Friday April 18, 1975

Last day at the YP for one whole week! All Hell will be released next week when I'm away because Kathleen is off for 3 days too - and so the three remaining will have our work to do. Home at 5 after seeing Clifford Howland on the 33 - a real freak he is.

Prepare for the usual battle for the bathroom. Lynn, John and I do war over possession rights but we're all ready for 8-ish. Sue and Pete decide to go to the Hare too. Get quite merry in the Hare. Lager and Campari - an intoxicating concoction. Poor Christine is out on her lonesome and Gary doesn't roll in until about 10. At chucking out time I see CB going out with David, tears rolling down her face. I attempt to chase after her, but she shakes me off saying she'll ring me tomorrow. I don't suppose she will.

Down to Wikis where Naomi tells John she wants a break for three weeks or so - i.e. she's trying to give him the boot in a cowardly fashion. These women think us men were all born yesterday.

Denny was out tonight but didn't say much._______.Little Sue enjoyed herself and I think that Peter should merge into our company more often. The boy never sees life other than what goes on at 58, Hawksworth Lane.

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Thursday April 17, 1975

The name Barbra Streisand will forever be imprinted in large capitals across the frontage of my heart. The woman should be knighted or perhaps canonised by by Pope Paul or something. Joan of Arc, Gladys Aylward, Queen Victoria, Germaine Greer and Princess Anne can ALL stand aside for this lady. Boy! What a Girl! Those eyes! That nose! That figure. God! Dave, Sandra and me went to to the Odeon in Leeds to see 'Funny Lady' in which Miss Streisand excelled all bounds of things which one normally excels. It finished at 10.30 and we nipped into the Take and Bake in Headingley for chicken and chips. Sandra devoured a nasty looking sausage and baked spud with crumbly cheese all over it. The car windows were so steamed up that David had to guess (more or less) where the bloody road was. Sandra looked sexy. I still don't believe she's as old as she surely must be - if you know what I mean. Well, she only looks 21-22-ish, no older than say Sarah - and yet her son Gary must be eight if he's a day. Wonderous it really is. Home at 11 to chat with Ma and Pa for half an hour. I try to persuade them to say they'll go to Windsor for a weekend with me in 3 or 4 weeks time but all Mum can talk about is my holiday in August and how much I'll have to save for it. Once again I'll finish with one word. Yak!

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Wednesday April 16, 1975

Don't expect much today because you'll be very disappointed. You see, John is alseep in bed, and it's quite late at night and the brightness of the electric lighting in the room is disturbing his slumbers somewhat. Anyway, to recap on the days events: Saw June briefly this morning as Jim drove me to Leeds- just a very, very brief glimpse because we rocketed past her at about 60 mph. However, brief it may have been, but my poor little heart almost didn't withstand the excitement. From Horsforth to the far-flung reaches of Kirkstall I travelled with it (my heart) in my mouth.

Later the same day: John deposits me in the Hare and Hounds and then takes Chris and Naomi to Bradford where Gillian is propping up a bar. (Did you know that Chris and Gillian are, as they say, 'going out'?) You know now anyway. I was left with Helen Lockyer in her Pa's car I might add, Miss C. Smith and Mr A Graham. Reluctantly I'm dragged off to the Station on Henshaw Lane. Philip Knowles comes in with a blond chick and leaves after supping only half a bitter. Denis Healey must have gone to his head or something. Half a bitter! Yuk!

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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.

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Monday April 14, 1975

Not a perfect day by any means. Rang Christine at 4.30 and she told me that it was all patched up with Gary, and so I'm an outcast through and through. She didn't say I was an outcast through and through - she doesn't really have to. DON'T I KNOW IT, MATE!! A rotten let-down for my ego. Throwing yourself at a girl only to be told you don't stand a chance. Sad really. Well, what else can I expect at the grand old age of 20? I'm getting past the attractive stage.

The dear old Queen Mother flew off to Persia today for a peaceful, and no doubt warm holiday with the Shah. Dad drew the conclusion that Uncle Harold wants some cheap oil - a typical cynical view, but it's a known fact that the old Queen is a close buddy of the Shah, who nips over to Windsor often enough on private visits of his own. Must be nice to be nearly 75 and perfectly active. 'Go it old Girl!' applies just as much to the Queen Mum as it did to Queen Victoria. We want her to go on for years.

Still battling on with 'George VI'. He's just been created Duke of York in the chapter I'm on with, and it certainly makes one wonder just how many years it will be before Prince Andrew is bestowed with the same honours.

David calls in at 7.15 with an LP. He takes a few more records to tape, and spends about 10 minutes laughing and fooling with Lynn. That boy just ripples wit humour - always so full of vitality too. Must be marvellous. I'm going to Worcester on Apr 21 after all, probably until the 25th - which is the following Friday. It'll be fantastic seeing Barbara again, who is such a gorgeous character. Bed at 11.30 after reading in the lounge.

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Sunday April 13, 1975

2nd after Easter. Sit in bed, after waking up, with Wheeler-Bennett's 'George VI'. Good book really, and the more you read it, the more you realise that he was a very ordinary sort of chap.

I'm toying with the idea of going down to Worcester on April 21 with David. He goes back that day and so it would be perfectly easy for me to get a lift. His teaching practice starts on April 28, so he'll be busy throughout the days and that would mean me making my own entertainment until the evenings. It will be better than idling about at home all week doing absolutely nothing.

Dreading tonight. David and me are going to the Emmotts to meet Stephen Holmes, whom we haven't seen in 18 months. He wants some prints from stills and photographs in Mr Lawson's possession. He collects me at 8.15 and off we go. The Emmotts is a lousy, horrible place really. I can't understand why we ever patronised the place. Saw slides from the day trip to Otley in May/June 1973, and the photos of June brought it all flooding back. I've ordered quite a pile.

Home at about 10. The car nearly didn't make it, and David seemed quite cheerful considering the horrible racket it was making. See a Vincent Price film. Bed at 11.30.

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Saturday April 12, 1975

Marlene, on the phone, gets me out of bed at 11.45. Debbie has mumps and so they can't come on Sunday. I offer my condolences then go downstairs on a mission of mercy for John, who wants a glass of orange juice, and I'm not the sort of person to see a close relative suffer when the antedote is so close at hand. Whilst getting John's juice I find a letter awaiting me from Christine. She says "you ought to be more bold where women are concerned", and I cannot agree with her more. Not many people think I'm shy. I somehow conceal it behind a mask of foolery, but I really am quite like a guinea pig, or expectant rabbit, as far as showing my feelings for young ladies are concerned. Not that guinea pigs or expectant rabbits are scared of showing their affections for young ladies in the first place. Of course, they do show affection, quite boldly, to lady guinea pigs and lady rabbits, which is an example I should get into the habit of following.

Go to Yeadon with Mum and Dad at about 3 o'clock and I lay hands on a copy of 'Lady Marmalade' by Labelle. A wonderous record indeed.

At 7.15 Sue, Peter, Mum, Dad and me go up to the Stone Trough for a meal. Why? Well, it's part of my birthday festivities carried over from last week. Very pleasant, except for the fact that the waitress begrudged giving us anything. Back at 11 o'clock and sit with Dave and Lynn in front of a revolting old film on the BBC.

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