Sunday August 24, 1975

13th after Trinity. Down to the Commercial at lunchtime. Just John and I that is, where we met Andy and Keith, and a snobby friend of Andy's. The pint of lager was something of an anti-climax, because I've been longing for a drop of English ale for two weeks, and this tasted no different to the German brew, flowing like water across Spain.

People were eyeing my tan with more than a hint of jealousy. Neither Andy or Keith stayed until 2. They left before closing time!

After lunch (with wine) John and I went down to Maria's where I met Carole for the first time in a month. She really is a gorgeous looking thing, and trendy too. She reminds me of one of those models on the cover of a girls magazine. Go on, I know what you're thinking: 'Oh no, he's infatuated again'. Well, probably I am.

Mum and Dad are on an excursion of South Yorkshire, and Lynn and Dave are watching TV. At 8.30 John drives me to Maria's where I meet Carole and then set off to Christine D's on Thorpe Lane. Mrs Dibb takes the three of us to the Hare & Hounds. See all the mob and stand close to Carole all night. It was awful when CB said she was jealous of us. I'm speechless, because when I was free to go out with her (CB that is) she wouldn't.

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Saturday August 23, 1975

Homeward bound. Up with the larks at 7am, and sit about nervously for one and a half hours until the coach comes. John and Chris went down for breakfast, but I couldn't possibly face it. I sat in the empty lounge watching the rain and the waves crashing upon the beach, and the wind howling around the swimming pool and thinking to myself 'Oh God, will the plane make it?' We leave for Palma on the coach at 8.30 and we sit on the back seat along with Gary, Beaky, and Casanova, which is quite a laugh.

On our arrival in rain-soaked Palma we are met by Prince Juan Carlos who says he's sorry that General Franco couldn't come in person to see us off personally, but at 82 years-old he feels too frail to chase about airport forecourts, which is quite understandable really. After the military band send off we're flying at 27,000 feet over Europe at an air speed of 480MPH. We have whisky on the flight, and I feel quite sick over France, but the highlight of the whole thing was landing. Over the Channel John and Chris wanted to go to the bog, and so I pinched Chris's window seat and saw the south of England and London from 30,000 feet up. A tremendous sight. A few people looked queazy, but I managed to keep everything down.

Chris got a coach to King's Cross and John and I were left to find our own way out of Heathrow, which was an aggravating hours chase. After getting a bus to Victoria we find we have four hours to kill in London. Buckingham Palace, No 10, Downing Street, the Houses of Parliament, St James's Park, and God knows how many other places came under our exhausted gaze, and we were so glad to see the coach at 6pm. Four hours and 10 minutes later Mum and Dad met us in Leeds, and 20 minutes after that we were at Pine Tops. Lynn and Dave, Sue and Peter came on the scene minutes later, and we all tucked in to a decent bit of Mama's cooking. After dishing out the bottles (of duty frees) we proceeded to empty a few, and I rolled into bed at 1.30. To quote Casanova: "Well, it's certainly nice to be here." And I think that sums it all up.

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Friday August 22, 1975

Our last day here, and what sort of weather do you think we had? Well, I'll tell you. It rained, and rained, and absolutely pissed it down all day long, and the three of us sat around in the bar ridding ourselves of our last few pesetas on drink.
The German party got themselves into a drunken state, but I suppose they do it without thinking. The licensing laws in 'bier' swilling Hamburg will differ somewhat to those in Harrogate.

After dinner we sit with Sue and Jackie (the sheilas from London) but John and Chris tire easily of their company, leaving me with two drunken women on my hands. Before I know what is happening they have me on my feet and are dragging me off to the Caracola Club, where they proceed to pay my admission. I didn't really want to stay long because of the travelling tomorrow and so I sneaked out at about 1.30, knowing I'd never see any of them again. Sad, really.

Oh, by the way: the big, blue lounger with Queen Anne legs was deposited by me into the lift and despatched to the ground floor in the early hours of Aug 23rd. It finished off my evening nicely.

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Thursday August 21, 1975

Another real scorcher. I shouldn't even bother mentioning the weather because a good climate is the only thing possible in Majorca.

