Thursday March 31, 1977

Down to the Hare by bus to meet Judith at 8pm. Alone until 8.45 drinking lager like a fish. Judith comes in followed soon after by Tony, Linda, Martyn and Ruth. I go through money like Vivian Nicholson.

Judith.

Judith is clad in dungarees. A good night.  Pissed as a newt by 10.30 and Judith keeps thrusting cigarettes in my mouth and sighing: "Oh, Michael". Tony, Martyn, and Co, moved on to the Menston Arms at 10, but we didn't want to go and said 'bye bye'.

The lads are becoming serious with Linda and Ruth. Tony whispered to me that he's considering resigning from the Silver Jubilee Lechery Society. Martyn looks as though he's quitting too. I'm glad I enrolled Stuart. I don't want to be the founder and sole member. That would be tedious.

Kaiser Bill.

Back to Judith's at 11pm until 1.30. She says one of her aunts, who was a domestic servant at Chatsworth, got herself fucked by someone not unlike the Kaiser.We arrange to meet at the Pig & Whistle at 11.30 tomorrow, but by the end of the evening she is having serious doubts about whether she'll have surfaced by then.

Bed at 2am somewhat damp following a great downpour. Quite sober by now, and deadly serious.






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Wednesday March 30, 1977

Princess Marie-Astrid.

More in the papers about the Prince of Wales and Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg. The Daily Mail announces that Misses Sheffield and Eastwood and Lady Jane Wellesley are all 'decoys' and that the prince has been 'in love' with Marie-Astrid for a number of years. A load of bullshit. The very organ that has led us to believe that the prince is having an affair with Davina Sheffield is now saying we've all been fooled. You wait and see, the next time HRH is within six hundred yards of anyone remotely female the Daily Mail will be ringing wedding bells and proclaiming 'this is it!'.

The princess is of course very eligible. Granddaughter of Leopold III, King of the Belgians; daughter of the ruler of Luxembourg, but Roman Catholic. Dr Cobweb, the Archbishop of Canterbury is meeting Pope Paul next month. What will crop up in their discussions?  Comment from Mama: "Oh he will marry a princess - it's as plain as the nose on my face."

Work unspectacular. No Sarah. Spoke to Delia on the phone and she reminded me about my birthday tea next week. Yes, 22 years - aarrghh! Who cares anyway? Moses supposedly lived a long and active life and died at the grand old age of 450 or something.

Ruth: 24 years old

Sit in front of the television until 10.45pm when the England v. Luxembourg football match drives me from the room to the sanctity of my chambers.

Nothing on the news. Saw Sir Geoffrey Howe make a reply to Denis Healey's Budget. No phone calls tonight. Tony told me, on the quiet, that Ruth is 24 and has been separated from her husband for 2 years. Blimey, the girl only looks 18. Martyn has yet to be informed of this. Does Ruth know that Martyn is only 18? Age doesn't matter though.

Have a P.G. Wodehouse session after wallowing in the bath. Must write to David of Gloucester.

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Tuesday March 29, 1977

No comment on the Budget. Better day than yesterday. No more snow, but still very cold.

J|udith: hates children.

Saw Judith in Guiseley at 5pm and walked her home. We're going to the Hare on Thursday night. I only hope Kathryn won't join us. She's a sweet old thing, but Judith must be sick and tired of her constant presence.

Judith says she hates and despises children and would never want any of her own. Weird. Children, in my opinion, are supreme. The only horrific aspect in having offspring must surely be watching them grow into moronic adults. I certainly feel moronic as I approach my 22nd birthday. My zest for life is ebbing. That vitality gone. I even have lines under my eyes. No grey hair though.

I must write to Dave L in Gloucester. I feel a bit guilty about what happened when we last met. We barely spoke a word to each other all weekend for some obscure reason.

Evening: Wrote to Stuart in 'Gay Paree'. Send him membership of our Silver Jubilee Lechery Club.

Hauxwell: ordinary 

See a programme about one Hannah Hauxwell, a perfectly ordinary Yorkshire woman who everyone is making a tremendous fuss of down in London, Lady Wilson included. Even the Duchess of Gloucester spoke about her.

Sit with Susan who is knitting a pink jumper for Peter. It takes all sorts to make a world, doesn't it?






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Monday March 28, 1977

More snow, hail and blizzards. I progress across Leeds resembling something similar to a yeti. (He is, of course, the nasty Abominable Snowman).

Yeti.

Work was uneventful, as usual.  Only Sarah, Eileen, and self. I rang Lynn about her driving test. (Cancelled because of the weather conditions). She says the experience is not unlike waiting to be executed by firing squad only to discover they're run out of bullets. I can well imagine. However, in my case the ammunition was plentiful.

