Wednesday May 21, 1975

Another beautiful day. Sarah comes into town with me at lunchtime and I drag her around several banks and a Post Office - on Barclaycard business. After paying up this month's installment we walk leisurely back to the YP.

Sarah really is a lovely bird but somehow I never quite feel at ease with her. I'd have asked out years ago if only I'd been blessed with the right amount of courage and 'get up and go' spirit. She will be 23 in November, but I don't suppose that matters much. After all, I am 20. Anyway, what is the use in me getting on like this? Grief, I take a gorgous bird out for a lunchtime drink and I come home with ideas of starting a permanent union! Oh, I forgot to mention that when I said we'd gone round Leeds. At 1.40 we called in for a quick one before resuming our duties in the dismal structure of Yorkshire Post Newspapers Ltd. I'm still in love with CB anyway and I don't care if you think I'm a crazy, mixed up youth who happens to fall in love with everything in eye make-up, because I would never feel like I do about Sarah if Christine hadn't resumed her relations with 'Lord Baden-Powell'.

Christine rang at 4.15 and said she'd be in the Hare tonight and went on to say that she'd be 'lost and all alone' at the weekend when I am away. Every time I mention Gary she laughed as though something was in the air, but refused to tell me any more. Anyway fans, hang about until midnight when I'll complete the chronicles of today's events.

.... Later: You'll be hanging around for a long time if you expect any more tonight.

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Tuesday May 20, 1975

Hot day. At lunchtime I have a few photographs taken for my ten year passport. They look really grotty, but not all that bad when you think it costs about £2 to be photographed by a cravat-wearing Old Etonian with a lisp and double-barrelled name for something very similar, but probably a bit more glossy. Don't take this as an insult to Lord Snowdon please, because nothing was further from my mind. OK, he may be an Old Etonian with a camera, but he doesn't lisp, and hasn't worn a cravat in donkey's years.

At 4.30 armed with a bottle of Lucozade I marched on Leeds Infirmary and threw myself upon my ailing aunt, the one and only Mabel Paine. I didn't recognise her at first because she seems to have lost a good deal of weight since we last met, but otherwise she was very cheerful. The thought of having cancer worried her to death (Oops) of course, but they've assured her now that it's all clear. No more treatment required, and by Sunday she'll be a free woman again. I really despise hospitals. The smells and the general lay-out make me weak at the knees. It was so nice to get out into the fresh air at about 6 o'clock - away from the stench of death and illness. I only hope to God that I'll never have to spend any length of time in such a place. Mind you, by the time I'm 60 they'll have done away with hospitals and they'll be injecting OAPs with cyanide. The nice, easy way out.

See 'Edward VII' at 9 o'clock, and retire at 11.

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Monday May 19, 1975

Oh well, what can I write about today?____It happens to have been an ordinary Monday.

Work was busy. Sarah looked stunning, but I can't fill three quarters of a page with those small details. After all, I'm no Shakespeare or Oscar Wilde. Especially no OscarWilde. I don't want to go down in history labelled a 'Brown Hatter' or a Lord Alfred Douglas, or 'Pansy'.

What's in the news then? His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is growing a beard. The Daily Mail says he's following in the tradition of King Edward VII and his grandfather, George V. But King George V is not the grandfather of the Prince of Wales. George V, as you well know, was grandfather of the Queen, and subsequently the great-grandfather of the bearded heir.


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Sunday May 18, 1975

Whit Sunday. Another scorcher. Up at 12 and do nothing before luch, which is always the case on Sundays. After roast beef and Yorkshire Pudding I nip down Tranmere to see Gillian - the femme fatale of Guiseley. Mrs Upton is a _______.Not forgetting the Jodpurs (can't spell this) and car wash leather. Gillian yells the usual abuse at her mother before coming back to Pine Tops to recline in a deckchair on the lawn with ice-cream and Mum, Dad and Lynn and eventually Dave. A really hot afternoon and would have been tranquil but for the fact that JR was screaming her ruddy, little head off two doors away. And when I say screaming, I really mean SCREAMING.

