_. Nothing at the YP. Graham Dixon phoned me at about 11pm enquiring after the whereabouts of Ally. I told him she would be in bed ignoring the phone. He and Gill are coming to Leeds on business [delivering programmes to the Grand Theatre] tomorrow and want to meet for lunch or a drink. Hell, I have no money.
 |
| Ronald Reagan: landslide. |
A day of elections. I am writing now at 1:35am on November 5, and I have to report that Ronald Reagan has won a landslide victory in the US presidential election. Or so it seems anyway. I am watching the BBC live from the USA, and they are predicting this victory and are never wrong. Oh, God. Get out the gas masks, Ethel. The American broadcasting networks are reeling at the news. No sitting president has been ejected after only one term of office since Hoover in 1933. If only Carter had done something about Iran in '78 when the Shah began to have trouble. Had he shown some foresight he wouldn't be now sitting in the White House with tear stained cheeks. All this leaves me with sweat on my brow and stains of a muddy hue in my undergarments. Russia bashin' is bloody dangerous. Blimey, it could all be over by Christmas, and by 'all over' I refer to the world!
The other election taking place today was at Westminster where a man called Healey has won the first ballot in the election for a new leader of the Labour party. This means nothing. I have watched a man called Foot waving his walking stick at TV cameras and beaming merrily. Can nobody have told him?
I must remember to tell Ally about Graham, when I make my dawn alarm call. She's bound to panic because she is penniless and almost destitute and you know how Graham loves his greasy take-aways and gallons of ale.
It's now 1:50am and I am looking at David Dimbleby and wondering whether or not to switch off. Oh dear.
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