Busy day again. Kathleen goes home at lunch with 'flu. Never seen Kate ill before. See in the Sunday People that another young lady is denying a romantic relationship with the Prince of Wales. The difference this time is that she's married. Yes, Mrs Rosalind Ward, the wife of a young millionaire landowner. Like Edward VIII and Mrs Freda Dudley Ward in the early '30s. Can't really say I believe it, but you never can tell.
Wait for ages in the cold for a bus home and meet Marita on Wellington Street. We come home on the 35 together. Hear all about the love, passion and ecstasy of Sheffield at the weekend. Her 20th birthday celebrations went with a bang in more ways than one I can imagine.
See in the EP that Margaret Thatcher won todays battle for the Tory leadership, but even better news awaits me on my arrival home. Dad informs me that Edward Heath has conceded defeat and will not stand in next Tuesday's ballot! The Grocer is gone! Ted Heath is no more! Tories all over England will feel numbed by it all, other than Margaret Thatcher and myself that is. Mrs Thatcher captured my heart sometime last week when the current affairs programmes were going to town over her. An utterly charming lady, whom I'm sure the Queen would love to ask: 'Come on, Margaret. Form a government!' A weird feeling hangs over us all. As though a great cloud has moved from above, letting the sunshine through for the first time since 1965. Only the ending of a war, the death of a beloved monarch, and the freedom from prison of a man who has served 29 years for something he never did, can be likened to the resignation of the hopeless Edward Heath. To be rendered insane at the height of ones political career is tragedy indeed.
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