Showing posts with label popes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label popes. Show all posts

20190617

Thursday August 23, 1979

_. All the best people are getting married these days, aren't they? The Duke of Sutherland; Twiggy; Rod Stewart; Christine Braithwaite; Lorna Luft; Nikki Lauda; Jack Parnell; Tina, Marchioness of Blandford [died 1971]; Prince Bertil of Sweden and his bit of stuff, Lil, to name but a few. So, with this in mind Ally and I have decided to elope. Tonight's Jim and Margaret session really went with a bang following our announcement, and Mummy lapped it up, showering us both with kisses when we retired to bed at `1:30am. I am only agreeing to elope because I want to be made a ward of court, but Dad ruined things by pointing out I am too old to be made subject of such a court order. We don't know whether to go to Gretna Green or just find a village parson in Hampshire on our way to Martyr Worthy.

At 1:30 Ally came to my room and I crammed a few of my worldly possessions into her suitcase. I have never shared a suitcase with a young lady before. I reflect that for most of my twenty five years I have lived like a future Pope. Entirely blameless and as pure as the driven snow. I wouldn't want Ally to realise this. It cannot be good to be stereotyped into the Cliff Richard mould.

Just a half-day to work and then it's a nice long break. Bye, bye.

-=-

20131117

Saturday October 14, 1978

Sun rises 07:22 Sun sets 18:10

Up at 7 o'clock and to work. Yes my first Saturday at the YP for about 4 years. Jacq and I had black coffee and toast. Got a bus at 8. In Leeds before 9. Not too busy at the YP but I had about ten phone calls on the subject of the steam train the 'Sir Nigel Gresley', which is taking hundreds of boring people on a jaunt round Yorkshire today. Why can't these bloody people just stay at home and watch 'Grandstand' or perhaps go down to their local and get thoroughly pissed instead of pestering poor, under~paid library workers?

The Times says Cardinal (Basil) Hume stands a very good chance of being elected Pope at tomorrow's conclave. It would be so great to have an Englishman at the helm in the Vatican, but I can't see them electing anyone but an Italian until at least the next century.

At 1:30 I met Jacq and we walked around town and had a few drinks in the Ostlers. Shouldn't take booze on an afternoon really.

At tea time John, Maria and JPH arrived. Scotland is clearly doing them some good.

Tonight Jacq, Sue, Pete, Mum, Dad, John, Maria, Lynn & Dave, and I went to the White Horse at Burley~in~Wharfedale to see Mum's cousin Dorothy, the landlady, who tells us she's leaving in June next year, if not before. Mum and Dad went off to meet Jim & Margaret at the Riversdale, and we had a crawl, going to the Queen's Arms and Malt Shovel. Afterwards we all had fish and chips at Lynn & Dave's. Our first all night session at Lawn Road. Jacq and I slept on the lounge floor.

-=-

20131108

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.

-=-

Wednesday May 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11 Mum. To try and keep a journal, run and pub and a baby is asking the impossible. Gone is that old wit and sparkle b...