Tuesday April 18, 1978

Jacq's secured a job in Leeds at the Royal Exchange House. She phoned today with the news that she's going to be an audio typist secretary or something for a company the name of which I have forgotten. Lynn took the call and said: "Hello, Sarah". Oh dear. I will always remember Vera Mather saying "Oh, hello Stephen" to me when I'd been 'walking out' with Lynne M for about six months.

Tonight I walked to the Civic Hall at 5pm to meet Jim but he was nowhere in sight, and having spent my fare money on scampi and coleslaw salad at lunchtime you can imagine my predicament. Penniless in the centre of a bustling metropolis. However, having no infirmities of any kind (other than mental ones) I put my best foot forward and marched in a homeward direction. Passing Kirkstall Abbey I secured a lift from a gentlemanly Menstonian who brought me all the way to Guiseley. He told me of the horrors of running a business in the midst of public transport chaos. I pitied him greatly.

At the foot of Hawksworth Lane I was picked up by Jim showering me (yet again) with profuse apologies. He was late because his car had been delayed having a service at Appleyard's.

Home for tea at 6:35. On the BBC news I saw the Prince of Wales and Prince Andrew training to make a parachute jump at RAF Brize Norton. My blood ran cold at the thought of a communist parachute packer hacking away with pinking shears at the royal baggage. Surely the princes do not intend leaping from the same plane at the same time? If so, the consequences could mean we have a King Edward IX, and Lady Sarah Spencer's anorexia nervosa suffering a relapse.


The Prince of Wales and his brother parachute training.

Bed at 11:30

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Tuesday May 17, 1977

Feel grotty all day. Stomach ache mainly, and anorexia. All the same I forced down two sandwiches and a pea and ham soup - but could easily have done without. You don't want me collapsing at work do you?

Kathleen suggested that I ought to go home early, but like King Charles I (you know, him with the ginger hair and no head) I decided to be a martyr instead.

Carole: grandmother's accident

Carole rang at 3 and we decided to go out again on Thursday, again to Oakwood (Hall). I asked whether her mother had been knocked down, the victim of a road traffic accident and she laughed saying: "Oh no...
it 's my grandmother". It seems that the old lady fell in the path of a van belonging to the Gas Board and passed a night in Otley Hospital emerging with three stitches. Carole's attitude is quite frightening and she insists that the sight of ones beloved Grandmama disappearing beneath the wheels of a bright yellow NEGAS van isn't half as horrific as it sounds. Having no living grandmother myself I can never experience such a phenomenon.

Spent an evening in front of the television. The headlines on the 9 o'clock news was the royal visit to Scotland. It's the first of the 'Jubilee tours'. The BBC must have taken leave of their senses. A royal item to be the first item on the news? Surely the first such thing to occur since the abdication Edward VIII.

Took a bath after the royal spectacular and then returned to the drawing room to find Mama reclining on a sofa sipping delicately at her glass of Guinness. No other exercise whatsoever is allowed - Dr Jacques's orders.

Sit with a mug of cocoa and decide I feel much better. My bowels have improved tremendously since tea time. I cannot help thinking that Uncle Bert might have brought a virus with him from darkest Nottingham. Dearest Uncle will get his head kicked in if I find this to be so.

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