Monday March 13, 1978

Once again an incredibly uninteresting day. Sarah's is not in the office this week. She's in horrid Wales with John MacMurray watching the Welsh National Opera. Somehow I think this relationship has more of a concrete base than any of her previous leaps into romance. Good luck anyway.

Tonight. I spent an hour or so writing to Jacq. Not a good letter by my standards, but Monday evenings are never inspiring, are they? (I don't suppose that any of you bother in the 21st century ~ to write that is.)

"Sunday, Bloody Sunday"

Once again, the television was the prominent source of entertainment. My eyes are going square. Saw 2 films. 'Bloody, Bloody Sunday' with Peter Finch, Glenda Jackson and Murray Head ~ all about homosexuals and middle class people like the Mather family; and the other film was 'Fright', in which Susan George played a babysitter who is raped by the psychopathic Ian Bannen. Honor Blackman was also in the star studded cast.

Today's deliberate mistake can be found in the first film title. Yes, it's not 'Bloody, Bloody Sunday' at all. It's 'Sunday, Bloody Sunday'.

Have received a postcard from Judith in Benidorm. Yeah, she wants the cheque for £28m sending back. No bloody likely.

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Sunday March 12, 1978

5th in Lent

A lazy, quiet day. Had a pleasant lunch with Mum, Dad and Lynn, and afterwards I put some polish on my dusty, beer stained boots, and prepared my wardrobe for my weekend jaunt to the fair capital of these islands of ours.

The only interesting occurrence was the screening on BBC2 of 'Hamlet' with Nicol Williamson playing the Prince of Denmark in the 1969 film of Mr Shakespeare's classic.

Dad and I are the only cultural residents of 58, Hawksworth Lane and no sooner had the first scene opened that Mama and my fair sisters scrambled from the room as though an incendiary device had just been deposited at the fireside. This is a sad aspect of 1978 social life.

To bed at 12:30 with Alexandre Dumas close at hand. I'm just starting chapter 5 now. It's entitled "Two Friends" and it depicts a scene featuring Anne, Queen-Mother of France and the clapped out old duchesse who first appeared on page 1, the Duchesse de Chevreuse.

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Saturday March 11, 1978

Sun rises 6:25 Sun sets 17:58

Bright sunny day. Lynn woke me at 10:30 to inform me that I was escorting her, on foot, to Yeadon to do some shopping. This was no ideal awakening my any means. I was out of bed by 11 and within minutes I was pouring a glass of beer for Ernest and glass of wine for Edith.

Yeadon.

Shortly afterwards to Yeadon with Lynn. The day was warm and we laughed and chatted on the way down the open road. We were home for 3pm weighed down with shopping. Lynn's feet were blistered and my hands were bright pink. And, dear friends, that was my day. Yes, it does seem pathetically short and mundane, but I cannot be expected to carry out earth shattering, spectacular feats of brilliance all the time. Perhaps you can look in tomorrow?  Oh, go on then I'll just say a bit more.

Mama and Papa went out for dinner and Sue, Pete, Chippy and girlfriend went off to Appletreewick at tea time supposedly 'camping'. Not much of the countryside will be seen if I know anything of my sweet sister. The pleasures of the flesh are nearer the top of her priorities than river side walks, but at 18 and with her great beauty, I cannot blame her.

Lynn, Dave and I dined by candlelight together (do you think that perhaps my presence was not welcome?) and afterwards we sat looking at the television. Boring.

To bed with 'The Man in the Iron Mask' but fell asleep after two pages. In fact, a clapped out old French duchess hadn't even finished talking to a bloke named after that nice brand of aftershave lotion ... er, Ah yes, Aramis.

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Friday March 10, 1978

Felt fatigued after the excesses of Oakwood Hall. It was a bright, sunny day with the birds chuntering away happily in the trees.

At lunchtime Eileen and I went to the library to get a couple of books by P.G. Wodehouse and Dumas's 'The Man in the Iron Mask'. If it takes me as long to read as 'The Count of Monte Cristo' I'll be here until July. However, Michael, with fortitude it will be done.

Christine phoned this afternoon to say her car stinks like an Indian restaurant and that I've splattered the interior with curry and raw onions. Oh God. We are going to Willie's 21st on Thursday. That should be something of a brawl.

