Sunday April 27, 1975

4th after Easter. Yet another beautiful day. Wake at about 11.30 and go down for a coffee. Sit glancing at the Sunday papers which I don't normally do because they're a load of old rubbish. See that the Labour party have voted with an enormous majority to pull out of the Common Market when this so-called referendum is thrust upon us in June. A tremendous blow it will be for the Prime Minister, and it wouldn't surprise me if he was to hand over all his powers to Wedgwood Benn. Then the Nation can relapse into total confusion and madness.

Everyone is talking about a camping trip at Whitsuntide, and so I'll have to save the pennies. Also, June 14 is the day that the holiday people want their money. Aaarrghh!

Depleted numbers out for a drink tonight. Just John, Chris, Carol and myself. After starting at the Hare we move on to the Station Hotel in Guiseley, where I've never set foot before. Don't like the place much. Move on to the Emmotts - horrible; then the Station on Henshaw Lane for the last one. The four of us have a good argument about politics. I try to persuade them not to vote in this coming referendum, and am pleased to hear that John and Carol agree with me that we shouldn't really be having one at all. Unconstitutional and pathetic it really is. Chris is of course a staunch Conservative and thinks we belong in the EEC - I quite agree with him, but refuse to believe that the British electorate should be allowed to make the decision. Harold Wilson just wants to pass the blame onto us when everything goes wrong.

-==-

Saturday April 19, 1975

Rainy morning and I'm disappointed because yesterday seemed so promising. Conned into thinking Spring had really arrived.

The girls are at work and so too is Papa and Mama is at the hairdressers. John and I are playing records all morning until Mama comes in with chicken and chips for Sue, John and myself. I've done nothing but eat like a pig all day and it feels horrid. Too much food - it lies so heavily in the pit of ones tummy. What a weird word "tummy" is. So upper class.

Feel sorry for John who is a bit sick about Naomi and her daft proposition. I tell him of David's idea to go the Edwardian Club tonight and I think he'll come. The proudness of we Rhodeses will prevent him from going out with Naomi again I think. Once he thinks he's been used it's curtains for the young lady, and rightly so.

Christine rings at about 3. The bird is crazy. After last night's incident with Gary she says very little other than that she was crying just because she was drunk. I don't believe her. That lad has her under his thumb, and I loathe seeing them together.

John, in his mourning, goes off with Chris and the mob to the Dyneley Arms. David and I go to the Hare (me in John's suit) in expectation of arranging a party to go to the Edwardian. Only Martin (of Carol Smith fame) and Christine Dibb turn up, then Lynn and Dave of course. After two or three drinks we move on to the Black Bull in Otley - the best pub around. At chucking out time it's back to Pine Tops for coffee. Bed at 1.30.

-==-

Wednesday April 16, 1975

Don't expect much today because you'll be very disappointed. You see, John is alseep in bed, and it's quite late at night and the brightness of the electric lighting in the room is disturbing his slumbers somewhat. Anyway, to recap on the days events: Saw June briefly this morning as Jim drove me to Leeds- just a very, very brief glimpse because we rocketed past her at about 60 mph. However, brief it may have been, but my poor little heart almost didn't withstand the excitement. From Horsforth to the far-flung reaches of Kirkstall I travelled with it (my heart) in my mouth.

Later the same day: John deposits me in the Hare and Hounds and then takes Chris and Naomi to Bradford where Gillian is propping up a bar. (Did you know that Chris and Gillian are, as they say, 'going out'?) You know now anyway. I was left with Helen Lockyer in her Pa's car I might add, Miss C. Smith and Mr A Graham. Reluctantly I'm dragged off to the Station on Henshaw Lane. Philip Knowles comes in with a blond chick and leaves after supping only half a bitter. Denis Healey must have gone to his head or something. Half a bitter! Yuk!

-==-

Wednesday March 26, 1975

Another day of toil and labour. Cut the YP for a change. So much better than the nasty little EP, which sinks even lower than the lowest rags - the Sun and Daily Mirror.

A certain gentleman writer with the Yorkshire Post today expressed bafflement that no news cuttings were to be found on the new King of Saudi Arabia or Crown Prince. The mentality of some people amazes me! Everyone knows that the Arabian Royals come and go like flies, and that they have at least 300 children each, and the fact that they all have the same name makes it all the more diffucult to keep tabs on them. Khamel Hamed Aziz Woz Ben Fhadi is a prime example.

