Monday July 24, 1978

The YP landed on me with a resounding crash. The whole thing is simply too horrific to discuss. Well, it was like this. I was minding my own business in the fashion that I usually mind my own business in, and quite by chance I found myself on Wellington Street, a grubby, protrusion smelling of alcohol, abutting the famous City Square. Then it happened. Yes, a large, grey, slime~covered building leapt out in my path and before I could struggle or make a dash for it I had been totally devoured. It was the Yorkshire Post.





Ode to the Yorkshire Post

I believe you are a newspaper,
Keith's Mum seems to think so anyway,

Myself I prefer the Daily Mail,
I don't know why.

E. Jarvis Thribb.

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Tuesday November 8, 1977

Quite a good day at the YP. A new journalist, John Longman, came into the library and I spent the day with him showing him the ropes. He seems quite a decent sort really.

Kathleen was in a strangely pleasant and unruffled mood. Is her sailor boyfriend in harbour at the moment, one wonders?

Princess Anne: married stableboy.

Read in the papers that Princess Anne is going to be delivered of the young Mr Phillips in hospital, probably the King Edward VII Hospital for Officers. So very sad and a horrid departure from tradition. Young Lord Ulster and Lord Nicholas Windsor were hospital born but no other royals so near the Throne have been. Ah well, I suppose somebody somewhere will call it the march of progress.

I heard, with horror and nausea, Kenneth Kendal announce on the nine o'clock news, that Princess Anne's child will not receive a title of any kind and will be known simply as Master or Miss Phillips. Born in a common hospital, and without a title! What a let down. My God, 'Private Eye' was right when it said, two or three years ago, that Gt Britain's decline could be traced to the sad day when Princess Anne married her stableboy. As the years go by I rely more and more on the deliberations of that knowledgeable organ, 'the Eye'.

Mum and Dad went to the Cow & Calf with John and Maria at 8.30 and did not return until almost 1am. ____. Afterwards they took refreshment at 69, Silverdale Drive. ______.

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Friday September 10, 1976

A wet and blustery day. Go into town at 1.30 and take my latest film into the chemist for developing. Very exciting.

See in the Daily Mail [and later in the EP] that Prince Charles and Davina Sheffield will probably marry next year - according to their friends. Who needs friends with people like that around? Or even who needs enemies with friends like that? [Keep trying the different friends angle and you'll eventually get it right, Michael.] Mum asks if Davina is 'suitable Queen material'. I say yes.

Go to the Hare with Lynne and Susan in Peter's car [Peter N's that is] after 8 o'clock and meet Christine White and a bearded Stuart, who come in to investigate Maria's forthcoming confinement. They leave shortly afterwards. Lynn and Dave come down with cousin Sam [Rhodes] who I haven't seen since 1970-71 or so. He is alright but somewhat withdrawn. Mum and Dad come in with Harry. Back home in pouring rain at 11.30 or so after seeing Carole and Naomi.

Give Lynne a pile of old copies of 'Private Eye' and a packet of tea for Mrs Mather as repayment for all the supplies I consumed last weekend. She goes off in a rainstorm at midnight for Thornton-le-Dale and the rest of us have a drink [a serious one]. Bed at 3.30am.... intoxicated.

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Thursday March 20, 1975

A good day really. Frantic in the morning but at least it all passed quickly. Pay day yet again, and it coincides quite conveniently with my Barclaycard repayments. £13 they want this time.

Home on the 4.30 bus where I bump into Martin Vere-Bujnowski, who is at Nottingham Polytechnic. Haven't seen him since Christmas, and apparently he's remained faithful to the Emmotts after all these years, and I suppose he's forgotten that other places of public refreshment exist.

'Private Eye' is funny this week with some good tales of the wedding of Lord and Lady Lichfield. The Queen is always referred to as 'Brenda' which is potty really. The Duke of Edinburgh is 'Keith'. Say no more.

Home to hear from Lynn that Mum won £50 on the Premium Bonds today. Bloody marvellous it really is, and about two years to the day since she last won £50. God only knows what she'll do with it all. Probably invest it. She keeps saying it will not affect her lifestyle in any way, and she doesn't intend buying a mink coat or Rolls-Royce. It's back to work tomorrow at her £30 a week office job - no life of luxury for her. No indeed.

The 17th birthday of Mr Peter Nason. Sue, Pete, Lynn and Dave are trotting off for a meal somewhere, and it certainly looks like a champagne all round occasion. I never did anything like this when I was his age. A sign of the times.

Mum had a letter from Ruby and Arthur today. They say they had a letter from Uncle Tony the other week who told them they don't see us anymore due to a squabble over a 'holiday'. A load of balderdash.

After the others had gone to dine Mum and Papa took John and I to the Commercial where we had a few celebratory drinks. Home at 11 for a sherry session with Pete, Sue, Lynn and Dave. Bed at about 12.30.

