Sunday August 20, 1978

13th after Trinity

Back with Dad to Lawn Road. Didn't arrange to see Jacqueline Mary and passed a quiet evening at Pine Tops (Merde alors. How boring).

Ode to Pope Paul VI

For Fifteen years you've been the Pope,
I'm afraid for me there is no hope,
For Catholicism isn't my lot,
And religious life is not too hot,
With unmarried priests and posh old churches,
I'd sooner join the parrots on their perches.

However, you died the other week,
and as for me, so to speak,
you're dead, gone and forgotten,
But in a few years time with a bit of luck,
Some nice little Catholic will write a book.

E. Jarvis Thribb


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Thursday August 10, 1978

Pleasant, enjoyable day. Sarah and I ventured to the Jubilee pub (opposite the Town Hall) where I had a couple of pints of lager while she knocked back DOUBLE Dry Martini with lemonade. A hardened little boozer is S.E. Collis.

I asked Kathleen whom she thought might be the next Pope. She said she had no idea and knows no princes of the Church other than Cardinal Heenan, who happens to have confirmed her when he was Bishop of Leeds.

Tonight at 7:30 Dave B and I went to Lawn Road and messed about until about 10. Not a particularly enlightening evening and my poor, scarred arse didn't help much. Poor Dave has only four weeks of normality remaining. My deepest sympathy goes out to all wretched souls now on the verge of that catastrophic leap into matrimony.

Jim and Margaret were here watching Caligula (John Hurt) get axed from the party leadership in 'I, Claudius' (again). The boozing lasted until 2:30am. Jim tells me Cardinal Benelli is favourite in the pontiff stakes and it's hardly worth it putting a bet on him.

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Wednesday August 9, 1978

Ventured to the YP today. They were all surprised to see me. Saw Eileen for the first time since July 6. I was surprised, nay stunned, to see Kathleen in cheery mood and not glum and mourning the loss of the Holy Father. I thought that devout Roman Catholics would be grovelling and wailing and wearing the deepest black? Evidently not. Ladbroke's have shocked some MPs by taking bets on Pope Paul VI's successor. It's going to be Cardinal Benelli, or some geezer who answers to Pignatoli. Benelli was, until last year, Pope Paul's right~hand man and closest playmate who carries a lot of weight. I tell David L to put five bob each way on Benelli. All we can do now is hope and pray.

Had a quickie with Jacq at the Oslters at lunch.

This evening David L came up at 7:15 with the tattered remnants of my trousers, my camera, "flush" cubes, records and belt. We went to collect Christine at Horsforth and came back to Yeadon and met Jacq at the cinema at 7:30. We went to see 'Star Wars' which has been on since Christmas. Both Dave and Jacq have seen it before. Christine and I did a good deal of laughing. Acclaimed as a very good film, it isn't really for me. For a start it isn't adapted from a book by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It cannot compete with 'The Great Gatsby' or 'The Last Tycoon'.

Afterwards we had pancake rolls and chips from the Chinese take~away in Yeadon and deposited the ladies at Horsforth and Leeds respectively. Dave mentions he's going to visit Maria at Molly's on Friday.

To bed with Lady Chatterley at 12:38 am.

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Sunday August 6, 1978

11th after Trinity

Got out of bed at 10:30 feeling quite fit and unaffected by my traumatic experience. I phoned David L to apologise for leaving half my blood in his abode and he says it looks like a massacre has taken place on Tennyson Street. He laughed a good deal.

My chief problem is sitting down. Armchairs are impossible. I remedy this by laying flat on the floor. Mum and Dad think my predicament is hilarious. Mum inspected the stitches. Dad, Lynn and Dave went to Lawn Road leaving Sue, Mum, Jacq and "Scar Arse" to prepare dinner. Susan was alone and Peter made no appearance. ______________.

On the news we hear that the Pope died tonight. Princess Michael of Kent must have been secretly over to Rome and slipped some John West salmon into the Vatican kitchen.

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Monday June 12, 1978

The bloody Pope has refused to give Mrs Troubridge a dispensation to marry Prince Michael in church and so the couple will now have to wed abroad in a civil ceremony. This is indeed a nasty blow for Anglo-Roman relations. At a time when two thirds of the world is heathen I find it annoying to say the least that the few remaining Christians should squabble over denominational rules and regulations.

His Holiness objects to Prince Michael's statement that his children will be brought up as Anglicans. Silly old sod.

