Saturday March 25, 1978

Sun rises 06:53 Sun sets 19:22

Last Day of Lent

I cannot really capture the humour and hilarity of situations. The previous page, for instance, is just a list of events conveying none of the fantastic jokes. I do try at least.

Chippy attempted to annoy me last night (and I mean ALL night) by saying outrageous things like 'the Queen has three tits'. Gus did nothing but sing abusive home made verses all night and only Johnny slept for any of the time.

AT 6:00am I was awakened by an unfamiliar flapping noise to discover the tent in pieces around our sleeping forms. Johnny noticed this too and we ran about the field clad only in underpants and boots reassembling the devastated tent. Wet and bedraggled we returned to our damp sleeping bags for a few hours. Yes, the weather is somewhat different to yesterday's heatwave.

By 9 the sun was shining and Sue was taking photographs of scantily clad males when she should have been frying bacon and things. Chippy made a nauseating breakfast and then we just waited until the Fountain opened it's doors. All afternoon in the pub wasn't just a boozing exercise ~ it was shelter from the hail, snow ~ yes SNOW that had decided to pelt us after lunch. A gloomy mob ~ including a couple of new arrivals ~ sat deciding the fate of the expedition. Sadly, we chose to return to civilisation, and we did so with great haste at about 3:30. Although we had only one night it was well worth it. I think I have got to know this year's holiday companions much better, and as soon as the travel agents open on Tuesday I'm going to cancel.

Susan is incredible. I must be infatuated with my little sis. Her personality is so pleasantly extrovert and mature and I get the feeling I have underestimated her for years. She can certainly take care of herself in the company of crude, offencive youths and come out on top. She's a natural leader of men. I can see her as a successor to Margaret Thatcher with no trouble at all.

We are home for 5. Dave L phones to say I have to join him ten pin bowling and go afterwards with him, and Christine, to Oakwood Hall and Carol Smith's engagement party. I said no, but Christine rang minutes later and she told me I have no choice in the matter. To the bowling therefore with my arm up my back. Christine looked ravishing. Never have I seen her look so desirable. I could have devoured her on the spot. I fact she put me off my bowling skills.

To Oakwood Hall at 8:30 and we did nothing but laugh hysterically all night. In fact it became quite ridiculous. David, Christine and I are the only energetic people left. For hours we watched ~ open mouthed ~ whilst John, Maria, and others sat around discussing the finer points of plastic buckets and Vymura wallpaper. Is this what marriage is all about? David is a great guy. Tony and Martyn came in.

Much booze and much dancing and many laughs later we came home. It was only midnight, but on Easter Saturday discotheques close early for some pathetic reason. No doubt the Pope objects to us, the three nut cases, going out on the town. Oh, how we enjoyed tonight.



-=-

Friday March 24, 1978

Full Moon 17:20 Good Friday Bank Holiday (Scotland)

Sorry about the murky ink. It's the alcohol level in my fingers that's created a chemical reaction on contact with the pen.

The morning was actually sunny and warm ~ ideal in fact for dashing out and hurtling oneself under canvas for a few days, hey?

Mum and Dad went down to Burley in Wharfedale armed with champagne to see Lynn and Dave who started work on their new house at Lawn Road this morning. I was left to my own devices until Sue and Pete collected me at 12:30. The boozing started at the Station Hotel where we were joined by Chippy (Gerald Ash), Gus (Adrian Ramsden) and Johnny (Brian Johnson). From here at 2pm we departed for Hawes. (Oh yes, I phoned Christine to see if she fancied coming to Hawes tomorrow with Dave L, saying we'll be at the Fountain pub).

The afternoon was sunny and cold and we spent most of the time erecting the damnable tent. The whole spectacle took on the form of a circus act and much screaming and clowning was indulged in. I especially like Brian, or Johnny as he is known, who is at Trinity and All Saints College training to teach maths. He is an old flame of Lynn's  ~ when they were in their early teens. Once the tent was up we made a revolting evening meal and then found solace in the Fountain. Much ale merriment and debauchery took place. In fact, we sounded like French Revolution peasants after four or five rounds. I really admire Susan for her fortitude and capability to 'muck in'  with a crowd of young men. Not many young ladies could do this. Lynn for one, is not the type to go off in a tent with five young men for Easter.


-=-

Monday March 20, 1978

Work was busy. Sarah should have been back from her revolting week with the equally revolting Welsh but poor Delia broke her arm yesterday, falling over the telephone, and is, by all accounts, in a terrible state. Sarah will be tied up now playing Dr Kildare for weeks on end.

