Sunday September 17, 1978

17th after Trinity

Out of bed at 11. Jacq and I kept Mum awake in the small hours of the morning playing records. Sue and Pete announce they are going to Cracoe near Skipton for lunch and they invited Jacq and I to join them at the Devonshire Arms. The four of us piled into Pete's car and headed for the Dales.

At Cracoe Jacq and I only had 2 drinks and no food due to gross financial embarrassment and we watched Sue and Pete eat prawn sandwiches and chips. From here we left for Malham but Pete announced he was short of fuel, and we were compelled to stop off at Foxup, where his cousin farms, to snatch petrol. The smell of the roast dinner at Foxup Farm almost drove me mad.

Back home at 5 we had fish and chips and half an hour later Mum, Dad, Jim, Margaret and Julie left to collect Lynn and Dave from East Midlands Airport. Sue and Pete went down to his house, and Jacq and I watched the telly. Lynn, Dave and party returned at 11. They looked brown, happy and well.

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Saturday February 28, 1976

Chris, Christine, Carole and I go up to the Yorkshire Dales for a drink tonight. He takes me to Carole's at 8pm and I wait with Lord & Lady Phillips while she gets ready. We are all off and in the direction of Grassington by 8.30 and we certainly make a funny foursome. Christine and I laugh at the usual crude things much to Chris's embarrassment. Carole never notices the vulgar trend in the conversation and she shuts herself away in that lonely little world of hers. I am stunned when she tells me she's never been to Grassington before. Oh, when she saw the old fashioned hand-pumps in the Devonshire (Arms) she thought they were a new invention! Benenden must have become a really slack school since Princess Anne left. Lord Phillips should perhaps have sent little Caroline to a state school where she might have had more experience of beer dispensing equipment. We have scampi and chips at the Devonshire and leave at about 11 o'clock for home. Carole feels sick on the way. She isn't a good traveller really. She should have reminded me of this malady because we needn't have ventured so far into the hills.

We have a serious chat in the car coming home, the four of us that is, and the usual topical things were discussed, i.e. euthenasia and abortion, &c. Chris and I are always on the verge of coming to blows and long painful silences inevitably follow. He tells me that he's seen in tonight's EP that Princess Anne is pregnant. I do not believe it. My old Olympic theory will be correct and she will not be pregnant before September at least.

Home at 12.30.


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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.

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Saturday May 24, 1975

Day Two at Grassington: Don't awake until about 11am which is quite remarkable. I always imagined the campers would have to crawl out the sack at the crack of dawn because of the rumpus created by cocks, and other various poultry, or because of acute cold, and lumpy ground, &c. But strangely enough, the night was tranquil and I slept like a log throughout.

After a greasy breakfast and a splash in the river we drove into Grassington for a general potter about. Nothing of great consequence, so we motored around aimlessly and fell upon Kettlewell. The sky was very dull, and the air bracing, and so we nipped into the nearest warm haven for a few hours. As it happened it turned out to be a pub, a most congenial experience. We came out feeling a good deal more good humoured then when we went in , and so our tripwasn't in vain.

Aysgarth was the next port of call and we were unimpressed by the falls therein. Not a particularly stunning sight.

Back to Grassington's ale houses in the evening, and John ended up drinking tomato joices because of a stomach disorder. He blames all the fried nosh, but I can't help thinking it has something to do with the alcoholic intake of yesterday.

Back to the tent for a camp fire until after 1am. We're all getting on better than I imagined we would. Peter isn't the swine I always imagined he'd be to camp with.

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Saturday May 3, 1975

John wakes me at about 11.30 and I feel quite rotten again. Headache and sore throat. On making enquiries I discover that we're all the same in the house. John, in the car, departs in the direction of Horsforth. He's going to Chris's then down to Charlie Brown's for some car tyres or something.

I do most of the housework. (Just thought I'd slip that in, and I'd like to make it quite clear that I'm proud of it. Men who can't do the ordinary household chores are pathetic). Play a few records but feel as though my head is about to explode.Mum and Dad come back from Bradford and they say they feel the same. Mum kept saying that we might have a gas leak or something, but surely if this was the case we'd all be unconscious or dead?

This evening was one of the most nasty, uncomfortable affairs I've ever really experienced. To start with, John went to collect his idol ___ and he was persuaded to call in at the revolting Station 'just for a quick one'. I had a pint of Guinness which ruined my evening because it stuck in the pit of my stomach like three tons of reinforced concrete. After collecting Linda, Carol and Miss Dibb we made our way to the Devonshire Arms near Bolton Abbey - a most hideous tavern, full of old clapped-out idiots in tweed trousers. From then on things went down hill and the gang ended up in Burnsall. I was with Lynn and Dave and noticed the horror on Mr Baker's face at the mileage we were doing. When petrol is 70p a gallon I couldn't agree more with him. Never again.


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Thursday February 13, 1975

Boring day really. See television all evening including 'Top of the Pops' and a few other miserable offerings. Have a bath and tidy myself up generally. Going out on a fool-hardy venture tomorrow night. All the way to Linton in the Dales just for a few drinks! Bloody ridiculous. You know, it was that place we went to in August with the ring on the ceiling.

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Saturday September 7, 1974

As I've already said, we were attacked by savage wasps whilst listening to the Ed Stewart Show. Fortunately, Chris found some fly killer in the caravan and we managed to keep them off us whilst we got dressed.

Make breakfast much to the disgust of Linda, who wanted an extra 10 minutes in bed with Andy. Chris takes the three of us into Grassington for the afternoon, where the torrential rain lashed down upo us.

Buy several necessities of food, like cocktail cherries, and manadarin oranges. Also buy on impulse, a large feather duster - don't ask me why.

Go into a pub for lunch and meet a bloke who dwells at Rawdon, who was far too familiar with us for comfort - even going so far of offer us beds in his caravan if the weather continues to worsen. Andy labelled him a queer from the start, but I just think he was being slightly over-friendly.

Stagger round the camp-site in a gale force wind, glass of martini in one hand, trying to secure the tent, which unfortunately rips open in a sudden surge of wind. The destroyed tent renders us homeless for the night. Peter offers us all beds in the caravan which we gratefully accept (good of him I'm sure). Back on a pub-crawl again where I fall foul to the lure of fruit machines which Dave Lawson introduced me to. Good evening & then back to the caravan feeling full of cold, no doubt caught off Chris. Everyone in the caravan except Andy, Linda, Ray and Gill. Carol Smith and Christine Whitethighs get drunk and fight like cats in the night.

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