Thursday September 13, 1979

_. Ally and I went out on the booze [again]. First to the Rose & Crown, then the Cow & Calf, and finally the White Horse in Bingley. Afterwards we ventured to Oakwood Hall. Very drunk. Consequently we became serious and nostalgic. Most odd, because we are seldom serious about anything. we spoke about poor Carole P, and John Pinder. Saw Peter, Frank, Gus and Chippy.______.
Chippy on the dance floor is like Lionel Blair. We are told that Peter and Chippy are heading off to Paris on Saturday for five or six days. Susan has taken this extraordinarily well.

Bed at 4:30 after heading back to Pine Tops.

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Thursday June 2, 1977

Oakwood Hall

Hot day. Clad in my new white trousers I went down the lane at 7.30 to meet Carole but my shoes were crippling me and after meeting C we set off back home so I could change my footwear. Carole called in to see Naomi while I was changing. Eventually set off to Bingley at about 8.30, and we went in a cheerful condition. Neither of us argued today and things went much better. Carole told me that _________.The only 'touchy' moment came at Oakwood (Hall) when I said I could never forgive her parents for what they did to her last year. She said it was cruel and nasty of me. No comment.

Oakwood Hall was packed out and the heat so intense that I felt grotty and tired towards the end. We danced a little but seemed to spend most of the night in conversation. Home by taxi at 2am. She is going to arrange the visit to London on June11. Let's hope I'll have a few bob to spend by then because I'm quite sick of having no money. Are the IMF on the phone perhaps. May be worth trying.

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Thursday May 26, 1977

Just three hours at the YP - 9 to 12. A hot day again. Ate fish and chips in Guiseley and then went home for a large lunch. My God I'm going to become a fat swine. Carole rang me at 10.30 just to make sure I haven't forgotten. I assure her I could never forget. She now says she's wearing a red outfit tonight. Isn't she incredibly sweet discussing her wardrobe with me - My God, it's like the 'olden days'.

Tell Mum and Dad over lunch my Spanish idea and they say just what they said when I put forward the idea last summer: 'Now is the time to go. You are only young once', &c. I must say that in this field dear Mama and Papa have always encouraged me and I cannot help thinking that I'd be doing them a favour by clearing off. Not going to mention anything to Carole because it may prove alarming - if you know what I mean.,

Tony rings at 7.30 and suggests Carole and I go down to Ilkley for a drink but I want to be alone with her. Then John rings and says he and Maria want to join us and I say I'll meet them at the White Cross at 9 o'clock. Meet Carole at 8 and she shows me a jagged scar on her face which she supposedly accidentally inflicted upon herself 'picking up a broken cup in the kitchen'. It is obvious the some person or persons unknown did this to her. I do not question her about it but it is quite hideous.

Things don't go as well as last week, and last week didn't go quite as well as the week before and it is obvious that some deterioration in our newly rekindled friendship is taking place. We squabble and she becomes aggressive and childish about my smoking.

John and Maria came at 9 and after a drink we move on to Bingley (John and M in the car and me and C on the bus) and then from the pub the four of us go to Oakwood Hall. For some reason I become quite pissed and all memories of what exactly took place are vague. Remember seeing Keith Brown, Sandy Lawson and of course the intrepid Christine Braithwaite. Carole and I cheer up somewhat and vow not to argue again. It would perhaps help if we were left alone in future. Back at 2am in a taxi laughing a good deal.

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Thursday May 12, 1977

Met Carole at 7.30 at the White Cross and we got an omnibus to Bradford. The new bus station is like Versailles. All carpeted with piped music, and chandeliers hanging like great foxgloves from the ornate ceilings. In fact it looks as if Bradford City Council have had some help from Rubens or Van Dyck.

Carole is strangely quiet. We laugh at the fact we have to return to Shipley to go on to Bingley and the realisation that the visit to Bradford's 'Hall of Mirrors' could have been avoided is like a blow on the head with a mallet.

In Bingley for 9 o'clock. After a few drinks we walked to Oakwood Hall for 10.15. Peter N was in with his friends again. Carole and I had a good talk about the past year. (Oh shit, the ink is going all the way through the bloody paper for some reason). We decided that we are getting on better this time round. Home in another taxi at 2am. The taxi driver smoked a large cigar and sounded like an Old Etonian. No doubt he's a poor hereditary peer who cannot afford to get down to the House of Lords.

Not seeing Carole until next Thursday. I have thoroughly enjoyed it.

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Friday December 10, 1976

Alison [Dixon] and John [Pinder] came up from the depths of Winchester last night to stay for a couple of days. Don't see Lynne today and she goes home taking Jean with her. Peter M rings to say he's on his tod [sloan] this evening because Chris has gone off with a mucky woman to Askham Bryan. I must be the last resort. He comes at 8.15 and we go to the Hare with Sue, Pete N, Lynn and Dave [the latter pair move on to a function at the Dragonara in Leeds]. Martyn and his popsy [Carla] are in, and Mum & Dad. Peter M and I return at 10.45 to watch a programme on the Abdication Crisis narrated by James Cameron. Very good indeed and it would have been much better if Peter hadn't insisted on fidgeting and complaining throughout about the time and how late we'd be at Oakwood Hall. Mum, Dad, Sue, Pete, John and Alison come back at 11.15 and when the programme finishes Peter drives us to Oakwood Hall. I feel bloody miserable all night. At 2am Peter M throws me the keys to the van and we go sit outside while he walks his new found 'lady friend' back to Bingley College. TWO HOURS LATER HE RETURNS buttoning his shirt and combing his hair with a vague story about listening to Perry Como records. I realise that fans of this ageing American baritone are probably grossly perverted, but never did I imagine that the ritual of listening to his dulcet tones involved stripping off ones clothes and sitting in the nude. Home by 4.30am and Mum makes us all dance and sing until dawn. Dad was flaked out in bed - pissed I fear.

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