Peter James Nason is twenty today. Sue and I had tea quite alone and then Peter came and carried her off for a drink somewhere. Lynn got in later and we watched a comedy film on the BBC which gave us a good laugh. In one scene Leslie Phillips was in the bath with a steaming hot pressure cooker trying to get at the contents.

We had a few glasses of wine to celebrate Peter's birthday, and when they came back at 11 the three of us (Lynn having retired to her boudoir) cooked a meal and noshed away like pigs. Really enjoyable. They say that a camping jaunt is organised for Hawes at the weekend and I am invited with some gusto. No doubt to 'chaperone' my little sister who will otherwise be the sole girl in a tent on some windswept heath with fifteen drunken males. I agreed to join the party.

The thought of the Fox and Hounds with all those happy, smiling faces featured greatly in my decision making. Anyway, I'll have no money to speak of and the delights of darling Christine cannot be obtained free of charge. Do not, dear reader, assume that I am paying the above mentioned dear lady for carnal delights. I'm just pointing out that vodka does not grow on trees.

-=-

Saturday March 11, 1978

Sun rises 6:25 Sun sets 17:58

Bright sunny day. Lynn woke me at 10:30 to inform me that I was escorting her, on foot, to Yeadon to do some shopping. This was no ideal awakening my any means. I was out of bed by 11 and within minutes I was pouring a glass of beer for Ernest and glass of wine for Edith.

Yeadon.

Shortly afterwards to Yeadon with Lynn. The day was warm and we laughed and chatted on the way down the open road. We were home for 3pm weighed down with shopping. Lynn's feet were blistered and my hands were bright pink. And, dear friends, that was my day. Yes, it does seem pathetically short and mundane, but I cannot be expected to carry out earth shattering, spectacular feats of brilliance all the time. Perhaps you can look in tomorrow?  Oh, go on then I'll just say a bit more.

Mama and Papa went out for dinner and Sue, Pete, Chippy and girlfriend went off to Appletreewick at tea time supposedly 'camping'. Not much of the countryside will be seen if I know anything of my sweet sister. The pleasures of the flesh are nearer the top of her priorities than river side walks, but at 18 and with her great beauty, I cannot blame her.

Lynn, Dave and I dined by candlelight together (do you think that perhaps my presence was not welcome?) and afterwards we sat looking at the television. Boring.

To bed with 'The Man in the Iron Mask' but fell asleep after two pages. In fact, a clapped out old French duchess hadn't even finished talking to a bloke named after that nice brand of aftershave lotion ... er, Ah yes, Aramis.

-=-

Sunday March 20, 1977

Whilst Martyn and Tony were presumably playing scrabble in a steamed up, dimly lit vehicle with two scantily clad maidens last night I took the opportunity of placing myself at the back of the tent, furthest away from the entrance and on an upward incline. Thus, my nights comfort was assured.

To be honest, the lads had no time to play scrabble in the time they were bidding their fond farewells to the ladies. Whilst waiting I smoked one cigarette and drank half a bottle of chilled beer, which puts their time of absence from the tent at approximately four minutes because you know I don't mess around with bottles of ale.

Back to this morning anyway: Me and Martyn were awake by 8am and our chatter brought Tony from his slumbers ten minutes later. Spam sandwiches for breakfast with Linda and Ruth. Our morning repast was somewhat marred by the sight of the bespectacled ogre from the neighbouring tent with a Joan Armatrading phobia. He cannot have been much older than public school leaving age. His tent was quivering (with fear?) as I consumed my sandwich and swilled Coca Cola. Only public schoolboys can frown like that. You know how I mean, that Winston Churchill look.

James Hunt: race of champions.

To Brands Hatch at 12.30. £4 entrance fee - each. Blimey, the five of us must have paid James Hunt's wages for the day. Mr Hunt won the Race of Champions, as we fully expected him to. The day was warm and the sun shone brightly. Warm enough in fact to sit on the grass and eat more Spam sandwiches moistened this time with cottage cheese.

Tony, Martyn, Ruth, Linda and me. 

Racing good. Linda hilarious. Tony impersonating Peter Cooke and Marty Feldman rolled into one. Marvellous day. Then went on to Linda's father's place in Slough and had chicken and chips in his caravan with his common-law wife and Linda's common-law brother.

