Friday March 30, 1979

_. The Liberals have won Edge Hill from Labour in yesterday's by-election, but this news is overshadowed by a hideous crime committed outside the Houses of Parliament  this afternoon. Airey Neave, the opposition spokesman for Northern Ireland and one of Mrs Thatcher's closest friends, was assassinated when his car was blown up in the MPs underground car park, at 3pm. He is the first MP to be murdered in the precincts of the Houses of Parliament since prime minister Spencer Perceval was shot there in 1812.

Airey Neave: like a Guy Fawkes dummy.

I was delayed at the YP because of Neave's murder and the shock really hit us all. It is a hideous, brutal crime against a good gentleman and MP. Mrs Thatcher cancelled a BBC broadcast scheduled for this evening and returned to her home broken and shattered. Will the loss of this close influential aide affect Mrs T's electioneering? We shall have to wait and see.

Ursula phoned tonight and said she had been speaking to a reporter at the scene. His description of the dead Mr Neave is almost too hideous to describe. The mans limbs had been torn off and his crumpled remains resembled a Guy Fawkes dummy.

Tonight: Out with Sue and Pete to the Shoulder. Joined by Chippy and Debbie. Went on to the White Cross. It was slightly better here. Met Naomi and Jill. Naomi told me she has bought Mick Orchard's house on Victoria Road. They are out next Thursday to celebrate my birthday.



-=-

Thursday March 8, 1979

_. David Andrew Baker is 23 to-day. I bought him a bottle of pernod, which no doubt he will demolish within minutes of receiving it. I didn't see Lynn & Dave today because after work I went to Bill North's to continue daubing pain everywhere.

Did I tell you that Bill and I have settled upon the sum of £50 for decorating? Not bad, eh? Bill tells me that Sarah is a notorious hyporchondriac. I have always thought that the girl is obsessed with disease and illness and seems to go through endless lengths to avoid people with even the most minor ailments.

Worked until 8:30pm. Crossing a field at Headingley to get a bus I was accosted by two youths who asked: "Hey, Mister. Can we wank you off?" I replied in the negative. I would have missed the bus to Guiseley.

Peter came up at 9:30 and we went to find Chippy and Dave W in the White Cross. Chatted with Naomi and Jill. Did you know that, for some reason, I am attracted to Jill? God knows why. She is massive. She must weigh 12 stone - and nothing about her appearance is stunning.  The only thing that would stun you would be if she sat on you. However, I like her brain. Her mind intrigues me and I cannot refrain from chatting her up as if she is a Goddess, or something.

On to Oakwood [Hall]. Saw Steve Hudson there, and the divine Sarah [not Collis]. Also saw Tony Simpson and his friend from the Keighley Argus. Got horribly drunk, and remember nothing from the journey home.

-=-

Thursday November 16, 1978

A Brief Encounter. Tonight went with Pete, Chippy, Frank and Gus to the Shoulder and from there we decided to go for one at the White Cross. It was fateful. Who should walk in but Naomi and Carole. My heart missed a beat ________________. She smiled, sighed and said it was entirely my fault that she wasn't still with me. _________.

When we left Chippy commented that Carole is the sort of girl he cannot stand. I took exception to this. He can say what he likes about about anybody, but nobody insults my darling Carole.

To the social club at High Royds and then on to Oakwood Hall. I hated every minute of it. ___________________.

-=-

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).

-=-

Saturday May 20, 1978

Sun rises 5:02 Sun sets 20:53

Out of bed at 11am to finish painting the lounge fireplace, yes the fireplace. It took most of the day and my sole companion on this adventure was Alan Freeman on Radio 1.

The highlight of the afternoon was when the legs of the television, with my help, gave way and capsized. Most people in the land were watching the England v. Scotland football match on their sets, but mine was upside down, covered in emulsion paint. It was an experience that neither the telly or I will forget lightly.