I have received a letter from Carole. I am going to leave it pressed between these pages for you to look at. What do you think of it? I'm slightly confused by it, but no doubt in time the contents will sink in. I am not going to reply until the whole thing has been studied carefully.

Tonight I did absolutely nothing. In fact, I felt exhausted. 'The Man in the Iron Mask' was untouched. Saw a Susan Hayward film. It's interesting to note that all the cast of this 1962 film are now dead. Miss Hayward bit the dust in 1975, Peter Finch in 1976, Charles Chaplin in 1977, Margaret Rutherford in 1972, Richard Wattis in 1976 (?), and Enrico Caruso in 1927.

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Thursday March 9, 1978

I'd just like to add some more about last night ________________________.

Alison and John returned to Winchester this morning and they gave me an invitation to visit them whenever I wish. Jacq will have to be informed. She loves visiting far off places. Anyway, to get back today ....

Christine came at 8:30pm and we went off to the Shoulder of Mutton. We laughed from the outset because she said I looked like a puff in my narrow 31'' trousers. I sulked and said: "Take me home, Christine." She responded: "Now you sound like a puff too ~ I never thought Mig Rhodes would worry about what other people said about him". "Oh, Christine Sweetie" pouted I, "stop upsetting me with these awful insinuations."

From the Shoulder we went to the White Cross at Guiseley where a friendly Old Age Pensioner handed Christine a bunch of grapes, no doubt as an offering of the kind made to Great White Conquerors on landing on sandy foreign parts not unlike Hawaii. I immediately thought of Mr Christian and 'Mutiny on the Bounty'. Christine spoiled the whole ceremony by depositing the offending fruit in the nearest ash tray. From here we found Oakwood Hall.  The climate was unbearable but we danced all night ~ in between drinking that is.

Tony Simpson, our sports editor, was boozing at the bar, and I told him the sordid tale of ____________ and the abortionist. He was ecstatic to hear my tales of vice.

-=-

Wednesday March 8, 1978

My future brother-in-law is 22 today. Not a very happy birthday either. I gave him £2.50 so I suppose you can say he's only £97.50 short now. Sad isn't it?

At lunchtime Dave was so sulky he boycotted the celebration drink I'd planned at Parker's. Mum, Dad, John P and Alison met me in Leeds and to that underground cavern of refreshment we immediately dashed. I'm afraid that the money flowed faster than the wine but all the same we ate, drank and toasted the absent David. From Parker's we went to the Emmott's at Rawdon. Good grief, the memories of that place certainly linger. We all drank too much and on getting home, after 3, I piled into the MG with John and Alison and we sped off towards Baildon Moor for a ridiculous photograph session. I'm sure they think I'm a lunatic.

Later we went to Ernest's to sample his 'stout' and we didn't get home until about 6. Alison thinks I'm a nutter, but Mother thinks I'm alcoholic.

Christine D and Graham came at 8 and we went with Lynn, Dave, John P, Alison, Sue and Pete to the Dyneley Arms, and then to the New Inn at Headingley and then to Salvo's.  Tony and Martyn with lady friends met us at Salvo's, and they sat next to Alison. ________. Susan and I had a pizza and then shared another one. Gluttony Rules OK. Lynn was very drunk. I do really like Christine Dibb.

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Tuesday March 7, 1978

_.A revolting thing has occurred. At 8:00am David and I set out to Leeds. (He had stayed the night). We were in the car and David glanced into the back and said: 'Oh, I've left my briefcase in the house'. But, sadly, he hadn't. A search of the premises found no briefcase anywhere, and we drew the conclusion that the thing had been stolen from his car, which had been unlocked all bloody night. David had left £100 in cash in the briefcase, which had been behind the passenger seat. He'd forgotten that he'd left money in it. How ridiculous, and so unlike David. Of course, Lynn had hysterics and Dad leapt from his bed to begin his line of enquiries. Some criminal will be laughing all the way to the bank. I feel sorry for Lynn and Dave who need every penny they can lay their hands on these days.

At home tonight I was confronted by four or five long, pale faces. Quite a contrast to the gaiety of last night.

-=-