We visited every village in Kent, Buckinghamshire, Berkshire and Derbyshire. Saw Windsor on the horizon. Whipsnade, Cliveden House, High Wycombe all came in our path. Hit that nasty big road at Watford at 10pm and thus began our journey north. We stuffed ourselves with sweets in the car  and collapsed in hysterics into the motorway cafe at Leicester again.

Tony, over his brew, said Ruth's hair looked quite nice when in fact it looked exactly the opposite and when she said she felt like a wet lettuce I answered: "Well, why don't you get one, then?" Wet with laughing. Home at 1.30am. House in darkness and silence. To bed. Camping is all very well but one night is quite enough for me. It takes a David Livingstone to last out any longer I'm sure.

-=-

Wednesday June 23, 1976

Out to Grassington and then onto the Miners' Arms at Glasshouses (surely, Greenhow?) with Chris, Peter M, and Andy Graham. The latter mentioned is indeed a rare sight in public life these days without the ever watchful Linda Smith lurking somehwhere in the shadows.

Peter got terribly drunk and the so-called highlight of the evening was the return journey when Andy seriously attempted to uproot every sign post between Bolton Abbey and Guiseley. Chris had about ten road signs stacked in the back of his van by 1.30am and I found the whole operation ridiculous and not in the least amusing.____________.

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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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Saturday May 29, 1976

Wake at some God forsaken hour with excruciating pains in my left leg. Cramp, I take it to be, but on inspecting the offending limb I discover a large conglomorate mass of what can only be described as nothing but vein. I sit on the edge of my bed and sigh. Why should it be my lot to undergo the trauma of a coronary thrombosis at my time of life? I am going to die without a fight, that's for certain. Ring Maria who doesn't know whether she's going to the wedding or not in the horribly wet conditions. I have a coffee and prepare a rough draft of my last will and testament.

To Menston at 12.45 and sit in the empty Methodist chapel for 10 minutes listening to the organist bashing away heartily. George Waite's Mum sits next to me and we sing the 23rd Psalm together. Only 15 people in church including the bride and groom. Helen looked fabulous - all flimsy and feminine - in fact like a Venetian lady from the 14th or 15th century, with the Juliet-style headdress. Both look so happy and matched and were the only people present who didn't seem to notice the pouring bloody rain. Maria and Carole arrived at 12.50 and sat on the other side of the chapel to me. Carole looked pale and almost insane. Her eyes dead and lifeless. The poor kid is taking life so seriously. She's going camping with Denise and 3,000 lads this afternoon. After the wedding Maria, Carole and I call in at the Hare for a drink. Carole leaves us at 3 and the two of us walk under Maria's umberella to Harry Ramsden's for a late luncheon.

Get home at 4pm. Pete M calls at 5 o'clock when along with Chris we leave for Pateley Bridge. Get to the pub at 7 o'clock and drink until 11 with the mob. Sleep in vans on a desolate hillside (Greenhow?). A good laugh all the same.

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Monday May 26, 1975

Holiday in England, N. Ireland & Wales. The last Day: Awake coughing and sneezing because of the feathers in my sleeping bag. Emerged from the tent looking like a Pantomime Duck, or something. After dangling my head in the river and taking in the air I clear up a bit, but it'll be weeks before my sinuses clear properly. This allergy of mine is a tiresome hinderance. The same thing happened when I went with CB to Sheffield. All Dave Baker's sleeping bags are full of little feathers, and I never fail to succumb to the horrors of them.

After breakfast (another fried one) we go into Grassington for one final boozing session. The town is full of Morris Dancers, and when they came in the pub we couldn't hear ourselves speak for the jingling of bells and other clattering noises associated with this hideous village pastime.

After spending an hour in the pub we made our way home, via Appletreewick and other scenic places.

On our arrival at the Devonshire Arms we find a note pinned to John's car from Mum and Dad, who'll now be in Scotland. He managed to get the car going, and we were home for 5 o'clock.

After tea we go to the Hare & Hounds (just for a change) and I spend the whole time chatting with Christine, who passed a miserable weekend quite alone. Gary was away pot-holing - creep that he is.

-==-

Saturday May 24, 1975

Day Two at Grassington: Don't awake until about 11am which is quite remarkable. I always imagined the campers would have to crawl out the sack at the crack of dawn because of the rumpus created by cocks, and other various poultry, or because of acute cold, and lumpy ground, &c. But strangely enough, the night was tranquil and I slept like a log throughout.