Met Jacq in Guiseley at 8 and had a drink in the Yorkshire Rose. She was clad in red and black which was attractive. From the above mentioned weird tavern we made our way to the Crown at Yeadon where we tarried until 11.

Philip Knowles and Co, plus Naomi, Rick Hartley and mob were merry-making, but no parties for afterwards seem to have been planned. I was horrified when Jacq mentioned seeing Naomi at Tony's party. I wasn't aware that Miss Downing had been to the party. Oh, I was so pissed. Phil Hewitt's sister who works behind the bar, is a nice girl.

At 11 we returned to Pine Tops. The two of discussed going abroad to seek our fortunes next year. Do you get the feeling that you've heard all this somewhere before? Yes, but now is the time, Michael!


-=-

Tuesday March 28, 1978

Annunciation (transference)

Jacqui

Phoned Jacqui today. She isn't coming up now until next Monday. This is better I suppose because now it won't clash with Dave's weekend of sin and debauchery. She had a good Easter. Last night Chris attempted to draw information of Jacqui's move northward from me. He didn't get much. He said he could foresee 'Ding Dong Merrily on High' for us in the near future. Whether this refers to a marriage or a premature Christmas I'm unsure. ________________________. I do think a lot of our Jacq and regard her as a leading contender for my hand. But you know what I'm like. I'll probably be 80 before anyone traps me.

Winding my way home this evening I encountered the recumbent form of the Rev. Downing. He was bent tearing up dandelion leaves on Hawksworth Lane. He held me in conversation for ages on the subject of my writing. The dear old man described my 'epistle' to Naomi  accepting the invitation to her 21st birthday party as a 'brilliant piece of work'. I cowered in my modesty as he went on to say I should take up writing on a permanent basis. He asked me, midst the dandelions, why I am not a journalist. I told him it didn't appeal to me. Crikey, Bernard Shaw and Noel Coward were not NUJ members and I don't think it held them back. I said I'd like to be an author and was surprised that he didn't laugh hysterically ~ he just nodded thoughtfully and said what a good idea it was. This makes me think seriously about my 'talent' when ageing theologians and academics express delight at my shoddy, cheap, vulgar 'epistles'. I can appreciate my own friends being amused, because nobody writes these days.


-=-

Monday January 30, 1978

Jacqui phoned to make certain I am visiting her next weekend. Of course I am. I rang Dave G to let him know that the holiday is booked and he gave a sigh of relief. It was all worrying. No doubt the Rt Hon Merlyn Rees, MP, worries in this fashion every morning. One day it's the fire brigade, and the next day it's the police.

I phoned CB. She and Philip H patched things up on Sunday. God, she was pissed!

Naomi.

Coming home from town I bumped into Naomi (not exactly 'bumped' because she was at the steering wheel of a vehicle whilst I was on foot). She told me that Carole was in tears on Saturday afternoon and that they both (she and Fogarty) telephoned apologising for their silly behaviour. I hadn't been aware of all this. Naomi saw Carole this afternoon, who said that Peter F is an ass. My apologies to Carole are now very necessary. I ruined her afternoon, but at the same time I'm resentful of Fogarty's attitude. He should not be allowed to get away with it.

Laughed with Naomi about the marvellous food and the visit to the Wharfedale Gate. She's had everyone moaning about the choice of pub, and demanding explanations as to why we had to endure Saturday night therein. Yes, that was my fault.

Tonight. Read the Lord Peter Wimsey book and actually finished it. Can't say I'm all that impressed by Miss Sayers. I have read quite a few of her books and each one has left me cold. Rather boring, long-winded and lacking in that 'hold' which novels of this type should inflict. Dame Agatha (Christie) does it to well.

-=-

Saturday January 28, 1978

Sun rises 07:45 Suns sets 16:42

Up at 11. Naomi's 21st birthday party. I went to 10, Southway at noon. Susan was laughing as I headed down Hawksworth Lane with my coat pulled over my head reminiscent of a Saudi Arabian.

with WPC Carolle Jones.

