Wednesday September 21, 1977

The autumn equinox, I believe. Yes folks, with a rendering of 'Autumn Leaves' I now bid farewell to you in order to roast my chestnuts on my little garden bonfire. Oh, how I love this time of year!  The browns! The golds! The burnt yellows! No.To be honest I can take it or leave it.

An autumn without a good old general election is just not on. It's like having peaches without cream or whisky without American Dry Ginger and lots of ice. I'm sure that dear Mrs Thatcher thinks along these lines too. To see the beloved leader of the only true political party, ballot papers in hand, coming into focus through a typically misty autumn dawn would be a sight to cherish. But alas, the sorrowing nation must now wait until this gorgeous season is once again upon us before the Sainted Margaret - her hair burnished with the magnificent hue of autumn leaves - rides into Parliament as our prime minister.

Otherwise a normal day the YP and with little play.

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Monday September 12, 1977

A ghastly day. Staggered to work feeling like Anne Boleyn must have felt after her tragic loss. Lady Jane Grey too, and Lord Haw Haw. Yes, my head was far from well. Abominable is a far too mild an adjective to use. By 12 noon I was moaning, yawning and close to tears. I phoned Tony who was also very close to death. I informed him that I could stand no more and on putting down the receiver I lost consciousness and fell crashing to the floor from my desk. Some amiable editor must have carried me from the building and placed me on an omnibus because I regained consciousness somewhere in the Guiseley area at about 1pm.

Luncheon was also a great strain and afterwards I fell from the table and into bed. You'll be pleased to know that by tea time I was more or less back to normal. Oh what a time. As I grow older my hangovers get steadily worse. By the time I'm 25 I shall be paying regular visits to one of those rehabilitation centres. You may laugh, but it's true.

Autumn: nationalised?

Some of that famous glint came back to my sad old eyes at 7.30 when 'Coronation Street' came on the television. It's programmes like this that make life so well worth living, folks.

Nothing much more to say, playmates. Have you enjoyed reading this page? Good. September is always such a nice month, don't you think? Or have the authorities in your era scrapped the old months system? Well, it wouldn't surprise me if they have nationalised autumn.

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Sunday October 24, 1976

19th after Trinity. United Nation's Day. Up at a late hour again and devour one of Mrs Mather's nice breakfasts. Lynne and I then set to and wash her car. One hell of a job. In the midst of this we go for a walk around Thornton-le-Dale parish church and then for a few miles down a quiet lane to a place the name of which escapes me [Dalby?] Back at 4pm to complete the polishing of the car. A lovely, autumn afternoon.

After [the] evening meal we watch TV all night but my allergy to the cat and dog renders me completely useless. Drink whisky but I'm so blocked up I can barely taste it. Bed at 12.30. Took a sneaky photo of Lynne compiling her diary sitting in bed. Should prove funny when results come through. I always enjoy muyself at Lynne's parents' house. When I compare them to Mr & Mrs Phillips it's quite incredible. Total opposites. Poor Carole. With a Mum & Dad like that why bother reading horror stories?

It's rumoured in the Sunday Express that the Duchess of Gloucester is pregnant. We shall have to wait and see.

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