Amused by a piece in today's paper announcing that the 87-year-old Earl of Midleton is seeking a divorce in order to marry his mistress. I only hope I'll be still getting up to the usual tricks at that ripe old age. It must be a fantastic feeling.

Miss Braithwaite rang tonight and we arranged to meet at the Hare at 8.30. Oh, by the way, last night I booked Kiko's Disco for Friday April 5, and today I managed to get a coach with Rhodes's Coaches of Guiseley - £20 will be the cost - but everyone will contribute I hope. Helen will be chuffed. I'm almost certain she gave up the idea of ever seeing those plans finalised.

John took me to the Hare at 8. He stayed for one drink then took Naomi to Bradford. Chris, Andy, Linda, Carol, Christine B and Gary are at the Hare. Moved on to that revolting pub, The Drop. Home at about 11.

-==-

Sunday March 16, 1975

Passion Sunday. CB's Birthday. Christmas is a few months early this year. Yes, you've guessed right. It snowed this morning and it's so bloody cold all over it's almost like Arctic conditions, where Capt Scott came a cropper. What a crazy mixed up nation of ours this is.

Do sod all today, and sit in front of the television all night. Laurence Olivier in 'Khartoum'. A good film, and I refuse to be lured to the Hare & Hounds with all the others. It's a nice feeling to be able to prove that alcoholism isn't my leading defect as yet, but I do suppose the coming years will give a more clear analysis.

John comes back with Naomi at about 11 o'clock and I can hear the wedding bells quite clearly this time. I know I've said it before - Christine White, Carol Smith, and Jackie Onassis, but this time it's all quite different. The feeling in my bones is definately conveying the impression this time. We are still unaware as to what denomination the Reverend Mr Downing belongs - and I must admit, the situation is perplexing. He's not C of E, so he's either Mormon, Methodist, Primative Methodist, Baptist, Budhist, Druid or Zionist. I doubt very much whether the chap is a Cardinal - not with an 18 year-old daughter. Methodist too seems unlikely, because they are opposed to drink and little Naomi is propping up the bar of the Hare & Hounds seven nights a week.

-==-

Friday March 7, 1975

SPECIAL NEWS FLASH EDITION: A rumpus at the Hare & Hounds tonight when Christine said she'd finished with Chris and is now going out with a banking friend, Gary, whom I know only briefly. It all came about when good old Dave L (making a guest appearance)said he'd rather go to Wheels tomorrow than go to Wikis tonight - Chris agreed with this and dashed over to the other end of the pub to convery these thoughts to Christine, who was now doing her upmost to pull Gary. Pandemonium ensued when Helen said: "Why can't we do both?" Being the Jet-Set, high living spenders that we are. This suggestion was received coldly and with a good deal of discontent, and Christine ended up telling David to "piss off", but in a friendly way. (Christine's the only bird I know who can insult you in a nice way). Helen and I stick to our guns and say we are going to do both venues. So, it's Christine Dibb, Helen and me to Wikis where nothing much goes on, or indeed comes off. John is with Naomi and her cousin, and Carol S is with her recent acquisition. I think she intends to generously leave all her boyfriends to the nation when she dies. I'm sure it will be the largest collection of males under one roof. Since we formed the Royal Society for the Prevention of Wastage of Drinks I've sure had my share of alcoholic refreshment.
John isn't in the car (changing the subject) and so I walked Helen back to Menston and stayed the night sleeping in a sleeping bag on her settee. Prior to this we discussed all manner of things - women's lib, monarachy, ghosts. PS - at about 8 Kathleen rang looking for Lesley Whittle's picture file. Is the poor girl a goner?

--==--

Sunday March 2, 1975

3rd Sunday in Lent. Very mild day. After a nice lunch of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding I nip into the garden and do a spot of pruning. The roses at the front of the house yield to my plans, but after an hour or so I retire to the lounge with an orange and a terrible thirst. Sue too is gagging for liquid refreshment, and Peter comes up with a bottle of ale for her. We've either had an excess of salt in the lunch or we have all fallen foul of a sudden attack of alcoholism. It could quite possibly be the latter.