Tremendous party. In answer to the question "Do Unitarian ministers get pissed at lunchtime?" it would only be fair to answer: "No, they do not. But they help everyone else become horribly so". The Rev. and Mrs Downing are very friendly, but old. His Reverence told me, quite confidentially, over the bottles in the kitchen, that he had celebrated his 39th birthday on his honeymoon.

Everyone you can possibly think of turned up. CB, Philip H, Carole, Fogarty, and Carolle Jones, of whom I am terribly fond. However, the vast quantity of booze proved hazardous for public relations. CB was pissed and in tears when her young man cleared off with fat Lynne from the Oval, and Fogarty took Carole home at about 3 after he discovered us fraternising in the 'bar'. She only had her arm through mine, nothing sexual. I felt awful about this because it ruined her afternoon. She told me she will write next week.

Naomi is divinely attractive, as is the nosh. Alas, garlic cropped up in most items on the menu. Richard Wellock had to smuggle CB home at 6 or perhaps 7, and Carolle J and I were left romantically linked. She's joining the police force a week on Monday.

Events from now become dreadfully hazy. Burley in Wharfedale, Flying Pizza, lager, cousin Dorothy, pool tables, Carolle in my old raincoat, &c. Yes, all this splashing around in my lager logged brain. I recoil in horror at the thought of visiting my fierce cousin Dorothy. C and I were horribly pissed, but as far as I can remember Dorothy was diplomatically silent on this. Carolle in my filthy, old raincoat looked spectacular. The Wharfedale Gate was the last pub we visited I'm sure. We were later refused entry at Il Trovatore before finding success at the Elma. Danced with Carolle all night and her last words to me were: "This time we must definitely keep in touch, Michael", said with a certain knowing look.

Home into bed with a gruesome headache at 1:45am.

-=-

Friday January 27, 1978

Rather a wet, damp day. I made an exit from the obnoxious YP at 12. Well, no, it was almost 1pm because I had to inform Fred Manby of an engagement between one of the Beckett family and a granddaughter of Colin Forbes Adam. (You won't appreciate the great importance of this at all).

 The Hotel S'Estanyol is booked. Deposits have been gathered in and paid. Nothingness until playing out time.

Sue and Pete took me to the Fox at 9 where CB and Mary entertained me.We had a bloody marvellous night too. Martyn, Peter M, Steve H and Tony came in, but left after one drink. Sue and Pete left with Chippy and Gus for the Malt Shovel which left me alone with the two gorgeous women.

At 10:30 we went up to the Crown at Yeadon. CB immediately went 'off' because of Philip's presence (by 'off' I of course mean miserable). She says she would drop everything and go off with him tomorrow if he were to say the word, but she thinks the word will never actually come.

Everybody in the Crown played the 'Michael Miles' game. Yes, when you're playing that you know things are pretty bad. Nobody can say 'yes' or 'no' and when you slip up everyone in the pub yells 'DONG'. Funny, eh?

CB is even more gorgeous and our friendship is probably deeper than ever. I can read her like a book (which I suppose is better than reading someone like a chest of drawers).

Home at 11:30-12 o'clock. CB came in a for a quick glass of vino and then went off home. Tomorrow afternoon should be riotous. Do Unitarian ministers get pissed at lunchtime? This is a very important question which I hope to answer tomorrow.  Goodnight.

-=-

Thursday January 26, 1978

Australia Day
 Republic Day (India)

 It snowed again. It seems to snow every Thursday.

Some final decisions on the summer holiday were taken. The Hotel S'Estanyol is a definite now and all concerned are falling into line.

We received our National Savings Certificates with the wages. One hundred pounds! Haven't I done well?

Martyn phoned to discuss the holiday. He and Tony were out last night 'living it up' with a couple of birds. ________.

