Sunday April 3, 1977

Palm Sunday. Palm Sunday indeed. With Dave G, Glenn, Christine, Lynn and Dave B, Mum & Dad to the Commercial at noon. The locals didn't trot ahead in front of me throwing palms and other objects of flora in my path. Dad wasn't astride a donkey either.

with CB: in perfect shape.

Lynn is like a zombie. Dead to the world. We all - that is everyone on the above list - felt recovered somewhat with the medicinal intake of alcohol. Alas, the drink must have effected my eyes because the ink here has changed to something strongly resembling black currant. Was I drinking vodka and black last night?

CB is in perfect shape. Just like old times. It makes life well worth living. All back to Pine Tops for luncheon. Horrified by the idea of working this evening. It's pouring with rain too and CB looks expectantly at people, fluttering her eye lashes, in an attempt to get a lift to the bus stop. No such bloody luck. We walked into Guiseley in a deluge and waited for what seemed like all eternity for the public transport.

Nothing of interest at the YP. Dead in fact. Ursula is a nice girl. I'm a nice boy. You're a patient reader.




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Saturday April 2, 1977

Wait all day for Dave G and Glenn. Watched the Grand National on TV at 3.30. Red Rum won for the third time making history. We had a private bet on at home. Sue backed the winner.One of mine fell at the first fence and had to be destroyed.

with CB, Ruth and Dave G.

The lads arrived at about 4 o'clock. They're both in great shape. Tea of haddock flan, then down to the off licence for booze and on to the Hare. John, Maria, Lynn, Dave B, Sue, Pete, Chris R, Miss Dibb, Graham Airey, Andy, Linda, Carol Smith and boyfriend, little Jean, and later Mum and Dad, CB, Judith and Kathryn, &c. All back to Pine Tops. A real piss up. Don't remember much. Do recall wearing sunglasses and annoying people playing John's mouth organ. I almost set myself on fire trying to take a group photograph from the top of the fireplace in the lounge. Freaking out until 5am.

As far as I know only Martyn, Ruth, Judith and Kathryn, Dave G, Dave B, Glenn and I were the only ones remaining at dawn, and others, who have no grave but the sea, may well have been fighting it out until the bitter end. I found refuge in my bed. CB was unconscious on Lynn's bed and subsequently my sister was relegated to sleeping on the bedroom floor. I did the washing up and clearing around before passing out. Yes,I am made of the stuff that made England great. Christopher Columbus, Robert the Bruce, Hereward the Wake - all stout Englishmen who pioneered to achieve the greatest empire since F.W. Woolworth opened all them shops.

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Friday April 1, 1977

Up at 9 with great expectations for the Pig & Whistle expedition. Sadly however Judith is a very different person this morning when I telephoned Bedside Manor. "I'm not going, Michael", she says "...and that's final".

So I made do playing at Harry Wheatcroft in the garden until Dad rolls up and shouts from the window something about going shopping with promises of a drink thrown in to bait me. I readily cast aside my shears and hurtle up the garden like Lilian Board. (Sorry, it's something of a dead personalities morning with Harry Wheatcroft and Lilian Board).

Shopping was hell at Morrison's but it was all made worthwhile by a drink in the Clothiers's. Down to collect Mama from Moon's (Mill) and the three of us bugger off to the Commercial for lunch. Roast beef and onion sandwiches and gallons of Stella Artois.

Ron Lindley.

Ron (Lindley) is an absolute scream. He has such a face that says everything without him having to speak a word. His very expression sums up the situation perfectly.

To the Hare & Hounds tonight with Sue and Peter. CB is on top form - a great time we have. Miss Braithwaite appears to be back to her normal self once again. Martyn and Ruth, Chris and Peter M join us and we move on to the Regent in Guiseley at 10.15 until closing time. No juke box, but quite a good place. CB and I laughing all the time. She's not sure about tomorrow night but I'll no doubt be seeing her in the pub even if she cannot come along to the Gang Bang.

All to the Chinese restaurant where I'm robbed of 95p by a greasy chink with dirty finger nails. The food is ghastly. No wonder the average china man dies at 27.

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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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