Sunday May 11, 1975

Sunday after Ascension. Approximately 1am: Somehow the photo of Barbra Streisand isn't as beautiful as it was the other day. What can have happened? Do you want me to tell you? OK -- you see I'm so violently in love it isn't conceivable. Why do I always manage to become impassioned with a woman who finds it impossible to feel the same way about me? I might as well become infatuated with Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones because I'm sure it would be more profitable than pursuing Christine. Women in love with other people are to be avoided at all costs- that is if you're the 'give in' type - which I AM NOT!

12.30pm. Susan and Peter went to the Hare & Hounds for a meal last night, but joined me in a drink first. John and Co went galavanting off on another Saturday evening pub crawl in the far flung reaches of the Yorkshire Dales. I put my foot down and said I would stay in the Hare tonight no matter what. Christine came at 8.15 and after S and P had departed into the restaurant we were left quite alone. After discussing the loss of her purse and the loss of her Gary we proceeded to drink gallons of alcoholic refreshment - on the whole a superb occasion. Lynn and Dave came in for the last drink and after seeing C onto her bus we came home (Dave, Lynn, Sue, Pete and me) to Pine Tops to see TV until about 1.30.

Anyway, I've filled in half a page discussing the events of yesterday which leaves me little room to discuss the events of this day, but I'll attempt to do so now.
Warm and sunny with a fair amount of cloud, but not a patch on last Sunday. Arose at about 12 and had lunch immediately .

Mum and Dad went to Marlene's for tea and came back with the news that Auntie Mabel has a growth on her breast - cancer? It looks very likely. Poor old Auntie.

Dave and Lynn entertained me at home in the evening and we polished off another bottle of wine.

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Saturday May 10, 1975

Life is a tragedy really. The girl upon whom I'm quite willing to lavish my wealth, affection and charm refuses to accept it because she is passionately in love with a 4ft 11ins bank clerk who lives in the shadow of Highroyds mental Hospital.

As you are already aware from the previous entry, poor, darling Christine had her purse 'removed' from her handbag in Wikis and then it came to pass the we (the 2 of us) walked home up Thorpe Lane, in order to drown our sorrows in orange juice. It was intended that she should occupy the camp bed, but just like Lord Randolph Churchill 'forgot Goschen', I forgot Uncle Harry. I deposited her in Lynn's room after telling her that I'd never go out with anyone again and that the remainder of my life would be dedicated to the Roman Catholic priesthood, or something.

Up at 10 today or thereabouts and made breakfast for Harry, John, Christine and self. Poor Mum was ill last night, and so food is the last thing she wanted this morning. After devouring a hearty breakfast and casting a few soulful glances at Christine, Harry goes, and so too does Christine with John to Horsforth. Hells Bells and Buckets of Blood, I love that girl! But all in vain. All in bloody vain.

Before leaving me with little hope of furthering my aims Christine said she'd be in the Hare at the usual time. I too say I'll be therein. John comes in at about 6 and says that neither he or the rest of the gang are going to be in the Hare tonight, which means that Christine and I will be more or less alone, unless Lynn and Dave join us as they sometimes do. I have no room here, and so I'll fill in tonight's detail in Sunday's entry. Wish me luck, pals.

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Friday May 9, 1975

To Wikis with Christine. We walked from the Hare & Hounds. At first I thought I stood a chance of winning her over, but Gary is still very much on her mind.

Sue went to Wikis for the first time, and quite a failure it turned out to be. A failure for me and Christine anyway. At 1am we noticed the small detail that she'd had her purse knicked by some creep in our midst. About £5 and her Barclaycard plus all her photographs and a key. We spend the last hour working out when it was last seen and so on and so forth - all to no use. Not to be found anywhere.

Anyway, she is staying at Pine Tops and so we walked up Thorpe Lane with only one tearful incident.

Uncle Harry came at tea time and he, along with Mum and Dad, paid us a flying visit to the Hare & Hounds at about nine o'clock. John didn't stand a chance with Naomi, and likewise I didn't stand a chance with Christine. I don't really want to be woeful but I'm doomed to bachelorhood from the very start. Women have a jinx on me, and I'd be a lot better joining the Roman Catholic Church. What sort of pay does a Pope get, I wonder?

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Thursday May 8, 1975

Ascension Day. Pay Day. I'm not writing much, because I don't want to. Love sick, I am. It rained all day, and I attempted to buy a camera in Boots in Leeds, but they only accept Barclaycard if you produce a cheque. Who do they think I am?


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Wednesday May 7, 1975

After 11pm: Forgive the cheap, horrible biro. I am quite madly in love with the most enchanting girl I have ever had the honour to meet. Quite seriously I mean it when I say that Christine Braithwaite....(gap on page) followed by (10.5.75)... Oh what's the use? Forgive this slight folks, but it's no longer May 7 - in fact it's the afternoon of Saturday May 10, and the heart rending, passionate whimsies of my heart (written in biro that is) seem futile at this stage.

To get back to Wednesday. Christine rang me this afternoon and told me that Gary finished with her on Sunday. She is horribly cut up, but it is the first time that anybody has done this to her. We meet at the Hare at 8 and she says it would be impossible and wicked for her to go out with me because she feels it would be a false cover-up of her own feelings for that lunatic, Gary. Home at 11 after attempting to team John and Naomi together again. A sad failure I'm afraid.

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Tuesday May 6, 1975

Peaceful day without the chaos of Kathleen. A beautiful hot day, and it really is a crime to be trussed up in an office - without windows - for a rotten £30 a week.

Bumped in Speed, the EP cartoonist, and he says I really ought to have a word with Malcolm Barker about my future. He says it's dead easy being a reporter, and didn't seem to think that my lack of 2 'A' levels was a hinderance. And so, it's Malcolm Barker here I come!

Carol J was rabbiting on about the Queen abdicating in a few years time to make way for the Prince of Wales. A load of codswallop! The very word 'abdication' will strike horror into the heart of any member of the House of Windsor after the trauma of King Edward VIII. Besides, the Queen is a very healthy, dedicated sovereign, who vowed on her 21st birthday that 'whether my life be long, or short I will serve the British Commonwealth of Nations with all my heart' or words closely resembling this.

Nothing of vital importance today. I knocked about the garden after tea and inspected Uncle Albert's apple tree, which is growing marvellously. To think that 6 years ago my old uncle took a pip from an eating apple and laid it in a little pot. It now stands about 3ft in height. Old Mother Nature is a genius, and besides, Uncle Albert had a way with plants that assures its future prosperity.

'Edward VII' was on TV again tonight and again I must say that Annette Crosbie plays a marvellous Queen Victoria. Truly a wonderous actress.

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Monday May 5, 1975

Holiday in Scotland. I always loathe and despise Mondays. Why this is so I fail to understand. Probably my devotion to the Yorkshire Post and the prospect of eight hours solid work ahead of me has something to do with this.

Kathleen is on holiday and so I'm left with Saturday's EP to deal with, and this doesn't cheer me up. This paper is riddled with trash. and so after I've glanced through it and disposed of it, I snatch a look at todays nationals. Nothing of interest other than the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh's state visit to Hong Kong, and endless tosh on the Common Market issue. I really am becoming worried about the sanity of our future Communist Prime Minister, Mr Wedgwood Benn, alias the 2nd Viscount Stansgate. He really is a left-wing creep. I for one will book a one-way ticket to New Zealand on the morning he moves into No 10, Downing Street. Horrific he really is.

See TV all evening and throw myself into Lady Randolph Churchill before hitting the sack.

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