Wednesday August 10, 1977

Felt quite rough this morning. Attempting to solve the problems of the world until 2am isn't quite on when you have to get out of bed and go to work within a few hours. At least members of Parliament can stagger to the Carlton Club following all-night sittings and spend a few days in bed with a bottle of gin and an ambitious chamber maid who fancies a yacht in Ibiza and a life peerage. Am I right? No, Michael, you're not right.

Carlton Club.

Uneventful day at the YP. But never fear, dear reader. If something of earth shattering importance had taken place I would not have hesitated, or forgotten, to record it here. Blimey, you can rely on me to keep you informed hot off the press.







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Wednesday July 27, 1977

Dandy Nichols: transported.

Tired and shattered after the holiday. Sat in the lounge all night and never moved from the armchair. Occasionally I fell to sleep but for most of the time I am attentive and watchful. People like me won two world wars, you know. Newscaster Richard Baker may well have thought, while drooling over the nine o'clock news, that Michael Rhodes was in a deep sleep, but Mr Baker would have been very wrong. Michael Rhodes, whilst admitting to closing his eyes and letting out a snore here and there, was in fact soaking all the days news into his brain. From underneath a crumpled newspaper he distinctly heard the venerable Mr Baker informing the nation of the government's intention to abolish the House of Lords, re-unify Ireland, declare war on the USSR, and have Dandy Nichols transported to Australia.

Mama, bless her little heart, informed us today that from a week on Friday she is joining the ranks of the unemployed. She wants a few months holiday, tranquillity and peace.

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Wednesday December 3, 1975

The weather was a bit improved today. Basil, the postman, had to admit the the sunrise was one of the best he's ever seen.

I propelled myself in a Leeds direction by train this morning. Jim Rawnsley must have died or something because I haven't laid eyes on him since Friday. Not to worry. He was old anyway.

I met Douglas, from next door, at the station and remind him of our boozing date at 1 o'clock. He says he'll come, but doesn't look all that certain.

Meet Dave outside the Ostlers at 1 o'clock and he says that Douglas isn't coming. After one drink we decide to go round the shops and look for Lynn's present. Dave kept drifting towards windows full of engagement rings, and I kept having to bring the poor lad back to his senses. However, when the day eventually dawns when he and Lynn want to make fools of themselves at the altar I certainly won't haul him away from the ring shops because he will make a good brother-in-law. Do I hear wedding bells? (I know you're all bloody sick of me throwing in that cliche, so why don't any of you have the guts to admit it?)

At home tonight I busy myself industriously. Press trousers by the score and take up the hem (of a pair of trousers). Carole rang at least three times (bless her) and I am disturbed to hear that her brother has hit her and given her a bruising. The swine will feel the full weight of my fist in his throat if he does so much as raise his fist in her direction again. These 16 year-old adolescents want watching good and proper.

I sit down and watch the 10 o'clock news on ITV which is appallingly done (or is it apallingly?) It was badly done anyway. It may sound snobbish and 'Olde Worlde' but it takes a lot to beat the good old BBC. I could read the news better than Reginald Bosanquet and Sandy Gall put together, and in saying that I'm insulting myself really. John Snagge would turn in his grave if he were dead.


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