Sunday January 15, 1978

2nd Sunday after Epiphany. Out of bed at 1:00pm to my rabbit luncheon. I feel really proud. Almost like a Stonehenge warrior must have felt on making his first kill for the table. Something very close to nature and instinctive about killing for ones nosh. It was fabulous too.

Townsend and Margaret.

This afternoon I continued my reading marathon and was just contemplating drifting off to sleep when Mum attracted my attention by suggesting we should go to see Auntie Mabel. We went at 7:00 o'clock. She's in fine fettle and ladens us with food and drink. We sat chatting until after 10.

Items in the news: A famous American politician has gone and died. His name escapes me for the minute. It's something like Lyndon Johnson or Horatio C. Wallace, III. Peter Townsend's first wife, Rosemary, went out  and married Lord Camden, a 80 year-old landowner. The horrid group captain is, at this very moment, spilling the beans on his affair with Princess Margaret. This is unforgivable of him and the desolate princess must be on the verge of ending it all. It is rumoured that Lord Snowdon will marry Mrs Lindsay-Hogg in the Spring.

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Saturday January 14, 1978

Sun rises 08:01 Sun sets 16:19

Clementine: eye balls donated.

Out of bed at eleven not too worse for the amount of alcoholic beverage taken in last night. I found Dad inspecting the rabbit. He congratulated me on the kill. "A fine buck" is his professional verdict.

The morning papers reveal that the 'vandal' Lady Churchill donated her eye balls to medical science, and now some poor, unsuspecting soul is walking around with the eyes which saw more of Sir Winston than anybody else. I'm not sure I like this. It all rings of Baron Frankenstein. Very ghoulish. How long before famous singers pass on their voice boxes to carry on their musical talents after death? I always wanted to be a Beatle. Perhaps I could be first in the queue when Paul McCartney goes?

Shopping in Guiseley with Lynn. After a couple of hours we walked to the Station Hotel for a thirst quencher. Her wedding chatter is now at fever pitch. Blimey, it's only 34 weeks until the 'Big Day' so it's not exactly premature excitement.

Pete M phoned tonight but I explained how broke I am, and so that was that. A night at home, sitting like Jimmy Carter by my fireside. 'Starsky & Hutch' on the box too. Oh, how thoroughly delightful. Bloody Hell, no wonder the pubs are packed on Saturday nights. The only people to be found indoors on these long, wintry evenings are the crippled, bed-ridden and penniless. In case you're wondering, I fit into the last category. Sat and read the Scarlet Pimpernel. Watched Hedy Lamarr in a 1940 epic. Bed afterwards.




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Friday January 13, 1978

Friday the Thirteenth. Can't remember whether today is supposed to be lucky or unlucky. One thing's for sure, it was the latter sort of day for Auntie Mabel. In Pudsey whilst out shopping this morning she bumped into her cousin Walter Basham (who is, or was, therefore, also my cousin). She remarked how ill he appeared and he replied: "Yes, Mabel, I don't feel too good" and without further ado he keeled over and died there and then in the street. Mabel is heartbroken. But that's the way to go though. Surely, better than lingering in some disinfected hospital ward for weeks on end?

Carrington's, Harrogate.

This evening Pete M came and we went to the Fox and Hounds. Joined there by Martyn and Chris. Tony was out with _______. From the Fox things went rapidly down hill. Peter wanted to go to Carrington's in Harrogate (where Lynne and I went a couple of times) and so this is where we had to go. A complete flop, so bad that at 12 we shot across the country to Oakwood Hall. I was startled to see how much the place has gone down since my last visit. It was really rough and I wouldn't have minded too much but for the fact that the three of us (Chris had gone home) were dressed up to the nines. Afterwards we dropped Martyn off at Ilkley and came back over the moors. The only profitable thing which took place all night occurred on Hawksworth Moor. Yes, a rabbit fell foul of Peter's van, and it's corpse was duly snatched up and carried off to Pine Tops in readiness for the Sunday dinner. Peter was shaken by the experience. He's not the killing type.

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Thursday January 12, 1978

Horrible snow. To the YP with Jim and Jennie Rawnsley. I do believe that it is exactly one year to the day since the snow caused me to be three hours travelling home from Leeds. Let me say now that today was very much the same.

Churchill by Graham Sutherland.

The nation heard today that Clementine Churchill destroyed the portrait of Sir Winston by Graham Sutherland shortly after it was painted in 1954.  I find this infuriating and disgusting.  It's only twelve months since the old cow was moaning about having to part with her personal belongings in order to make ends meet. The picture (by Mr Sutherland) would have been worth something in excess of £50,000 today. Oh dear, so poor old Clem couldn't afford to pay the soddin' gas bill? Hard luck, that's what I say.