Mrs Rawnsley's mother is on her death bed at 60. ________.

Oh, CB phoned at 3:00 o'clock. She and Mary are coming to see me at the Fox tomorrow. It was so good to hear her and it's marvellous to know she'll be at Naomi's 21st. I have been slightly worried about Naomi's party, what with His Reverence and the necessary cucumber sandwiches, but now I know that CB will be giggling loudly in some central position I can heave a sigh of contentment.

Watched TV tonight. Saw a documentary on the Ballet Rambert which was excellent. I'm fastly becoming a ballet fan, you know. I find the movement and athletic ability tremendous.

Pete, Sue, Chippy and Gus came in at eleven. I pity the poor Hotel S'Estanyol.

-=-

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.

-==-

Wednesday September 7, 1977

A busy day. Carol J is off with some mysterious disease ___________, and Sarah is a complete misery and goes home at 4 feeling off it. When she gets low she really does just that. ______.

TUC conference.

The newspapers today are quite void of news other than the insane ramblings of the TUC at their Blackpool conference. When I'm the absolute power in this land that little organisation is one which will be liquidated straight away, no messing, despite the fact that I am a member of the National Graphical Association, or something equally hideous.

Tony phoned and asked if I fancied going with him and Naomi to visit Steve Hailes in hospital. I declined the invitation because no doubt the hospital visit will have culminated in some sort of liquid excercise which I can ill afford. He quite understood.

Martyn came at 9 to have Sue cut his hair, leaving shortly afterwards with a far more groomed appearance. Good old Martyn. Lynn is getting on my nerves. ________________________. David came up tonight, Dave B, that is. ___________.

-=-

Sunday September 4, 1977

13th after Trinity. Yes, Naomi and I put up a Christmas tree and decorated it with newspaper. Oh what a state it was in this morning. I was actually beginning to believe that the festive season was upon us.

with Martyn at Bolton Abbey.

Tony and Martyn came at about 3. I wasn't all that talkative. Wendy, Georgina and G's sister (I've forgotten her bloody name) joined us in Ilkley and we motored to Bolton Abbey for the remaining portion of the afternoon. We walked by the river taking the occasional silly photograph and then went for a riotous cup of tea and a bun at the Bolton Abbey Cafe. My ginger cake was a collector's piece - mid 18th century, I think..

We returned to the flat for cheese on toast and then shot off to the Craven Heifer for a hectic, hot, and horribly sticky night out. It was like the 1975 London Tube Disaster all over again - only worse. We were crammed in a corner away from the music and the dirty jokes. By now I was decidedly dull-witted and uncommunicative. Home at midnight. Everyone nicely tucked up in bed except Mummy and Daddy who are visiting Uncle Harry in Cumbria (since Saturday noon) and I do the same. Retire that is.

-=-

Sunday August 14, 1977

10th after Trinity. We all woke up in the same bed to the gay pealing of the bells of Ilkley Parish Church. Not a pleasant experience by any means. After eggs and bacon with the girls - who seem incredibly frail, we menfolk adjourned to the Commercial. We were joined by Graham Peel, who had been dumped at the party by other members of Denise's entourage and had spent a very noisy night in one of Tony's beds with a young lady strongly resembling Miss Dibb.

Lady Penelope and Parker ...

At 2pm Tony and Martyn returned to Ilkley and Graham brought me home just so that I could say 'hello' to Mummy and Daddy. They were busily messing around with the washing machine and seeing that Mr Peel is more than a bit sloshed and embarrassed by it we made a quick exit back to the flat. Tony and Martyn were asleep upstairs and so Graham and I finished off the left-over booze and  listened to the 'Thunderbirds' record. It was so good to hear the voices of 'Lady Penelope' and 'Parker' again.