As usual I'm up well before the others and after drinking my traditional cold drink I go rouse them and demand immediate liveliness from both the defendants. At 12 we set off on a walk round the bay which takes us to a desolate spot miles away from all life and civilisation. The scenery is fantastic, and the cacti grows in profusion. The heat was unbearable though and when I staggered back two and a half hours later I could hardly force my lunch down. Flaking out on a bed in a darkened room is hardly the proper was to spend an afternoon on holiday, but hey, if you can't do it on holiday, when can you?

After the traditional evening in the Manchester Arms, Chris and John went down to the Don Jaime Discotheque, whilst I, accompanied by Diane and Denise of course, trotted off to the Charlie Felipe Cafe. After consuming endless pints of lager I dragged the girls to the Don Jaime where we passed a miserable couple of hours. Not a particularly thrilling place. John and Chris left before I did, and when I did eventually roll in I brought with me a 6ft long sun lounger (blue, with Queen Anne legs) and I deposited it slap bang in the middle of the balcony.

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Wednesday August 20, 1975

Up at 8.30 - long before the other two and I find that it's a really hot morning. After sitting with a drink for a few minutes I decide to go for a walk along the beach, which takes about one hour. Th sun burns my shoulders, and the pain is unbearable when I had to put a shirt on when I came back for lunch.

See in the papers that the phone calls to Princess Anne are just anonymous, and not obscene. The full extent of the popularity of the British Royal Family is brought home when one sees headlines about Princess Anne on a German daily newspaper.

On my favourite subject, I don't think I've mentioned the fact that the Queen will celebrate her Silver Jubilee in 1977, in the style celebrated by George V in 1935. She (the Queen) has made it quite clear, however, that no due expense will be lavished upon the pageant which will take place in the summer and not on February 6, which is the actual accession day.

Went to a few different bars in the evening and didn't see Diane or Denise. Came back to the hotel at 10.30 to bid our farewells to Ivy, Cyril, Ken and Doris, who leave Palma at midnight. Chris, John and I then move on to the Caracola Club for the last time - we're doing something completely different tomorrow.

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Tuesday August 19, 1975

I wake up at about 10 but don't really think the others could possibly do the same after the events of this morning, i.e. from 2am onwards. After crawling past us last night in the bar they helped each other up to our room and dissolved into fits of laughter. When I'd rid myself of the women, and two cheese toasted sandwiches and several gallons of Coca Cola later, I went up to the room and John said he wanted another drink. We went down to the bar where he had a pernod and I had a beer. At 3am we came back to the room, and immediately John said he was going out again. This he did, and half an hour later he rolled in after even more drink. I helped him into bed and switched off the light. Chris hadn't stirred all the time this was going on.

At 10am then I was surprised to see Chris alive, well, and kicking. Leaving John deep in sleep we go down to the bar. Chris goes off to buy a newspaper and comes back with 'The Sun' of all things and shows me the headlines on page one. 'Princess Anne gets obscene phone calls'. This really is too much. First they try to kidnap and kill her, and now it's dirty phone calls. How did some pervert manage to lay hands on the princess's private number? The Post Office says that Special Branch are listening in to all her phone calls.

Stayed at the Manchester Arms until quite late in the evening and walked Denise and Diane home to their so-called hotel. No Caracola Club until dawn, and come back to the Osiris for a couple of drinks.

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Monday August 18, 1975

I seem to be waking up even earlier this week. 8.30am today! Lay in bed contemplating the ceiling until 10.30 when I rouse the two sleeping beauties from their slumbers.

We get a cool drink in the bar before nipping off to the beach, which is far too hot.

Back at the hotel we sit around in the sunshine until lunchtime with yesterday's Sunday Express. Not a very nice newspaper by any means, and I do wish they wouldn't give so much publicity to Reginald Maudling. The little creep is just as much involved in the Poulson Affair as Pottinger was, and I do think his criminal tendencies tend to colour all and everything he says.

The worst thing about this holiday is the food. I realise that we British are a fastidious bunch, but all the same I do think the menu could be improved. Oh, for the joys of Mum's cooking!

After lunch we go downstairs for a drink, and whilst I'm paying the barman John and Chris do one of their disappearing tricks. After searching the hotel from top to bottom I take a beer upstairs where I sit on the balcony to spectate at yet another storm. These Continental storms are only short-lived affairs.

Out on the town as usual after dinner. I meet Diane and Denise in the Manchester Arms, and John and Chris go off on a piss-up. We eat chips galore, and I bring them back to the hotel where, to our amusement, John and Chris crawl past us in an attempt to escape from the two women.

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