Wednesday March 16, 1977

Christine B, 21. Tony B, 30. Brands Hatch trip is settled.  Sarah is to work on Sunday and I'm working tomorrow instead.

My grandfather, John Wilson, would have been 87 today.

Ring Tony at 7pm and say happy birthday. He suggests we go to the Il Trovatore tomorrow for a few birthday drinks. He and Martyn will collect me from the YP at 11.30pm or so. Not a bad idea.

Newspapers and TV are critical about the Viv Nicholson play last night. I spoke to Derek Naylor today and to Fred Willis and both said how true to life the play is. Both have interviewed her over the years.

Judith: great girl.

Do you think I should have contacted Judith after last weekend or is that falling once again into the age old trap? She is a great girl but I am sure neither of us want a relationship and so ringing her for no reason other than to make polite conversation seems a bit pointless.

Mum is embarrassed about Dad's drunken behaviour on Saturday at Pool-in-Wharfedale.

Nothing in the news. Indian general election. If they can have one, why can't we?  I'm just about sick and tired of Jim Callaghan, Wedgwood Benn, Judith Hart, Denis Healey, Eric Varley, Hugh Gaitskell, James Ramsay MacDonald, William Joynson-Hicks, Viscount Goschen, Earl Baldwin of Bewdley, W.H. Smith MP, Nancy Viscountess Astor, Reg Prentice, Barbara Castle, Manny Shinwell, Anthony Crosland, Airey Neave, Mr St John Stevas, Lew Grade, Fortune Duchess of Grafton, the late Louis Armstrong, and many more.

-=-

Tuesday March 15, 1977

Pathetic day. Bloody rain. The Ides of March, whatever that means. I know Julius Caesar bit the dust on this day but if his last March 15 was anything like this one he was well out of it. Old Brutus did him a bloody favour.

Our trip to Brands Hatch seems well and truly doomed. I've brought up the subject in the office seven or eight times and have had no decent response. Kathleen most certainly cannot work Sunday night.Really annoyed. Ursula says she can manage quite well without me.

Go to town and buy birthday cards for Christine and Tony, who celebrate tomorrow. CB's card has a photo of Greta Garbo in the arms of Basil Rathbone, I think, with the inscription: "They don't make 'em like you, anymore". No doubt I'll hear from here before Friday. We're supposed to be going on a booze up to Otley.

Nothing in the news. The Queen is in Tasmania. Mother is baking bread and I'm doing absolutely bugger all. Today is my Uncle Jack's first anniversary in Heaven. Let's hope they have parties up there because I tend to live from one party to the next. CB says she'd prefer to go to Hell because it's warmer and she'd prefer to spend eternity with her old friends. Not a bad idea. Is all this blasphemous? I might as well go all the way and say something disrespectful about the Pope. He is ill with 'flu and I can imagine the scene in the Vatican every time he sneezes - "Bless Me!" Not funny?

Reading Evelyn Waugh's diary. He's so sarcastic.

See a TV play based on the life of Vivian Nicholson, the pools winner, who spent £150,000 in four or five years. Very good. Bed at 11.36pm.

-==-

Monday March 14, 1977

Dinner suits back to Dormie at lunchtime.

See in the papers that the Queen is having a controversial time on her Silver Jubilee visit to the feeble Australians. A maniac smashed her in the face with a banner demanding the dismissal of the governor-general.

Gough Whitlam: silly sod.

Gough Whitlam's rude and sarcastic remarks made in Her Majesty's presence last week cannot have been received with the humour and delight by the royal couple as it was reported. Mr Whitlam is to have his leadership of the Aussie Labour party contested by a colleague. The silly sod has signed his own death warrant.

Other news: Margaret Trudeau has eloped with the Electric Light Orchestra.

Ring Martyn at 8. I'll have to have Sunday off if Brands Hatch is on the cards. Can't see any difficulty here. Martyn talked of his financial difficulties and the Ibiza '77 project. The less said about money the better, but at least I'm not the only man in the boat.

Penelope Eastwood.

Martyn said Christine had her scars on display in the pub last night. By all accounts she looks a right old mess. Blimey, is my mini-Elizabeth Taylor going to require plastic surgery? Tony's birthday on Wednesday as well as CB's. Don't forget cards.

Have a bath. Watch a late film until midnight. Davina Sheffield's uncle has died. She is in Kenya with HRH. Or is the mysterious blond Penelope Eastwood? Or Claire Watson? What about Laura Jo Watkins? Even Georgiana Boothby. Certainly not Lady Jane Wellesley.




-=-

Sunday March 13, 1977

3rd in Lent. Up at 12. To the Commercial with Sue, Peter, Uncle H, Lynn, Dave, Richard & Mandy Baker, Chris Baker, Julie Harris, Alison and John Pinder.

John Pinder and Alison Dixon.

Uncle H tells the pathetic tale of how, in a Tadcaster pub, he tried to tell his father that he was dying. The old sod wouldn't hear of it and refused to believe he was going until he actually went.

Back to Pine Tops. Lynn was pissed up again. Drinking brandy and smoking cigars. She says ________.Good lunch. Wine heavy.

Alison and John leave with Uncle H and I for Leeds at 5 and I'm working by 5.30. I like Alison immensely. Just Ursula and I.  Got a taxi home at 11. The driver smelled like a pig. What can have befallen the taxi driving snake expert?

The family had been to John & Maria's for drinks and cake. First wedding anniversary and all that. Has it been a long or short year? I can't quite make up my mind.

Oh, no Lynne M last night. She must have been out with her Hussar playmate.

Retired to my chambers at 12 after scrambled eggs on toast and watching the tail end of a Joan Fontaine epic. Isn't Joan the sister of Olivia de Havilland?

-=-

Saturday March 12, 1977

Uncle H arrived at the crack of dawn. JPH is with us until this afternoon. (He slept the night in Mama and Papa's room).

Telephone rings: a woman asks me to accept a call and then I hear CB, who says: "you'll never guess where I am." "Where are you", I ask. She says: "St James's Hospital." Yes, she fell flat on her face in the Hare car park last night and smashed her beautiful face on the tarmac. Laugh. She's is bed, or ward 21.

with Tony.

Dave B horribly ill all day - he blames the food last night.

'Priscilla', 'Gregory' and Nora.

with Mum.

Collect dinner suits from Dormie Dress Hire in Leeds. Martyn, Tony and I prowled around Leeds and Tony insulted a female on the mens' toiletries counter at Schofield's. She deserved it. These people who go to work with the attitude that the customer is always wrong need a lesson teaching them.

