Thursday May 4, 1978

Ascension Day ~ Holy Thursday

A wet, deluged day. At 4pm I was in the predicament of having no transport (at least until a train at 5:17) and so Sarah ferried me to the polling station at Hawksworth where I cast my vote for Willie Hudson, the current Lord Mayor. The rain will ensure that the Conservatives are re-elected (Council elections).

At 5 we went back to Sarah's where we had haddock flan for tea with Delia and Granny Ireson. Bill Collis was in residence but he said very little. We discussed Llandudno (of all places) and he advised me never to venture into Wales, adding with emphasis: 'it isn't worth it.'

It is incredible just how incompatible Delia, Bill, Sarah and family are together.They'd all kill one another without a minutes hesitation if it wasn't for the fact it's so convenient for them to carry on under the same roof. ________.

Delia remains at the top of my favourite 'Ladies Over 45' list. From this lofty height she will never fall.

I cancelled a dental appointment scheduled for this evening to sample a slice of Delia's 'nice piece of haddock' (bought in case you're interested at Cowley's fishmongers in Headingley).

At 8, Sarah, Delia, Mrs Whittington (yes, "Turn again, Dick" and all that)went to the pub in Wetherby where we had a riot last September after the 'do' at Harewood House.

Home, very sober, at 11 to find the whole house in uproarious, drunken revelry. The Nasons, Edith & Ernest, David B's Uncle Tony (Baker) from Nigeria, and a very drunken Lynn.

Bed at 4am after listening to records using the headphones.

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Sunday May 30, 1976

Sunday after Ascension. A wet, filthy day at Pateley Bridge. Up at 8.30. We have to pay 75p for each van on the camp site. Bloody diabolical. Hang about in wonderful Pateley-by-the-Sea until the pub draws us in at 12 o'clock. Have fish and chips first and run up and down the main street looking for a chemist so that Chris could buy some anadin or something to relieve tooth-ache.

Pateley Bridge isn't exactly Yorkshire answer to St Tropez but it serves a purpose.

Carol and Igor (I think that's how you spell it. You know who I mean don't you? The chap with the hunchback who serves as right-hand man to Baron Frankenstein?) are in the Crown. Have a few pints of lager and I watch the others playing darts until chucking out time at 2 o'clock. Don't talk to me about bloody British licensing laws.

Back to the camp site to see Christine & Stuart for a few hours. The three of us park next to Christine and Stuart's tent, and Chris cooks Pete and me a meal. Eat at 6.30.

A chill coming on undoubtedly. Pete says that we 'pen pushers' have no resistance to germs. He last visited a doctor nine years ago to be treated for a broken arm. I say that the job you do has nothing to do with resistance to chills. Some people get them, others don't. Resistance to illness is as much a characteristic of a person as the colour of their eyes and sex drive, &c. Pete refused to listen to this theory.
I know how Darwin must have felt.

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Thursday May 8, 1975

Ascension Day. Pay Day. I'm not writing much, because I don't want to. Love sick, I am. It rained all day, and I attempted to buy a camera in Boots in Leeds, but they only accept Barclaycard if you produce a cheque. Who do they think I am?


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