Saturday February 25, 1978

Sun rises 6:55 Sun sets 17:33

A very historic Saturday. I was out of bed at a late hour and after a slight breakfast of ham and eggs (Ahem!) I thrust myself down to 69, Silverdale Drive. A thinning Maria and unbelievably robust nephew made me frightfully welcome, so much so that I almost felt that Yuletide was once again upon us. At 3, or maybe 3:30 Carole and Fogarty came with a skateboard. (Yes, the poor boy is obviously retarded). I find the lad annoying and acutely immature and when they left at 4 I offered up a sigh of relief. Carole was nice though, and told me she is going back into the LGI on Monday for eight days. I sympathised but didn't say much. Fogarty's revolting personality deadened the occasion. In fact, I just sat and mused.

When they had gone Maria, JPH and I (with me in control of the perambulator) wheeled into Guiseley and bought pounds of smelly wet fish which baby looked after in his vehicle. It began to rain on a Noah's Ark scale and by good fortune we collided with Daddy, who put us in his car and brought us to Pine Tops.

The boy (JPH) is a comedian. He's still calling me Mick. He finds Michael impossible. They left at 7:00 and I played around (this is the historic bit) with a pair of jeans converting them into shorts for the holiday in July! a) No, I'm not having a brainstorm, b) yes, I did stay in on a Saturday night, and c) Goodnight.

-=-

Tuesday February 21, 1978

Christine phoned to see if I fancied going out tonight. How could I refuse? She told me that Philip H is seeing another girl behind her back, which will be the death knell to this affair. Unlucky in love is something of an understatement where Christine is concerned.

A cold, icy, deadly evening. I went down the lane to the Fox at 8:30, where she's already at the bar with a half of cider. These are always jolly occasions and this one was no exception. Carole came in with Fogarty! They may no longer be betrothed but they look and act much the same as they have always done to me. Christine laughed a good deal. We both affirmed our dislike of Mr Fogarty. The man's a moron.

The Fox and Hounds resembled a funeral parlour and we seemed to be the only beggars enjoying ourselves. Mind you, it is a Tuesday and a damp one at that. From the F(ox) we walked to the Hare. CB didn't like me putting my arms around her and we had an embarrassing tussle in the mist. By the time we got to the Hare we were yards apart.

In the tap room (where the only sign of life existed) we met  Rick Marshall, Willie and his senile girlfriend. R says he's going straight now after last months assault case. Basically he's a decent lad but he's transformed into a snarling monster with alcohol. We talked about Bob Marley, sex and booze. Christine poured half a pint of cider over Willie during a heated part of the discussion.

Judith, looking like a 'Moll' from a Wild West saloon, informed me of her new status at the pub. She's going off to Benidorm at the weekend with the _______little manager. Personally I think _________.

Outside Christine and I were faced with the horror of a hitch-hike home. It was absolutely freezing and so we nipped into the park at White Cross and fooled around on the swings. We were almost at Yeadon before we got a lift, but how thankful we were. I phoned Mum from Christine's and proceeded to stay the night. I sat, wrapped in a sleeping bag, reading about the Universe and planets in relation to their distance from the Sun, until 1:30am.

-=-

Monday February 20, 1978

Phone calls from Carole and Jacq. I'll deal with them in alphabetical order. Carole says she's not feeling too well and has headaches. She is 'dis-engaged' from Peter Fogarty ~ and it's over once and for all. She is going back to hospital. God Bless her.

Jacq phoned. She's pleased I'm able to go to Gina's wedding. I tell her a letter is in the post. She has managed to get an application form for Ladbroke's. She will be staying at a Youth Hostel in Hanover Square, Leeds, until she can lay claim to a flat. We joked about coming to live in the centre of Leeds when the Ripper is running free, but she says things can't be any worse than in London.

Walter Sickert.

