Sunday February 6, 1977

Septuagesima. The Silver Jubilee of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second. Bells peal and prayers are said for the Sovereign lady in churches throughout the realm. To celebrate the joyous, historic event Mum, Dad, Sue, Peter N and myself  went for lunch to the Birch Inn at Wilsill, near Pateley Bridge. Four or five pints of lager and a sirloin. Peter had a steak too, Mum had fish, Susan a curry and Dad a ploughman's lunch.

Birch Tree Inn, Wilsill

At 2pm we returned homeward and called on John & Maria just in time for JPH's liquid liver lunch. A messy business. He is a beautiful child.

To the YP at 5.30 and have a nightmare of evening. Rang Lynne. She's at Pickering cinema with Karl and Peter. Rang her back at 10pm. She tells me of her weekend cake baking saga and the dog's latest illness, &c. Home feeling miserable.

Sunday May 30, 1976

Sunday after Ascension. A wet, filthy day at Pateley Bridge. Up at 8.30. We have to pay 75p for each van on the camp site. Bloody diabolical. Hang about in wonderful Pateley-by-the-Sea until the pub draws us in at 12 o'clock. Have fish and chips first and run up and down the main street looking for a chemist so that Chris could buy some anadin or something to relieve tooth-ache.

Pateley Bridge isn't exactly Yorkshire answer to St Tropez but it serves a purpose.

Carol and Igor (I think that's how you spell it. You know who I mean don't you? The chap with the hunchback who serves as right-hand man to Baron Frankenstein?) are in the Crown. Have a few pints of lager and I watch the others playing darts until chucking out time at 2 o'clock. Don't talk to me about bloody British licensing laws.

Back to the camp site to see Christine & Stuart for a few hours. The three of us park next to Christine and Stuart's tent, and Chris cooks Pete and me a meal. Eat at 6.30.

A chill coming on undoubtedly. Pete says that we 'pen pushers' have no resistance to germs. He last visited a doctor nine years ago to be treated for a broken arm. I say that the job you do has nothing to do with resistance to chills. Some people get them, others don't. Resistance to illness is as much a characteristic of a person as the colour of their eyes and sex drive, &c. Pete refused to listen to this theory.
I know how Darwin must have felt.

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Saturday May 29, 1976

Wake at some God forsaken hour with excruciating pains in my left leg. Cramp, I take it to be, but on inspecting the offending limb I discover a large conglomorate mass of what can only be described as nothing but vein. I sit on the edge of my bed and sigh. Why should it be my lot to undergo the trauma of a coronary thrombosis at my time of life? I am going to die without a fight, that's for certain. Ring Maria who doesn't know whether she's going to the wedding or not in the horribly wet conditions. I have a coffee and prepare a rough draft of my last will and testament.

To Menston at 12.45 and sit in the empty Methodist chapel for 10 minutes listening to the organist bashing away heartily. George Waite's Mum sits next to me and we sing the 23rd Psalm together. Only 15 people in church including the bride and groom. Helen looked fabulous - all flimsy and feminine - in fact like a Venetian lady from the 14th or 15th century, with the Juliet-style headdress. Both look so happy and matched and were the only people present who didn't seem to notice the pouring bloody rain. Maria and Carole arrived at 12.50 and sat on the other side of the chapel to me. Carole looked pale and almost insane. Her eyes dead and lifeless. The poor kid is taking life so seriously. She's going camping with Denise and 3,000 lads this afternoon. After the wedding Maria, Carole and I call in at the Hare for a drink. Carole leaves us at 3 and the two of us walk under Maria's umberella to Harry Ramsden's for a late luncheon.

Get home at 4pm. Pete M calls at 5 o'clock when along with Chris we leave for Pateley Bridge. Get to the pub at 7 o'clock and drink until 11 with the mob. Sleep in vans on a desolate hillside (Greenhow?). A good laugh all the same.

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