Sunday January 16, 1977

Peter & Martyn playing pool at the Hollywood.

2nd after Epiphany. Fried eggs and the lot at Glenn's place. By midday however we're in Dave's comfortable lounge swilling ale. I'm on the Pils. After closing at 3pm we move into the pool room and continue drinking. 

This is followed by a guided tour of the pub and lunch in the private suite of the Glynn family. Dave and Glenn pay me the £15 each for the holiday deposit and then we hurtle back over the M62 to snow-ridden Yorkshire. At one point Peter was driving at over 100mph and the automobile creaked, rattled and shook. Had fish and chips from a Chinese restaurant in Bradford - greasy but substantial. Then to the Commercial for a small beverage. Home by 10.30. Relieved that the holiday is more or less sorted out.

Glenn & Martyn

Saturday January 15, 1977

Weekend in Stockport. It's so good to see Dave G and Glenn again, and to meet Mr & Mrs Glynn at the Hollywood Hotel._____. -==-

Hollywood Hotel, Edgeley.

Lily Glynn (far right) with Hollywood barmaids...

David Glynn, Esq

Martyn, Chris & Peter with holiday brochures.

We all seem to get on great and the only hint of animosity is shown by Peter, who doesn't think much of Glenn. To Manchester tonight and Kloisters Discotheque where a glass of Southern Comfort is only 22p. Naturally, I drink this all night. Martyn is half dead and only Glenn and I seem to be pissed. At the end of the evening we had a three mile walk after the late night bus from Manchester dropped us off somewhere in the wilds of Greater Manchester. I enjoyed the stroll, but Dave and I flagged down a taxi. One picked us up about a mile from Edgeley (where Dave lives), and it cost us 50p each! Thieving swine. Christopher and I stayed at Glenn's residence and are serenaded to sleep by an amusing American porn LP.







 -==-

Friday January 14, 1977

Up at 6.30 this morning shoveling snow from the drive. Didn't get to the YP until 10. I worked through lunch to make up for it. Bloody awful day at the YP. Actually, I don't feel all that bright. Must be post-New Year Blues. The Earl of Avon died at 11.11am -spend much of the day sorting his files. His son, Lord Eden, inherits the title. Good Old Sir Antony. He became Prime Minister on the very day I was born - he succeeded Churchill who resigned on April 5 - Sir Antony was appointed Prime Minister on April 6, 1955.

Lynne finally went home at 3pm today following endless hours of toil and struggle with Dad who ended up towing her all over Guiseley. I argue with the family tonight about the way I'm treating Lynne. Dad thinks I'm making the same mistake I made with Carole. Mum dislikes me taking out 'other women' whilst associating with Lynne. Can she mean CB? Good God am I engaged? Do I owe my total allegience to Miss Mather? I think not.Tonight I got a bus to the Hare with Naomi. Meet Carole, Chris, Pete M, Miss Dibb and Graham [Airey]. We go up to Oakwood Hall at 11. Quite a good laugh really. Miss Phillips is a cheerful soul lately. Her new found freedom must actually be doing her some good. I danced with Naomi when I actually did dance, and don't have much to do with Carole at all. I bought her a drink in the pub. Home at 2am in yet more heavy snow. They marvel at my fete of snow shoveling, still visible after all these hours.

Thursday January 13, 1977

Snow on snow on snow. Such a cold day. An 'old timer' sat near me on the bus this evening [he must have been 100 years old] said: 'I've never seen snow like it.' I fully agree with the anonymous old gent. It didn't begin to come down until 3pm and by the time I left work at 4.30 I realised I was in for a rare experience. Talk about Scott of the Antarctic!

That clapped out old adventurer has nothing on me. I was travelling home from 4.30 until 7pm. Imagine the state I was in on my arrival. Lynne had to abandoning her car on Southway and was compelled to stay the night here. Sue and Peter made it home but Lynn rang from Dave's to say she could not get home. She was close to tears at the thought of having to stay out all night. The snow - looking out onto it - looks fabulous. Mum, a romantic, says there's something magical about it. Dad battled into work at 10pm. Lynne and I sit with Mum discussing the 'family tree' lark which I've been dwelling on for many years. I'm going to make a serious attempt to trace my lineage, beginning with the Wilson family. Have a few glasses of whisky.

Wednesday January 12, 1977

Miss Braithwaite, or 'CB'.

