Monday January 1, 1979

Bank Holiday in England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales

Hullo.

Well, here we go again. We arrived (that is, Sue, Pete, Lynn, Dave and me) at Pine Tops at a little after midnight. We let in the New Year. I kissed mother and gave her a lump of coal (why?).

We had a few drinks and chatted with various people on the phone. Dave G phoned from Stockport hospital. We ate a good deal and waited for John and Maria but they never materialised.

I walked down the lane in driving snow to Molly & Jim's. It was my first meeting with Molly since before July '77. Drank and ate there. Eventually, at about 5am, only Jimmy (Jun) and I remained. Karim _____________. Listened to weird music and had a lengthy conversation about drugs.

Home in bright sun and crisp snow at 8am. Slept until 2. Had a frosty reception from Mum and Dad _________.

Watched the telly. A Tommy Steele film of all things. Bed with square eyes at 1am.

-=-

Sunday December 31, 1978

1st Sunday after Christmas

Miserable and far from festive. Out of bed at lunchtime and went with Susan & Peter to the White Cross. The place was dead. Like a mausoleum in some vast Palladian mansion.

Back to Pete's at 2 for a couple of rums and hot soup {yes, what a combination}. Sue equipped herself with a school skirt and blouse, Peter dressed in a cowboy costume for tonight's 'orgy' at the Shoulder (of Mutton).

I pinched a tub of Jim's Brylcreem for my stunning masque.

Back at home Mum looks very pale and Dad not much better. Sore throats and blocked nasal cavities, &c. We had dinner and a few drinks in an attempt to capture some spirit.

Lynn and David joined us but the sombre atmosphere prevailed. I cannot really put my finger on the fault for this gloom, but something was amiss.

At 8pm - clad in our ridiculous garb we went to the Shoulder. No sign of John & Maria until 10:30 and they didn't come in fancy dress. Maria says John refused to come out in his traditional Scottish gear.

MM, Marita, Denise and Chris R came in for a couple of drinks.  ________. Lynn ignored them and scowled at me when I asked them to come and sit in our little corner. Denise kissed me when they left at about 11.

At about 11:45 with Lynn, Dave, Sue and Peter to Pine Tops to let in the New Year. John and Maria went on to Molly's for the event.

Bye bye, diary. For everything after midnight see the new volume.

-=-

Saturday December 31, 1977

_.Jacqui and I went down to Guiseley and bought a birthday card for Mum and Dad. I chose a nice one without a revolting, soppy rhyme in it. I'm very particular about my choice of greeting cards. We then went to the Yorkshire Rose for a couple of hours. ____. It began to rain on leaving the pub and so I took her to John's for refuge only to find the house deserted. _____.

Pine Tops, Hawksworth Lane.

The party started tonight at the Hare & Hounds. Martyn and his girlfriend joined us. In came Christine Dibb and Graham, Maria, Libby, Jimmy, John, Sue, Peter N, Chris, Steve Hudson, Lynn, Dave B, Dave L, George and Jane, Nason's pals, MM and Marita, &c. Lynn was dressed in dungarees and wearing specs, one of my shirts and a tie! They all got on very well with Jacqui. _____. Libby Macdonald looked ghastly. No sign of CB or Carole. At 11:45pm a break away party, led by me, returned to Pine Tops where, to my horror, I discovered my key was locked in the house and I was locked outside. Where was Mum and Dad? They were at the Commercial drinking Southern Comfort and making merry. It was very embarrassing for me. But in a flash I knew what to do. Edith and Ernest's of course.  Armed with sherry and other obscene drinks about ten of us 'dropped in' on the dear couple. We all toasted the New Year with them as the clocks were striking 12 and I was locked outside, as is the custom, with Dmitri the Persian cat. Through the window I could see Marita and Ernest locked in a tight embrace and a host of jovial faces drinking David's cheap sherry. Oh dear, it's 1978 now.

