Wednesday April 5, 1978

Lynn gave me 'Worth' aftershave (for my birthday) and Sue and Pete a £5 note. From John and Maria I had a 1300 page paper back 'Adolf Hitler' by John Toland. Little JPH could only just carry it through the door - bless him.



Yes, I'm 23 today. Cards from Sarah, Eileen and dear Jacq, who presented me with one plus the Doobie Brothers LP at the Central this lunchtime.

We met at 1pm and knocked back Pernod and a few lagers. Peter Lazenby was eyeing Jacq up and down and back at the office he told me I was doomed to marriage. Surely, I'm much too young to enter into that Holy estate? Too bloody young by about 40 years? However, I suppose it will happen one day whether I like it or not.

This evening I played the Doobie Brothers LP very loudly and generally annoyed everyone at home.John, Maria and JPH came followed by Edith and Ernest shortly afterwards. Much alcohol was supped and JPH did his party pieces. A heated debate on Princess Margaret's £50,000 per annum took place and I was out-voted by the misguided majority.



Mum said HRH is nothing short of being a 'prostitute' and Ern hilariously said that had Princess Margaret been in the army she'd have been shot for deserting her post. If this is so then the army is slipping because the princess is a colonel-in-chief several times over. Poor Margaret.

-=-

Tuesday April 4, 1978

Out at lunchtime to Parker's (wine bar) with Jacq and Trixie. The place was quite empty, but we had a good few drinks and a spot of something to eat. Trixie goes off to Suffolk tomorrow house hunting and Jacq won't be seeing her until we go to Gina's wedding in 3 weeks.




Nothing happened tonight. Jacq went to Trixie's hotel at Garforth for dinner and fond farewells and I did nothing but watch TV.

My Uncle Peter was 49 today. Mum gave me a (birthday) card saying 'Happy Birthday Slob' and £3. She presented me with this tonight because on no account will she be out of bed before my departure to the labour camp at dawn.

-=-

Monday April 3, 1978

YP a complete misery and I took a half day. Mum was in a nasty mood all afternoon.

When Jacq and her Mum came at 7:30 it all went incredibly well. Everyone took to Trixie and we all knocked back wine and ales and discussed accents, told jokes and laughed. They both howled with laughter at Lynn, who can tell an amusing tale when called upon to do so. The "Our Michael" bit is bloody funny.

Trixie was wearing the Sate diamonds and got on very well with the family. She is a comedienne especially with her mock Yorkshire dialect mock up.



Jacq smoked six or seven cigarettes all evening. They left at something in the region of 10pm, and then Pete N and I sat up untilsomething in the region of 2am discussing the house with Mummy. He expounded the theory that I could earn £70 a week at Armitage-Shanks simply labouring.

-=-

Sunday April 2, 1978

1st after Easter Low Sunday

Still slightly nasty about the gills. A day of toil and labour at 7, Lawn Road, Burley-in-Wharfedale. Even David G worked well (not that he's an idle waster or anything). Sue and Peter came down later to entertain the troops like Morecambe and Wise.

David B was in one of his 'all knowing' 'I know everything moods....' After tearing off old wallpaper I ventured over to see Christine Dibb and Graham (Airey) who are entertaining Carol Smith and her fiance.

Tonight's evening meal was ridiculously large. I felt bloated and sick afterwards, and more booze only added to the overall feeling of greed.

Dave L phoned and said he was going to the Shoulder (of Mutton) with MM and Marita. I only ever seem to see MM at Christmas and New Year. Sue, Pete, Dave G and I went down to that tavern at 8:30 and Mr Lawson and Co joined us an hour or so later. Poor David (Stockport) was bemused by the company and said little or nothing for the remainder of the night.

We returned home, we meaning Dave, Sue, Pete and me, and collapsed before the TV. Sir John Betjeman was talking about railway stations on the 'Book Programme'.



-=-
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Saturday April 1, 1978

Sun rises 06:37 Sun sets 19:33

Further property speculation, Jay, the snobbish proprietor of 52, Hawksworth Lane attempted to to 'gazump' Mama and Papa for a friend, who wishes to live in this lovely area. Poor Ern was offered £750 more for his house, but he and Edith stuck to their guns and told Jay to bugger off. Friendship is nice and useful at times like this.

