Wednesday June 1, 1977

Phoned Carole this afternoon. She used some marvellous adjectives and in the space of a few minutes referred to me as 'chicken', 'lamb' and 'poppet'. We discussed going to London on June 11 but have no idea how to go about it. Grange's Coaches have gone bankrupt.

The only sad thing about going on the rampage on the continent with Martyn is Carole. I'm more attached to her now than I ever was before - even though things get somewhat stormy at times. Neither of us are particularly placid and we just fail to see eye to eye at times. This doesn't mean we think any less of each other.

On to a more unpleasant subject: Money. Barclaycard want £70 from me by June 6. They've brought my bloody credit payment day forward by three bloody weeks! No chance of paying so I'll just have to pay what I can manage and hope that some idiot in Stockton-on-Tees (or wherever Barclaycard hangs out) is endowed with a loving, gentle nature.

Think of poor Christine. The funeral is tomorrow and I only hope they both bear up. The agony must be incredible. However, I shan't bother her for a week or so because people like me must only be a hindrance at such a time as this.

Tony and Martyn came this evening and we went to the Hare & Hounds at Heaton. We had no money at all and we only drank half pints. Disgraceful, I know, especially in Jubilee week, but what else can be done?

Tony was a complete misery tonight for some reason. Home at about10 o'clock. To bed with Anne Boleyn by Marie Louise Bruce. A very interesting book and not one I'd normally read. The Tudor period is something I haven't touched upon since I was 14 or 15 years old. I'm quite ignorant on the subject.

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