Martyn emerged and we went for fish and chips - it was an Evel Knievel type car ride with Graham at the wheel. Frightful it was. Tony woke up for the game of indoor cricket and by 8.30 we were back to reality at the Craven Heifer. Stayed until about 10 listening to Jimmy Shand and others before returning to the Rose & Crown. Denise and entourage were in. Naomi and Carol too. Naomi was very friendly. In fact she and Carol, Graham and another anonymous guy went back to Southway for coffee and Bovril butties. Home at 1.15am with Naomi who saw a ghost on Hawksworth Lane.

-=-

Thursday August 4, 1977

The great Queen Mum is 77 today. Saw the usual TV news of the crowd singing "Happy Birthday to You" outside Clarence House. Marvellous she is.

The Queen Mum.

A good night out in Baildon with Martyn and Tony. All in high spirits. The females in the pub were numerous. We named a few of them after famous celebrities of similar appearance. One in the corner was Liz Taylor, Janette Scott was drinking something like lemonade, and a sexy young thing near the juke box who brushed past me several times was Brigitte Bardot.

Tony was out with Denise last night. He stayed the night at Naomi's. He beamed all evening like a young boy. __________. Martyn is still smoking Tony's cigarettes. He's getting through 40 a day but hasn't bought a packet yet. (Just a joke). Home at about 11. A bit pissed.

-=-

Friday July 29, 1977

Went to Harrogate with Tony and Martyn. At the Harrogate Arms we were joined by Dave L, Peter M and Chris, Denise, Naomi and Yvonne, and several of the Lords and gentlemen in waiting. A hot sweaty atmosphere and my lager tasted like tonic water. I have actually lost my sense of taste since Ibiza.

Dave L: disgusted.

Chris says he'll call up with the holiday photographs in the week. _______. Dave L is disgusted at my not going to Gloucester despite all the invitations. Tony seemed fine with Denise. Martyn was smoking. Does he still imagine he's on holiday? Let's hope to God he isn't becoming addicted.

They talked of going to the horrible Il Trovatore. Sorry and all that but I just couldn't face an English discotheque with the scent of Playboy One lingering on my nostrils. They brought me home and I watched the film 'Georgie Girl' on the BBC.






-=-

Thursday June 16, 1977

Out with Carole, Naomi and Martyn tonight. Yes, a weird combination of loonies but if you don't do silly things like this when you're young it will soon be time to grow up. I am cheerful and robust all day and look forward to the night on the town - determined not to squabble with Miss Phillips or mention Fogarty.

Carole: called me 'Peter'

Naomi and Carole called for me at 8.20 and we drove over the moor to Ilkley to collect Mr Cole. Some idiots were hang-gliding near the Cow & Calf rocks and I opened the car window and waved and shouted at them much to Naomi's amusement. Carole was quiet. She didn't look at me after leaving home. Even when I came out of the house and got in the car she was sitting hunched and looking in the opposite direction.

The four of us went to Neville's. Carole immediately got off to a lousy start. On to the Craven Heifer. Sat like morons. She infuriates me by repeatedly asking: "what's the matter?" And I infuriate her by replying: "what do you mean by what's the matter?" Silly, eh? Naomi too isn't all that better - sitting like a High Court judge - a real bundle of fun.

From the Craven Heifer it was obvious that if Naomi were to go to Oakwood Hall the strain would probably kill her and so it was back to Martyn's for coffee (his mama and papa are holidaying).

We summoned a priest to administer the last rites to Naomi but he arrived too late. Carole spilt hot coffee all over her foliage (sic) and I gave up my shirt for her and wore one of Martyn's. We both had a gin and attempted some conversation. I was so glad that Martyn was in the room to hear it because I thought it was me who was going insane. We are just incompatible. Every sentence ends in a dispute. Carole asks: "Michael, why do we hate each other so much?" I don't hate her one bit. She just cannot be happy with me. Sipping the gin she called me 'Peter'. Martyn found this hilarious and kept mentioning the weather saying we might be having a 'foggy' start in the morning. (You know, FOGarty. Ha Ha).

