Wednesday March 5, 1975

The noisy bloody workmen are making life unbearable. However, I'm not going to dwell upon it and I'll turn to the joys of Spring instead.

I despatched a letter to Christine at lunchtime, and the only conclusion that I can draw is that it must be love. Christopher Ratcliffe will have to go. I can't help smiling at the printed heading on the diary page for Christine's birthday - March 16 - PASSION SUNDAY! Rather appropriate really. Let us hope that the day lives up to its name.

My financial situation isn't all that good on my arrival home and I decide to stay in. However, John is close at hand with his wallet and I end up propping up the juke box in the Hare & Hounds as though I do it every day (er, you do). Quite an uneventful evening really & come home with my chauffeur at kicking out time.

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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.

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Monday March 3, 1975

Busy day at the YP. The builders, or whatever they call themselves, are smashing holes in the walls and making a nasty mess in general. The phone never stopped all day and I can't say I was sorry to get out at 5.00pm.

Walking home was a treasure indeed. The mildness and the light made me realise just how fantastic Spring really is. The daffodils are opening, and it's a relief to know that the little bit of winter we've experienced is the only winter we are going to get.

It's going to be yet another expensive week. Lynn is 17 on Thursday and Dave is 19 on Saturday, and it's Mothering Sunday the day after. Wow! A few quid will be parted from the Imperial wallet before Monday is with us omce again.

Christine will now be in London, and I feel strange about about something. I have always had a great affection for her, and I'm sure I'll pine for her when she's not knocking about with us regularly. I may even love her without knowing it. Or have I always known and refused to believe it? If she is through with Chris one never know what might arise.

Have a bath and see television all evening. Kojak, the bald headed copper is all the rage at the moment. This was followed by part God knows what of 'Churchill's People'. This was about William Wallace and Edward I, &c.

Cornish pasty for supper and come to bed at about 11 o'clock.

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Sunday March 2, 1975

3rd Sunday in Lent. Very mild day. After a nice lunch of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding I nip into the garden and do a spot of pruning. The roses at the front of the house yield to my plans, but after an hour or so I retire to the lounge with an orange and a terrible thirst. Sue too is gagging for liquid refreshment, and Peter comes up with a bottle of ale for her. We've either had an excess of salt in the lunch or we have all fallen foul of a sudden attack of alcoholism. It could quite possibly be the latter.

Down to the Hare at 8 with John and Naomi. Julie Slater and Gillian come too, and I can't help laughing at the way Gillian treated Peter M last night. They were all 'lovey-Dovey' on Friday at Wikis, but she didn't even look at him last night! The poor chap is so confused. Sit with Helen all night at the same table as Carol and her latest. John comes across at about 10.15 and asks whether I want to go to Gillian's to finish off the booze left over from her brother's 21st. I say yes, but get a dirty look when Helen makes a move too. In other words, they want me, but they don't want Helen. In the end neither of us go, and we stay at the Hare until closing.

Christine rang me this afternoon inorder to give me her London address where she'll be residing until Friday. Chris tonight thought for certain that it was all over, and that Christine was too scared to tell him. After all they've not been out since last Saturday. He can't really complain after 2 months anyway. I'll write to pass on Philip's messages.

Home at 11 to see the end of a film with Dad and Lynn & Dave. The young lovers look bored lately and I hope it isn't all breaking up. They make such a good couple.

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Saturday March 1, 1975

St David's Day. Weird goings on indeed today. The bloody fog is still here, and so I refuse to venture out of doors until the call of the pub summons me in the evening.

Down to the Hare & Hounds where I discover that a party is being thrown in Otley by one of Linda Smith's colleagues. At first the idea doesn't seem too bad, but hang on a minute. Chris brings Denny down with him. She's no longer a smoker, and discos are no longer a thrill and a joy to her. Ade is ruining her life but she refuses to realise it. The poor girl will be engaged and married off by the summer of '76 - you mark my words. Linda Smith says that Christine Dibb and Helen Lockyer (Jane's sister) can't come to the party, but I protest and also refuse to go. The three of us remain at the Hare. June Dixon, a real snobby weirdo, and her pal, Brenda take the three of us to the Fox - the next pub down from the Hare. We stay until 10.45 and go after being insulted by one of the barmaids. Back to Helen's in Menston. Drink Martini, beer and whisky in front of the TV until it closes down and then go through a book containing the works of Salvador Dali. June and Brenda leave at 12 - in something of a hurry after I said something disagreeable, and the three of us remained until 3.30. Finished off with toast and Bovril then Jane drove us home.

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Friday February 28, 1975

Go to Leeds on the 55 bus and encountered Philip Knowles no less. He had certain unrepeatable things to say about Christine, but otherwise it was a pleasant journey. Work was busy but pleasant. Didn't arrive until 9.15 and left at 4.30. My lovable boss is worth her weight in gold.

On Wednesday in the Hare I had an interesting conversation with Helen and we decided to hold a joint birthday celebration on April 5. Something like Chris and Laura did last year - a coach party job. She's going to do some ringing round over the next few days. May as well arrange it as soon as possible.

At lunchtime I get another pair of trousers - brown this time though.I'll be something like a living tailor's dummy by the time Spring pops up.

To the Hare & Hounds with Lynn and Dave. Chris comes along. Christine is babysitting or something equally obnoxious for a Friday. Keith and Helen, Carol (with her hair up). No Phyllis Whitethighs she has galloping pneumonia or something. John and Naomi in all their splendour. Helen (or Southern Comfort Sally), and that's about it. The Happy Family in the Hare and all is well. Some move on to the Malt Shovel in Menston, but the life and soul remain faithful to the Pub of Pubs.
To Wikis where Christine Dibb and I dance ourselves into a semi-state of unconsciousness. At 1.30 whilst we are still dancing the others creep home leaving us to our own devices. We walk home together at 2. a bit misty, but no cold which was a God send.

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Thursday February 27, 1975

More ruddy fog all day. I don't mind snow. I can tolerate frost, ice, rain, heatwaves and hurricanes, but I draw the line at fog. A lung congesting white blanket which does nothing but depress all who who into contact with it. Sickening.

We all, other than Kathleen that is, evacuate the library and perch in 'the Black Hole of Calcutta' as Ronnie Wilkinson would say. Bogged down cutting yesterdays EP and todays YP.

Escape to the Central with Eileen again for our Thursday afternoon booze-up. This is becoming quite a regular thing, and I only hope we can manage to keep it up. The trouble is I become so tired after a lunchtime drink. By 3.30 I'm invariably snoring under a desk or in a semi-coma behind a filing cabinet. Out at 4.30 and home by 5.15.

Tomorrow Uncle Harold and the Labour government more or less celebrate their first birthday. I say 'more or less' because the general election was on Feb 28, but the late Mr Heath didn't resign until the middle of August or something. Please do not think that my views about the government have changed in any way. That would be the last thing I'd want. It's just that I've made up my mind that Uncle Harold isn't such a filthy old Bastard after all. In fact, he's quite human really. If he changed to a Tory I'm sure he'd do everyone a favour. Anyway, he pushed the Queen's money through parliament last night, which was good of him.

Let the Bells ring out! Marita just rang. She's coming out with us the weekend after next.

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