-==-

Saturday January 1, 1977

New Year's Day. I'm saying nothing at all. I'm so ill. Vomiting, &c. Jimmy Macdonald and I sat up in the small hours discussing most things - including Carole Phillips. I referred to her as holding the charm of a mythological being - a transfixing beauty - a Helen of Troy. Jimmy caught onto this. Oh dear.

I watched the BBC2 footage of the Coronation from 10am until 5pm. Lynne left at 11am.

Troy's answer to Carole Phillips....

-==-

Thursday January 1, 1976

The New Year. For the past five or six years these so called New Years have always begun with people vomiting all over the place and crawling around on hands and knees moaning things like 'Oh my bloody head's gorn and blown orf' and such like. Why we do it, I fail to see.

After collapsing in the lounge after completing the washing up I sleep until 11 o'clock or something like that. Carole's gone when I eventually come round, and Dave B sits around gloating at my obvious discomfort.

A cooked breakfast only makes matters worse and by noon I'm fighting for my life, as the papers like to say when people are in fact just dying.

Dave L gave me three tickets for 'Jaws' last night, and Carole, Chris and myself are going tonight.

At 1pm John, Lynn, Dave B and I go down to the Commercial for a few drinks, but I stick to tomato juice and coca cola. Dave and Lynn are too frisky to be real, and watching them laughing and joking coupled with the fumes, grime, and the stale smell of the pub only makes me feel worse. I go for a walk round Esholt churchyard to cheer myself up. It's just amazing how many people died in Esholt in 1953. They must have been slowly bored to death by the pageant of the Coronation. It starts to rain at 1.30 and so I go back to join the others in the pub.

Drive home at 3 and it begins to snow. Arrive home all singing 'White Christmas'.

I go straight to bed and wake up at 5.30. The snow is very deep and I worry about Chris and Carole getting up the hill safely. They arrive at 7 and it takes great skill to scale our drive, which would prove a task even for Sir Edmund Hillary.

The film (Jaws) was on in Bradford and was absolutely fantastic. Not over-rated one single bit but for Carole it was too frightening and she was in tears at the end. Home after 11. Chris and Carole came in for a coffee.

-==-

Birth of Mig's Journal

On January 1 1973 I was a 17 year-old living at Pine Tops, 58 Hawksworth Lane, Guiseley. I was a pupil in the 6th form at Benton Park Grammar School, Rawdon. At home I lived with my parents, Lawrence (born in 1934) a police constable based at Guiseley police station; mother Nora (born 1935) who worked as a secretary at Barnes & Winder (trailers?) at White Cross, Guiseley. My siblings are John (born 1956), an apprentice joiner from 1971 with Slater & Padgett, of Yeadon; and 2 sisters, Lynn (born 1958), a schoolgirl; and Susan (born 1959) a schoolgirl.

In 1973 I was , apparently, obsessed with June Bottomley and the 23 year-old Princess Anne and was somewhat over zealous with my usage of the exclamation mark.

Some of the characters appearing in my 1973 journal:
Uncle Harry (1922-94) my father's eccentric brother. Policeman and heavy drinker.

Toffer Riley, aka Christopher Riley, owner of the Chuck Wagon, Guiseley restaurant. Bearded, long hair.

Sue Riley (born 1950) Toffer's wife

Dave Lawson (born 1955) schoolfriend since 1967 who moved to Benton Park with me from Guiseley Secondary School in 1971. Later teacher and market garden proprietor.

Some schoolfriends: Christopher Ratcliffe (born 1955); Christine Braithwaite (born 1956); Louise Harris; Denise Akroyd (born 1956); June Margaret Bottlomley (born 1956); Graham Cowburn (known as Cowie); etc.

This journal begins on January 1, 1973. It was born during a country in crisis. The Heath government was on its last legs. The "Three Day Week" reigned. TV closed down in the evening. The nation was on strike. Power cuts, &c. The idea of writing a diary in a Pepys-like setting next to a burning candle inspired me to take up my pen. I compiled my diary in a page-a-day WH Smith diary. It runs from Jan 1 1973 to somewhere in 1991 and consists of millions of words. Would it be a good idea to publish, in an abridged form to protect the dead, my banal outpourings? Yes. So here goes