Monday January 15, 1979

Will Margaret Hilda (Thatcher) ever become prime minister of these crumbling, desperate islands? I have a quaking, nasty feeling of nausea about the whole subject of the next general election. Do I forsee yet another feeble minority Labour government taking us through to the mid 1980s? Please, Oh please God, spare us this horror!

Another one of those Spencer girls has been spotted in the royal circle. Lady Diana Spencer, 17, is now at Sandringham with her elder sister, Lady Sarah, and both have been out shooting with the Prince of Wales. Lady Diana was born in 1961 and I can't help thinking that our future Queen consort is going to be a child of the 1960s. The Prince of Wales cannot marry someone thirty years old because her child~bearing days (or perhaps years) can be numbered on one hand. So, in the next couple of years a batch of females in their early 20s will have to be taken into consideration. All very exciting, isn't it?



I have decided that Peter Nason's beard is a perfect addition to his face. His features were too elongated, and now you can't see 'em for hair. The facial hair makes him look older too. He's been in a cheerful, almost elated mood recently. What can it be?

Watched TV until the set nearly exploded from the heat. A Charles Bronson film on BBC2, and of course a repeat of a 1972 edition of Monty Python's Flying Circus. Bed after 12 and read 'Confessions of a Private Soldier'. Blimey, anything is better than the Crossman diaries.

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Sunday January 14, 1979

2nd after Epiphany. We crawled out of our respective holes at about 10:30am for breakfast after which we played cards on the dining room table until 12:30. Sue howled with laughter at Dave G's hopelessness. At 1pm we had one in the Red Lion again before devouring a lunch of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding

Lynn loves to cook and entertain and she does it very well.

Cards continued throughout the afternoon. Chris Baker and Julie (Harris) arrived. Julie puts an instant smile on my face, but nobody else seems to find her amusing or entertaining. Chris B looks upon me as a lunatic, or eccentric, for some strange reason. They left after an hour or so.

Lynn complained of feeling grotty and took off to bed for a couple of hours, but none of this interrupted the card game. They (the Bakers) finally got rid of us at about 8:30 & we returned home. A good weekend.

Watched the film "Room At the Top" with Dave.

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Saturday January 13, 1979

Dave (Glynn) and I had breakfast with Sue. Poor Mum is in bed with an upset stomach & so she didn't surface all day. Pale and ghastly.

Dave and I had a little pub crawl in Guiseley. We had one at the Yorkshire Rose where an OAP told us that his Jack Russell terrier is pregnant. A tart in the bar referred to the landlord as "you big fat twat". Yes, a nice, tasteful atmosphere prevailed. We made our way to the incredibly dull Regent and finally, at 2:45pm, onto the Station Hotel.

Snow and ice underfoot was something of a hazard to begin with but the more we drank the more confident we became negotiating the glassy footpaths like John Currie and Robin Cousins.{I suspect both these gents are close friends of Jeremy Thorpe, MP}.

Tonight: to Burley~in~Wharfedale with Dave, Sue & Pete to see Lynn and Dave B. The Bakers both looked as fit as butcher's dogs - especially Lynn who is pink and 'radiating'. We all piled into the Red Lion following a pantomime on ice in the car park there. Boozed solidly until 11 o'clock and then took fish & chips back to Lawn Road . We laughed at the fact that for the purposes of the kitty Dave and I were classed as a 'couple'.

We drank until about 1:30am & then Susie and Pete staggered off to the spare bedroom for a further instalment of the wildest pre~marital experience since Anthony & Cleopatra.

Dave B collapsed onto the sofa and didn't bat an eyelid until after 3 leaving Dave G, Lynn and I singing along to Nat King Cole's greatest hits. Dave B makes a regular habit of slipping into a convenient coma at every available opportunity. He hops off to bed or collapses into a medium sized heap on the carpet. Good old Dave. He thrust a £10 note into my hot, grasping hand when I said I wanted to buy a pair of shoes on Monday. (I shall, of course, let him have it back next week). But isn't it marvellous of him to 'see me right'? A real brother is David Baker, a real brother.

Lynn finally carried her husband off to bed and Dave G and I slept in the lounge (or sitting room depending on how posh you happen to be). It was 3:30am, I think.

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Friday January 12, 1979

I met David (Glynn) at 5:20 at the bus station. Sitting waiting for him clad in my dirty long raincoat my thoughts turned to _________. The National Coach station was a frequent  haunt of ours during our 'romance'. Very nostalgic. It was such a pleasant little affair while it lasted, but it was never really on as far as I was concerned because her constant 'pushy' attitude killed the molecule of respect that lurked in my weird metabolism. _________________.

Dave is in fine shape but looks older. We got home at 6:45 for dinner. The snow didn't help much. Lynn and Dave are here and they invite us to stay at Lawn Road tomorrow. Sue and Pete are asked too. We dined and drank pea wine and then went down to the Fox & Hounds with Sue & Pete. (They have been going out together for 5 years today).  Dave was quiet and complained of indigestion and drank brandy to settle his stomach. Sue & Pete left us to go dine at Queen Anne's Table in Ilkley.

Christine looked like a Goddess. I haven't seen her since the party on Dec 27. I gave her a clockwork dolphin which swims in water as a belated Christmas present. She laughed a good deal as it swam around in the sink behind the bar ~ like the star of 'Jaws'.

Martyn, Peter M (moustachioed), & Steve Hudson came in. Dave enjoyed seeing them. I became quite pissed. Martyn, the bitch, said I resembled Peter Egan's portrayal of Oscar Wilde in the ATV version of Lillie Langtry's life story. Mr Cole is moving to Stockport to be the assistant manager of Samuel jewellers there. Steve Hudson has had a perm. He says I am always pissed. He  might be right.

