Showing posts with label the times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the times. Show all posts

20140102

Tuesday November 28, 1978

Fog, ice and murky weather generally. Could really do with a few months off work. It seems like a lifetime ago since I had any holiday. If the International Commission for Human Rights got to hear about my working conditions they'd all go collectively grey. I'd make a good Russian Jew.

It is indeed a sad week. On Friday the Times newspaper disappears for an unspecified period of time. God knows just how I will cope without it. It's the only decent national newspaper and the workers are doing their utmost to destroy it. Send in the tanks, that's what I say. Flatten bloody Fleet Street and hang the National Graphical Association rebels by the ankles from which ever newspaper building is the highest. Swines. I'm going now. I have nothing sensible to say and so I might as well just go to bed.

-=-

20130610

Wednesday April 12, 1978

Snow again, but warm and sunny later on. Work was quite busy and the Budget dominated the papers which is a great bore. I won't notice my extra £1 I can tell you. It (the Budget) may have been Denis Healey's last one. Sir Geoffrey Howe could be at the helm by Christmas.

I am reading (from the library yesterday) the diaries of Samuel Pepys 1659-69. I always imagined the diaries covered more years than this but it seems the poor man went blind after ten years of copiously scribing away about such things as the Great Fire of London. In 1983, if I'm still here, I may well have written more than Mr Pepys, and who knows where it will all end if I'm fit and well in the 2040s. Ooh, I do feel historic.

However, the only exciting thing for me to communicate is that I phoned Jacq at 8. The poor girl's working again tomorrow and we aren't going out until Friday.

Christine phoned me on Monday and mentioned going to Yeadon Fair, but if no vast multitude of friends wish to accompany us I can't see the point of it. Jacq, Christine and I on a roundabout would look really pathetic I think. Miss Sate was very cheerful and seems to enjoy the YWCA with all its grotesque inmates and odd characters. I think she's incredibly brave and valiant.

I was reading a report today in an old copy of The Times (from last week) which stated that in 1941 Sir Winston Churchill in a letter expressed his desire to be cremated. Good heavens! How would we have managed the remainder of the war without him? Thank God they didn't grant him his wish. If Lady Churchill had been burnt at the stake in the 1940s then today Britain would have a marvellous Graham Sutherland portrait of the old boy to admire.


Canaletto ....

In front of the TV this evening. Pete N and Dave B joined us of course. The Duke of Beaufort was on BBC1 talking about Badminton (House) and the horse trials, &c. Dad made his usual cutting remarks about the aristocracy. All you need is a red face, tweed jacket, two acres and a Canaletto and Papa's wrath is immediately aroused.

-=-

20121011

Tuesday October 11, 1977

I wrote to the Times and the YP on the matter of Princess Anne's baby and it's title, or rather lack of it, when it comes into the world. I suggest doing what King Edward VII did in 1905 (see Diary, Saturday April 9, 1977). No doubt Mr Rees-Mogg and John Edwards will cast my mail sneeringly into the waste paper baskets of their respective offices. At least it cannot be said that I have neglected the plight of what can only be referred to, at this stage, as Master or Miss Phillips.

Edith & Ernest
Edith and Ernest came over at some frightfully early hour to 'sample' the wine. Lynn and Sue departed to bed quite early leaving Mum, Dad and I with them. I haven't laughed quite so much for at least 24 hours. Ernest told us, at great length, of how his great-uncle, Edwin Fletcher, founded the Provident Clothing Company. Edith cried with laughter throughout and it proved so infectious that we all followed suit. Do not ask what is so funny about Edwin Fletcher and the Provident Clothing Co, because I doubt whether I can enlighten you one bit. Ernest also told this tale to one of his arch-snobby neighbours further down the lane (whose husband is currently involved with the above mentioned company) and she retorted: "Oh, so your must be related to the Waddiloves". Ernest turned purple and demanded to know just where the Waddilove family come into the tale, but the neighbour changed the subject to the latest Princess Margaret story.

The two Es departed at 12 like Cinderellas (pissed ones) and Mum and I had a furious row which resembled 'Vimy Ridge' proportions. I adjourned, nay retreated, to my room with 'The Count of Monte Cristo'.

-=-

20120812

Monday August 22, 1977

Phoned Anne at Smith's to enquire about a couple of free tickets for Tony and myself for the 'do' at Annabella's on Wednesday. She managed to get me some.

Tony came over after tea with a letter from the Health Authority informing him of his interment at Bradford Royal Infirmary on the morning of August 24. This means no 'do' on Wednesday for him and no bank holiday trip for him and Martyn at the weekend. He suggested Martyn and I go to Annabella's instead. He left at about 7 o'clock.

We (the family that is) watched a Frankie Howerd film 'Up the front' which is ghastly. He is a brilliant comedian but the scripts they give him to perform with are rubbish. Bed at approx. 11pm.

PS. While reading 'The Times' today I saw a letter on ancestry which claimed that going back to 1066 each person can claim to have 700 million ancestors. I just cannot believe it. The writer (a Mr D. Reid) also claims that every Briton is descended from King Edward III. This is rubbish.

-==-

20100319

Tuesday April 15, 1975


The Right Honourable Denis Healey, MP, Chancellor of the Exchequer, presented his Budget this afternoon, and I'm saying nothing whatsoever about it, other than he did nothing too drastic or outrageous. Just the usual load of old rubbish.

Busy day at the YP, and I'll be glad when Friday comes around again. A week off is just what I need at the moment.

I see a good feature in The Times on the Duchess of Windsor, still battling on at 78 years old. The poor old soul received sweet sod all from the British people, and the Royal Family ought to be ashamed. Three years since the duke died and they've done their utmost to forget all about her.

-==-

20100205

Tuesday March 4, 1975


Another busy day. The bloody builders are making even more noise, and we could all be deaf, daft, or blind by the end of the week - if we're lucky that is. We'll all go mad unless it quietens down. Leave at 4.30 again and I didn't start until 9 o'clock. Kathleen realises we are all working flat out.

On my arrival home Mum is slumped in an armchair. A chill or something. One of her colleages at work went down with something the other day and so I suppose the poor old thing has caught it too.

See in The Times that the Prince of Wales said in a speech yesterday that he almost married Lady Jane Wellesley last year due to pressure from the Press. He was actually brain washed into believing reports that he was having a romance with Lady Jane. Poor beggar. We must pester the Royal Family until they don't know whether they're coming or going.

I'm going to break off now to writea letter to you know who in London. Then I'm going to watch 'The Great Dictator' starring Charlie Chaplin, who was knighted this morning. Normally I hate Chaplin films, but this is a satire on the Nazi regime under Hitler - so it should be interesting. I'll let you know what went on in the next paragraph. Bye Bye.

Hello again. The film was exceptionally good actually, and never again will I say that Chaplin is a usless article. Thoroughly enjoyed the film, and Paulette Goddard can make a pass at me anytime she wants to. Whether she's dead or not is another matter. Bed at 11.30 after entertaining Naomi.

-==-

Sunday March 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn British Summer Time begins 3rd Sunday in Lent Bacon sandwiches and the Sunday Telegraph. Fuss about the Queen's visit to ...