Gillian goes at 5 after laughing with Lynn about shorthand.

Dave comes at 5.30 and we have a laugh by having tea in the car. Why did we do that you are all asking? Well, the radio batteries are flat and the car radio is the only thing working at the moment, and so it came to pass that crumpets and ham sandwiches were had in the front seat of Papa's Cortina.

Lynn and Dave join us at the Hare, and we move on to the Black Bull, in Otley where I partake in a few too many Skol Special Strengths. Ray and his mate John joined us and Sunday night proved riotous for a change.

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Saturday May 17, 1975

Hilarious day. Mum got me out of bed at 12 to accomapny her to Morrison's for the weekly pile of nosh and general necessities. In unbearable heat we chase about the shop for the best part of an hour, picking Sue up at the hairdressers on the way home.

A 2pm Gillian comes round with 'Diamond Dogs' by Bowie, and after half an hour the two of us decide to pay a call on Chris, who is messing about with his guttering (roof guttering and all that) with the aid and assistance of John of course. After messing about on a couple of buses Gillian and I arrive at Horsforth at about 2.30 to discover Mrs Ratcliffe pottering around in the rubble of what was once 21, Victoria Drive. She was all covered in paint saying things like: 'Oh, Chris and John disappeared half an hour ago down Town Street'. We sat about waiting for the two workers to return and when they do we follow them outside and clown about on the lawn, eating ice lollipops and making foolery and merriment. John dangling about at the top of a ladder just didn't look safe, and Gillian felt quite sickly just watching him. Home at about 6 in a mild drizzle to have tea.

Mum and Dad are at Leeds General Infirmary visiting Auntie Mabel, and therefore I make the tea consisting of fish fingers and peas. Very nice too, although I say it myself.

Out to the Hare & Hounds at about 8 and Gillian more or less tags onto me for the night. After a disagreement in the Malt Shovel, Burley-in-Wharfedale, the happy family splits up and Laura takes her mob to Ilkley and John, Gillian, Christine Dibb and I go to the White Horse in Burley to see Cousin Dorothy. We leave at about 11.10 after exchanging reminiscences with Dorothy. Played dominos for the first time in years.

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Friday May 16, 1975

Have a good time with Sarah today and I'm sure she is aware that I quite like her. When I say quite like her I mean a bit more than that, but mourning for Christine prevents me from saying what I feel.

Oh, I don't think I've told you that Gary seems to have hypnotised poor Christine again and they are 'going out' once more. I put 'going out' in inverted commas because they don't actually 'go out'. In fact, he 'goes out' somewhere and Christine 'goes out' to the Hare & Hounds and stands about all evening making excuses for him. The day I see them enjoying themselves 'together' I will run up a Union Flag and sit in the middle of Hawksworth Lane in a naked condition, blowing bubbles.

In town today I bought a shirt. Brilliant it is, with a little man on the front. He's riding a bicycle or something. Went to the Hare and Hounds and of course Wikis and everyone seemed to be interested in it (the shirt). Drank quite a sizeable amount of alcohol & revelled in the delights of a drunken Gillian and weird Marian. Naomi was drunk and goes to London to a party on the morrow, and I can't help feeling disappointed that she isn't going to be my sister-in-law.

Home in Laura's car at 2am or thereabouts and stagger straight into the pit. Sleep soundly.

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Thursday May 15, 1975

It's pay day today, and once again the little man in cashiers seems to have forgotten my extra payment for working nights a couple of weeks ago. Kathleen deals with it and vows to me that next Thursday I will receive the miserable pitance owed to me.

Saw 'Top of the Pops' which was utter rubbish as usual, and you'll never believe this, but I went to bed at 9pm! Nine o'clock no less. If you are astounded you have every right to be because I cannot have been in bed at nine since I was six or maybe seven years-old. It wasn't that I felt particularly tired either, but the television got on my nerves so much I just had to escape. 'The Wonderful World of Jacques Cousteau' or something equally Walt Disneyfied. Aaarrghh! Putrid, nasty BBC programmes are sinking even lower.

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