After a greasy breakfast and a splash in the river we drove into Grassington for a general potter about. Nothing of great consequence, so we motored around aimlessly and fell upon Kettlewell. The sky was very dull, and the air bracing, and so we nipped into the nearest warm haven for a few hours. As it happened it turned out to be a pub, a most congenial experience. We came out feeling a good deal more good humoured then when we went in , and so our tripwasn't in vain.

Aysgarth was the next port of call and we were unimpressed by the falls therein. Not a particularly stunning sight.

Back to Grassington's ale houses in the evening, and John ended up drinking tomato joices because of a stomach disorder. He blames all the fried nosh, but I can't help thinking it has something to do with the alcoholic intake of yesterday.

Back to the tent for a camp fire until after 1am. We're all getting on better than I imagined we would. Peter isn't the swine I always imagined he'd be to camp with.

-==-

Friday May 23, 1975

Day one of the Open Event at Grassington. At 6.30 John and I go to the Hare in order that I can pick up my jacket which I accidentally left under the juke box on Wednesday. We stay for a few drinks. Peter and Chris come in. They're laden with the precious tent and various other camping odds and ends.

Mum and Dad go to Scotland tomorrow. In the new car too. They haven't been off, quite alone, for any length of time before (not since the famous honeymoon anyway) so it should be quite a fantastic break.

Back to the Camping Trip: Horror of Horrors! John's car broke down near the Devonshire Arms, Bolton Abbey, and we had to dump the car in the pub car park. The four of us piled into Pete's van and we bombed into the Dales, weighed down with tons of camping gear and miscellaneous rubbish.

After to failing to get on a camp site we deposit ourselves in a field, next to the Wharfe, about ten minutes out of Grassington. The tent was erected before 9.30 and we made the pub in Grassington shortly after. Although the pubs close legally at 11pm, the Forester's Arms in Grassington was open to customers at 11.30, which amused John no end, though Peter did seem a little edgy. ________.

--==--

Sunday September 8, 1974

Wake up snug as a bug in a rug at 10.30. A wasp settles in Dave L's hair, and the hilarity caused by Pete spraying Dave's curly mop with fly-killer will be remembered long after the events of the weekend have passed into oblivion.

Hear on the news over toast and marmalade that Harold Wilson is with the Queen at Balmoral no doubt discussing election dates and tactics. October 3 or 10 seems to be the likely choice but nobody knows which one it is other than Harold, Her Majesty and Mrs Wilson (surely he passes on these little secrets to his dear wife?).

Dave L and I go with a camera for a tramp over the moors, taking hurried shots of sheep and large fungi plants feeding off the bark of rotten trees.

Very nice afternoon and the first nice weather we've had all weekend. Dave Lawson is a great chap. I've known him since 1967 and he's never changed one iota since that time - he has physically and mentally of course - but as far as outlook, humour and general appearance - not at all. One thing's for certain. I get on with no one better than Dave, never have done.

Back from the moors at 6.15. Sit cooling feet and sipping hot tea until the end of 'Pick of the Pops' at 7 - when we have a mad half hour with the camera. Back to the pub in Linton. Fruit machines too. Dave L, Dave B, Phyllis Whitethighs and I form a syndicate on the fruit machine and manage to lose £2 between us. All heartbroken. Leave for home at about 10.15.

Back before 11. Mum and Dad are at Pudsey but I wait up for them, eating steak until 12. See the newspapers for the first time since Friday. Fantastic weekend.

-==-

Saturday September 7, 1974

As I've already said, we were attacked by savage wasps whilst listening to the Ed Stewart Show. Fortunately, Chris found some fly killer in the caravan and we managed to keep them off us whilst we got dressed.

Make breakfast much to the disgust of Linda, who wanted an extra 10 minutes in bed with Andy. Chris takes the three of us into Grassington for the afternoon, where the torrential rain lashed down upo us.

Buy several necessities of food, like cocktail cherries, and manadarin oranges. Also buy on impulse, a large feather duster - don't ask me why.

Go into a pub for lunch and meet a bloke who dwells at Rawdon, who was far too familiar with us for comfort - even going so far of offer us beds in his caravan if the weather continues to worsen. Andy labelled him a queer from the start, but I just think he was being slightly over-friendly.