At 10pm we moved on to the Shoulder of Mutton. CB said she'd phone me tomorrow, but she was far from being her usual ridiculous self. In fact I hate the fact that these days she is always on the other side of the bar to me. She isn't cut out to be servile and certainly no barmaid. In my (drunken) stupor I told Chris R that I am in fact going to marry Christine when I'm grown up, say about thirty. Oh God! I can't wait for that tale to be circulated.

At 11pm Chris and Steve H came back to Pine Tops. We drank lager and pea wine and looked at old photographs. Mum was furious because I was so pissed, and to make matters worse I dropped a glass on the kitchen floor. Dave went and sat with Mum. Dad totally ignored me. Sue and Peter came in. She was in tears. They'd spent £17 on dinner and it had been diabolical. The food inedible. Poor sods. What a rotten fifth anniversary. Watched a blurred Sophia Loren film, but then it was probably my vision and not the telly's fault. Bed after 1am.

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Thursday January 11, 1979

The papers and TV (yes, the media) are over-doing it a bit on the subject of the Prime Minister's Caribbean summit on the island of Guadeloupe. The nation may well be in a state of chaos & turmoil, but I fear the presence of James Callaghan in this current crisis can only make matters worse. Besides, one cannot expect the Presidents of France and the United States and the chancellor of West Germany to discuss world affairs in Barrow-in-Furness, can one? Some murky Berni Inn in the north of England may be fine for the likes of little Audrey Callaghan, but Madame Giscard D'Estaing is a different kettle of fish. She's descended from Louis XIV of France, you know.

The journals of Richard Crossman are proving a bore. He was a typical trumped up Socialist intellectual with baggy pin-striped trousers and a Georgian mansion in Suffolk. To be a Labour cabinet minister you have to something of a hypocrite, don't you?

Mr Dave Glynn phoned tonight.  He's coming to Leeds tomorrow and I plan to meet him at 5:15. Such a genuine person and very likeable. Lynn and Sue adore him. He brings out the clown in Susan and the flirt in Lynn, and in Lynn's case this is quite an easy thing to achieve.

Stay by my fireside all evening. Jim and Margaret came here at 9 and we watched TV and consumed lager and chunks of port pie. These meetings never differ from week to week.

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Wednesday January 10, 1979

For two nights now I've dreamt about death. Not my death, but the death of unfortuate beings very close to me. I find it disturbing. I'm not going to explain here. Putting the details on paper would be sickening and tempting fate, and all that. It's probably all due to the vast amounts of Scottish cheese I've taken to devouring every night.

Thick snow today. I attempted to shovel it from the drive at 7:45am but didn't get very far.

To the YP with Jim, Jenny and Alec (Muriel's brother), and Donald Best. The discussion in the car was Princess Margaret and the saintly Lord Snowdon. They all disagreed when I said Snowdon was the first to stray. Evidently, it's still the fashion to abuse the poor, defenceless woman.

Kenneth More: nauseating

Sarah and Carol went off to a literary luncheon at the university to see the actor Kenneth More, and James Burke, the tv personality. Both nauseating, in my opinion.

Just me and Kathleen all day. It's just not done to talk about sex, play cards, or laugh raucously in Kathleen's presence, and so I hid behind a filing cabinet with a great heap of photographs.

Dad has announced that he wants to read Kipling. Has he said this before? Probably at the end of 1978? I suggested that he reads Crossman's journals instead - but the shear size of the volume puts him off. Besides, he has an

James Burke

aversion to the intellectual, middle-class type of Labour MP of which Richard Crossman and 'Woy' Jenkins are prime examples.

Sue and Pete went down to the Shoulder of Mutton to make a final farewell party for Gus and Frank, but only Chippy materialized ~ with his 'girlfriend'. They came home at 10:30 covered in snow. I don't suppose Gus will get much of that in the Golan Heights. To bed at midnight.




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Tuesday January 9, 1979

Slight snow. Boring at the YP. We played cards all lunchtime. I'm becoming quite fanatical about poker. I do have an addictive personality. It was Dave Lawson who said that greyhound racing would be my downfall.

To the library in town with Sarah. Took out the Crossman Diaries 1964-68 which should see me nicely into autumn.

Poor Sarah wanted a volume on rugby league, but the whole of Leeds City Library was ransacked without success. Ray Fletcher will see her right.

On the subject of books I have just finished reading "Handful of Dust" by Evelyn Waugh. Quite the most entertaining volume I've read in years, but sad and frustrating.

Went to Delia's with S(arah) this evening. Delia gave me red wine and spoke about the possibility of decorating the exterior of Leeds Town Hall with garlands of gladioli, &c. She is insane. She is a marvellous friend is Delia Collis with the mind of a teenager. She cooked pork fillet in prunes which was delicious. Sarah and I ate chocolates afterwards and enjoyed a few hands of rummy. The dog, Sophie, resembles a long-haired caramel seal.

At 6:30 we left for Leeds and met Marilyn (Wheeler) at the ABC cinema. Saw Christopher Reeve, Marlon Brando and others in 'Superman'. It started well but was weak. Did a good deal of laughing, but in inappropriate places. It's Sarah's opinion that the advertisements are very often better produced and far more entertaining than the epic on screen. Marlon Brando was paid £200,000 a minute for his brief appearance, I believe.

The journey home was tedious. Marilyn is no conversationalist. She sat there like a dummy. Sarah sat smoking like a chimney, similarly uncommunicative. Pissed up football hooligans were on the upper deck of the bus. Much use of the word 'fuck'.

Home at 11:45. Had cheese on toast. To bed at 12:53am.

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