Went to Tony's at 3 and I slept in a a chair. He was watching a rugby match. Stay to tea and clad ourselves in evening garb.

Tony, Sue Martindale, Martyn, Gayle, Judith and I to Rawdon. Mixed reaction at our mode of dress. The party was a great success. Spend the night calling Judith 'Priscilla' and she called me 'Gregory'. Spent a couple of quid each and got a bit tipsy, but not quite like the other party goers who all look pissed. Maria is wearing fox furs (plus fox head). Chris is there and Dave L. The bar closes at 11pm and the family plus boyfriends and girlfriends go on to the Baker residence, Farthingstone, Old Pool Bank. Audrey Baker resembles the actress Shelley Winters.

Back to Pine Tops very late and don't walk Judith home until 6.30am. Birds singing, &c. And me in full evening dress and a stolen shawl. Yes, quite mad.

-=-

Friday March 11, 1977

CB's 21st party. It's a happy birthday also today to Lady Falkender's best friend.

CB: pot fulls of pernod.

Up at 9. Yes, it's my day off too. Leapt into the bath and then prepared for my visit to Pudsey. Susan contributes a few bob to my Auntie Mabel Flower Appeal. To Auntie Mabel's for lunch. On the way I bump into Uncle Peter and Auntie Jean who are out shopping. Chat for a few minutes. Stay with Auntie M until 4pm.

CB's 21st (birthday) party at the Hare. Only spent 67p. Everyone got incredibly pissed up. Remember Marion Read? Maura Tobin? (see diary for Jan or Feb '75). Howled with Marion. She's quite mad. CB drank pot fulls of pernod all night (the pot is in fact a Silver Jubilee Commemorative mug).  At one point I was having to hold her up and we danced round the crowded room. We even kissed. She kept saying 'I didn't know I had so many friends'. David L came but was quiet. I chatted with MM. Tried to seduce Marita. Fondled the future Mrs Christine Airey. Judith said 'yes' to tomorrow night. Good.

-=-

Thursday March 10, 1977

Half dead all day after the excesses of last night. Buggered is the word.

News: Gough Whitlam said some ill mannered things about the Queen at a banquet in her honour. What can we expect from the Aussies? Culture? Manners? Prince Edward is a teenager. President Carter has been making strange phone calls to lots of weird people in America.

To Batley Variety Club with Tony and Martyn. Madeline Bell sang. Absolutely brilliant. Why she hasn't been more of a success I will never know. Blue Mink, the group with whom she was the singer, were good in their day but she's a star in her own right. She has a good sense of humour too. I only spent 60p or so. Yes, it was one of my first attempts to 'pull in' as Denis Healey would say.

Tony says I've become subdued over the past couple of weeks. Why? He tells me that Carole and Fogarty are not contemplating an engagement. _____propaganda machine must be failing, eh? It's Tony's birthday next Wednesday and he's taking Martyn and Carole to Batley. I'd like to go but with £3 left it's impossible. Besides, with Miss P attending I'd only spoil things.

Thank God no work tomorrow. I feel as though I've been slaving away non stop for weeks on end. Should I perhaps change my job? I do need the cash desperately  but I'd miss the mob at the YP and the dear old news cuttings.

-=-

Wednesday March 9, 1977

Christine Dibb and Graham Airey got engaged. It was a good party - better than I expected. Went with Tony, Martyn and Gayle (Martyn's distant cousin of Oakwood Hall fame). Teamed up with CB and we danced together. I could see Mr ____________seething. Why does Mr _______always accuse other males of stealing his so-called women when everyone knows all along that they were not his women in the first place? CB was fabulous anyway.

Christine & Graham.

Laughed with Lynn about Mr _____ and _____gossiping. In fact Mrs ______was far from pleasant this evening. Bitchy really. Carole came in minus a toe nail and spent most of the evening with Tony. I ate nothing and drank much. Pissed up really.

Peter M told me that dear Lynne is now the regular escort of an officer of the Queen's Dragoon Guards or the Green Howards. Peter says the new specimen is worse than me.

Tony talks about a trip to Brands Hatch a week on Saturday. So far me, Naomi and Martyn are going. Camping for just the one night. Is Brands Hatch in Kent?

Sue and Peter were quaint and  John stayed in the bar avoiding ________lampooning. I mislaid my jacket but CB retrieved it for me. Home at 12, 1 or 2. I don't know. Take your pick. Sit in bed feeling pissed. Still reading Evelyn Waugh (diaries). Really bogged eyed. Pathetic really. It was all for a good cause anyway. Will the engagement last?

-=-

Tuesday March 8, 1977

David's 21st and Auntie Mabel's 58th. I phoned Auntie M at Marlene's and she seemed quite cheerful. It's her first (birthday) without Uncle Jack and it must be weird.

David: 21st birthday.

Not a particularly good day.Went to the EMI shop and bought 'Songs In the Key of Life' by Stevie Wonder on behalf of Mum for dear David___________.

I received a jolt over breakfast when Lynn informed me that my ex-consort, Miss Mather, will be attending David's party. Nothing to worry about I suppose. Made an effort to ring Tony but he didn't answer. I think he may be out with Martyn and  the Il Trovatore ladies (see Friday's entry).

The Queen made a slip today at the state opening of the Australian parliament. HM referring to her Silver Jubilee celebrations as 'the twenty fifth reign of my year' instead of 'the twenty fifth year of my reign'. Not a big mistake but it gets world-wide notice because she's usually word perfect.

No more tonight. It's becoming a drag having to sit into the early hours of the morning copiously filling in all the useless information.








-==-

Monday March 7, 1977

Went to Rawdon to see revolting Hough about my teeth, but he had no knowledge of my appointment. Stupid eohippus. Not wishing to waste my journey I went to see Marita, who was sat in front of the TV. She startled me by saying she was going to dancing lessons tonight and rocked me to my very foundations even more by saying MM is virtually a qualified dancing teacher. Latin American and all that!  Blimey, he's kept that quiet.

A typical day in French Revolution Paris.

