Showing posts with label sheila viscountess devonport. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sheila viscountess devonport. Show all posts

20100318

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 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...