Saturday January 14, 1978

Sun rises 08:01 Sun sets 16:19

Clementine: eye balls donated.

Out of bed at eleven not too worse for the amount of alcoholic beverage taken in last night. I found Dad inspecting the rabbit. He congratulated me on the kill. "A fine buck" is his professional verdict.

The morning papers reveal that the 'vandal' Lady Churchill donated her eye balls to medical science, and now some poor, unsuspecting soul is walking around with the eyes which saw more of Sir Winston than anybody else. I'm not sure I like this. It all rings of Baron Frankenstein. Very ghoulish. How long before famous singers pass on their voice boxes to carry on their musical talents after death? I always wanted to be a Beatle. Perhaps I could be first in the queue when Paul McCartney goes?

Shopping in Guiseley with Lynn. After a couple of hours we walked to the Station Hotel for a thirst quencher. Her wedding chatter is now at fever pitch. Blimey, it's only 34 weeks until the 'Big Day' so it's not exactly premature excitement.

Pete M phoned tonight but I explained how broke I am, and so that was that. A night at home, sitting like Jimmy Carter by my fireside. 'Starsky & Hutch' on the box too. Oh, how thoroughly delightful. Bloody Hell, no wonder the pubs are packed on Saturday nights. The only people to be found indoors on these long, wintry evenings are the crippled, bed-ridden and penniless. In case you're wondering, I fit into the last category. Sat and read the Scarlet Pimpernel. Watched Hedy Lamarr in a 1940 epic. Bed afterwards.




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Saturday July 27, 1974

Work all day - my first full-time Saturday. Leave the YP at 4 and go straight home - completely dog tired on the bus and sleep from Kirkstall to Green Bottom, Guiseley. Strawberries for tea and then leap into the bath.

Peter Mather calls for John at 7.30 and I accompany them as far as Linda's house. John, Pete, Carol and Anne (the American) to to the Cat's Whiskers in York for a very cosy evening, and they are still missing when I retire to bed at 2.30am.

Carol Smith looks gorgeously sexy, wearing a perfect full-length red dress. We sit waiting for the arrival of Chris listening to the 'Band on the Run' LP by Paul McCartney and Wings. Go to several pubs down Apperley Lane before going on to the Stansfield Arms at 9.30. Hell Fire! We didn't get a table until after 11pm! Helen Willis appeared at our table in full capacity as a waitress, and Linda looks daggers at her. She drifted about the restaurant giving shoddy service to one and all, telling everyone in ear-shot that she was 'as pissed as a newt' - which can't have been good for business. Home at nearly 1am and sit with Dad talking about his strange brothers until 2.30 on Sunday morning.

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