Sunday October 22, 1978

23rd after Trinity.

Slept until noon. My God nobody can accuse me of being an idle waster. If I keep going with my marathon walks I can see me making the 1980 Moscow Olympics.

Jacq came over at 12:30 just as I was splashing around in the sink and we went immediately to the Commercial, supposedly for beef sandwiches, but Annie had sold out, so we had to resort to alcohol. At 2 we got on a bus to White Cross and had fish and chips at Harry Ramsden's. Quite divine.

A brisk walk up Thorpe Lane and that was my exercise over and done with for the weekend. I just sat in front of the tv all afternoon with the two ladies. Daddy was out on the streets defending the citizens of our crime~ridden township. Soweto isn't a patch on Guiseley.

Boring 'Lillie Langtry' was on tv again and although I find Francesca Annis quite a little scorcher I am afraid the script and action ~ or lack of it ~leaves a lot to be desired. We are into six episodes and she hasn't even had Bertie, Prince of Wales, in bed yet. Talking of bed, I went to mine at 11 o'clock.

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Saturday October 21, 1978

Sun rises 07:34 Sun sets 17:56

I came out of my coma at approximately 8 o'clock this morning. I thought, once again, that my end had come. These feelings of forthcoming doom, yeah of death, are recurring and on an increasing and alarming scale.

I took Jacq into town where she had to show her face at Dacre Son & Hartley and I got a bus home for 10 o'clock. Had a cup of tea with Mum and Dad and then fell into my wondrous bed until 3pm when I was awakened by Lynn on the phone wanting Alison's number. She wants to ring to discuss details of the wedding next week. I went back to bed until 5.

I emerged to have tea and within minutes Lynn and Dave arrived from Pool (in Wharfedale) and she was sobbing like a baby. The worst has happened. John P called off the wedding this morning. Alison will be distraught. Lynn had spoken to Mrs Dixon, who had only been told ten minutes before. The situation is terrible. _________________________.

I was out to Leeds again at 7:30 and Jacq and I went to the George where Haydn and his friends were gathered before heading to another party. Neither of us were in party spirits. Tiredness from last night and the sad news from Winchester just seem to have flattened the whole evening.

We went back to the Y.W.C.A and drank fruity punch and watched Iranians, Greeks, and other various nationalities leaping around to Boney M and the delights of 'Rasputin'.

At 2am and after a 5ft Persian homosexual had asked me if I wanted to dance with him, I sent Jacq to bed and proceeded to walk home. It was almost 5am, and drizzling slightly, when I fell through the door. Knackered.


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Friday October 20, 1978

Steve Sharp's leaving party this evening.

This afternoon Sarah, Carol J and I went to Parker's and then to Len's for a few lunchtime drinkies to get me in the right frame of mind for the festivities. The girls are refusing to go to Steve's orgy because the Eagle pub on North Street is something of a rough dive, they say. What does it matter?

At 6 o'clock John Mac took Alan Macgregor and I to the Eagle. Timothy Taylor's bitter was drained in vast quantities from the outset. I sat with Steve, Geoff Winter, Sue Tirbutt, Jill Armstrong, Fred (Manby) &c. I collected Jacq at 7:30 after fighting my way through the vast crowds in Leeds queueing to see Mr Revolta in 'Grease'. I am shocked that millions of apparently educated people should sink to such depths of incredible madness.

By 10:30 we were all quite pissed. At one point Steve used the back of my tie to write down a lengthy drinks order. Oh My God! It all looked very 'punk' anyway.

Jacq and I went with John MacM and a new lady YP reporter to Steve's place at Alwoodley where we drank ourselves stupid. I was violently sick on the manicured front lawn, and after a few gins I passed into a tranquil state of unconsciousness from which I didn't emerge until morn. In the meantime Jacq was mauled by Campbell Spray, and she sustained injuries to her left ankle on the dance floor.

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Thursday October 19, 1978

King John died seven hundred and sixty two years ago today, and blimey, Newark Castle, Notts, appears to have been the fortunate spot selected for this event.

