Monday January 22, 1979

The NUJ decided to come out of hibernation today for the first time since the beginning of December. The country is grinding to a halt. I can name the industries that are not on strike on the fingers of one hand. Mr Callaghan will have to go.

Callaghan: shitting himself at No. 10...

Read Richard Crossman's 1966-68 diaries and find his comments on the Queen interesting. Look them up for yourself if you are at all interested.

One of the Sunday papers did an article on Crossman's relationship with Callaghan, who was Home Secretary and then Chancellor (of the Exchequer) from 1964-70. Quite disturbing, and I bet that the PM is now shitting himself at No. 10. He (Callaghan) is not good in a crisis, is one of Crossman's statements.

John Edward Rhodes.

We have received a letter from John & Sheila in Lanzarote. We can go out there for £30 at three days notice which sounds good. By the sound of things they are the only English speakers on the island. John is doing a lazy, pleasurable job whilst Sheila runs around the volcano fifteen times a day driving holiday-makers from the airport to half-built hotels. She has always carried John through life. I know I have delusions of grandeur, but I think John Edward Rhodes is an even bigger dreamer.



Back from the YP at 5:30 to find Sue, Lynn and Alison with Mama. The girls had been at the Black Bull in Otley all afternoon (market town pubs open until 4pm) celebrating Monday. Lynn had consumed eight pernods. Mum said afterwards that she worries about Lynn drinking.

Watched the telly until 11:30 then to bed with a mug of Ovaltine and the Rt Hon Richard Crossman, Lord President of the Council.

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Tuesday October 24, 1978

Moon's Last Quarter 01:34

United Nations Day (1945)

Wet, cold and windy. Climbed out of bed at 10am. Went with Mum and Dad to Morrison's to help with the grotesque shopping. Supermarkets are beastly dens. I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that William Morrison is really Wilhelm von Moritzon, the SS chief and war criminal extraordinaire. Not even Adolf Hitler could have conjured up something quite so evil as a vast, music~filled chamber heavily laden with packets of breakfast cereal and cellophane~wrapped streaky bacon. Hideous.

To the YP twixt 5 and 12. Campbell Spray was sneering about Jacq. Miss Sate really is the limit encouraging C. Spray in this ridiculous fashion. I will not play Edward Langtry to her Lillie.

Home in a dull, uninteresting taxi at 12. Cheese on toast, Ovaltine and a pomegranate. Weird, yet pleasant. To bed at 1:32am. It took me 12 minutes to complete this page.

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