Returned to Guiseley by 6 and passed a thoroughly ordinary evening at home. Well, not quite as ordinary as I would have liked it to be. Mum, Dad and Lynn became somewhat aggravated - heated - call it what you will, when I announced I was intending visiting Mr 'Tammy Wynette' Osborne, manager of the Yorkshire Bank, to obtain a loan. I was immediately declared to be on the path to ruination. Mum seemed to be beside herself with passion invoking the name of Uncle ______ as an example of how I might end up, They were successful in talking me out of seeking a bank loan for the time being, but for a while the scene was somewhat reminiscent of a typical day in French Revolution Paris.

Saw Clint Eastwood in 'A Few Dollars More' and had a hot bath at bewitching hour. Read until 1.30.



-=-

Sunday March 6, 1977

2nd in Lent. Lynne's birthday. Oh God I've just called my sister by a strange name. It's her bloody birthday too. I am sorry. She's just been in my bedroom looking quite ravishing showing me the presents she's bought David for his 21st.  I bought her a bottle of French perfume which she seems to like. Her boss comes round at 10.30 with a bouquet making overtures of affection to her in the kitchen. ________.

Lynn: 19th birthday.

The Prince of Wales has gone off to Kenya shooting the wildlife. Good for him. This gives a good two fingers to these thoroughly boring conservationists, environmentalists, &c.

John, Maria and JPH come up at 2. Baby is making a bit more noise and says "Da Da" and then "Da Da Da" when provoked. Eat turkey, pate, ham - and sup glass after glass of Cinzano. The mean contingent keep reminding me that I have to go to work in a couple of hours and I sit sombrely contemplating the clock. Chris Baker and his girlfriend Julie Harris drop in for half an hour or so.

The YP tonight was absolutely dead. Just Ursula and I. No news. No catastrophe has struck East Ardsley or anything like that. Reading the paper I see that the Prince of Wales is not shooting crocodiles. He is in fact taking photographs of them with Claire Watson, and maybe Miss Sheffield.

Hon Claire Watson: shooting crocodiles.

Home by taxi at 12.30 with a little driver who is a leading authority on snake bites.












-==-

Saturday March 5, 1977

By the time I had climbed out of bed, bathed and shaved it was one o'clock. Quarrel with Lynn about money. She says I am a damn fool and I end up agreeing with her. I have only £2.30 to last me until Thursday and £1.30 of that will disappear on Monday when I visit the dentist. This leaves me with 80p to enjoy myself at Christine & Graham's engagement party. I also need about 90p in bus fares! Shit. Ah well, if I start worrying about financial matters life won't be worth living & so I won't mention this again.

After lunch the sun was still shining brightly and I decided to take a stroll. With hands thrust deeply in my pockets I marched down the lane at a speed not unlike James Hunt in a Grand Prix. Pass the Hare and by 4pm I'm in Burley-in-Wharfedale. By 5 I was crawling through the doors of WH Smith in Ilkley to a warm greeting from the sultry, bespectacled shop assistant whom I fear fancies me. She is a 6th former. Mr Brotherwood entertains me to tea of sausage and mash. he finds it hard to believe I've walked the whole of the eight or nine miles from Guiseley. I passed out in a chair whilst attempting to focus on a Robert Mitchum epic.

with Christine: ruby studded turnip?

Martyn comes and we end up back at the Hare. CB is in and once again she is broken hearted and screaming for vengeance or revenge or whatever they call it when ones pride has received a sharp blow in the genitals. To the Rose and Crown. Boring. CB is incredibly attractive.


 Tony gives me his flat key and then disappears to Il Trovatore with Martyn. CB and I go back to the flat and sit drinking Southern Comfort and Scotch and listening to a Billy Paul LP. She says it's disgusting how she comes running back to me every time one of her relationships is floundering. What are pals for? We laugh and chat. She says she wants nothing but a turnip for her birthday which I'll do my utmost to obtain. I suppose if I were the Shah of Persia I'd give her a solid gold one (turnip) studded with rubies, &c. But I'm not the Shah of Persia.  The lads are ringing the doorbell at 10.30 and our  tete-a-tete comes to an end. Martyn goes home and the three of us squabble. I fail in everything I say because they're both Pisces and I'm a just a cynical Aries who argues for the sake of arguing. 

Mr Billy Paul

-=-

Friday March 4, 1977

RING ILKLEY 3173 TONIGHT!!!

Re yesterday. Isn't it funny that when I said I was pissed and unable to put pen to paper I went on to write a ruddy essay? Oh, and re Sir Frank Marshall: he was once a big noise on (Leeds City) Council - that's about it really. Oh yes, and I saw June on the bus last night and had a terrific chat with her - great kid. It seems I'm spending more time talking about yesterday than discussing the events of today. On with the show anyway:

Christine Dibb.

To the Hare & Hounds with Tony and Martyn which is dull. CB is in minus Richard Marshall and seems her old, cheerful self. We go on to the King's Bar where Miss Dibb is behaving unusually friendly. She must be having her last fling before Wednesday. Chris and Pete M meet up with us but they go at 11. The three of us - quite sober - went back to the flat where I climbed into a pair of Tony's voluminous trousers and headed off in the direction of Il Trovatore. They picked up a couple wenches - Bradfordians I think, and I met up with Andy Dale.


Andy and I have a couple of dances with Naomi's large friend who lives in the gents toilets at the rear of the Hare. He also got his hands on Miss Moorhouse. Had quite a scream. Home with Andy at 2am hotly pursued by Naomi and Karen in N's new automobile. Our two cars rendezvous at the junction half way down the lane and both parties took the piss out of one another. Oh God I'm financially ruined.

-=-

Thursday March 3, 1977

I'm just too pissed to write large amounts tonight. In rough: went to John & Maria's from the YP and was entertained to dinner with sausage and chips in the company of Miss Phillips. She aggravated me immensely. Even after all these months we argue about nothing at all - completely incompatible. Whilst I'm dangling JPH on my alcoholic knee I hear Maria & Carole whispering in the kitchen but can't quite make out just what they are saying. Later, when John and I are entombed in the Yorkshire Rose he tells me that Carole and (Peter) Fogarty are considering becoming engaged. It had to happen really. She wants to be married. I saw it years ago and I supposed it scared the pants off me.

with Carole.

John and I marched down to the Hare (about one and a half miles I'd say) and met Tony and Martyn. Got a bit pissed on Tetley Silver Jubilee Pale Ale (half a pint of this is equivalent to 3 whiskies). John poured some of his ale into my glass. I was well away.

Back at J and M's residence I persuaded Maria to play Beethoven's 'Fur Elise' while the audience sat supping coffee.

