20121126

Wednesday November 16, 1977

The Press seems to forget that the nation is burning down (whilst Home Secretary Merlyn Rees fiddles at Westminster) in order to spread joy and adulation at the Royal birth.  No monarch has had a plain 'mister' for a grandson since King Edward IV, whose daughter Cicely married a licensee or fireman and had two kids and lived in a tower block in Salford. Yes, it's just like the Dark Ages all over again, folks. All we want now is a Great Fire of London in the midst of the firemen's strike.

Mum and Dad went to Ruby and Arthur's in Norfolk today.I'm glad Mum is up and about again. They're back on Sunday I expect.

Watched a David Niven film called 'Statue' on BBC2. A real telly addict these days, aren't I? I am reading everything I can lay my hands on as well. 'The Count of Monte Cristo' for instance, to name but a few, and 'The Apple Cart' by Bernard Shaw. Yes, good old G.B.S. To be precise, it's the 'Bodley Head Bernard Shaw Collected Plays with their prefaces' which includes The Apple Cart, St Joan, The Millionairess, &c, &c. Very good. I especially like his preface to the Apple Cart where he likens democracy to the sea and the fact that sometimes it is furiously violent and always uncertain.

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Tuesday November 15, 1977

Princess Anne gave birth to a son at 10:46 this morning. The news came into the office about half an hour later. Master Phillips weighed in at 7lb 9oz and he is fifth in line of succession to the Throne. I never doubted that the child would be male. The only sadness is that he is born without a title. On the six o'clock news we saw a 61 gun salute on Tower Hill. The captain was with HRH for the birth. Great news, anyway. Long Live the House of Windsor! (7pm).

Now you will probably be physically sick at what I am about to relate. Are you sitting comfortably and suitably close to a bucket, and in a strong chair and with a large glass of Scotch close at hand? No, it's just that I'm still battling through a certain library book and I'm only on page 785. Alexandre Dumas needs a kick in the rear.

Back to the Royal baby (11.45pm). On the nine o'clock news we saw the Queen leaving St Mary's Hospital, Paddington, after visiting Princess Anne and her grandson for half an hour. She looked very, very happy. Dad was listening to Mum and I discussing possible names and made a few suggestions of his own. Master Elvis Phillips was one, and Bing Phillips another. Mum says John, Charles and Philip will feature, and I'm sure Charles will be in there somewhere but can't imagine Philip Phillips. Other old favourites spring to mind like George, Edward, even William or Richard - and Andrew after the prince of that name. Oh, it's bloody wide open really. Mark Junior, perhaps?  Mark Phillips seemed to be hideously unprepared for confronting the media this evening. His speech, or lack of it, has become much worse and his embarrassment even made Angela Rippon go a bright shade of pink.

Watched TV after diving into the bath. Saw a play on the BBC which almost put me off my supper. Unadulterated violence and bad language.

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20121125

Monday November 14, 1977

Went to see Carole at 2.30 in a downpour. Managed to keep quite dry though. She was just as cheerful but looked flushed. Her mother says Carole's temperature is up to 120. I had her in stitches about something and she chaffed me and said I should not get her excited. Mrs Phillips was quite human but insisted as referring to me as 'Peter'. I told Carole all about Jacqui.

Nureyev: homosexual?
Tony, Chris and Pete had visited her over the weekend, and so she'd already been told of Jacqui's visit. ________. She is an Angel. I told her I will write and it gave her a good deal of pleasure - I think. I am going back to visit her on Thursday. It's so wonderful to see her. Three weeks ago I thought she had gone forever.

See in the EP that 'Valentino' is on (at the cinema) in Leeds. Sarah and I are going the week after next - probably Nov 24. Rudolph Nureyev is not homosexual, is he? As I'm always telling Sarah , you can't have big, butch swans can you?

Britain's firemen went on strike today for the first time ever. Let's hope that the home of Mr Rees, the Home Secretary, is alight tonight. Other important news: Princess Anne is showing no signs of delivering Master Phillips into the world. Today would have been apt, the 29th birthday of the food-poisoned Prince of Wales and the Princess and Capt Phillips's fourth wedding anniversary.

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20121122

Sunday November 13, 1977

Remembrance Sunday - 23rd after Trinity. A bright, sunny day. Jacqui and I walked to the Commercial at 12. The pub isn't full in the usual Sunday fashion but we enjoyed it. We discuss the fancy dress party at Lord's Cricket Ground on December 16. What can I go along as? A policeman? A tart? A French maid? No, we decided upon the late Groucho Marx who should be quite easy to imitate. I need to lay hands on a morning coat with tails and a pair of baggy trousers. Jacqui is going as Shirley Temple. Oh My God!

Poldark ...
We do get on well. ________. After a good lunch we went to Leeds where she got her bus (or coach if you're posh) to London at 5pm. Returning to Guiseley I saw Carole's brother, Peter, and his girlfriend. He said hello.