Down to the Hare at 8 with John and Naomi. Julie Slater and Gillian come too, and I can't help laughing at the way Gillian treated Peter M last night. They were all 'lovey-Dovey' on Friday at Wikis, but she didn't even look at him last night! The poor chap is so confused. Sit with Helen all night at the same table as Carol and her latest. John comes across at about 10.15 and asks whether I want to go to Gillian's to finish off the booze left over from her brother's 21st. I say yes, but get a dirty look when Helen makes a move too. In other words, they want me, but they don't want Helen. In the end neither of us go, and we stay at the Hare until closing.

Christine rang me this afternoon inorder to give me her London address where she'll be residing until Friday. Chris tonight thought for certain that it was all over, and that Christine was too scared to tell him. After all they've not been out since last Saturday. He can't really complain after 2 months anyway. I'll write to pass on Philip's messages.

Home at 11 to see the end of a film with Dad and Lynn & Dave. The young lovers look bored lately and I hope it isn't all breaking up. They make such a good couple.

-==-

Friday February 28, 1975

Go to Leeds on the 55 bus and encountered Philip Knowles no less. He had certain unrepeatable things to say about Christine, but otherwise it was a pleasant journey. Work was busy but pleasant. Didn't arrive until 9.15 and left at 4.30. My lovable boss is worth her weight in gold.

On Wednesday in the Hare I had an interesting conversation with Helen and we decided to hold a joint birthday celebration on April 5. Something like Chris and Laura did last year - a coach party job. She's going to do some ringing round over the next few days. May as well arrange it as soon as possible.

At lunchtime I get another pair of trousers - brown this time though.I'll be something like a living tailor's dummy by the time Spring pops up.

To the Hare & Hounds with Lynn and Dave. Chris comes along. Christine is babysitting or something equally obnoxious for a Friday. Keith and Helen, Carol (with her hair up). No Phyllis Whitethighs she has galloping pneumonia or something. John and Naomi in all their splendour. Helen (or Southern Comfort Sally), and that's about it. The Happy Family in the Hare and all is well. Some move on to the Malt Shovel in Menston, but the life and soul remain faithful to the Pub of Pubs.
To Wikis where Christine Dibb and I dance ourselves into a semi-state of unconsciousness. At 1.30 whilst we are still dancing the others creep home leaving us to our own devices. We walk home together at 2. a bit misty, but no cold which was a God send.

-==-

Friday February 14, 1975

St Valentine's Day. Farcical day, or perhaps I should say farcical evening.

Didn't get any Valentine's cards. John got two. Lynn had a massive thing from Dave, and so did Sue from Peter. My magnetic charm must be fading. Am I losing my sex appeal at 19 and a half?

Went to the Wellesley with Maura at lunchtime. She obviously fancies Dave still, and I suppose a reunion will take place shortly. The fool sends her telegrams,roses, and boxes of chocolates, &c.

Chris collected us at nearly 8pm and a vast multitude collected in the Hare. Gillian thingy or whatever she calls herself flung herself at me in the Hare and stuck to me all night, drinking about a quids work of vodka & lime in the process. Thrown together in the darkness near the end of Peter's van she quite naturally sought to reduce my resistence. I was in something of a quandry at about 11. Everyone said they were going to Wikis, but I realised Maura and Marian would be there. Wouldn't like to be confronted with Marian and Gillian in the beer swilling haven of our local night spot. Back to Gillian's pad with Peter M and Carol S. Stay until after 1am.
John came home at about 5.30am and didn't have a key. Woke to find him on the top of a ladder tapping on my window. Laughed myself to sleep.

-==-

Wednesday February 12, 1975

Ash Wednesday. Back out to the Hare again tonight. This week is like September 1973 all over again - or seems like it. Going down to the pub every night is a habit I wouldn't mind taking up again.

 John, Naomi, self, Chris, Laura, Helen (Jane's sister), and Carol S. This Naomi is the sexiest little thing I've seen in years. Doesn't look like she's short of a few bob, either.

Back to Gillian or somebodys at the new end of Tranmere. I say somebody because I'm unsure whether that is her name or not. Have a coffee and stroke the persian cat, Samantha. Home with watery eyes and itchy nose at 12. These foolish allergies are a bloody rotten bore.