The girls went home at 12.30 and Martyn and I went on to Il Trovarore which lived up to its usual standard. Back to Martyn's £3 later. Slept in the spare room - soundly.

-=-

Friday June 10, 1977

Carole phoned me at the office and apologised for her abominable behaviour last night. I accepted her apology and she kept repeating her apologies over and over again. She put it down to the atmosphere at Oakwood (Hall) and suggests going to the cinema to see 'A Star is Born' next Thursday.

She says she's sending something in the post. No doubt another apology. I feel sure she went out last night with every intention of causing trouble and anarchy - she's just like her revolting mother.

Phoned Tony this evening and he analysed the situation for me. Carole only behaves in such an antagonistic way, he says, because deep down inside she wants to behave in exactly the opposite way. Er, right. Rubbish if you ask me. The girl is just mucking me about. However, it is impossible to tell Tony that.

Within minutes he rings back to say Naomi and Carole want to know if we fancy an evening at Il Trovatore. I agree.  He laughs and says "what did I tell you?" Just what did he tell me? To the Bod with Tony & Martyn. Tony is quiet and reflective. From here we went with Michelle and Co to the Hare & Hounds at Heaton. Then on to the mortuary-like Il Trovatore. Linda is in with Denny and Naomi and Carole don't arrive until after12. She arrives with a new hair-style and looks stunning. I dragged her off to the balcony until 2. She won't let me kiss her and is extremely cool. She was still very apologetic about the Oakwood Hall incident but I still feel as though I'm playing the mouse to her cat.

Naomi brought us home. I prayed for our safety en route. When Naomi's had a few she's the maddest driver on the road.

Thursday June 2, 1977

Oakwood Hall

Hot day. Clad in my new white trousers I went down the lane at 7.30 to meet Carole but my shoes were crippling me and after meeting C we set off back home so I could change my footwear. Carole called in to see Naomi while I was changing. Eventually set off to Bingley at about 8.30, and we went in a cheerful condition. Neither of us argued today and things went much better. Carole told me that _________.The only 'touchy' moment came at Oakwood (Hall) when I said I could never forgive her parents for what they did to her last year. She said it was cruel and nasty of me. No comment.

Oakwood Hall was packed out and the heat so intense that I felt grotty and tired towards the end. We danced a little but seemed to spend most of the night in conversation. Home by taxi at 2am. She is going to arrange the visit to London on June11. Let's hope I'll have a few bob to spend by then because I'm quite sick of having no money. Are the IMF on the phone perhaps. May be worth trying.

-==-

Sunday May 1, 1977

3rd after Easter. Wet day. Not going to say much because it was such a normal, uninteresting day. The Silver Jubilee is looming. The poor Queen is going to be exhausted by autumn. Bless the Old Girl.

Naomi: dragged me in

Saw part of the 'Edward VII' series on tv and then Mama gave me a lift into Guiseley in torrential rain. I was stood at the bus stop for ten minutes when Naomi drove up, threw open her car door and dragged me inside. Very hospitable of her. Miss K. Moorhouse was a fellow passenger. They were on their way to Denise's for dinner. Eventually got a bus at Rawdon at 5.20pm. Work was up to it's usual mundaneness. Can anything be 'up to it's usual mundaneness?' or have I invented the word?

Taxi home at midnight. My driver was a silent one this time. Not a reptile expert or connoisseur of Rococo architecture as they usually are. The journey home was one of inward thought and general reflection. Poured with rain all the way.

Ate boiled eggs and sat looking at one of the lower class Sunday papers. Queen Victoria awaited my attention in my boudoir but my eyes ached and I had no intention of taking her up tonight.

Isn't it remarkable how some days I fill a page with minute, incredibly tiny handwriting and on other more lazy occasions I can scribe away like something not dissimilar to a moron?

King George V had silly handwriting, you know.

-==-