Beethoven's Fur Elise

The recital was very much appreciated. Home at 12 just as Mum and Dad return from Auntie Mabel's. I must go over on March 11 with a birthday present. Her first birthday without Uncle Jack will be obnoxious.

Wednesday March 2, 1977

54F in Leeds today. Is bloody summer here already? I'll be 22 before you can say Takeo Miki. Anyway, it was quite a good day all in all.

At lunchtime I met Martyn at Dormie Dress Hire and we're both togged up for evening wear for David B's 21st. The suits are going to cost us £9.50 each to hire, which neither of us can afford, but it will be so worth it for the laughs we'll get and to see the look on the faces of the other guests. Very smart we'll be. I'm not telling anyone at home so as to enhance my spectacular entry into the Aero Club. Tony is getting his gear from Moss Bros. in Bradford.

Sir Frank, later Lord Marshall.

This evening Sarah and I were closeted together in our tiny lift at the YP with that great personage Sir Frank Marshall. By way of conversation I discussed our air conditioning system with him and he told us that his 'members' had enjoyed their visit too. Who or what are his members? Who, or what is Sir Frank Marshall anyway?

I have a couple of quid left over from last night's extravaganza and am sorely tempted to go out tonight for a drink. Let us pray I can withstand the temptation and may God guide me through this sinful evening.

Later that same night: Slip into a coma in an armchair. Tired and shagged out. When did I last go to bed before bewitching hour? You'll be flicking over the pages for the last couple of years to find the answer to that one. No phone calls and feel too lazy to make any. Must write to Judith and get something sorted for March 12.

Had a bath and returned to the TV. A programme glorifying the comedian Tommy Cooper. Must have my hair cropped tomorrow. I can't even afford to do that! Suicide is the only way out.

-=-

Tuesday March 1, 1977

St David's Day. I do hope my Welsh readers have their flags flying today. It was a tiresome day at the YP keeping the conversation away from the subject of Martha Reeves and the Vandellas and Batley Variety Club. Somehow I think Carol J must suspect something because she didn't once mention the subject of tickets to Ursula.

Delia rang at 2.30 to say she is making her TV debut today at 3.45 on YTV (re her flowering arranging genius). She added that she'd just had four of five gin and tonics in the YTV bar and was tipsy. Carol, Sarah and I gathered round the office TV at the pre-arranged time and sure enough Delia emerged onto the 12inch square set in glorious black and white. She was marvellous - her usual hilarious self. I really must get an autograph or signed photo.

Home at 5.30pm for chicken, &c. See in the Daily Mirror - if such a newspaper is to be believed -that Davina Sheffield has taken in a lodger at her London home. Today is her 26th birthday and it may well mark the decline of her liaison with the Prince of Wales. Who knows? Nothing more of vast importance going on in the big, wide world.

Martha Reeves & the Vandellas ...

I am afraid that the month of March is going to be a month of costly entertainment. Numerous birthdays, and an unseemly batch of orgies coming up. How am I going to last until April?

Leave for Batley at 8.30 with Tony & Martyn. Well, what can I say about Batley (Variety Club)? The seats were revoltingly uncomfortable. Either designed by a retarded chimpanzee or Sir Basil Spence. The heat was unbearable and the drinks ridiculously priced. Martha Reeves, though quite good, didn't emerge onto the floor until after 11, and she'd gone by 12. I may have made it sound a depressing night, but it wasn't. Quite good for a Tuesday.





-==-

Monday February 28, 1977

Forgive me keeping you waiting but I mislaid my old pen and have just discovered it tucked under one of the cushions on a chair in the lounge. The last day of February. A revolting month and can't wait to see the back of it.

Martyn told me a good joke.A young man, Jim, is in the pub with Dilys, who lives in her own flat free from parental control. Jim enquires: "How about me coming back to yours for the night?" Dilys replies: "Sorry, but no. You see I'm on my menstrual cycle". "Oh" exclaimed Jim, "that's no bother. I can follow you on my Honda 50."

No Kathleen at the YP today. We chat about the possibility of an evening at Batley Variety Club tomorrow. Ursula has managed to get hold of eight free tickets and I claim three of them for Tony, Martyn and self.

Tony and Martyn come here at 9. After they'd left Lynn remarked how well they seem to get on considering the age difference. Tony is 30 next month and Martyn is only 18. Age is something I never consider.

Miss Phillips range me this morning just to see what I'm getting up to. It must be three weeks since we've spoken. Poor Carole. She should never have met me. I must be a lunatic.

Sir Ian and Lady Caroline Gilmour.

See a Clint Eastwood film and watch Sir Ian Gilmour moan on and on about defence cuts on a boring current affairs programme. Gilmour is opposition defence spokesman and married to a daughter of the Duke of Buccleuch. A regular little alcoholic encyclopaedia, aren't I?






-=-

Sunday February 27, 1977

1st in Lent. Awakened at 10.30 by Maria and baby. Give him a nurse sat naked in bed sheets. Me naked  in bed sheets that is. JPH was fully clothed. I think he was expecting me to breast feed him. Babies are a wonder. I wouldn't mind having a few myself shortly - ones begotten on the wrong side of the sheet, or is it blanket? You know what I'm getting at anyway.

Out at 8 o'clock to the Hare with Tony and Martyn. We fall upon Judith and Kathryn. I ask if she's made any attempt to get March 12 off work to accompany me to David B's 21st. She seems to favour the idea. The three of us go to the Craven Heifer again. It's ridiculously packed - like a London air raid shelter in 1942. All very friendly. Meet three schoolgirls who work as Saturday girls at Smith's in Ilkley. One is a bespectacled Arien and is nice and witty. We are joined by an uncouth cad who has nine endorsements for various motoring offences. The women regard him as something of a sex object. We all go back to the flat for a quick coffee. The girls refer to the absent Barry as 'Mr Munnings' which is thoroughly hilarious. Home by 11.30. To bed.


-=-

Saturday February 26, 1977

A great day. Tony and Martyn come at 12.30 and the three of us go to Bradford. The Gay Liberation movement are holding a mass rally and we seriously consider setting up a 'Kiss Me Quick' stall in Manningham Lane.

Kiss Me Quick Stall?

We go to WH Smith's and make verbal love to Michelle. Delightful bird. Tony buys a pair of shoes, and at 2pm we set off for Uncle George's** residence at Harewood. Up to our knees in mud and slime we head straight for the beer tent where the lager is unbearably cold. Three sausage rolls later we decide that the hill climb is incredibly boring and we head back to the car which is parked in a cow field. Wading through water-bogged trenches we spot the car trapped in by three or four other vehicles. It's like the Battle of Vimy Ridge. Coated in shit we dislodge the car and set off like Japanese mud wrestlers in search of a car wash.