Just watched TV tonight. Saw episode 48 million of 'Poldark' and then a film. To bed at midnight with a certain nameless volume written by an author of French persuasion.




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Saturday November 12, 1977

I woke at about 12 and could hear Mum yelling about something from her bed. Evidently she did hear Jacqui and I listening to the stereo in the early hours and is far from happy about it. I hid for quite a while beneath the sheets until some sort of plan of action could be worked out in my enfeebled mind. I decided upon the straight, honest, Richard Nixon approach and just marched, with head held high, into her bedroom and said sorry. She was perfect from then on and just said in that famous, soft, musical voice: "Michael, you take your mother for granted." I fear I do. And she's ill too. I am a swine.

Haworth: the parsonage.
After lunch Jacqui and I got a bus to Haworth (Bronte Country and all that). It's like Hell on earth. I soon see why Charlotte, Emily and Anne never reached the age of 40. Bleak is hardly the word. What's more, it snowed. We dashed round the parsonage and then into a cafe where hot tea and cream buns failed to revive us. Felt ill and cold. Jacqui giggled. She can hardly wait to tell the folks back home who have never seen a desolate moor or the rampaging spectre of Heathcliff.  We spent more time on the road than we did at Haworth, and at 5.30 we got a bus home.


Tonight we thawed out and watched TV. Saw Penelope Keith and Lord Carnarvon on the Michael Parkinson Show.

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Friday November 11, 1977

Met Jacqui at 4.45 at the bus station and the weekend began disastrously when the bus broke down and we got caught up in a snow storm. By the time we arrived at Guiseley after 6pm it was so bad we were compelled to seek refuge at the Station Hotel where I phoned for assistance from home and we both had half of lager. I was carrying a pheasant (courtesy of Delia, who did not desire removing it of its feathers and innards) and the bird's beak poked through the polythene bag, dripping blood over the pub carpet.

Dad collected us. He says Mum may have a kidney stone. Dr Mellor says she must shed a stone in weight. Her blood pressure is high. She is pale and ill.

Jacqui.
The rain, snow and gales persist and at 8 Sue, Pete, Janet Simon and Chippy take Jacqui and I to the Fox & Hounds. They then leave the two of us alone and we saw none of the usual Friday night visitors. No Tony, Martyn or 'Piss and Crete'. We had a few at the Fox and then went to see Judith R and Kathryn at the Hare where I became quite pissed. I blame the vivacious Miss Young entirely for my condition. We sat in the Tudor Bar until midnight and then I ran around in the car park with my 'inflated' umbrella until it was smashed to pieces in the high winds. It disintegrated into a warped mass of fractured metal and plastic.

At home the two of us drank 2 bottles of Beaujolais and listened to the record player at a very low volume until about 5am. Nobody could possibly have heard us. Sue and Pete slept on the settee - snoring contentedly - until I had the foresight to awaken them after 3. Poor Pete dashed off home. He's working at 7.30am.

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Thursday November 10, 1977

Went to see Carole at 2.30 bearing a box of chocolates and fearing the worst. Leeds Infirmary is an incredible place to get in. The bloke who first discovered Ward 26 may well have been Capt Scott.

Carole is ill but one wouldn't believe it by looking at her. Her looks have not deteriorated nearly half as much as I'd been informed by other visitors. She was overjoyed to see me and was an Angel. For me it was glorious to see her face and hear her voice. Her mother was with her, and behaved very nicely. It was just like old times in fact. Carole is the bravest kid alive - and she's only just managed to hang onto that by God's will. Mrs Phillips says that on two or three occasions Carole was a 'write off', and it seems that their priest is wearing a path from his church to the hospital. I was horrified to hear Carole's description of several revolting tests they have subjected her to, and could not find the suitable words to respond. I am over awed by it all. Her body is paralysed after treatment she's had on her spine and she is blind in one of her eyes (but unaware of this). I left at 3.30 and returned to the YP promising to visit again on Monday with chocolates and sandwiches. In hospital Carole is actually eating meat and vegetables of the non canned, fried or baked beaned variety. She is putting up one Hell of a fight. I do love her. She loves Peter Fogarty. I just want to see her happy whether it's with me, Fogarty or the Aga Khan.

To the (West Yorkshire) Playhouse at Leeds with Sarah after tea at Delia's. Saw 'Twelfth Night' with Vivien Heilbron as Olivia. Incredibly amusing. I seemed to enjoy it more than Sarah who looked seriously bored by it all. I do think she finds me dull. We left at 10.30 and she came back for a cup of tea (she never partakes in coffee). Mum is still laid up in bed and the Norfolk venture is fading all the more. Poor Soul. I shall have to get her a present at the weekend.

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Sunday March 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn British Summer Time begins 3rd Sunday in Lent Bacon sandwiches and the Sunday Telegraph. Fuss about the Queen's visit to ...