My health is worse, I fear. My throat is hideously swollen and a bitter, foul taste lurks on every morsel of food I devour. Poor Dave must be fed up by my moronic appearance. I am doing my utmost to undertake the scheduled functions that were already in the pipeline. Take this afternoon for instance. The whole clan trudged to Morrison's (in wet, soggy conditions)at 11:45 and afterwards we supped at the Clothiers. Ernest accompanied us too, and he told us that the pub was the first he had ever been in all those years ago. The Clothiers has a lot to answer for.

This afternoon we watched the Grand National. Red Rum was nowhere to be seen and an obscure animal called Lucius won. Ernest walked away with the £2 winners prize in our own private stake, and Sue achieved second and third place.





Tonight we went to the Hare to collect Christine. She was in a foul mood & I was immediately depressed by her attitude. From here we joined the mob at the Shoulder of Mutton where Christine and I poured booze over each other and hurtled abuse. Peter's friends watched us with glassy eyes and panting breath. Christine never fails to be a sex symbol on these occasions. She inspires boys to be men with no trouble at all. Anyway, to leave Helen of Troy on one side for a minute I'll just say we joined John and Maria at Oakwood Hall which was abominable. Heat unbearable. Drinking pints of perspiration. I thought Maria was going to keel over and die. Susan wanted to leave early and so we left at 1am. Slept on the way home. Throat is chronic.




-=-

Friday March 31, 1978

Moon's last quarter 16:11......... I am not feeling too well at all. It's me throat, ears and kneck (Does neck have a 'k'. No) Anyway it's burning away like hell and palpitating cheerfully. So typical. I'm entertaining Dave of Stockport and others at the weekend. I came home at 12 to prepare for my venture to the bank and espied Ernest scurrying round his garden beaming broadly. He told me to get home as quickly as I could because Mum has some interesting news for me. Has Roddy Llewellyn proposed to Princess Margaret? Is Daddy going to stand for Parliament at the next general election? No, but it is in fact quite thrilling news. Mum and Dad are going to buy Edith and Ernest's house, 54, Hawksworth Lane, for a mere £19,000. The property is detached and has four bedrooms. Mum and Dad are convinced that Pine Tops could sell for £19,750, or even more. No 54 does require renovations, but it really is remarkable. I won't be sad at leaving Pine Tops. Eight years under one roof is quite long enough. Dave G came at about 4pm. He laughed at the idea of us moving 2 doors down the road. It was good to see him and it's so nice that he is hitting it off with the family. Susan especially delights in his company, as she does with most males. Tonight we went to the Shoulder of Mutton where Dave was introduced to Gus, his 1978 holiday companion. Johnny, Nigel Wooller, but no Chippy were with us. From the Shoulder we ventured to the Dog and Gun at Apperley Bridge, which was packed, and then to the Queen's across the road. Peter N told me he could go to university in September and do a 2 year engineering degree. I was surprised. There's more to Pete than his exquisite taste in women. However, I can't see him furthering his education, due to the fact that his exquisite taste no doubt wishes to marry him and have masses of children. -=-

Thursday March 30, 1978

Without further ado I picked up the phone, dialled a Guiseley number, spoke to a polite young bank clerk (female) and made an appointment to see the manager tomorrow concerning a personal loan. Barclaycard is going for good, and tomorrow may see the dawn of a new era. A Brave New World in fact. Tonight I met Christine at the Drop and my financial position was the principal topic of conversation. Hilarity. I was clad in my tight 31" inside leg jeans which, according to Christine, makes me look like a puff. We howled about it. My half mast trousers, she says, remind her of the Union flag over St Paul's Cathedral at Sir Winston Churchill's funeral. I do like short jeans though and CB isn't the fashion correspondent of the Yorkshire Post. I take no notice of others when it comes to fashion, sex, good looks, &c. From the Drop we made our way to the Yorkshire Rose. Even Christine detects a weird, eerie atmosphere in this ancient place of refreshment. I have proclaimed for years that something is seriously amiss in the tap room here, and the sight of ailing veterans of the Somme and Ypres chatting up 14 and 15 year-olds is quite nauseating. (The Somme and Ypres were World War I battle grounds, in case you're too young to know). Christine moaned about one of her ears being out of action, but otherwise it was all sunshine, champagne and dafodils. I deposited the sweet child onto a bus at 10:45 and made my way home laden with fish and chips. The Thursday night Nason/Blackwell session was in full swing. -=-