The journal of a Yorkshire lad from the age of 17 in 1973 through several decades .... Transcribing from handwritten volume to blog may take some time ...
20110518
Monday August 2, 1976
Bank Holiday in Scotland & Irish Republic. A thoroughly miserable day at work. _____.
See two articles about the Prince of Wales and Davina Sheffield in the Sunday papers. One of them told of an incident in Devon a few days ago when the prince and Davina went down to a beach with a crate of beer accompanied only by one detective. The other was concerning an event which is alleged to have taken place on the same occasion. The prince had changed into bathing gear in a changing room and Davina went up later to change, using the mens room by mistake, and was caught in a naked state by one of the local clotted cream manufacturers who received a right eye-full. It will be a nice tale to tell if the couple ever marry.
Home at 5.15 and have a good argument over tea with Lynn, Dad and Mum. They argued that it was wrong that immigrants can get away with not wearing crash helmets because of their religion. My argument is that ones religious beliefs are more important than a ridiculous law that's been cooked up in Westminster one rainy afternoon just to pass the time. The same applies to the wearing of car seat belts. If a chap wants to risk his own life then why can't they let him get on with it? The sooner Roy Jenkins goes the better.
Mum handed in her notice this morning. Moon's Mill will certainly miss her because she's a brilliant worker and so efficient. Nothing can make her change her mind once it is made up. Prospective grandmothers shouldn't have to go to work anyway.
I was rendered speechless when, after taking my bath, I went downstairs to find Mum & Dad watching the Olympic Games on TV. When I exclaimed: "I thought they had finished yesterday?" Dad responded: "Oh yes, but now they're showing the hilights."
Oh My God. I quickly departed back to my room to read Burke's Peerage until the 9 o'clock news. Later watch Faye Dunaway and Kirk Douglas in a film until after 11, and then watch that last hour of 'Billy the Kid'. I'm addicted to the TV at the moment. The book by Trollope just does nothing for me.
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