On Feb 7 I had a chat with Speed about the original Jack the Ripper and today Mum says that a programme on the BBC has said very much the same: i.e that the Duke of Clarence married a prostitute and had a daughter, who married (Walter) Sickert, the painter, and that the 'ladies' who knew of this liaison and child were 'done away with' by the 'bloody, hand-shaking Freemasons'. I really must have a word with Speed tomorrow and see what he actually knows. According to Mum Queen Victoria's physician had the poor 'Duchess of Clarence' shut away for life, and that he too was in on the murders. This of course implicates the dear, old Queen-Empress.

Nothing much else. It's diabolically cold. The south of England is having an Ice Age and we're not much better off up here. Older people walk around saying 'Oh, it's just like 1947' and younger ones say 'Oh, it's just like 1963'. All quite boring. Sheep are being buried alive. Edith's son, Kenneth, is buried in the drifts at Newton Abbot.

See TV again. 'Jeremiah Johnson' starring Robert Redford, &c. Dame Marie Rambert is 90 today.

-=-

Wednesday February 15, 1978

Snow is still hanging about but it's going foul with effluence ~ call it what you will. Most of the pollution consists of animal excreta unfortunately. However, to escape talk of dog shit let me say Carole phoned this morning. She says she may be going back into hospital because she's plagued by headaches. But she sounded fabulous. The poor thing asked why I hadn't sent her a Valentine's card and my reply was that I didn't want to cause more chaos with her relationship with Fogarty. Sending such a token would only provoke an attack from the fiendish gentleman concerned. I told her I'd reply to her letter.

Lynn & Sue.

Christine's chat with her at Naomi's (birthday party) and Lynn telling her on Feb 4, at George and Jane's, that I "think the world of her" may have have brought on this sudden rush of affection. Never will I forget the horror and torment that I suffered when I thought she was dying.

At home I hear of a bizarre occurrence regarding the hideous ________ which Lynn destroyed last summer.

I wrote to David L (he's home on Friday ~ it's half term already) and to Christine. My letter to Christine was from my solicitors, Dogchaser, Boobie & Crapper. (Oh, I mentioned this yesterday. Am I perhaps going slightly senile?)

Dad went out at midnight to surround the house of a sleeping escaped prisoner. I was in bed with the Scarlet Pimpernel for 11:30 and slipped away into the Land of Nod before his return.

-=-

Tuesday February 14, 1978

Moon's first quarter 22:11   St Valentine

Seasons Greetings

When All the World is young, lad
And all the trees are green,
with every goose a swan, lad
And every lass a Queen,
They hey for boot and horse, lad
Around the world way,
Young blood must have it's course, lad
and every dog his day.

This poem was inserted in my diary 5 years ago this day. Is it Kingsley? I like it. It could be by Karl Marx for all I know.

I did extremely well this Valentine's Day. I have checked previous years: 1977 ~ none; 1976 ~ 2; 1975 ~ none; 1974 ~ not recorded; 1973 ~ one from June Bottomley. How did I do in 1978? Well, 2 cards, and one passionate letter arrived in today's post. One card is postmarked Pulborough, West Sussex (no doubt from Jacq) and the other card is from Carole and postmarked Leeds. The letter is from Carole too.

It reads:


                                           Monday 13th Feb, 1978
                                           To Michael ~ How do you say goodbye?
                                           Don't Tell me not to cry.
                                          The warmth of your smile,
                                           The passion of your kiss,
                                           Is with me all the while,
                                           Is it to end like this?
                                           Please don't go my love
                                           You said you'd always stay,
                                           You gave me the greatest love of my life,
                                           Oh how can you walk away?
                                           I'd give my life to see you again
                                           That love in your eyes for me
                                           Love from Carole
                                                   xxxx
                                                    xxx
                                                     xx

Bloody Hell, she makes Lord Byron sound like Stan Ogden in one swoop of the pen. Hell, I didn't even send her a card. I shall have to get writing, and quickly. Do I get more points due to the fact that she's engaged to another?

I am pleased with today. I've just heard a piece of music called 'Romance' by Charles Widor which I find haunting and beautiful. I shall have to buy it and get it out of my system.