Meanwhile: That night. Down to the Hare with Tony, John & Maria. CB is pissed and says Richard Marshall is rotting in a dungeon in Leeds following an incident at the (Leeds) United match this afternoon. Chris and Pete M come in. Go with Tony, John and Maria to the Craven Heifer at Addingham and Chris and Pete follow on. Tony is such a great lad.

** The Rt Hon. Earl of Harewood.

-==-

Friday February 25, 1977

We had a good evening out. Tony and Martyn came up to Pine Tops at 9 o'clock. Mum and I were listening to 'Raphsody on a Theme by Paganini' by Serge Rachmaninov, and Tony shouted 'Oh great, it's Barry White'. This amused Mum.

Il Trovatore

We went to the Ukrainian Club in Bradford. I'm seriously thinking about adopting Ukrainian nationality. If the drinks prices over there compare with those in the clubs here I'm going on the next flight. We all had doubles, including Michelle and Keith,  and the price of the round came to £1. We departed quite drunk at 11 for Oakwood Hall, where only last week we vowed to miss for a couple of weeks. We must be addicted to the revolting place. We decide that nothing is to be lost in going on to Il Trovatore, and so we leave at 11.30 passing Chris, Peter M, and Laura's .boyfriend, Dave Paterson. At Il Trovatore Tony and Martyn make a dive for Naomi and Miss Moorhouse and I stand about like a spare part until 2am. I did approach a familiar looking lady from the Wikis era and received an immediate snub. Piss off the lot of you.

Raphsody on a Theme by Paganini by Rachmaninov

Thursday February 24, 1977

What do you think of the red ink? After a fortnight with it I'm not quite sure whether it's quite right for the job. Blimey, it's a bit of a strain on the old eye-balls, isn't it? Should I perhaps go blue again? No, I've paid 25p for a bottle of Quink so I'll be damned if I'm going to give in and revert to the traditional hue. This colour may be loud and cheeky but it's symbolic of my life at the moment.

Tony: moaning

Pay day today. Not very rewarding though because Barclays Bank want £60 from me, or else. I pay up without much fuss and then draw out £10 to survive for the next week. I should have said "withdrawn" but the sexual connotations of the word would have distracted my readers from the importance of the story. The less said about money the better.

At the office I managed to lay hands on four free tickets to the Leeds 'premiere' at the ABC Cinema of  'The Last Tycoon' starring Tony Curtis, Jack Nicholson and Ingrid Boulting. Ring Martyn and Tony and they decide to come along. They arrive at 8.30 dressed to kill and raring to go. I have to change into decent apparel in order to accompany them. Have at drink at the Hare and then go to the Ostlers. The film began at 11pm and only Sarah from the YP, with Peter B go along, and our revered film critic Alan Thompson, who was ______.
By 11.10 Martyn was asleep and Tony was moaning uncontrollably. The film is from the book by F. Scott Fitzgerald. That accounts for it really. I like his books and I think I was the only person in the UK who didn't go into a coma during the film of 'The Great Gatsby'. Tony and I, in the darkness, argue about the film, and a guy two rows in front turns and asks us to 'belt up'. I thought Tony was going to become violent. However, he lit a cigarette instead. By 1am he can take no more and I'm forced to leave the film with it still in full swing. Outside Tony quips: "It's a good thing he was the last tycoon, because I couldn't stand another one."

-=-

Wednesday February 23, 1977

Ash Wednesday. Nothing much to talk about other than politics. The Devolution Bill was defeated in the Commons yesterday and I had the misfortune to watch Margaret Thatcher discussing this on News at Ten. Let us pray to God she will never get to No 10, Downing Street. (Does my politics confuse you all? I don't aim to deceive you in any way, but please remember I don't vote or support 'personalities'. I shall always cast my vote with the Tories but as far as I'm concerned Margaret Thatcher is as capable of forming the next government as Queen Victoria Eugenie of Spain. So that settles that problem.) -=-

David Glynn.

I feel relieved about the content of this diary. If you lot think you're being badly done to enduring my scribblings, just consult the published journals of Evelyn Waugh. Positively sickening they are. You ought to take my volumes round to Sir George Weidenfeld and get them published. I am doing far better than the depraved Mr Waugh. Sadly however, I'm not a world-famous author or leading wit, am I? Well, not yet anyway. I have been notified by Papa that Mrs Margaret Phillips, mother of Carole, of ex-relationship with the author fame, appeared in court at Otley last Friday and was fined £40 or so for ______. I always said that Mrs P was a silly cow. Tony rings at 8. He and Martyn are off out with Miss Moorhouse and Naomi to the wine bar and he wants to know if I am endulging. I say 'no' because it's Barclaycard pay-up or bust day tomorrow. Dave G also phoned from Stockport to say he'll try to make it on April 2. He rang on Sunday when I was at the YP and again yesterday when I was at John & Maria's. Good lad is David.

Tuesday February 22, 1977

Pancake Day, or whatever you want to call it. Pissing down with rain all day but I'm not put off wandering into town to collect the record 'Body Heat' by James Brown. Got a bit wet even after taking precautions with an umberella. The soaking was worth it for this soul masterpiece.

Link to Body Heat by Mr James Brown

David Owen.

Yes, David Owen is the new Foreign Secretary at 38. It sure looks like we're going to be lumbered with (Denis) Healey as chancellor until the next rotten general election, doesn't it? (Why am I asking you? You know the outcome anyway. I suppose David Owen is now Sir David Owen, KG, the former prime minister?) The Foreign Office at thirty eight surely ensures some sort of promotion in the next 20 years and the premiership is only three or four places up the scale. Oh, I'm bored with this topic anyway. Politics is dreadful. Mr Callaghan is a silly old fool, and you know what I think about Margaret Hilda Thatcher. Don't talk to me about devolution either.