The Prime Minister announced his intention to increase the Civil List from today. The vile Labour MPs were astounded by this action, and a certain Hon Member for Mid Fife said it is the most outrageous pay-claim in 200 years. It's not as if the four hundred and odd thousand extra will go in the Queen's pocket, as it were. The extra cash is only going out in household expenses. Her Majesty will feel no better off at all. A lot of misguided sods down at Westminster need shaking up a little.

-==-

Sunday February 9, 1975

Quinquagesima. Up at a decent time. Can't quite remember the exact hour, but it was well before lunch. See in the Sunday Express that the Queen has sprained her shoulder while chopping wood, and received treatment for it at a London hair salon. I realise that the Royal Family are in a poor state at the moment, what with scrapping those plans for rebuilding Sandringham. She's seen in the same hat and coat on different occasions over a five or six year period, but never did I imagine that the day would dawn when Her Majesty would be compelled for financial reasons to do her own wood-chopping. Mum says that she thought Auntie Hilda was the only woman alive adept at chopping wood, but evidently all the top people do it now.

Out with John, Andy, Mr Mather and Chris, who is really miserable. Oh, musn't forget Carol S and Miss Dibb too. No CB. Move on to the Station in Yeadon after the Hare & Hounds. John and I go on to Harry Ramsden's for the things people normally go to Harry Ramsden's for, and after devouring them in the car we return home. Too hot to sleep and lay awake for hours thinking of all things under the Sun. Hell, I've missed out the most important thing.

At 11 o'clock tonight John's unnamed girlfriend (Naomi Downing)  paid him a visit! She sat in a drunken heap in the lounge & he promised to go out with her tomorrow - me being the chaperone of course.

-==-

Sunday January 26, 1975

Septuagesima. Feel really rotten all day. The top of my head feels like it's about to explode, spraying my brains from here to Mars. I really wish I hadn't devoured all that drink in such speedy circumstances. Dave Slater is to blame - he must have money to burn.

John and I walk into Guiseley to look at a clapped out, old VW which he thought he'd buy. The look of it makes him decide not to bother. Quite a little wreck it was. Home for lunch feeling a bit better, but my head is still fuzzy.

See in the Sunday Express that Mark Phillips won't accept a title. How do they know? I'm sure that Buckingham Palace haven't informed Mr Burnett that Capt Phillips will not receive a title, and realise that the article is purely the brain-child of a clapped out old dear with fond memories of Princess Margaret and Lord Snowdon. Times have changed since 1961.

Chris comes at 3.30 to look through some holiday brochures, but to my horror Lynn informs me that Dave took them with him when he went home last night. Chris isn't bothered and we sit watching an episode of 'The World At War' which seems to have been going on since Douglas-Home was in no.10. The programme that is, not the war. That ended in 1918.

John, Chris, Christine, Carol Smith, Lynn and Dave and self go to the cinema this evening. A clapped out old horror film - so boring. Back home to go through more brochures and Chris leaves with a list with which to do battle with tomorrow. Determined to go abroad no matter what the cost this year.

-==-

Friday January 24, 1975

All day at the YP. Not really eventful.

Minus Christine Mary Braithwaite and Christopher Holland Ratcliffe, who are either going to a party or something at Wakefield Theatre Club, or something equally nauseating. Spend most of the night with Christine Dibb, who is on her usual witty form. Misses White and Smith are also with us - the younger Miss Smith seems to be minus her lover and no doubt it's on the rocks - or at least we hope so.

John buggers off with Andy at 10.15 and leaves me alone with Laura, the two Christines and Carol. Leave the Hare with Laura at about 11 and she kicks Dibb and me out of the car at the bottom of the lane. I don't have a coat and nearly perish with the cold. Christine came in for coffee and we joined Lynn and Dave in front of the television. A bloody awful film dominates the screen so I retreat into my book 'Edward VII'.

Mummy and Daddy are home from a party at the Saxtons with tales of drunkenness and debauchery. The host, Geoff Saxton, diid his usual 'dead man lying on the floor' routine, and threw up later all over the kitchen, which can't have been a particularly pleasant sight.