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Tuesday March 18, 1975

Quite a day of excitement really. That treasured relic of the Parliamentary system, namely Uncle Harold, announced today that the Labour government is in favour of our nation remaining a member of the Common Market. I can't really see why he made such a fuss about it in the first place. The one good thing which the late Mr Heath did was to obtain our membership of the E.E.C. and at the time I thought it was most childish of Uncle Harold to say he'd bring us out. Anyway, the so-called referendum will decide categorically what we're going to do - but if both Conservative and Labour parties think we should stay in, I fail to grasp why we have been consulted at all. I'm intending ignoring the referendum when it comes. Futile things like this should be of no concern to the general public at all. It's a bloody disgrace really.

Snowed again today. Weird weather. Went for a jog around Leeds at lunchtime. Consumed a couple of sandwiches in Park Square and made several useless attempts to lay hands on a copy of 'Private Eye'.

The editor ran around the library in a flap this morning shouting 'Sheila Viscountess Devonport' in a hurried voice at irregular intervals. No news cuttings were to be found on the dear, noble lady, but I did lay hands on a photo, dated 1952. 'Devonport. Sheila Viscountess D-E-V-O-N-P-O-R-T. Lady S-H-E-I-L-A Devonport. She's a viscountess. A peeress. L-A-D-Y S-H-E-I-L-A-D-E-V-O-N-P-O-R-T'. OK, we get the message. We enquire exactly what's happened to the peeress to cause such a panic. He says she's been kidnapped by the Black Panther, and leaves the library laughing hideously. Clearly not a devotee of the aristocracy. We later discover that she's only been forced out of her home in the early hours of the morning, and that no harm has befallen her at all. No doubt you're overjoyed on hearing this.

The Duchess of Kent was in Leeds today on university business.

See a Cary Grant and Doris Day film on BBC2 and stagger to bed at about 11 with P.G. Wodehouse, after listening to Uncle Harold talking a load of old rubbish on the late night news. It's really terrible the way he's trying to hoodwink everyone over this referendum nonsense.

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Wednesday February 5, 1975

Horrid day. Gordon Pickles, a reporter on the EP, was killed in a road accident in the early hours of the morning. I didn't know him really well, but it's nauseating to think I was laughing and joking with him on Monday about something in 'Private Eye'. Here today, gone tomorrow, or is it more appropriate to say 'here yesterday, gone today?'

To the Hare & Hounds with John, No one other than Andy arrives, but a pleasant evening is had. John and Andy certainy know a nice bunch of women, and I wonder what exactly I've been doing all these weeks while they've been pulling in the talent.

A silly old hag on 'Nationwide' tonight remarked that the late Mr Heath is 'a second Churchill' in his oratory abilities. She couldn't possibly be referring to the great Sir Winston, so I think she means either Baroness Spencer-Churchill ( a right little raver when she's roused) or her up and coming grandson, Mr Winston Churchill. God only knows where all this Tory party eye-wash will lead us.
Sit in bed with Agatha again. Finish 'The Mystery of Chimneys' - really entertaining. Pass out into a deep sleep at about 1 o'clock.

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Thursday October 17, 1974

See in the EP that Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia is having an affair with Richard Burton, the notorious profligate and actor. The princess is a first cousin of the Kents, being a niece of Princess Marina, Duchess of Kent; and thus is a second cousin of the Prince of Wales, Duke of Edinburgh, &c. A remarkable coincidence arises from this romance which the Press doesn't seem to have caught on to. It is that the Burtons are, or where before Liz (Taylor) got her divorce, good friends of President Tito of Yugoslavia. Putting two and two together Tito, in one of his discussions with Burton, could have intimated that on his retirement he was considering restoring the monarchy. Does he intend to place Princess Elizabeth on the throne and make Burton the Prince Consort of Yugoslavia? It is not impossible. The twice-wed princess took Burton to lunch with Princess Alexandra at the weekend.

Don't feel too well today. My throat, chest, nose and other numerous parts are quite poorly and exhausted. Could do with a few days off really. At lunchtime I get more Windsor photos and copies of those taken at John's 18th birthday party - £3.70 they rushed me.

Amused by an article in 'Private Eye' which says that since Princess Anne married her 'stable lad' many people have traced the decline of our country's status from that shameful occasion. It also states, in its infinite wisdom, that since the princess was made a GCVO in August, she is 'Princess Anne, Dame Anne Phillips' and not 'Princess Anne, Mrs Mark Phillips'.

Ring Denny who isn't very informative, and speak to Marita who is visiting her. See 'Top of the Pops' then ring Lynne. Spend half an hour on the phone and poor Mummy was quite desolate at the thought of the coming phone bill. Have bath and see tv all evening. My voice feels like it's on the verge of collapse. Goodnight everyone.

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