Sunday June 19, 1977

2nd after Trinity.  The Evening Post Father's Day Trip to Blackpool with all the consequences that go with it.

Lazenby: music hall star.

Martyn, of course joined the team and the both of us were with Pete Lazenby for most of the day. We started drinking on the coach at about 9.30am and until 11pm it was really the only source of recreation.  For a couple of hours in the afternoon when the pubs closed to re-stock their shelves we went wild on the Golden Mile - clad in our eccentric head-gear as is the tradition on the annual Father's Day excursion.

Why is it that respectable old ladies will go to great lengths just to kiss the proud, upstanding wearer of a top hat?  They do, anyway.

The weather was exceptional. Warm and sunny. We couldn't participate in the ritual 'football of the beach' because for the first time in living memory, the tide was, as they say, in.

By 7.30 we were back at the Albion in Skipton for refreshment and Peter's cabaret appearance. The boy excelled himself too. His song about the royal family set to the tune of 'In an English Country Garden' received my boos and hisses and tremendous applause was given to his 'Albert and the Lion'. He'd make a brilliant music hall star. Home by 11.30 and only slightly pissed which cannot be said for the majority of merry trippers. No indeed.

-=-

Friday December 3, 1976

Miss Carol Smith's birthday at the Barge, Skipton. Earlier I purchased a new jacket for £28 in Mates. Then to Miss Smith's party. Travelled, of course, by coach and those lucky enough to be included in the party were:-

Miss Lynne Mather
Miss Christine Dibb
Miss Linda Smith
Mrs Maria Rhodes
Miss Christine White
Miss Carla [Martyn's bit of stuff]
Mr John Rhodes
Mr Peter Mather
Mr Christopher Ratcliffe
Mr Andrew Graham
Mr Graham Airey [lover of Miss Dibb]
Mr Stewart Newton, &c.

Home at about 3.30am. A perishing cold night. Too buggered to say more. Lynne wasn't too enthralling. What more can I say?

-==-

Sunday June 20, 1976

1st after Trinity. Evening Post Father's Day trip to Blackpool. Need I go into the details? Spent most of the day with Peter Lazenby, both wearing bowler hats. In fact, Peter's was a top hat and the label inside read: "By Royal Appointment to HRH The Duchess of Connaught." She died in 1916-18 or thereabouts which makes the hat virtually Victorian.

Everyone attempted to get pissed, but it wasn't half as bad (or good, which ever way you look at it) as people told me it would be. Poor Denis Haywood fell off a jetty and injured his arm but otherwise we had no casualties. Home at 12.15 still wearing my bowler (hat) after sitting in the Albion pub in Skipton from 7.30. A good day indeed. Father's Day too.


(HRH The Duchess of Connaught died March 14, 1917, aged 56 years - MLR).

-==-

Saturday November 15, 1975

In keeping with tradition I do not emerge from my slimy pit until noon. Mum and Dad came in within seconds of my return to the Lands of the Living and inform me that they have just purchased two wardrobes and a dressing table! "Spend, Spend, Spend" isn't our family motto for nothing.

Carole gives me one last ring before departing to Leeds to wave bye bye to her hair and the best part of £13. The poor darling was near to collapse with fear.

I have a horrible afternoon. Everyone is arguing and rushing around as though they're on fire. I lock myself away in the lounge with the stereo and play records. One would think that I'd started the Third World War by the outcry which erupted. Putting a record on seemed such a good idea too, and if Hitler had had the same conviction when dealing with his Jewish friends as I had when spinning a few discs, he'd have been goose-stepping through Guiseley in 1940.

Carole rang at 6.30 to say the hair people refused to perm her hair and decided to cut it instead. She only spent £8.50, but was close to tears. I tell her I'm coming round to see the finished creation, and because of the rain Dad drives me to Maria's.
I like it. She looks different, but on the whole it's an improvement. She doesn't believe me, and storms about the house in a lousy mood shouting 'how can I face my friends with hair like this?' and 'Oh God, just look at it!' I tried to reassure her, but didn't do all that well really.

Whilst waiting at the bus stop to go to the Hare Dad passes in the car and gives us a lift. Mum says Carole's hair is very nice, and reassures her better than I ever could. Buy Mum and Dad a drink and stand with Christine and Stuart. Peter M and CB, Martyn and CD make a cheery foursome, and I can't help thinking that Martyn is next on Christine's list of suitors. We shall have to wait and see.

Carole and I keep arguing and then breaking down laughing, and all the others decide to go to the Cow and Calf pub. Carole and I go with Christine and Stuart and little Shirley. John follows up with Maria. We have no sooner got settled in the pub that Peter mentions going to a disco in Skipton. I say no, and Carole agrees. He goes with CB, CD, Martyn and Shirley. We all have a few more drinks and then go back to Maria's. I succumb once again to dog-disease and it grows horribly worse. By 2am I'm on the verge of collapsing. This really shatters my hopes of getting a four-legged, furry friend in the near future.

-==-

Sunday May 25, 1975

Trinity Sunday. Day Three at Grassington: Nice day. Beautiful weather, though probably just a bit windy. After waking up at the same hideous, and unusual time as yesterday we once again partook of a fried breakfast, which isn't agreeing with John at all.

We intended going off to Malham, but because of the time we changed our minds and decided to go swimming at Skipton Baths. Spend a good afternoon in Skipton, and feel greatly rejuvenated after my first splash around in a pool for what seems like decades.

Back at the tent we lounge around in deckchairs listening to the Top 20 on Radio One. Well, Pete and myself did this. John and Chris were busy frying tea.

After the traditional fried meal we bung a few stones in the river and collect wood for another camp fire and generally prepare ourselves for the coming onslaught of alcohol.

To Linton and Grassington drinking. John is back on form again and we manage to deplete the beer stocks of several Yorkshire pubs.

The second camp fire proved successful again, but we are all melancholy because it's our last night. Chris was acting daft when he saw the full moon, complaining that he believed in the likes of Dracula and other creations of Hammer Horror Inc. & Warner Brothers. It was impossible to make him see reason. We ate baked potatoes on the fire, and argued whether Princess Anne had done the right thing by marrying Mark Phillips.

Bed at 2.30.

-==-