-==-

Wednesday January 1, 1975

Michael Rhodes, 19 years, 8 months and 26 days. Here I am again, everyone. No doubt you're all sick of me, but you'll have a long wait if you think I'm going to pack it in just for your sakes.

The party was a tremendous success. At about 8.30pm last night John, Christine B, Chris and self went to the Hare where we were joined by the mob. Lynn and David, and even Martyn and Alison attended. In keeping with tradition we all went to the Commercial to see the New Year safely in. Mum and Dad are entertaining Ernest* & Edith Blackwell** in the crowded ale house at Esholt, and we draw the conclusion that far more people are out spending money on ale than at the same time last year.

Back to Pine Tops at 12.15 after hearing from Denny that Adrian is 'too poorly' to come. This is the first New Year in three years that Miss Akroyd hasn't attended. Uncle Harry came at about 2am and was stoned as usual. He says he now wants to join the Ulster police. Uncle H in Northern Ireland! That's all they need!

I stood on CB's toe whilst dancing and she lost the nail. Blood pouring everywhere. Not a pretty sight I might add. I felt unusually knackered all night, and Dave Lawson kept saying I looked 'lethargic', which seemed to give him a good deal of pleasure. A spot of bother came when Carol and Christine W attempted both to bed down in my precious sleeping place. David B (yes, I've reverted to the old style) had to step in and take them home at 6am. I went to bed shortly after.

Up at 1pm and sit in front of the TV for eleven hours. Had a good, peaceful time though. Lynn and Dave are going to Scarborough tomorrow. Lucky Devils!


*Ernest Blackwell (born May 16, 1907)
** Edith Hannah Blackwell (born Sept 11, 1909)

-==-

Monday December 30, 1974

A remarkable story was splashed across the pages of yesterday's Sunday People about the marital goings on of the Duke of Argyll's brother, Lord Colin Campbell. Evidently, Lady Colin, the duke's sister-in-law, was a "young man" until her 19th year, when he/she underwent a sex-change operation. Whatever next?

Prepare myself for a quiet Monday evening, which is to be quite different tonight. Andy rings us at about 8. He collects John and I and we go to the Hare. Have several drinks at the local before moving on to the Station on Henshaw Lane. Linda and Carol are having a quiet drink inside, and are surprised to see us. I'm on lager again all night, and drink too much. Not too much as far as intoxication is concerned, but too much in a pig-like style, verging on gluttony. Have fish and chips and then come home to see 'The 39 Steps' - the ancient film. Ah well, 1974 is almost over and done with. I do so dislike having to move into a new year.

-==-

Thursday December 26, 1974

Boxing Day. Holiday in England, Ireland & Wales. Christine finished with Philip at Dave's Christmas party. I am bereft of all comment on the situation. My capacity to deal with the English language is shown to be completely useless when I give it news of such a sizeable calamity as this to cope with. She handed the (engagement) ring back and he went off heart-broken into the wind and rain of the night.

The party itself was super. Dave playing the perfect host as usual, and all went well. Everyone came, and I received my first opportunity to form an opinion of Adrian, espoused of Miss Akroyd.

MM and Marita were sat heaped in a corner all evening - not at all the enthusiastic couple. I became more than just merry. Exactly, I was pissed up beyond the level of safety. Danced with Christine for much of the time. She kept saying how relieved she was to have ended it all with Philip. As though a great cloud had been raised from above her. Carol Smith's little scouse of a boyfriend kept threatening to kill the other male party goers when they attemmpted to dance with his darling. God! Just who does he think SHE is?

Sandy and I made beans on toast at about 4am. John managed to coat himself with more than a liberal layering of baked beans, which set concrete hard by 10am.

-==-

Sunday December 15, 1974

Out of bed just before 12. Mum starts he Christmas cleaning campaign in preparation for the Christmas tree which Dave B is going to bring round later in the day. (My calling Dave Baker 'Dave B' and Dave Lawson 'Dave L' must cease. In future Dave L will be David and Dave B will be Dave).

Mum and Dad are most perturbed about the mysterious disappearance of Uncle Harry, who has left no trace.

 
Have chicken for lunch and listen to Jimmy Savile on the radio. Evidently, the lads who accompany John on his drinking and whoreing escapades think he's so hilarious being infatuated by the music of George Macrae. All we hear about at home and in the pub is wild, passionate statements about how good Barry White & George Macrae are.

