Wednesday February 1, 1978

Not writing anything today. It's my diary and when I say I cannot be bothered you should accept it. I'm glad of one thing though. January is over until 1979. Once this lousy month is out of the way it's a clear run to daffodil time, frisky lambs, and tulips waving in the Spring breeze. Marvellous eh? Would Wordsworth have been proud of my sentiments?

Carry on with poor King Edward VI. It's a bloody shame he didn't live longer. But, come to think of it, if he hadn't died prematurely England would have never had a Queen Elizabeth I, and look what a loss that would have been? If she hadn't reigned then I now would have been writing this in Spanish because Philip II would have undoubtedly made England a Spanish colony after his Armada victory over Drake. But, hang on, would the Spanish Armada have set out at all if Edward VI had still been on the throne? Would Sir Francis Drake have been in such a position too under another monarch? Oh, God. What hole am I digging here?

Clement Attlee.

Would Clement Attlee have been Labour party leader if Hereward the Wake had never existed? One could go on like this indefinitely. Alternative history. Fascinating.

Weather: snow still hanging about. Blast it.






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Thursday March 24, 1977

No one at home after tea except sweet little me. After my bath and general sprucing up I rang Tony. He's going out with Linda, Martyn and Ruth. He says he feels quite rotten about dumping me but I respond by saying I'm a good looking lad, over 21, who is quite capable of taking care of myself and able to provide my own amusement. Rightly so. I then rang Martyn.  He says he and Gayle will be in the Hare tomorrow. I then used the telephone for the third and final time tonight and rang Judith. I arranged to meet her and Kathryn in the Hare. Left home at 8.10 and marched all the way to Menston. Yes, on foot.

with Judith.

Virgin Queen?

Not a soul to speak to in the Hare until Judith came in at 9pm. I was sitting near the juke box like 11 and a half stone of cabbage. Quite a good night in all and the climax of the evening could have been dubbed with Handel's music for the royal fireworks when Carol (Fat Carol who works at the Hare) emptied the contents of the ice bucket over Judith and squirted half the contents of a soda syphon over her and Kathryn. The scene which followed was reminiscent of Queen Marie Antoinette's procession to the guillotine as Fat Carol was hotly pursued around the pub lounge. Quite hysterical really.

The three of us then passed on to the Chinese take-away in Guiseley where Judith treated me to a gastronomic delight. Afterwards on to Bedside Manor (26, Fieldhead Road) for coffee until nearly 2am. Kathryn and I debated whether Queen Elizabeth I died a virgin. She died 374 years ago today. Judith was flat on the floor in a coma as this indelicate chatter went on. It's an awkward point. How would one go about asking God's annointed if she fancied a bit of hanky panky? Those who valued their heads would have avoided such banter, we decide. Home to bed feeling absolutely buggered.

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Saturday February 5, 1977

'I may have the body of a weak and
feeble woman'

Rang Lynne this morning with every intention of 'calling it a day'. By 'It' I of course mean our love life, and by 'love life' I of course mean going down the pub three or four times a week and behaving quite respectably and boring. That famous Rhodes cowardice raised it's famous head, and I was sat on Mama's bed dialling. I just couldn't do it and we ended up discussing the weather and rising sugar prices. Oh, why am I such a feeble man? Indeed 'I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman' applies just as much to me as it did to the Empress Josephine*** or whoever coined the phrase in the first place. I am always in some kind of shitting mess, aren't I, dear, patient readers? If you are reading this please deposit this diary in the nearest dustbin because it just isn't worth it at all.

With the lovely Naomi Downing ...

Out to the Hare with Chris and Tony at 8.30. Tony is in a rotten mood._______.We move on to the Vineyard at Ilkley and then Oakwood Hall and he cheers up. Susan Hollins was at Oakwood celebrating her 21st birthday, but no one else. Not even Naomi and Co. I like Miss Downing a good deal. She makes me feel that I'm not the only piss artist in the country. A good girl all the same, and I like to have Maria on about her.


***Elizabeth the First, you idiot.

Sunday November 17, 1974

23rd after Trinity. Death of Mary I in 1558, and accession of Queen Elizabeth I. Beautiful day again. Up at 11.30 with no ill-effects from yesterday's Cow & Calf excursion. Go driving with Harry at 12 for an hour and do better than yesterday's horrific drama, which did little or no good to the car, pupil or instructor. Back home for lunch of bacon and eggs, an unusual mid-day meal for Sunday, but Mum's excuse is that Papa is decorating. After lunch I persuade John to let me loose in the 1100 and we spend a pleasant couple of hours on the road. Go to Horsforth, and tour the actual test route for an hour, then decide to visit Chris, who is staying with Denise at The Grange. I drive to Arthington where we find Denny with her boyfriend, Adrian. He's a tall (not quite my size) fair chap, of few words. Not a very pleasant afternoon, and we only stayed for one cup of coffee, and believe you me, one cup of Lorraine Akroyd's coffee is enough for any normal person to tolerate.

Home before darkness sets in too much, and we're surprised to see the little car of Uncle Harry parked on the drive. Harry stays to tea which consists of salmon sandwiches, then goes off with Mum and Dad to Addingham for the usual booze-up. John, Chris, Carol and myself go to the Hare and then the Commercial. We have a serious evening discussing everything from pre-marital sex to marriage and abortion. Back home for coffee, and so too is David, Lynn, Sue and Peter. Harry and the dear parents join us and we freak out with parnsip wine in the dining room. Dancing goes on for hours. Have beans at about 2.30 and then come to bed after seeing off Uncle Harry who, according to Dad, was the greatest policeman in West Yorkshire before turning to alcohol.

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