Wrote to David L and Christine.My letter to CB was one of complaint at not receiving a Valentine's card. Jacq and Carole will be dealt with ~ correspondence wise ~ tomorrow.

-=-

Monday February 13, 1978

A nasty, disappointing day. At the YP I find that Eileen is the only occupant of the Library ~ so that's an end to the Rawtenstall venture. Sarah is off with a stomach upset and Mrs ______ has 'the flu', or so we are informed by her horribly snobby mother. If this is the case the next time I have a cold I'm going to phone in and tell them I'm having an abortion.

I phoned Chris and told him I couldn't make it and he was good about it. He may not even go himself because of the weather.

At lunchtime I purchased three Valentine's cards and despatched them to Christine, Jacqui, and WPC Carolle Jones. I thought of sending one to Carole but decided against it. Fogarty would only make her life more of a Hell than it already is. It's a great pity that we cannot be friendly and nice to each other.

To other things: Mrs Thatcher's been making an impact at Harrogate where a Young Conservative thing is going on. She has an eleven per cent lead over the government according to an opinion poll (Ha Ha) but it seems that Callabum is determined to hang on until the Spring of 1979.

Peter Townsend was interviewed on TV tonight where he discussed Princess Margaret for the first time. He seems remarkable for a 63 year-old. Would things, one wonders, have worked out less sordid for the Princess had she married the Group Captain in 1955? Her love life since has definitely been one ghastly misfortune after another. Indeed, in a month's time the Snowdons will have been separated for 2 years and entitled to divorce. Snowdon wants to marry Mrs Lucy Lindsay-Hogg, reputedly his mistress. We shall have to wait and see.

To bed with Baroness Orczy at 12. Fell asleep with the bedroom light burning brightly.

-=-

Monday January 30, 1978

Jacqui phoned to make certain I am visiting her next weekend. Of course I am. I rang Dave G to let him know that the holiday is booked and he gave a sigh of relief. It was all worrying. No doubt the Rt Hon Merlyn Rees, MP, worries in this fashion every morning. One day it's the fire brigade, and the next day it's the police.

I phoned CB. She and Philip H patched things up on Sunday. God, she was pissed!

Naomi.

Coming home from town I bumped into Naomi (not exactly 'bumped' because she was at the steering wheel of a vehicle whilst I was on foot). She told me that Carole was in tears on Saturday afternoon and that they both (she and Fogarty) telephoned apologising for their silly behaviour. I hadn't been aware of all this. Naomi saw Carole this afternoon, who said that Peter F is an ass. My apologies to Carole are now very necessary. I ruined her afternoon, but at the same time I'm resentful of Fogarty's attitude. He should not be allowed to get away with it.

Laughed with Naomi about the marvellous food and the visit to the Wharfedale Gate. She's had everyone moaning about the choice of pub, and demanding explanations as to why we had to endure Saturday night therein. Yes, that was my fault.

Tonight. Read the Lord Peter Wimsey book and actually finished it. Can't say I'm all that impressed by Miss Sayers. I have read quite a few of her books and each one has left me cold. Rather boring, long-winded and lacking in that 'hold' which novels of this type should inflict. Dame Agatha (Christie) does it to well.

-=-

Saturday January 28, 1978

Sun rises 07:45 Suns sets 16:42

Up at 11. Naomi's 21st birthday party. I went to 10, Southway at noon. Susan was laughing as I headed down Hawksworth Lane with my coat pulled over my head reminiscent of a Saudi Arabian.

with WPC Carolle Jones.

Tremendous party. In answer to the question "Do Unitarian ministers get pissed at lunchtime?" it would only be fair to answer: "No, they do not. But they help everyone else become horribly so". The Rev. and Mrs Downing are very friendly, but old. His Reverence told me, quite confidentially, over the bottles in the kitchen, that he had celebrated his 39th birthday on his honeymoon.

