when he saw the full moon, complaining that he believed in the likes of Dracula and other creations of Hammer Horror Inc. & Warner Brothers. It was impossible to make him see reason. We ate baked potatoes on the fire, and argued whether Princess Anne had done the right thing by marrying Mark Phillips.

Bed at 2.30.

-==-

Thursday May 1, 1975

Almost completely recovered now. I thought I'd be laid low with pneumonia by the end of the week but luckily it won't be so. Pay day again. My wage isn't all that cronic really, and I know I'm always complaining of lack of funds, but if I earned £7,000,000 per week I'd still be moaning and groaning by Wednesday night.

I informed Kathleen today that I want, and indeed will have no matter what, Friday June 13, off. This will mean that I can travel down to Windsor on Friday morning - go out with John, Sheila and even Chris - then go into London early on the Saturday morning for the Trooping the Colour escapades in the Mall. It would mean me having to return home on the Sunday to be back at the YP on the following morning.

Chris goes to Windsor at the very beginning of June until December, and I can't help feeling envious. If Utopia or Paradise really exists I somehow think that Windsor will not be far away.

News items: Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones is eleven years-old today. Saigon fell to the communists yesterday and is now Ho Chi Minh City or something equally hideous. Princess Anne and Capt Mark Phillips are stranded in the Australian outback after plane trouble. The Queen left Jamaica after the Commonwealth PM's Conference and is now on the way to Japan with the duke for an official visit.

This Princess Anne thing sounds funny. I can just imagine the Royal party stuck there with the sun blazing down. Is wallaby edible I wonder?

Papa is still doing the lounge, and I must admit it looks brilliant.

-==-

Sunday January 26, 1975

Septuagesima. Feel really rotten all day. The top of my head feels like it's about to explode, spraying my brains from here to Mars. I really wish I hadn't devoured all that drink in such speedy circumstances. Dave Slater is to blame - he must have money to burn.

John and I walk into Guiseley to look at a clapped out, old VW which he thought he'd buy. The look of it makes him decide not to bother. Quite a little wreck it was. Home for lunch feeling a bit better, but my head is still fuzzy.

See in the Sunday Express that Mark Phillips won't accept a title. How do they know? I'm sure that Buckingham Palace haven't informed Mr Burnett that Capt Phillips will not receive a title, and realise that the article is purely the brain-child of a clapped out old dear with fond memories of Princess Margaret and Lord Snowdon. Times have changed since 1961.

Chris comes at 3.30 to look through some holiday brochures, but to my horror Lynn informs me that Dave took them with him when he went home last night. Chris isn't bothered and we sit watching an episode of 'The World At War' which seems to have been going on since Douglas-Home was in no.10. The programme that is, not the war. That ended in 1918.

John, Chris, Christine, Carol Smith, Lynn and Dave and self go to the cinema this evening. A clapped out old horror film - so boring. Back home to go through more brochures and Chris leaves with a list with which to do battle with tomorrow. Determined to go abroad no matter what the cost this year.

-==-

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.

-==-

Thursday October 17, 1974

See in the EP that Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia is having an affair with Richard Burton, the notorious profligate and actor. The princess is a first cousin of the Kents, being a niece of Princess Marina, Duchess of Kent; and thus is a second cousin of the Prince of Wales, Duke of Edinburgh, &c. A remarkable coincidence arises from this romance which the Press doesn't seem to have caught on to. It is that the Burtons are, or where before Liz (Taylor) got her divorce, good friends of President Tito of Yugoslavia. Putting two and two together Tito, in one of his discussions with Burton, could have intimated that on his retirement he was considering restoring the monarchy. Does he intend to place Princess Elizabeth on the throne and make Burton the Prince Consort of Yugoslavia? It is not impossible. The twice-wed princess took Burton to lunch with Princess Alexandra at the weekend.

Don't feel too well today. My throat, chest, nose and other numerous parts are quite poorly and exhausted. Could do with a few days off really. At lunchtime I get more Windsor photos and copies of those taken at John's 18th birthday party - £3.70 they rushed me.

Amused by an article in 'Private Eye' which says that since Princess Anne married her 'stable lad' many people have traced the decline of our country's status from that shameful occasion. It also states, in its infinite wisdom, that since the princess was made a GCVO in August, she is 'Princess Anne, Dame Anne Phillips' and not 'Princess Anne, Mrs Mark Phillips'.

Ring Denny who isn't very informative, and speak to Marita who is visiting her. See 'Top of the Pops' then ring Lynne. Spend half an hour on the phone and poor Mummy was quite desolate at the thought of the coming phone bill. Have bath and see tv all evening. My voice feels like it's on the verge of collapse. Goodnight everyone.