The local paper announces that Shelley and Clive were married last week in Menston. I was quite choked to see my old friend staring up at me from the newspaper, clad in her white bridal outfit. Mum says she's now crossed Shelley's phone number from the pad because she doesn't want me associating with married women. Barbara was married in August, and I think this latest marital alliance closes a chapter of my life. These women will never be forgotten.

News: Linda finished with Andy this weekend. Most people are stunned. To the Hare and Hounds with Chris, Carol and Andy. Then to the Station in Yeadon, and finally the Yorkshire Rose. Home at 11.30 where we see the Christmas tree erected in all its glory.

-==-

Saturday December 14, 1974

Death of Prince Albert, 1861. George VI born 1895. Uncle Tony's birthday. 39th I think. Mum, Dad, Auntie Eleanor and Uncle Jack plus Uncle Harry trot off to Bradford in order to pursue birthday celebrations with the Gadsby clan. They come home in the early hours minus Uncle H - who disappeared in Bradford. Naturally, they are all perturbed about the whereabouts of his person, but one thing's for sure, we have his car parked on our drive awaiting the return of its master.

I was at the YP until 12 when I met John in WH Smiths. We spend three hours on a so-called shopping for Christmas presents spree but after this substantial time lapse I haven't laid hands on one present, and have instead a new pair of shoes and a woolly cardigan. Home on a crowded 55 bus. We sit around waiting for food - in my case, the first meal of the day! Eat fish and chips twice.

To the Hare and Hounds in Kevin Teale's van after arranging to meet Dave Lawson who rang at 8.30. After depositing me at the Hare John and pals go off to Ilkley again and say that they'll see me at the Cow & Calf later. I sit quite alone with a lager until 8.30. Ring Denny who says Adrian didn't turn up tonight after they'd arranged a reconciliation.

Dave and Sandra come in at 8.30, followed by Andy and the Smiths. We all go to the Black Horse - a detestible joint but they all like it - and move on to the Cow & Calf without Dave who didn't fancy it. Wish I hadn't gone. Rubbish it really was. Carol Smith and one of the Denby boys started having a relationship. Peter brings me home after 1am and I have a laugh with Lynn and Dave before going to bed.

-==-

Wednesday December 4, 1974

Back to work. Not a very cheerful day. Kathleen says I can leave pictures for good after the weekend and move in with Sarah on cuttings -very cosy I should think.

Celebrate Carol Smith's birthday at the Hare & Hounds. Denny comes too which is a lovely little surprise. Carol gets quite intoxicated because everyone bought her drinks until closing time. I wear my old cheese-cloth shirt which Sarah has dyed a nice brown colour for me, and a blue and white 'Gatsby' style jacket. Denny and I sit listlessly by the juke box and have little do with the others. She tells me mouth-watering tales about______and we talk about a possible weekend orgy in a London hotel, &c.

Home with Chris at 11 where we have a birthday kissing session outside in the cold, wintry night air. Christine White had her share of 'snogs' (a quaint word) too. Mum is sitting in bed going on and on about the patchouli oil. Will it ever end.

-==-

Sunday November 24, 1974

Last after Trinity. Albert Wilson born 1895. Sleep until nearly 1 o'clock. A rotten day. Mum and Dad aren't on the best of terms and they're arguing all the time over dinner. The bloody wind doesn't help with tempers either - nothing worse than wind for fraying the patience of decent human beings.

See the beginning of the Royal Variety Performance. The arrival of the Queen Mother was one of the most heart-rending spectacles I've seen in a long time. The regal bearing that HM commands should go down as one of the wonders of the world. Even Chris remarked how fantastic she was.

Chris and Carol collect John and I at 8.30 and we go to the Dyneley Arms collecting Denny on the way. It's the first time I've visited the place since its £30,000 facelift, and although the structural alterations are perfect, the atmosphere within is still non-existent. Denny looks nice - sexy. Move on to the Lawnswood Arms where Louise Harris works. Don't like the place at all, and don't see Louise either. Back to Arthington in pouring rain where we devour fish and chips in Denny's lounge. We're going to the Benton Xmas dance together on Dec 19.

-==-