Everyone you can possibly think of turned up. CB, Philip H, Carole, Fogarty, and Carolle Jones, of whom I am terribly fond. However, the vast quantity of booze proved hazardous for public relations. CB was pissed and in tears when her young man cleared off with fat Lynne from the Oval, and Fogarty took Carole home at about 3 after he discovered us fraternising in the 'bar'. She only had her arm through mine, nothing sexual. I felt awful about this because it ruined her afternoon. She told me she will write next week.

Naomi is divinely attractive, as is the nosh. Alas, garlic cropped up in most items on the menu. Richard Wellock had to smuggle CB home at 6 or perhaps 7, and Carolle J and I were left romantically linked. She's joining the police force a week on Monday.

Events from now become dreadfully hazy. Burley in Wharfedale, Flying Pizza, lager, cousin Dorothy, pool tables, Carolle in my old raincoat, &c. Yes, all this splashing around in my lager logged brain. I recoil in horror at the thought of visiting my fierce cousin Dorothy. C and I were horribly pissed, but as far as I can remember Dorothy was diplomatically silent on this. Carolle in my filthy, old raincoat looked spectacular. The Wharfedale Gate was the last pub we visited I'm sure. We were later refused entry at Il Trovatore before finding success at the Elma. Danced with Carolle all night and her last words to me were: "This time we must definitely keep in touch, Michael", said with a certain knowing look.

Home into bed with a gruesome headache at 1:45am.

-=-

Wednesday December 21, 1977

CB: voluptuous as usual.

_.The week is dragging by nastily, as it always does leading up to Yuletide. What more can I say really? Not a lot. To tea at John and Maria's and was joined by CB.  Carole and Fogarty came later and we drank coffee and gossipped. It was my first visit to No 69 since June.  CB is voluptuous, as usual, and is in love again. She insists I'll see her over the Christmas period but I know Christmas and I know CB even better and when she has a man the rest of us don't stand a chance. But we do laugh all the same. ______. JPH is incredible. He's a pearl.

-=-

Friday December 9, 1977

_.Sunny day. I ventured out of doors for the first time in over a week. Went to Leeds at 12 to collect my meagre £28. Disgusting for 1977, isn't it? Jim Callaghan should be flogged. Spent £30 in just over an hour. Christmas presents are the main drain on my finances. Bought John and Maria a picture; Lynn and Dave a set of kitchen weighing scales (Oh my Lord) amongst other things. Saw Marilyn, but otherwise my expedition passed by uneventfully. I also bought three records.

Home at 3. Ernest came to tea and Mum and I entertained him to drinks. He told me several hilarious lewd tales of his experiences in Crete during the war. Stories of lust and prostitution, &c. We both became quite pissed. Dear Mama took no part in this sordid orgy. At 5 she nipped out to see Dr Mellor (just a check up).

The Queen's

I phoned the LGI at tea time and they said Carole had just left. Thank God for that. However, is it just a Christmas break? The New Year will reveal all no doubt. It was wonderful to hear her. She was so overjoyed at getting out. Where do we go from here?

Phoned Peter Mather. We went to the Fox at 8:00pm. Joined by Tony and Martyn at 9:30. ______. From the Fox we went to the Queen's on Apperley Lane. Quite dead, as far as I can recall, and then onto Oakwood. I became abominably intoxicated and remember very little. I do recall coming out in the rain at 2:00am and devouring an Indian curry.

-=-

Wednesday December 7, 1977

Snow upon snow. A thick, white layer everywhere.

Carole phoned me at 5:00pm to thank me for the letter. She says she's probably coming home on Friday. I'm elated. ____________. My letter must have been sentimental. It's made her realise just what I'm thinking. I put Mum on and they chatted for ages.______________. Today I wrote to Kathryn (Young) and Christine. Dad's typewriter in the house prompted this industriousness.

It's becoming very 'Christmasy' you know. Mum is playing 'The Floral Dance' by the Brighouse and Rastrick Brass Band on the record player and the combination of this, the weather, and general cheer will undoubtedly be confusing Santa into coming early.

