Tuesday December 14, 1976

King George VI is celebrating quietly somewhere today - his 81st birthday. Prince Albert died 115 years ago, and Coun Norman Anthony Gadsby was born this day in 1935 ...

Write letters tonight to Helen Malin in Gloucester and send cards to Glenn and Dave G telling them of Peter's change of heart. I knew all along that Mr Mather wouldn't let the summer of next year go by without seeing Ibiza and all those women.

Tony rings and we arrange to go to the Hare with Stuart at 8.15. I then contact Martyn and he says he's going with his girlfriend Carla to a new wine bar in Ilkley so I don't think we'll see him tonight. Later: Tony comes at 8.15 and we go to a Christmas-decorated Hare & Hounds and meet Stuart Walker, Esq, and Susan and Peter. After a couple of drinks we join Martyn and his lady at Ilkley and we polish off two bottles of wine before going on to the Rose & Crown. Quite a liquid evening. All back to W.H. Smith's for a coffee and Tony discovers he has a flat tyre which takes us through until 12.15am. Home in a fog and we discuss Thursday night. Hit the sack at 1.05am.

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Wednesday May 28, 1975

A right Royal Day today. I arrived at work to find a photo of the bearded Prince of Wales on my desk, and I was startled to see how much he looked like a young King George V. Without further ado I delved into the picture archives and emerged with a photo of George V, suitably bearded of course. The resemblance is remarkable and I realised immediately that this would be a good idea for a story. 'People' the YP diary is an obvious place for such an article. However, my labours are in vain, and every time I attempt to pass on my ideas they are shouted down and ridiculed. By lunchtime I have given up hope. However, at 3 I was approached by Chris Dawson with a request for pictures of ALL the bearded monarchs of England. 'Hell', I thought, 'how many Kings of England have been bearded. Let's solve this by a process of elimination.' George VI and Edward VIII were clean shaven, and so was Queen Victoria. King Edward VII and King George V were proud beard owners, and none of the first four Georges had one. Queen Anne didn't have one, and William and Mary couldn't grow a beard between them. So, in one way or another the throne of Great Britain was beardless between 1649 and 1901. Henry VIII and poor Charles I were reasonably endowed with facial hair, but that's about all.

But alas, and alack, no sooner had I suppled Chris Dawson with images of bearded kings that I receive news of horrific consequence. Carol is shouting something like: 'He's shaved it off! He's shaved it off!' Indeed, the prince has succumbed to the razor. Carol was laughing hysterically. 'He's got a moustache now'.

The thought of searching for moustachioed monarchs didn't please me all that much. Poor Dawson returned to his desk, head bowed at the thought of losing a good story.

On my arriving home I look in at the 6 o'clock news and see the Prince of Wales endowed with a moustache dressed in robes of Grand Master of the Order of the Bath, and looking remarkably like the Prince Consort. However, I have made up my mind never to notice resemblances amongst members of the Royal Family again.

Home at 5.30 for tea and prepare to see Leeds United in the European Cup. Dave Baker joins us and we indulge in a few glasses of lager, ale, &c.

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Wednesday January 22, 1975

Dad wakes me at about 10am with a cup of tea - no sugar of course. I don't think I've mentioned the fact that on Monday afternoon I stopped taking sugar in tea, coffee or whatever other drinks I will be partaking of in the future. Sugar can't really be beneficial, and besides, with the price of it rocketing up and up it's bound to make it last longer at home. It all tasted weird at first, but now I'm quite used to it. Sit in bed gulping tea and reading of the death of the Prince Consort in my new book. How anyone can be devoted to someone else, like Victoria was to Albert, I shall never know. I do tend to be a loner. The thought of a permanent partnership with a young lady brings on suffocating nausea. Marriage for me is out of the question for five or six years at least. Two years ago I felt quite different. June would have been down the aisle and then swept off to a little hotel in Majorca if she'd have let me. Thank God she didn't.

Saw something in the paper the other day suggesting that Hugh Fraser, the feeble husband of the sexy writer Lady Antonia Fraser, is to stand in the election for the Tory leadership. I quite fancy the idea myself. Margaret Thatcher just wouldn't do. And with Mr Heath going about killing dolphins just for the sake of it, I see no point in him remaining leader any longer - the poor sod is obviously off his rocker, i.e. mad.
Meanwhile later that evening: whilst on the phone to Chris, Dave walks in and drops a snowball down my shirt front! The winter is come at last! About bloody time too.

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Saturday December 14, 1974

Death of Prince Albert, 1861. George VI born 1895. Uncle Tony's birthday. 39th I think. Mum, Dad, Auntie Eleanor and Uncle Jack plus Uncle Harry trot off to Bradford in order to pursue birthday celebrations with the Gadsby clan. They come home in the early hours minus Uncle H - who disappeared in Bradford. Naturally, they are all perturbed about the whereabouts of his person, but one thing's for sure, we have his car parked on our drive awaiting the return of its master.

I was at the YP until 12 when I met John in WH Smiths. We spend three hours on a so-called shopping for Christmas presents spree but after this substantial time lapse I haven't laid hands on one present, and have instead a new pair of shoes and a woolly cardigan. Home on a crowded 55 bus. We sit around waiting for food - in my case, the first meal of the day! Eat fish and chips twice.

To the Hare and Hounds in Kevin Teale's van after arranging to meet Dave Lawson who rang at 8.30. After depositing me at the Hare John and pals go off to Ilkley again and say that they'll see me at the Cow & Calf later. I sit quite alone with a lager until 8.30. Ring Denny who says Adrian didn't turn up tonight after they'd arranged a reconciliation.

Dave and Sandra come in at 8.30, followed by Andy and the Smiths. We all go to the Black Horse - a detestible joint but they all like it - and move on to the Cow & Calf without Dave who didn't fancy it. Wish I hadn't gone. Rubbish it really was. Carol Smith and one of the Denby boys started having a relationship. Peter brings me home after 1am and I have a laugh with Lynn and Dave before going to bed.

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