Have a damnable headache but I'm not sure it's a hangover. Blimey, did I have all that lqiuid refreshment last night? No, I didn't. Out tonight with Miss Christine Braithwaite, spinster of the parish of Horsforth. But first, a family gathering. I went to John and Maria's at 5.30 to find Maria dashing off to a recital, and Molly and Jim were just arriving too. John, Molly, Jim and I have tea together whilst baby JPH gurgles and vomits on the settee. The little fellow is becoming heavy. Jim brings me up home at 8, and by 8.35 I'm down Thorpe Lane and lodged in the Hare. CB and I have one drink and then go to Neville's [Ilkley] for a bottle of wine and then the Fish Dish for one of each. CB tells me a tale of woe indeed. What a changed person she is. She's not drinking to excess any more and has a much 'quieter' outlook. She was quite ill before Christmas and the sordid New Year hasn't helped at all. She is a great friend. CB could never be anything else. However, I fear she's obsessed with death. She kept saying she has a feeling inside that she won't 'be around' [i.e. alive] next Christmas! What an awful thing? I couldn't stand life without CB to make me laugh. She says that she won't look at a man again unless his pockets are crammed with cash, has a villa in Capri and an E-type Jag parked on his Georgian-style driveway. God Almighty! -==-

Tuesday January 11, 1977

Leave the YP at 1 o'clock. I just can't stomach work today. Get off the bus in Guiseley and trail down to White Cross to buy Mum and Dad their belated birthday present only to find the 'Stable Door' shop bolted and closed. Shit! I meander homeward up Thorpe Lane. Lunch with Mama and Papa. Oh by the way. We saw Miss Phillips in the Hare last night and of course she ignored us both. She even dispatched Richard Wellock or 'Left Bollock' over to spy on us. He didn't take very kindly to Lynne and proceeded to kick her handbag around the room. _______. Even Naomi was there [in the Hare].

Tony came at 7.30 and we went to the Victoria Hotel in Bradford where the staff of the Bradford branch of WH Smith are gathered. See Denise, Michelle, Simon, and I'm on a table with them. Tony is at the far end of the room. Typical Christmas dinner, &c. Simon and I buy a bottle of wine for the table - one glass cost me £1.30. Arrgghh. The disco started at about 9.30 and we 'freaked out' until 1am. Denise is such a miraculous dancer. She won a train set in the raffle which thrilled her. We plan a wild train set orgy in the near future. Chaperone Michelle for most of the evening. ____________________. -==-

Monday January 10, 1977

Anthony Eden,
1st Earl of Avon, KG

Peter wakes me at 6.30am to say I've been parading around the bedroom sleepwalking. Sleepwalking??! I don't believe it, mate. Michael Rhodes isn't that sort of guy. The snow is coming down in the volume that Bing Crosby likes to sing about and Lynne sits grumpily over her egg on toast watching it. The drive over to Leeds would be a sombre - even macabre - affair indeed were it not for Noel Edmonds and Radio One. Lynne is even worse than I am on a morning if you can imagine that. Horrid day at the YP. Poor Lord Avon is breathing his last down in deepest Wiltshire - 20 years to the very day since he resigned as Prime Minister. Poor sod. He married Churchill's niece, you know, Clarissa. Also, this Prince of Wales/Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg thing is brewing up again. A pile of shit if you ask me. The Grand Duke [of Luxembourg] comes to Sandringham EVERY year to kill grouse and other wildlife, and just because he's here at the moment the papers are saying he's discussing the marriage arrangements with the Queen. Laughable. Charlie Boy will marry an English bird - I'll bet you a quid on it. Back to Pine Tops at 6 o'clock. Hear some scandal. Chris is knocking about with Carole again. Eek. Tony rings to say he's off to the Hare with Stuart and enquires whether I want to attend the WH Smith dinner tomorrow. This is a must. He says he went to the Boat Show for the weekend _______. Gossip is hilariously out of control at the moment. Lynne and I go to the Hare at 9 o'clock and meet Tony, Stuart, Martyn, Carla, and Stuart's replacement at Smith's and a new member of the Oakwood Hall Male Voice Choir. Only have a couple of drinks. Bid farewell to Stuart who leaves on Saturday for three years in Paris [C/O Madame Guichard, Residences Les Dauphines, 6 Rue Renault, La Defence 6, 92400, Courbevoie, Paris]. We may never see him again. Don't like parting with friends. Will write him a few daft letters. Home at 10.45. -==-