Jacq and I had a meeting at the Ostlers.

Margaret and Jim tonight again. A very drunken occasion. For some daft reason Mama was drinking Pernod, and she and Jim were staggering by 11 o'clock. Pete joined us too, and he was worse for wear. A burst of dancing broke out in the dining room, but I declined Mama's frequent invitations to get up off my backside and 'groove it'.

Obviously, after the guests had departed in the small hours Mum was taken ill. Her reaction to the massive quantity of Pernod was to do what Lord Nelson always did when he was aboard HMS Victory. Yes, she threw up.

(I bet you thought I was going to say she found an eye patch and paced up and down the bridge saying "I see no ships. Hic" Alas, no).

-=-

Wednesday October 18, 1978

St Luke

Laughter. Sarah and I went out at lunchtime and I posed for some ridiculous locket photographs in a booth at the bus station. Quite hideous. I have never been photogenic, but these are the ultimate. Mel Hulme, the EP photographer, also took pics of me in the YP car park to illustrate the article going in Postscript regarding my adventure on the Father's Day trip to Blackpool in June. Tony Green came over after lunch and took down the sordid story of my motorway excursion from Hell. I'm sure he thinks I am raving mad.

The new Pope is still alive, and I think well, which seems strange after the recent epidemic of papal stiffs over the past few months. Dr Cobweb, our revered Archbishop of Canterbury, is to attend the Pope's installation in Rome next Sunday. He was criticised last month for failing to attend Pope John Paul I's 'knees up' so I suppose he is making amends.

Lynn and Dave had a bump in the car on Queensway this morning. All the front of his car is smashed in but neither of them sustained injury. Lynn was slightly shook up. Dave estimates damage to the spitfire at £100, and the offending other driver also suffered in the entanglement.

-=-

Tuesday October 17, 1978

A dull, uneventful day.

Sarah was wearing a locket today, but on inspection it had no photographs in it. I jokingly offered myself as a candidate to hang next to her breast for all eternity, and she leapt at the offer. We are going to do something about it tomorrow.

Mum and Dad went out to tea with Auntie Mabel. Lynn came home to see Susie and me. Sue was very quiet and Lynn commented on this. Lynn says she's only been married for six weeks and already it feels like a life time. Dave came at 8 straight from his game of Badminton. Joined by Peter at about 8:30 ~ he was in a hideous temper. Squabbling with Sue about nothing ~ almost out of habit. They act more like an established married couple than do Lynn & Dave. Oh, belt up. Michael. What do I know?

No contact with Jacq today. Watched 'Roots' on tv.

-=-

Monday October 16, 1978

Full Moon 07:09 First Day of Tabernacles (Succoth)

There's speculation all day about the conclave of cardinals. The voting, they say, is proving more difficult this time and Rome has been shrouded beneath clouds of black smoke all day. However, the boys in velvet made a decision and at about 7:30 the news was telephoned to me by a frantic Ursula, who could find no photographs, and before the BBC news flash, and the residents of 58, Hawksworth Lane where the first people this side of Leeds to discover that the new Pope is a non~Italian for the first time since 1522. The new pontiff is in fact a Pole. In fact he's the Cardinal Archbishop of Kraków, whose name I cannot attempt to pronounce (Karol Józef Wojtyła). No doubt my Aunt Jadwega is skipping around in her massage parlour showering kisses upon the residents of Mapplerley, Notts. So, it's failure for poor Basil Hume, but amazing that the cardinals have gone for an outsider. Do our purple friends want to keep well in with the Eastern bloc now that Italy is on the verge of going completely red? Dad's immediate reaction was to ask if the new pope is a Bulgarian. On the news Angela Rippon told us that during the Second World War Pope John Paul II worked in a Nazi~occupied umbrella factory. (Unless you know about Georgei Markov you'll be in the dark about this little joke).

Watched a violent film starring Burt Reynolds. Mum says she objects to paying the tv licence to watch such rubbish, but this Mary Whitehouse attitude is quite wrong. I see nothing wrong with a spot of violence. Bed at 12:05 am.

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