Tonight at home. Auntie Mabel rang Mama to enquire about Lynn's test. Not wishing to be depressed by the BBC news I soaked in the bath for half an hour. Later saw a good film about the mafia - a black comedy - but the title escapes me.

Portland Vase.

Bed at 11.30. Did you know that Queen Elizabeth II is descended from a 19th century prime minister? Yes, in 1783 and 1807 he accepted the office from King George III. Who was he? I'll give you a clue. They named a vase after him. Another clue: he had the same name as a brand of cement. Yes, that's right you've guessed correctly. Signing off at 11.45pm precisely.








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Sunday March 27, 1977

Passion Sunday. I like the sound of that.  Wake up to snow and hail. Do nothing whatsoever other than eat lunch and lounge around with a crumby Sunday newspaper. To be honest with you, I don't feel greatly informative today so don't expect anything astounding.

Did you know Mr Healey is presenting his Budget on Tuesday? Yes, and I bet he makes it a good one because of Labour's precarious position at the moment. Not discussing politics anyway.

Rang Dave G in Stockport at 7pm. He and Glenn are definitely coming on Saturday for my official birthday celebrations.

The Tenerife crash, 1977.

Work 5pm-12 midnight. Nothing spectacular here either. The world's worst ever aviation accident has taken place in the Canary Islands. 7,000,000 people dead, or something. Otherwise, nothing at all. Ursula never stops talking. I bet her jaws ache.

Crikey, it's Mrs Hilda Gadsby's 41st birthday tomorrow. She is of course the wife of Norman Anthony Gadsby, prospective Liberal councillor for the Borough of Pudsey.

Home by taxi in the snow at 12. Bed with P.G. Wodehouse. Goodnight.

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Saturday March 26, 1977

Tony comes up at 1am with the Dave B birthday photos and those from last weekend. Really good.

walking in the rain in Menston.

Rang Judith and she rekindled the age old idea of picnicing at Bolton Abbey. Tony is in agreement. The two of us nip to Bradford and lark around for a bit before returning to Judith's. She's clad in tight jeans, wearing red braces and her hair is in pigtails. Killer.

To Ilkley for supplies. Two bottles of wine, bread and cheese, &c. Joined by Kathryn too, of course. Rain at Bolton Abbey, but the four of us eat, drink and make merry. Watch blue tits sweeping down after our bread crumbs.

Judith is tight jeans and braces.

At 2.45 we pile into the Devonshire Arms. All a little pissed except Kathryn who looks ill. Tony comes over all tired. By 4pm it's just Judith and I remaining - drinking tepid coffee at Bedside Manor. We feel as though we should carry on with the drinking. Is it alcoholism, or just the fact that we're almost 22?

We walked in the rain to Menston to see Fat Carol in her flat near the Hare. My God what squalid quarters. She was romping around in her underwear - her hair standing on end, and a strange girl was in her bed. Judith and I felt very uncomfortable. The whole place stank of vomit and the place is reminisceent of a rat infested cell in the Bastile. Horrible. Judith and I walked to the bus stop with horror etched on our faces.

Tea at 6. In the bath. To the Hare with Peter N in his new Capri. Susan, Lynn, Dave B, Martyn, Ruth, Chris, Peter M, &c.  CB was in but she went off with Chris Blades. Stayed until 11. I feel a bit down. Carole and Fogarty are getting engaged at the end of next month. Silly, young fools. Will it last?

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Friday March 25, 1977

To tea at John & Maria's straight from the YP. John is looking really suave. Really. A fancy hair style. He's also slimmed down.

with JPH.

I took JPH two chocolate bars and fed him with one. The more he's 'roughed up' the more he screams for more. He loves being dangled with both feet on the floor. He'll be walking in next to no time.

Don't get home until 8pm and within minutes I'm heading back down the road with Dave B in the (Triumph) Spitfire to the Hare. Joined by CB, Chris, Pete M, and Lynn of course, and others. Carole is in with Peter Fogarty but she doesn't speak to me. She wasn't very forthcoming with Lynn either. No Martyn or Gayle of course, and Tony is out with Mandy Phillips.

At 10 I went through to the cocktail lounge to see Judith. She's a great girl. Stay until 11. Joined by Lynn and Dave. In my absence from the main lounge CB, Pete and Chris slink off to Oakwood Hall.

Home with Lynn and Dave. Caught the end of a grotty Michael Caine spy film.

Dad comes in and announces he's going to be the community constable for Guiseley with no night shifts or weekend work! Just days 9 to 5. It doesn't quite sink in and we just can't believe it.












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