The Royal wedding is planned for June 30 and will take place in Vienna. God only knows when a member of the Royal Family last wed in a civil ceremony ~ if ever. The Queen will be white haired and crumpled by Christmas.

On the subject of strained relations I feel I ought to mention Mummy and Daddy. They haven't spoken today either, and both are being silly, even though Dad is more silly than Mum. What is the point of blaming Mum for the car accident? I just can't see it. He was willing to hand over his car keys and has no argument whatsoever. Mum is now saying she didn't collide with a dry stone wall at all, and that somebody else ran into her on the makeshift car park. This is just taking it too far.

Dave B is coming tomorrow to carry out repair work and before long the damage will be untraceable ... I hope.

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Tuesday March 15, 1977

Pathetic day. Bloody rain. The Ides of March, whatever that means. I know Julius Caesar bit the dust on this day but if his last March 15 was anything like this one he was well out of it. Old Brutus did him a bloody favour.

Our trip to Brands Hatch seems well and truly doomed. I've brought up the subject in the office seven or eight times and have had no decent response. Kathleen most certainly cannot work Sunday night.Really annoyed. Ursula says she can manage quite well without me.

Go to town and buy birthday cards for Christine and Tony, who celebrate tomorrow. CB's card has a photo of Greta Garbo in the arms of Basil Rathbone, I think, with the inscription: "They don't make 'em like you, anymore". No doubt I'll hear from here before Friday. We're supposed to be going on a booze up to Otley.

Nothing in the news. The Queen is in Tasmania. Mother is baking bread and I'm doing absolutely bugger all. Today is my Uncle Jack's first anniversary in Heaven. Let's hope they have parties up there because I tend to live from one party to the next. CB says she'd prefer to go to Hell because it's warmer and she'd prefer to spend eternity with her old friends. Not a bad idea. Is all this blasphemous? I might as well go all the way and say something disrespectful about the Pope. He is ill with 'flu and I can imagine the scene in the Vatican every time he sneezes - "Bless Me!" Not funny?

Reading Evelyn Waugh's diary. He's so sarcastic.

See a TV play based on the life of Vivian Nicholson, the pools winner, who spent £150,000 in four or five years. Very good. Bed at 11.36pm.

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Wednesday September 17, 1975

Out again on the town tonight - the sixth night in a row. Carole thinks I'm becoming besotted with her, and I suppose that is why, in her drunken state, she rambled on about love and marriage._____________. I quake in my boots at the thought of marching down the aisle with her. Hell, I'm only twenty years old!

Not wishing to cause any relious strife amongst my readers I'd just like to say that Miss Phillips is a member of the Roman Catholic faith. I am not complaining of course, but me being a terrible mixture of C of E, Methodist, Congregationalist and Hindhu does confuse matters. I may even have to renounce all these for the papist dogma, if I do heed the advice of Miss Phillips, and take her down the aisle, and replace Her Majesty the Queen with His Holiness the Pope in my affections. However, I hope that day never dawns when this last, grotesque transfer of loyalty takes place.

Down to the Hare and Hounds again, and we don't really say much to each other.____________. I laugh at her, and it begins to rain as we walk to Harry Ramsden's for fish and chips. Home at 12.30 feeling decidedly damp.


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Thursday April 17, 1975

The name Barbra Streisand will forever be imprinted in large capitals across the frontage of my heart. The woman should be knighted or perhaps canonised by by Pope Paul or something. Joan of Arc, Gladys Aylward, Queen Victoria, Germaine Greer and Princess Anne can ALL stand aside for this lady. Boy! What a Girl! Those eyes! That nose! That figure. God! Dave, Sandra and me went to to the Odeon in Leeds to see 'Funny Lady' in which Miss Streisand excelled all bounds of things which one normally excels. It finished at 10.30 and we nipped into the Take and Bake in Headingley for chicken and chips. Sandra devoured a nasty looking sausage and baked spud with crumbly cheese all over it. The car windows were so steamed up that David had to guess (more or less) where the bloody road was. Sandra looked sexy. I still don't believe she's as old as she surely must be - if you know what I mean. Well, she only looks 21-22-ish, no older than say Sarah - and yet her son Gary must be eight if he's a day. Wonderous it really is. Home at 11 to chat with Ma and Pa for half an hour. I try to persuade them to say they'll go to Windsor for a weekend with me in 3 or 4 weeks time but all Mum can talk about is my holiday in August and how much I'll have to save for it. Once again I'll finish with one word. Yak!

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