Sitting on the bus at 4.30  I remembered I promised John & Maria I'd pay them a visit for tea tonight and so I disembarked in torrential rain in Guiseley and telephoned Papa with the news that I would not be home for a heap of pancakes. Down to J and M's where I sit entertaining the baby whilst Maria did her bit towards making Shrove Tuesday the traditional thingy. JPH is taking notice now and his grin is even wider. Spent a couple of hours going through Maria's mail order catalogue and made a few orders. I played my new James Brown record over and over again attempting to indoctrinate the baby with it. We want him to be a little soul kid. I also held his face very close to the TV when the 6 o'clock news showed the Queen and Prince Philip in New Zealand. He must learn to adore his sovereign from a very early age. His mother however yelled abuse and sang Irish rebel songs at the TV.

-==-

Monday February 21, 1977

It's afternoon when I'm awakened by Susan. She's ridden with another cold. She's like a lobster and sneezing her head off. Mum comes in for lunch and we eat hurriedly because she wants to get back to the grindstone after half an hour or so.

Dad comes in at 3 and says a lunatic from Highroyds threw himself under a train in Guiseley this morning. How he can come home for a hearty lunch after picking up bits of leg, foot and thigh God only knows.

I went to Guiseley Library and got Evelyn Waugh's diaries which have only just been published. CB and I always laugh about Evelyn Waugh, for some reason, and I often sign letters to her 'from Evelyn Waugh's Dad'.

Brisk walk to John and Maria's. Baby is in bed which is disappointing because I wanted to give him some chocolate. Give Maria a run-down on the weekly events and the details of Saturday night's orgy. She enjoys tales of carnage and lewd goings on.

Dave Lawson.

Back home by 5.30. Sue says Dave L's been on the phone. I ring him. He's on half-term until Wednesday. He comes for me at 8.30 and I'm surprised when he suggests we go to the Commercial. He hates the place, but his excuse is that it won't be quite so busy in the week. It's great going out with David because it's brilliant and soothing to know I'm not the only skint guy in the British Isles. After a couple of drinks we go on to see John & Maria who, unbelievably, are tucked up in bed at 9.30pm. This really made David's night and he pulled Maria's leg. John is given the quest of finding David a buck rabbit before he returns to Gloucester on Wednesday. Good old Mr Lawson. Surely one of the greatest persons I have ever met. Won't be seeing him again until CB's party on March 11.



-==-

Sunday February 20, 1977

Quinquagesima. By 4am only Judith, Kathryn and I are conscious. But when we decided to call it a day I realised with horror that my jacket and keys are locked in Tony's car. We drove to Kirkstall for sausages and chips and pots of hot coffee at an unpleasant transport cafe which, by coincidence, is closing down today. Listen to Elvis Presley on the juke box and debate whether we're sane, or not.

Tony.

On leaving the 'restaurant' we were accosted by two or three police officers in cars, who question us about a shooting which had just occurred in Leeds City Station. Kathryn turned to me and said: "What have you done with the gun, Michael?" This did not amuse the officers.

Frankenstein's monster.

Back to Judith's serenaded by the clanging of church bells and the singing of obnoxious bird-life. To make matters worse Kathryn has an elephant in her mini which plays the drums and makes one hell of a rumpus when wound up. A clockwork elephant. Judith dumps us in her dining room and then slips into a coma on the carpet. I sit moaning and groaning trying to keep Kathryn awake and for her to amuse me. Silly bugger aren't I? By 8am Kathryn decided that Tony would be on the move and so she drove me down to WH Smith's. Tony was indeed up. But what a nauseating sight! Frankenstein could not have looked worse, in fact Mrs Shelley's creation is angelic in comparison. I sit at Tony's breakfast table in dark spectacles watching him pace up and down with a strange look in his eyes. ______.

Home for 9am and immediately retire to bed until 12 o'clock. Tony takes me to the YP at 5 o'clock in the snow. Yes, snow. By 10pm I'm just about unconscious with exhaustion.

-==-

Saturday February 19, 1977

My alarm sounds at 10.45. Sit about with some crumpets and tea waiting for Tony. He comes at 11.30 looking worse for wear. Go down to Ilkley with his car packed with belongings and unload it at his new apartment. We then go off in the direction of Doncaster to collect some so-called furniture from his friend Peter. Bugger all it is really. Just three broken down old chairs and something closely resembling a table. Hardly worth trailing all that way to Doncaster for. Tony isn't too happy about it either. Have a cup of tea and watch TV before returning to civilization.

Tony Crosland: snuffed it.

Hear that the Foreign Secretary snuffed it this morning. Is it bye bye to Denis Healey at the Treasury?

Back to Bradford and fill the car with more bric-a-brac. I get home for 8 and am back out again at 9. Tony, Martyn and me down to the Hare. Joined by Chris and Pete M and go down to the Crown at Ilkley. Get pissed and ring Judith, who is serving at the Hare. She says she will come to the flat if she can find Kathryn. Oh do we get pissed!  Back to the flat: Naomi, Karen (Moorhouse), Chris, Pete, and eventually Judith and Kathryn - the hilarious Miss Kathryn Young.I end up getting engaged to Judith and we exchange rings and shirts, &c. Martyn was horribly seduced by his lady and I've never seen Tony get in such a state. We polished off a bottle of gin and a couple of bottles of wine.




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Friday February 18, 1977

If you could see me now you'd say I didn't have all that long left to live. In fact, at this moment, I closely resemble the Rt. Hon. Charles Anthony Raven Crosland, Secretary of State for Foreign & Commonwealth Affairs. Pneumonia may well have set in. However, at great personal loss and danger I struggled into the offices of the Yorkshire Post and did a fair days work.

Home by 5pm. Have a sirloin steak with Lynn. We had a good chat too.  Oh she is so like her big brother. Mum and Dad were at Marlene's for tea and Sue was at the hairdressers until 7pm.

Oakwood Hall.

Martyn came here at 8.15 and Tony at 8.30. Down to the Hare & Hounds to see Judith. CB (who rang me this morning) comes down to the Hare and reminds me about her 21st birthday party on March 11. Andy and Linda, Chris and Pete M are in too. To the Shoulder of Mutton on Hollins Hill. It's a strange pub. We move on to Bingley after one pint. On to good old Oakwood Hall. When I say 'good old' Oakwood Hall I don't actually mean it. In fact it was 'bloody lousy' Oakwood Hall. Martyn was on good form, Tony was fed up. I was miserable - probably because I've over done it a bit lately, I don't know. Home at 2am. Discuss tomorrow. Definately no discotheque. I'm helping Tony move to Ilkley so we may well end up in the flat - an orgy of merriment and piss. (By piss, I mean booze of course. I'm not addicted to urine like Mr Hitler was).

