Sunday November 12, 1978

25th Sunday after Trinity

7th Sunday before Christmas

Remembrance Sunday

Slept until 10:30 and then devoured breakfast. Switched on the telly to watch the Queen at the Cenotaph at 11am. Pete Sate arrived at the start of the two minutes silence so in fact we had two minutes of noise and chaos to commemorate the dead of two world wars.

Derek had me washing his Lotus (which I did willingly). I wouldn't wash any old car you know.

At 12 Jacq, Pete S and I wandered down to the real Northwood hostelry where we had a few before the 2pm curfew. Pete is 21 and recounting his adventures he makes my life sound positively 'monk~like'.

Sunday lunch was heavily punctuated with political argument. At one point Derek put it to me that I might be a socialist. I told him I am more Tory than the most far~right Tory which puzzled him. He couldn't grasp my argument. He is a stubborn man and in discussion he won't be moved by anything anybody else has to say. He and Pete squabbled about work too. _______.

Pete drove us to Victoria at 5 and we only just made it for six o'clock. The bus carrying Christine and Mrs B was pulling out of the station. I did my spectacular 'dead man lying on the floor' routine in front of the offending and already departing vehicle, to halt it's progress. But all was in vain. A bus carrying only 15 or 20 people eventually left and Jacq and I grabbed the whole of the back seat for ourselves. Uncomfortable and cold journey. Saw the hideous and ridiculous 'green beam' lighting up Oxford Street as part of the Christmas lights.

Home to a cold, wintry Leeds at just before 11. Jim and Margaret Nason are at home. Bed at 1:30.

-=-

Friday February 3, 1978

Out of bed at the crack of dawn and head for the deep south. It was a freezing cold day and I couldn't be bothered to get out of the coach at Leicester and instead I endured the boring conversation of a guy who went to school with one of the Gordon Giltrap Band. Big bloody deal. Arrived at Victoria at 1:00 and met Jacqui. She has a shorter hair cut.

Jacqui.

We had a few drinks in Victoria and then went to St Catherine's House. A ghastly task. Seven million John Wilsons were born  in the Yorkshire area in March, 1853. A daunting experience, and after an hour I was thoroughly defeated. It must be bliss to have a surname like Jacq's. Discovered very little but found that a John Wilson had married a Bella Fawbert in the North Bierley area in 1874. Her death in March, 1926 says she's Rella.

We went on to the flat where I demolished half a loaf with ease. Chrissy was in but Jan was at the doctors. The poor thing picked up Red flu in Austria last week.

At 7:30 Jacq's Mum's, Trixie, and brother, Peter, came round and we went for a drink to a pub called the John Baird. Trixie knocks back pints like no tomorrow. However, she's remarkably flash and 'Vogue-like' with Christian Dior shoes and posh hair. Pete has grown a beard. Trixie jokes and says he's quiet because he's in love with a bird called Alice. Poor bugger.

From the (John) Baird we went to a Greek restaurant and noshed our heads off - all at Trixie's expense. Pete went off to work at 10 and the three of us went to the Clissold until closing time.

Jacq passed her driving test yesterday - her 23rd birthday - and she drove us back to the flat in Trixie's mini which is to be exchanged tomorrow for a Fiat X19, whatever that may be.

-=-