Showing posts with label shrove tuesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shrove tuesday. Show all posts

20120213

Tuesday February 22, 1977

Pancake Day, or whatever you want to call it. Pissing down with rain all day but I'm not put off wandering into town to collect the record 'Body Heat' by James Brown. Got a bit wet even after taking precautions with an umberella. The soaking was worth it for this soul masterpiece.

Link to Body Heat by Mr James Brown

David Owen.
Yes, David Owen is the new Foreign Secretary at 38. It sure looks like we're going to be lumbered with (Denis) Healey as chancellor until the next rotten general election, doesn't it? (Why am I asking you? You know the outcome anyway. I suppose David Owen is now Sir David Owen, KG, the former prime minister?) The Foreign Office at thirty eight surely ensures some sort of promotion in the next 20 years and the premiership is only three or four places up the scale. Oh, I'm bored with this topic anyway. Politics is dreadful. Mr Callaghan is a silly old fool, and you know what I think about Margaret Hilda Thatcher. Don't talk to me about devolution either.

Sitting on the bus at 4.30  I remembered I promised John & Maria I'd pay them a visit for tea tonight and so I disembarked in torrential rain in Guiseley and telephoned Papa with the news that I would not be home for a heap of pancakes. Down to J and M's where I sit entertaining the baby whilst Maria did her bit towards making Shrove Tuesday the traditional thingy. JPH is taking notice now and his grin is even wider. Spent a couple of hours going through Maria's mail order catalogue and made a few orders. I played my new James Brown record over and over again attempting to indoctrinate the baby with it. We want him to be a little soul kid. I also held his face very close to the TV when the 6 o'clock news showed the Queen and Prince Philip in New Zealand. He must learn to adore his sovereign from a very early age. His mother however yelled abuse and sang Irish rebel songs at the TV.

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20101103

Tuesday March 2, 1976


Shrove Tuesday again. I say 'again' because Mum, in her ignorance, made millions of pancakes last Tuesday and passed the word round to the other inhabitants of Hawksworth Lane, who took her information as the truth, and followed blindly with the misguided pancake tossing.

Busy day at work. CB rang at 12.30 and is is cut off after two or three minutes by one of our ridiculous telephone operators. CB didn't bother ringing back. I hope she doesn't think I hung up on her.

Carole is sick of the pair of ignorant sods - her parents, and she says she's going to leave home when I move to Ripon because she can no longer stand being under the same roof with them.

I devour countless numbers of pancakes and Mum and Dad leave at 6.30 for Kirby Malzeard to offer the Henry Jenkins owner £30,000 for the lot.

Carole comes up at 6.30 straight from work. I make her several pancakes. C cannot remember the last time she had any. (Pancakes, of course. Behave yourselves.) Old Mrs Phillips has a lot to answer for because that poor girl has been subject to a near non-existant diet. The Phillips family eat nothing but chips. It wouldn't surprise me to discover that they in fact belong to a rare religious sect who idolise and worship the Frying Pan.

Have a quiet night in front of the TV with Carole, Lynn and David. He buys a bottle of apricot wine after we hap a whip round for the necessary cash. Saw a programme on BBC2 about John Bentley, the lecherous, ruthless financial wizard, who made £2m out of wrecking companies, and Carole says I look just like him! Pity my wallet isn't like his.

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Sunday April 1, 1984

 4th Sunday in Lent Mothering Sunday New Moon Sunny, bright, &c. Smothering Sunday. All Fool's Day. Busy. Rob came and so too did th...