Note: where's Miss Phillips been of late? Her Royal Highness must surely be 'Fogartising' even though rumour has it that they've finished. I have her new phone number but I don't want to use it. When I see her I really enjoy it, but I don't want to do so by appointment.

-=-

Thursday February 17, 1977

Good night out with Tony, Martyn, Judith, Kathryn and a loud, outspoken maiden who's taken up a post at the Hare & Hounds. After having a few drinks at the Hare we go to Ilkley - to the Crescent - where we're all hysterical at different jokes. Judith laughs at the speed, or lack of speed, shown by the bar staff here, and the loud girl with prospects at the Hare keeps asking for a 'slice with the ice'. Nothing out of the ordinary, because we aren't out of the ordinary people. We just enjoy ourselves.

With Judith.

At 10.30 we go to Il Trovatore - Kathryn included, where Naomi and Miss Moorhouse confront us. Miss Moorhouse falls immediately into Martyn's clutches and within minutes they're bogged down behind a table doing more than talk politics. I saved Judith from a pissed geriatric who asked her the age-old question: "Do you come here often?" She (Judith) takes to Tony like David Wilkie takes to water and I drift off with Naomi into the corner where Martyn is conducting his affair. Nice girl is Naomi.  By 1.30 I think Mr Brotherwood had stomached enough and so he suggested we make a move. Martyn and Karen went off with him and Naomi ferried me back to Guiseley. Don't I pick the women with transportation facilities? Yes, I do. Pissing down when I get home.

-==-

Wednesday February 16, 1977

Just can't be bothered to say anything normal today. Well life gets so boring doesn't it? Blimey, I don't know why the hell you've stuck with me for so long. Faithful chaps, that's what you are.

Lawrence: prime minister material.

Dad has just been performing something of a pantomime in his bedroom. He was measuring himself for a new pair of trousers but the way he went about it was reminiscent of the Charge of the Light Brigade. I have always held the belief that Papa should stand for parliament or something. He'd make a first class cabinet minister or even THE prime minister. Mind you, I don't think Sue would want to travel from No 10 to Park Gate Boutique every day, and his appointment would necessitate upheaval for us all. Blimey, I could act as his press secretary and when I'm hard-up in a few years time I could nip down to Fleet Street and sell my inside story to the highest bidder. Endless possibilities.  He could make me a life peer and send baby JPH to the Foreign Office where I'm sure he'd do far more work than this Crosland guy who just seems to lounge around in hospital beds day in, day out. It's all very well, but when we're a leading world power with an empire on which the sun never sets, you ought to be doing far more, Tony.

Tony B rings from Leicester or Lincoln to say he's going to Tramp's tonight but won't be scoring in the Silver Jubilee Lechery competition.

I celebrate one week of freedom today. Funny isn't it? After seeing somebody for months on end and then suddenly breaking off is a wrench - even for the one who terminates the contract. So final and straight cut, and very untrue to life. I keep thinking something else will happen. Rather like when someone dies.

Take to my bed spot on midnight just as Radio Luxembourg's 12 o'clock news is screaming out it's solemn deliberations. The DJ's illiterate.

-=-

Tuesday February 15, 1977

Awful day at work. I'm sick to death of having to do Monday's work on a Tuesday. What they do when I have a day off I just do not know.  Sarah looks ghastly. She's had all her hair cut off and the reason why she and Delia didn't arrive to see me on Friday was because she went hysterical in the hairdressers.

Salad for tea which I detest. Susan and I go through the ritual of moaning about sodden lettuce and boring accessories.

Martyn: women drop at his feet.

Martyn rang at 8 to thank me for the photo of Her Majesty and the Silver Jubilee Lechery Society details. He experienced the delights of Miss Moorhouse on Ilkley Moor on Sunday afternoon and he wined and dined her that night. He's having a drink with her tonight in the Hare and I'm tempted to join them for a small sup. But glancing at my financial situation I decide to remain imprisoned here at Pine Tops. I could be jealous of Martyn, you know. His sex life is amazing and women drop at his feet wherever he goes. Denise thinks he's the sexiest lad she's laid eyes on in ages.

Mum and Dad go to the Commercial and I beg Sue & Pete to join me in fish and chips which they do at 10.30 when Pete drives me down to the (fish and chip) shop. I blame that ruddy salad for the pangs of starvation. No good for a growing lad.

Anthony Crosland is still deteriorating and is unconscious after his heart attack. I don't give him much longer to live. However, he could be like another General Franco and deteriorate for two or three months. Poor sod. Somehow I think he might have eventually had a bash at No 10, Downing Street. Will Healey now move to the Foreign Office?

-==-

Monday February 14, 1977

Valentine's Day again. Blimey, it comes round quickly doesn't it? Why it only seems like yesterday since that special delivery van from the Post Office brought 48 million Valentine's Day greeting cards to my door along with bunches of floral tributes and various other sundry gifts. And what did I get this year? Bugger all. Yes, not a sausage. Who would have ever thought that the day would dawn when Michael Rhodes could climb out of bed on Valentine's morn to discover no mail whatsoever? I wouldn't have. Nevertheless, life must go on.

Emerge from my slimy den at 1 o'clock. Pathetic isn't it? The BBC doesn't mention anything about the plight of the foreign secretary until 2pm. He's in a critical condition and it doesn't look as though he's going to get his money's worth from any Valentine's greetings he's despatched.

Maria and baby come up at 2.30 and stay to tea. John coming here straight from work with Mama. The baby is really incredible these days, smiling at everyone. It's hilarious to hear him laugh when he's 'roughed up' a bit. Dad spends all afternoon just bouncing him about.

Sir Robin Day.

Tony rings. See Robin Day on 'Panorama' make mincemeat of Joe Haines, former press secretary to Sir Harold Wilson. It's obvious to one and all that Mr Haines is a bloody liar. Dad goes hairless about these so-called political animals who cash in by writing books when the ink on their resignation letters is still wet. Can't blame them really, though some of the things they come out with is quite preposterous. Watch 'Up Pompei' with Frankie Howerd. Saw the film with Dave Lawson five or six years ago. That reminds me, if I don't write to David this week I'll be unfit to call myself a friend of his because I've made no contact at all since the beginning of January. Bloody disgraceful, eh? Bed at 11.30.

-==-

Sunday February 13, 1977

Sexagesima. Good Old Sexagesima again. By Jingo it comes round quickly. Got up at midday and devoured a large bowl of porridge and a couple of slices of toast. Later, Sue, Pete and I went down to the Commercial. A couple of pints of stella artois later and we're much nicer people. Susan drank gin & orange.

