Tuesday July 5, 1977

Good weather continues but the forecast says it will change for the worst on Thursday. Who cares? With the coup d'etat in Pakistan we have far more important things to worry about.

The Ostlers.

Out at lunchtime to the Ostlers with Sarah. She and Peter B finished last night on a dramatic note - as her relationships always seem to end. Had 2 halves of lager and soaked up the details.

Comments on my haircut: Stephanie Ferguson says I look like something (note not somebody) from the Stranglers (a Punk Rock group) and later in the afternoon she toned it down to David Bowie. Sarah spoiled it all and crumbled my ego by saying I looked like 'the queer waiter at the Damn Yankee'.

Rang Carole at 2 and had it out with her. I said all the things that have been on my mind all weekend but left out the most pointed abuse because she said she was going to cry. We both blamed each other and then _____________. I called her all the names under the sun (except the really rude ones for some gentleman-like romantic reason) and arranged to go out with her on Thursday. Or perhaps I should say I decided we were going out on Thursday. She's bringing my T-shirt with her. Oh, it's all so mixed up, isn't it? My love life, or lack of it, is far from stable. Am I jinxed?

Cut the lawns tonight. Dave B came and took Lynn to her shift at the Hare - I went with them and on with Dave to George Waite's on business. Back to the Hare at 9 for the last hour. Naomi was quite chatty and says she'll send a postcard to Ibiza.

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Friday June 24, 1977

Met Dave B at 1 o'clock and went to Parker's (wine bar) where we see Delia, Sarah, Marilyn and Barbara Wheeler. We had a couple of drinks. Dave chats with Stephanie Ferguson who is in with Linda Shaw and Jo, the editor's 'fallen secretary', who leaves this afternoon.

Duchess: pregnant at 44.

Sarah and I went back to the office at 2 to relieve Carol J who also went over to Parker's to annoy Jo, and no doubt get pissed up. I intended having a quiet afternoon but the phone rang and Sarah spoke to the York Office who want everything we've got on the Duchess of Kent. They say she's pregnant. I just do not believe it. The woman is 44 years-old. Speak to the news desk and yes it is confirmed. Three royal babies before next February. Quite startling really but great news to the ears of one who relishes the spread of the Royal House of Windsor.

Tony returned from the wilds of Hampshire today. He and Martyn came up tonight and the three of us went off to the Bod. Sue (WH Smith of Bradford Sue), Michelle and Co. are in the pub but I'm not too communicative. Michelle tells me she is going to Morocco tomorrow. I just smile and say "nice" but really think going to such a place can only be a mistake. She could end up in the harem of King Hassan. Poor child, she is so naive too.

Tony is fit and cheerful. Pete M, Chris and Steve Hudson came in at 10.30. We left at 11.

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Friday January 21, 1977

It's just about a year since John & Maria announced that they were expecting the arrival of a new addition to the family. It seems longer, somehow. Did my brother ever live here with us? Did I ever share a bedroom with him? These things seem deep in the past, and I cannot imagine him without Maria or baby JPH.

Ruth Upton, later Rhodes.

Home at 5. Uncle H is at the tea table. Discuss his mother and the Upton family. (Refer to the family papers, no room to discuss them here). He is slightly pissed, and at 6.30 he goes with Mum & Dad down to see John & Maria and the poor baby. Measles at 4 months old seems a little odd to me.

Down at the Hare: Lynne, John, Maria, Harry, Dad, Sue, Peter N, Lynn, Denise, Michelle, Tony, Chris, Pete M, &c. Pay Denise our £10 deposits (£70 in all) and all is nicely arranged now. I'm miserable when, at 11 o'clock, all the mob, including Carole and Naomi too, move on to Oakwood Hall, whilst Lynne and I had to drive to Thornton-le-Dale and miss all the fun and excitement. Had a serious talk on the journey. Lynne talks about moving back over here. I remind her of Stephanie Ferguson's flat in Burley-in-Wharfedale. I enjoy getting things off my chest like that. Like what? At Ty-Onnen we swill Martini with Karl and a pal of his. Bed at 4.30 and sit reading one of Peter's Enid Blyton books. Ugh!

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