Saturday September 22, 1979

_. Home to Guiseley at 10am, then on to Stockport in the Triumph Spitfire with the top down. We had some peculiar looks from some of the motorists on the windswept M62.

We joined Dave G for a typical Stockport drinking session, but he wasn't on form, complaining of 'a chill'. At 3 we went to buy eggs and bacon for tomorrow's breakfast and ate half a pound of cheese in the street. Back at the Hollywood [pub] we watched tv and slept until almost 8pm. We were all lethargic. Dave took us to the Georgian restaurant in Stockport where we had T-bone steaks. The energy burned in attacking the food just about finished me off, and back at the Hollywood I was shamefully reduced to drinking shandy. I could barely hold the bloody glass.

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Friday March 25, 1977

To tea at John & Maria's straight from the YP. John is looking really suave. Really. A fancy hair style. He's also slimmed down.

with JPH.

I took JPH two chocolate bars and fed him with one. The more he's 'roughed up' the more he screams for more. He loves being dangled with both feet on the floor. He'll be walking in next to no time.

Don't get home until 8pm and within minutes I'm heading back down the road with Dave B in the (Triumph) Spitfire to the Hare. Joined by CB, Chris, Pete M, and Lynn of course, and others. Carole is in with Peter Fogarty but she doesn't speak to me. She wasn't very forthcoming with Lynn either. No Martyn or Gayle of course, and Tony is out with Mandy Phillips.

At 10 I went through to the cocktail lounge to see Judith. She's a great girl. Stay until 11. Joined by Lynn and Dave. In my absence from the main lounge CB, Pete and Chris slink off to Oakwood Hall.

Home with Lynn and Dave. Caught the end of a grotty Michael Caine spy film.

Dad comes in and announces he's going to be the community constable for Guiseley with no night shifts or weekend work! Just days 9 to 5. It doesn't quite sink in and we just can't believe it.












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Sunday March 21, 1976

3rd in Lent. The clocks were altered again early this morning and so we all lost an hour in bed and I emerged at about 11.30, I think. Throwing back the curtains I received a shock indeed. Snow is coming down by the bucket full and a massive white mass is the only thing to confront ones eye-balls. Yes, it is the first day of Spring.

Dave, Pete and John all exchanged cars this morning. John sold his spitfire to David and David sold his 'Baker Mobile' to Peter - who has yet to take driving lessons, but hopes to start shortly. I feel so sorry for John, who is now carless.

After piles of porridge and greasy bacon and fried sausage I look at the Sunday papers. The Queen and Princess Margaret had a meeting at Royal Lodge yesterday to discuss the separation. Who'd have believed it? And who is willing to bet that within the next three or four years we will be reading of 'The Princess Margaret, Mrs Roderic Llewellyn' in the Court Circular? But to be serious, the whole thing is a great tragedy especially for the poor Queen who has dedicated her whole life to building the House of Windsor into a secure dynasty only to have her 25 years on the throne marred by her sisters marital problems.

All afternoon and until 11 o'clock tonight Carole and I sort out Mum's photo collection and re-bind the lot. Exhausted ans short tempered by the end of it.

David takes Carole home in the spitfire. I come to bed and mess around looking for something to read. The library days seem so long ago.

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Monday September 8, 1975

I've just been flicking through the entries for July and I'm horrified by some of the terrible things I've said about Carole. I really do not know why I should have taken that attitude. I met her on July 12 and immediately decided she 'wasn't my type'. Then, on July 13, I said 'she isn't going to be easy to get rid of'. Then on the 16th of the same month I labelled her a 'bitch'. By the 19th I was having second thoughts about my not liking her, and four days after that, on the 23rd, I'd quite fallen for her. She went on holiday on the 26th and I didn't see her again until I returned from Majorca on August 23. I could of course erase all the terrible references about her from my diary, but that would be censorship, which simply won't do. Let us hope that they never fall into her hands that's all - the diaries I mean.

Work wasn't too busy and I was home at 5.30 in a starved state ready for tea. John doesn't get in until 6.30 because his damned car broke down. The poor boy is forever plaged with useless cars and no matter what he does to try to fix them they rarely seem to go. One would think that a five year-old Triumph Spitfire would be a bit more reliable. In his attempts to get it home he was compelled to leave it in Guiseley, and at 8pm I went out to help him push it up the lane. You have no idea just how steep Hawksworth Lane is until you try to push half a ton of metal up it. In the process of doing this I went over on my ankle and had to stagger home.

Mum went off to the Commercial to do her bit for the nation and I sat with my foot up watching 'Al Capone', starring Rod Steiger. John brings 'George', and I don't think I mentioned what happened last night. When the girls had left at about 11.30 we said we'd signal to one another across Tranmere Park by flashing our bedroom lights on and off. It was a great success, and we learned tonight that even Mrs Macdonald was participating.

'George' stayed for her supper and left at about midnight. Mum came home at about the same time after having had a good night.

Carole rang me at 7pm and I said we should go out tomorrow. She said something about me seeing a lot of her lately, but I really don't think I have. Wednesdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays isn't every day of the week is it? After great mathematical calculations I realise I do ot see her on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays.

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Wednesday July 16, 1975

John rocketed into the upper classes at 6.30 this evening when he became the proud owner of a 1970 J registered Triumph Spitfire - a white convertable one. I'm not jealous really because it's not a thing which comes easily to me. (This is supposed to be funny).

At 11.30 this morning Eileen answered the phone and spoke to Fanny Cradock, the deep-voiced lady who cooks on the telly. She asked if she could come in and look at a 1914 file of Yorkshire Posts. Obviously, Eileen said yes, and ten minutes later Fanny was in the library shaking my hand and thanking me for finding the 1914 file for her. She was quite nice really, and not a bit like the bitch you think she is on TV.

John took me to the Hare in the Spitfire at 8, and Caroline, Maria's pal, more or less picked me up. I told her a lie and said I was going out with someone from work, at which she made the classic reply: 'I don't care. It's you I want. I don't mind sharing.' How could I refuse her after that? I find her sexy and sensual, &c, but she's a bitch and she'd like to think I will be crawling after her professing my love.However, I'm determined not to be captivated this time. I said I'd meet her tomorrow, and I'll regret it no doubt.

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