Showing posts with label sir elton john. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sir elton john. Show all posts

20101117

Tuesday May 18, 1976


A warm, pleasant day. Go into town at lunchtime and collect the two Elton John records and at the same time order 'Make Me Smile' by Cockney Rebel for Christine. Why can't a chap buy a ladyfriend a gift occasionally? Nip unaccompanied into the Ostlers and have a couple of lagers.

Main topic at work is the coming events of Saturday night. Darryl Wills says he's coming when he hears that Sarah is attending. If she brings Peter, her boyfriend, we'll all be done for, but knowing Sarah I can see her turning up in a single capacity just to please me (wishful thinking).

Mr Monkman was buried today at 2.30. Dad and Ernest Blackwell represented the Hawksworth Lane residents, but I didn't fancy the idea at all. Funerals are not things one should rush into are they?

David rings at 7 o'clock to say his Dad is in hospital following a mild heart attack! God Almighty! That family is in a bad state! Mr Lawson always appears to be such a healthy chap too. He comes up to our place at 8.30 (David) and we go to the Queen's on Apperley Lane to meet Marita and Denise for a few drinks. It made a change going out on a Tuesday. We had a few laughs. David goes back into hospital on Friday and doesn't think he'll be well enough to come on Saturday.

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20101116

Thursday April 29, 1976



The Elton John concert tonight was indescribable. Brilliant, and the absolute ultimate in sound. For £6 Carole and I had immaculate entertainment. He came on stage at 8.30 and stayed until after eleven. He did all his famous pieces, and only a minimum of obscure ones. Missed the last bus home and had to walk from Rawdon. Carole stayed at our house because I din't want her walking to Menston. Saw a woman pissing all over a bus shelter in Guiseley, and laughed all the way home. Home for 1am absolutely deafened by fantastic Elton, and crippled. Shagged out entirely.

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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...