Back at Pine Tops Lynn has made cakes and buns and lunch of pork chops with 'all the trimmings'.

Down to the office on the 5.10 33 bus and have something of a boring night. John Cameron gave me a form to fill in and I joined the YP-EP Mission Club of which no real details are known as yet. Will report on it later. Send letters to Tony & Martyn with a list of rules for new members of the Silver Jubilee Lechery Society each with a photo of H.M. The Queen.

Harold Wilson and Lady Falkender.

News items: This Sir Harold Wilson/Lady Falkender thing is brewing away nicely. We all now know why Uncle Harold packed in the premiership when he did, and the Sunday papers have stories of the Queen's reaction to Marcia Williams's peerage (Mrs W is now of course the notorious 'Lady Forkbender').

Henry Heaton comes in saying PA are announcing that Antony Crosland, the Foreign Secretary, has been taken seriously ill whilst out walking near his home. They seem to think that Merlyn Rees, the current Home Secretary, will take over. Why not offer the post to Lady Falkender?

Home in a dense fog at 1.30, really thick and nasty. Appropriately I have a can of pea soup. Bed at 2.30. Read until 3.

-==-

Saturday February 12, 1977

Bugger about in bed until about noon. Didn't bugger about literally of course.

Did we arrange to meet the Yeadon ladies at the Clothiers in Yeadon at 7.30? Blimey, we'll all be pissed by half eight. By 'ladies' I mean an assortment of various types of female whom we procured last night at the disco. A particularly nice one, who looks like Angela Rippon, says she remembers me from Benton Park.

Listen to the American top thirty records on Radio One and then had sausages and chips with Lynn, Dave and Susan. Fruit salad and gallons of cream followed. Ugh - felt sick afterwards.

Walked with Lynn and Dave to John & Maria's. Christine Dibb had rushed down to Maria's the other day with the news of my break with Lynne. ______.

Clothiers: horrible, low-class pub

Martyn and Tony arrive at about 8.30 and Tony drives us to the Clothiers. A horrible, low-class tavern. A group of men were discussing the Silver Jubilee and this is a morsel of the conversation.

"How long has t'old King been dead anyway?"

"Oh, about a fortneet".

The two young ladies arrive at about 8.30 and we go straight to the Hare & Hounds with them. Sue & Peter, John & Maria are in. Chris comes in with MM and Marita. I don't really take to these women at all and nearly die when one, Jackie, announces she's coming to Oakwood Hall with us. At 10 Tony takes them to the Liberal Club at Yeadon. We go on to Bingley and then Oakwood Hall, a dead loss tonight. No women of decent bearing at all and  come home after a 'danceless' night. Had a curry from the van outside Oakwood which was ridiculously hot. Have a coffee at home with Tony, Martyn, Sue & Peter and retire by 3-ish.

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Friday February 11, 1977

Yes, it's another day off. Lynn's chatting wakes me at 8.30 and after a coffee with Mum and Susan I'm ready to return to bed. Mum and Dad are going to a hotel in Scarborough tonight - for the weekend. Blimey, here we are in the midst of a great financial upheaval, with the prime minister quaking in his surgical boots, and my parents are off spending cash like no tomorrow. Good luck to them anyway - I don't think they've had a decent break since last summer.

Lynn.

Return to the sanctity of my bedroom world until 11.30 when it fell to me to do the housework. Well, not exactly housework. I went about with the vacuum cleaner and washed the breakfast pots, then switched on the stereo. You may recall that I secured today as a day off for Miss Akroyd's benefit? A model train set and bottle party was planned but further enquiries reveal she cannot have a day off until Saturday. So, I'm lumbered with a lazy, good for nothing day lounging here in the chair at Fort Pine Tops.

Smash hell out of the stereo all afternoon and press Papa's trousers while he's ferrying mother to-and-fro Moon's Mill. No telephone calls, telegrams or naked Swedish film starlets at all - which makes a change.

I'm awaiting the arrival of Sarah & Delia with a new sculpture I've commissioned from her (Sarah). But they don't arrive. Less said about that the better.

Martyn & Chris

Down to the Hare with Tony, Martyn, Sue & Peter. Move on (we three lads that is) to Neville's Wine Bar and then the Craven Heifer (Addingham). Oakwood Hall followed and Oh what a night it was. Some ladies from Yeadon were the highlight of the evening and Mr Mather, Mr Ratcliffe and Mr Hudson were there. Peter was quite moving on the subject of Lynne and the sad fact that 'she'll never see me again'. Drop the ladies off in Albert Square (Yeadon) and then come home with Tony & Martyn. Lynn and Dave are snuggled up in a corner of the settee.







-==-

Thursday February 10, 1977

My first full day without Her Majesty Queen Lynne as my consort and help-meet. In many ways a sad day. The Lynnian era is no more, and with it goes all the security, brilliance and power. The days of convenient car rides to the pub and pleasant weekends at Ty-Onnen have automatically ceased. Once again, I am nothing more than a pleasant, roving peasant.

David Baker

Work is unmentionable. Meet Dave B at the Yorkshire Crown at 12.45 after wading through several feet of water on Wellington Street. Boards outside the office (EP ones) proclaimed 'CHARLES AND DAVINA - PALACE STATEMENT' which is fact a denial of any imminent marital alliance. The Buckingham Palace spokesman says 'it's preposterous to suggest any engagement could take place whilst the Queen is out of the country'. She's in Australia, of course. These palace spokesmen are nothing more than paid liars.

To the dentist for a check up. I have to go back next month for a couple of fillings. Nip to Marita's with a box of chocolates for her birthday, which was a couple of weeks ago, and sit for half an hour or so. She said she'd heard on Monday that I'd finished with Lynne. Coo, didn't that get round quickly?

Down to the Hare with Tony and Martyn at 8.30. John is in with a lad called Steve (Hudson?), & Carole, Naomi and Karen Moorhouse are in. Barry (from Smith's at Ilkley), Judith and Kathryn roll up. John says Chris hates Martyn's guts for 'pinching Karen off him'. Howls of laughter. Karen looked like a deckchair actually - all stripes. Killer. We all go the Il Trovatore in Ilkley. Quite a good night but by 1am we'd developed a 'Darby & Joan' complex. Home with Tony and I sit laughing to myself whilst he and Karen look on as if I'm raving mad.

-=-