-==-

Sunday September 22, 1974

15th after Trinity. Up at nearly 12. Have little bacon for breakfast and discuss changing my driving test date with that of Mamas. Come upstairs and unpack and have a bath.

Today is the 26th birthday of Capt Mark Phillips. Let the Bells toll their Joyous News throughout the Kingdom! Some sort of public celebration really ought to be lavished upon the young captain who, after all, rescued Britain's favourite princess from spinsterhood.

The Gadsbys come after tea, and John and I go to the Hare in the 1100 after collecting Carol from her Yeadon residence.

Dave comes with Chris, and never do I fail to have hysterics when Mr Lawson is on the scene. Move on to that soddin' little pub in Askwith that doesn't sell crisps, peanuts 'or anything of that nature, sir'. Snobs! I wouldn't mind but it's only bloody Askwith, not Ascot.

Back to Westfield Fisheries where I dissolved into fits of laughter at Dave, who looking at the large, sprawling woman said: "She must eat two fish for every one she serves." Absolutely sick to death of laughing.

-==-

Thursday August 15, 1974

Princess Anne was made a GCVO this morning - her 24th birthday. The Queen, in the citation, made reference to her daughter's "calm and braveness" throughout the kidnap attempt in the Mall on March 20, saying the same about Capt Phillips, who becomes a CVO, and Rowena Brassey, the lady-in-waiting, who becomes MVO. The lower class newspapers headed articles on this event "YES IT'S DAME ANNE", and "OH WHAT A DAME", etc. The papers no longer mention the fact that HRH is in line for the title Princess Royal. No doubt the princess dislikes this style and will not let Her Majesty revive it. Mind you, it is dowdy sounding for a young woman I do suppose.

Warm day. Sunny, but windy. Nothing of interest at the YP except my pay. Home at 6. Denny finally sent me the letter she owes me, and I decide to write back immediately. Mum is still not pleased about me going camping on Saturday, though she leaves the whole affair entirely in my hands.

John takes his driving test tomorrow and I only hope for the honour of the family that he will pass this time. He can do no more than try though. To change the subject, I now feel as though I made a mistake treating Judith Beevers the way I did. Recently I've missed our little 'tete-a-tetes' in front of the TV or in front of the TR6 - and in my own silly way I must have fancied her. Keep wondering whether or not to ring her. Don't suppose I will do. Hell, aren't I a burke when it comes to women? Look at the Bottomley Affair, which dragged on for months purely on my part, involving fantasies about the re-estabishment of a relationship, etc. Bloody well brainless, that's what am.

-==-

Saturday April 27, 1974

Rise, if that is what you can call crawling out of bed with a hangover, at 7.45. Lynn and Sue say I look 'shocking' and I certainly feel it. Work was terrible and I was glad to get out at 11.55. Walk to the station with Anne who tells me she is leaving in June. I tell her that the YP will not be the same without her, but she laughs and thinks I am making fun of her. The poor devil is going to Cheshire to do social work or something of that type of charitable nature.

Have lunch and listen with Sue and John to 'Radio 5' which isn't so funny as it was last week.

Capt Mark Phillips is the victor of this years Badminton Horse Trials and I watched the final stages of the tournament on tv this afternoon. Capt Phillips rode the Queen's horse, and Her Majesty gave the cup to her son-in-law. Princess Anne was fourth I think. The Queen looked remarkably fashionable again and over the past 2 years everyone has noticed that HM is becoming more and more well dressed.

John goes to the H & H and Mum and Dad go to Burley. The girls go out and leave me alone with the tv. See 2 good films and read 'Have his Carcase' by Dorothy L. Sayers, which is another edition of the Lord Peter Wimsey saga - very good. Bed after 1am.

-==-

Thursday March 21, 1974

Papers are all full of Princess Anne and Capt Phillips. I think that the whole response is overdone. We all know, or at least should do, that the Royal Family are in constant danger from extremists, maniacs, etc. The BBC say that security will have to be revised but anyone who knows anything about the Royal Family knows that the Queen will never concede to armoured vehicles or masses of armed bodyguards - I am quite sure of this. A man, if that is what you can call the monster, appeared in court this morning charged with the attempted murder of Inspector Beaton, the princesses detective. Crowds of people flocked to Bow Street to catch a glimpse of the fiend. Poor, shaken Anne and Mark are now at Oak Grove near Sandhurst. It is reported that the Queen and the duke were "horrified", but Sir Martin Charteris says her Majesty took the news with great calm, "like a queen."