Stagger round the camp-site in a gale force wind, glass of martini in one hand, trying to secure the tent, which unfortunately rips open in a sudden surge of wind. The destroyed tent renders us homeless for the night. Peter offers us all beds in the caravan which we gratefully accept (good of him I'm sure). Back on a pub-crawl again where I fall foul to the lure of fruit machines which Dave Lawson introduced me to. Good evening & then back to the caravan feeling full of cold, no doubt caught off Chris. Everyone in the caravan except Andy, Linda, Ray and Gill. Carol Smith and Christine Whitethighs get drunk and fight like cats in the night.

-==-

Friday September 6, 1974

The begining of the 2 day event in Grassington.

Chris collects us at 7.30 with Dave L, and we all pile into the car with too much lugggage for comfort.

The weather isn't at all too bad, and at 8.30 we are at the caravan, where Andy, Linda, Gill ad Raymond are rather amusing playing cards whilst the beds stand invitingly empty. Go to a local pub, which one I can't remember, but we stay till about 11.15 drinking all the shorts we can think of - playing dominos and clowning around in general.

 Buy a large bottle of Martini Rosso, me and Dave that is, before going back to Denny's makesift tent for a booze-up. Andy, Ray and the girls hog Peter's caravan and ban us from entering, leaving Dave, John, Chris and I to the tent. Settle down to a drunken escapade - not too drunken I might add - sit listening to the radio clad in sleeping bags until 2-ish. Sleep until 5 when we are awakened by a horrific rainstorm lashing the tent - remain comfortable and calm throughout. Laugh with Dave and poor Chris who is almost out of the tent flap.

Sleep till 7.30. Attacked by a swarm of marauding wasps which interrupt our peaceful rest. Hell, I've just realised I'm writing about Saturday morning which should be on the next page. P.T.O.


-==-

Saturday August 17, 1974

YP till 12. Not all that busy and I sit talking with Sarah and Carol for a good deal of the time. To Marita's at 12.30 collecting a few loaves and cheese on the way. Mrs Fountain makes Denny and I a nice meal, and MM comes at 1. We pack the things in the car - one would think we were going camping for a month - not just the one night - and depart for Appletreewick at 1.30. We call in at a wine store in Ilkley where we purchase gallons of Cinzano and Martini Rosso, etc. Arrive at Appletreewick before 2 and erect the tent immediately - very close to the Wharfe. The sound of the babbling water makes Marita run to the toilet. W do nothing really other than go for a walk, and scoff a meagre meal, before going o the pub at 7.30. Have one drink outside but the midges and geese drive us in. It's a pub strictly for non-smokers. Have a tremendous laugh at all the eccentic people within, including bunch who sit and eat themselves silly. Back to camp at about 10 where, to our horror, we realise we have no light of any description amongst the pile of equipment. We open the bottles and slurp the contents in the darkness, spilling vast quantities on the ground. Get drunk. I do a "tea-towel dance" and Marita takes several photos. W all collapse shortly after midnight. Have hilarious time in the tent. I sleep sandwiched between Marita and Denny and am the most comfortable member of the party. Sleep soundly until 7.30 on Sunday morning. -==-

Thursday August 15, 1974

Princess Anne was made a GCVO this morning - her 24th birthday. The Queen, in the citation, made reference to her daughter's "calm and braveness" throughout the kidnap attempt in the Mall on March 20, saying the same about Capt Phillips, who becomes a CVO, and Rowena Brassey, the lady-in-waiting, who becomes MVO. The lower class newspapers headed articles on this event "YES IT'S DAME ANNE", and "OH WHAT A DAME", etc. The papers no longer mention the fact that HRH is in line for the title Princess Royal. No doubt the princess dislikes this style and will not let Her Majesty revive it. Mind you, it is dowdy sounding for a young woman I do suppose.

Warm day. Sunny, but windy. Nothing of interest at the YP except my pay. Home at 6. Denny finally sent me the letter she owes me, and I decide to write back immediately. Mum is still not pleased about me going camping on Saturday, though she leaves the whole affair entirely in my hands.

John takes his driving test tomorrow and I only hope for the honour of the family that he will pass this time. He can do no more than try though. To change the subject, I now feel as though I made a mistake treating Judith Beevers the way I did. Recently I've missed our little 'tete-a-tetes' in front of the TV or in front of the TR6 - and in my own silly way I must have fancied her. Keep wondering whether or not to ring her. Don't suppose I will do. Hell, aren't I a burke when it comes to women? Look at the Bottomley Affair, which dragged on for months purely on my part, involving fantasies about the re-estabishment of a relationship, etc. Bloody well brainless, that's what am.

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