Tonight Jim and Margaret Nason came up and we drank Saki and such like until after 1am, or was it 2:00? Poor Margaret was blasted out of her mind. Sue and Pete joined us and we toasted their fourth 'anniversary' which falls tomorrow. I hope he intends making a honest woman of her. It would be nice to see my sister married this century at least.

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Wednesday January 11, 1978

Snow, gales and blizzards today. Went to the YP feeling peculiarly industrious and worked without a lunch break until 4:30. Marita brought me to Rawdon which was a help. I ate like a horse on getting home and felt bloated and uncomfortable afterwards.

More 'gush' in the morning papers about Prince Andrew and his 'sweetheart'. Editors throughout the kingdom must have tired of the firemen's strike and the prime minister's visit to India because front page news for a royal prince is quite rare these days.

Ernest Bishop: assassinated.

Reading 'The Scarlet Pimpernel' by that baroness. I really should have read this at 14 or 15 but in those days - Oh how far they seem off now - I was into the heavy volumes of reminiscences of lofty 18th century geezers and had no time for childish fiction.

A play starring Hugh Lloyd on BBC2 caught my attention. This was followed by Deborah Kerr in 'The Prisoner of Zenda', Oh and the assassination of Ernest Bishop on 'Coronation Street' shook the entire nation. The Queen has sent a personal message of sympathy to the surviving cast.

I intended having a bath but by midnight I was no nearer my watery end and I sat listening to the roar of a 70 mph gale on Hawksworth Lane. The late TV news featured our seasonal weather as the main item of information and Mama quivered from head to foot. My God! If we can't have a spot of nasty weather in January when can we? What do they down at the meteorological office expect? A bloody heatwave or something? A sandstorm or a drought? Weather, and talking about it, is the British disease.

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Tuesday January 10, 1978

Snow today. The first of the year. By lunchtime in Leeds though it was quite free of abominable white flakes and a blustery wind blew instead.

Bumped into Sharon and Susan Kirk in town. They are the granddaughters of my grandmother's sister, Aunt Annie Kirk. Sharon I have always liked and she offers to give me a lift home from Leeds any time I may need one. She works for the Civil Service at Darley House. She mentioned the photos I took of Auntie Annie & Uncle John kissing last month.

This evening Martyn called in at 6:30 for an hour and took away the ring which Uncle Harry gave me. It needs repairing. The ring originally belonged to my great-grandfather, John Rhodes, who was given it on his 21st birthday, in June, 1887. Martyn's going to see what he can do to restore it to its former glory.

Hey, I have mentioned that Naomi's invited me to her 21st birthday party on January 28? Yes, she gave me the invitation on Friday. I really like Naomi more and more. You could put the two of us in a boat and dump us in the mid Atlantic and I'd be quite happy.

I have decided that, out of protest, I definitely now, or in future, won't read a book on King James II. The barbarous way he butchered the Duke of Monmouth and his supporters nauseates me. Had I been living in 1685 I'd have been out on Hawksworth Lane yelling for 'Good King Monmouth'. God Rest his Soul.

Prince Andrew is escorting a fellow inmate from his school (Gordonstoun) to Sandringham where the Royal Family have been holidaying. The girl is Kirsty Richmond, a 17 year-old, and the opinion of the Daily Mail is that HRH is taking after his big brother. 1978 is going to be the year in which Prince Andrew makes his debut in the Press as a whoring, wenching Casanova. As if we don't have enough of this with the Prince of Wales and Prince Michael. The poor boy will have this sort of intrusion every time he's seen within a hundred yards radius of a female - until the day he marries. Poor soul, and even after he marries the rumours and stories will go on.

Saw a Glenda Jackson film based on a book by H.E. Bates and retired at 1:00.

Monday January 9, 1978

New Moon 04.00

Windy, wet, but bright. No news of my future in the YTV world, but I didn't really expect any communication so early. Bored to death at the YP - they got on my nerves today, even Sarah. Mind you, Sarah and I regularly have our differences of opinion which don't come to much. After all the girl is a Scorpio and I am Aries, so what do you expect?

Lynn and Dave have bought (I think) a home at 7, Lawn Road, Burley in Wharfedale. It cost £8,200 or something in that region. Lynn is over the Moon about it, but she says it needs about £1,000 spending on it by way of repairs and general improvements. My little sister purchasing property! Won't things be quiet when September rolls up? Lynn makes one Hell of a racket at home and I fear the house will be like a cathedral without her. Lawn Road is a stone's throw from cousin Dorothy's ale house at the White Horse.

Dave G phoned. They may be over on Saturday from Stockport, but I shudder at the very thought because I have no money. It may mean me attacking the funds in the Lynn and David honeymoon kitty in order to make ends meet. Oh God, where am I going to get the money for a deposit for the holiday? Sod it.

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