--==--

Wednesday March 20, 1974

As assassination attempt was made on the life of Princess Anne and Capt Phillips this evening. We are all horrified. The incident occurred in the Mall at about 8 o'clock, and four people are in hospital suffering from gunshot wounds. The princesses detective and chauffeur and two by-standers are the wounded. The lives of the royal couple have been remarkably saved. The weapon used destroyed all the windows in the Rolls and the poor princess is now at Buckingham Palace. I'll wager any amount of money that this foul deed is the work of the bloody IRA.

Later: Further developments show that the atrocity was in fact a kidnap attempt, and a letter stating this was received by Her Majesty, but I do suppose that the poor Queen receives thousands of these absurd notes every day.

My half-day. At 12.30 I went to the Commercial with Mum and Dad, where we have pie and peas and several pints of beer, which is quite overpowering at lunchtime. The weather is beautiful and Dad and I spend an hour in the garden. Harry Monkman is furious when Dad cuts the lawn. "Do you realise that you are the first person on the lane to cut your lawns this year?"

-==-

Friday March 1, 1974

St David's Day. Climb into bed after 4am cursing the fact that Wilson will probably be Prime Minister before night is with us once again. Awake at 7am feeling quite awake and unaffected by the late night. The BBC announce that deadlock exists with the result of the election. It seems as though neither party is capable of achieving the necessary 318 seats in order to obtain a working majority in the Commons. Jeremy Thorpe suddenly becomes important because he holds the balance of power between the two major parties. The poor Queen rushed home from Australasia with Princess Anne and Capt Phillips in order to let the nasty Mr Wilson kiss her hands. However, it isn't as simple as that, and by midnight no call from the palace has been made to either of the party leaders. Nothing like this has occurred since 1929 or something. I should know when, but the actual date slips my mind for the moment.

-==-

Tuesday January 29, 1974

Dad points out that in the present 'crisis' the Royal Family know what to do and that is to get out! It seems as though the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh, Prince of Wales, Princess Anne and Capt Phillips are all out of the UK. Even Lord Snowdon seems to have deserted the sinking ship. However, the good old Queen Mother is still moving among us, and what we woulod do without that dear lady I shudder to think.

Quite a busy day. Typed the paper up this morning. Janice was on half-day. I am taking Thursday and intend goint to Rawdon Library and calling in at Benton Park.

Train strikes will take place next week, and I am now beginning to seriously wonder whether the whole country will live to see the first daffodil of Spring. A General Strike cannot now be avoided. Lord Carrington made suggestions that a 'Two Day Week' will be seriously considered by the Cabinet. The Confederation of British Industry says economic collapse of unprecedented proportions can only arise from such an action...and all MPs can find to argue about is whether it is immoral for a man and his wife to take a bath together! I think it's a very good thing. The poor woman who suggested the idea must think that is an original idea! All the best couples have bathed together since the beginning of time.

Mum and Dad go to Esholt at 9. Sue and I make beans on toast. See a good tv programme about Hugh Heffner, owner of the magazine 'Playboy'. Oh, what it must be like to own all that wealth!

(Greed, greed, envy envy, etc).

-==-

Friday January 4, 1974

Awake at 11.30 feeling very much better. The morning in bed's done me a lot of good. Slip into a robe and go downstairs for lunch. Mum comes home at 12.20 absolutely frozen solid due to the electricity and heating cuts in her office. This 'Three Day Week' will give everyone pneumonia. See a George Formby film in the afternoon - not very funny, but hear all the unusual, out-dated swear words like 'twerp', which I think means a pregnant fish or something. At about 7.30 John goes to the Emmotts whilst I sit by the fire. See a 35 minute programme on the Royal Wedding - very impressive. The BBC must be showing it to cheer everyone up in the present crisis. A cartoon in the paper the other day said what we now want is either a royal wedding or a royal birth. That ought to be the green light for the Prince of Wales. -==-

Monday December 17, 1973

Princess Anne and Mark Phillips return to desolate Britain. 

Chaos reigns in all places. Mr Barber announced his Christmas budget in the Commons this afternoon. A typical 'election type' budget, which gets only at the rich. Obviously, Mr Heath is planning an early general election. Some sources are going so far as to suggest January 24! My resources as a voter may be required sooner than I imagined. 

 An Aide-de-Camp to the Queen has been injured by a letter bomb in London this morning. Brigadier O'Cock is his name. It goes to show that this can easily happen to VIPs. The Queen herself is unaffected by letter bombs. Her mail will be thoroughly checked before it is placed before her and if it isn't, Brig O'Cock is a good example of what might happen. The tv today closes down at 10.30. I go to bed at 10 o'clock to avoid the humiliation of seeing everything black-out at such an early hour. --==--