I have laid hands on a pair of cord trousers from Mum's catalogue. Black ones - very nice too.

-=-

Tuesday December 6, 1977

_.A day at home. Feeling much, much better. Read 'The Millionairess' by G.B.S. Finished it.

Carole will have received my letter today. I hope she likes it. She has been complaining that I never write.

Dad brought his typewriter home from the office and so I wrote to Jacqui. I enjoy typing.

We turned off the television fairly early. Mama is knitting me a large, chunky pullover. _________.

-=-

Monday December 5, 1977

_.Much better today. Out of bed by 10:30 and spent the day reading 'The Millionairess' by G.B.S. I'm in stitches at much of the dialogue. It's far better than 'The Apple Cart'.

Had kippers at lunch and pork this evening.

Harold Pinter.

Peter N hobbled up to see us. Lynn spent the evening with David at Pool in Wharfedale.

The TV was crap except for Barry Humphries, but he was only on for 30 minutes or so. At 9 o'clock we switched off. I walked around the house, hands in pockets, complaining I had nothing to do. It was reminiscent of my childhood. I have decided to write a play. I'm going to be a second Mr Shaw or Harold Pinter.

Jacqui phoned. She can't get any specs like Groucho Marx, or at least she can't from Derek Sate. I tackled Ernest tonight and he said he might have a pair somewhere. Back to Jacqui: she was in high spirits and sympathetic about the Bubonic plague (my illness). I also wrote to Carole and told her I'm at home. _____.

-==

Friday December 2, 1977

Maria has told Mum that Mrs Phillips told her on Tuesday that Carole's got a 'dark patch' somewhere. Carole is, of course, unaware of this. Shit.

Basil Rathbone.

I'm ill. Revoltingly ill. Saw Basil Rathbone in a 1939 Sherlock Holmes film and then went to bed where I got no sleep until the crack of dawn. I was sweating like Hell all night. Ghastly it was. And the dreams I kept having went on and on for what seemed like hours.








-=-

Thursday December 1, 1977

Feel revoltingly weak, dizzy and painful about the head, back, arms, legs. At work I did very little, and after collecting my wage, including a tax rebate of £20 by courtesy of Mr Healey, I left for home.

I took something hot to bed and read 'The Count of Monte Cristo', which I almost finished. Yes, nearly.  You may be needing tranquilisers I know, but there's no point trying to deceive you is there?

with JPH.

Maria, John and JPH came to see us this afternoon. Mum brought the baby up to my room and he crawled about on the floor. He liked my clock and kept saying "tick tock", "shoe", "flower", and made various horse impressions.

Saw 'Top of the Pops' tonight and eventually passed into a coma. For God's Sake I hope nobody creeps into my room during the night and switches off my life support machine.

Carole's latest treatment was a success and she may be out of hospital by Christmas. I was supposed to see her today but when she telephoned me with the news I told her I was ill. Bless her.

-=-

Tuesday November 29, 1977

Sarah is still ill. I realised something was afoot last week. I put her listlessness and complete lack of interest down to the fact that she had tired of my company. Maybe a bit of both.

Simon Regan.

Derek Naylor lent me Simon Regan's new book 'Margaret: A Love Story'. Good of him. The book however is not up to much and is riddled with errors throughout. One cannot help thinking that if he can make so many errors with the known facts how far can we trust him with the juicy, gossipy bits he says are authentic? Not far if you ask me.

Went to see Carole at 2:30. Her face is still swollen slightly. She is entertaining her Mum and 'Auntie' Anne, who are kept busy making Christmas decorations. She walked me to the stairs at the end of the ward at the close of my visit. I hadn't realised just how frail she actually is. I had to support her all the way, and as we walked, arm in arm, down the long, shiny floored corridor I remarked how much it was like getting married.

Maria and baby JPH came at 3:10pm. ________.The baby was rosy cheeked and had a marvellous set of teeth. He has all the attributes of a future Conservative prime minister. I told Carole I'd return on Thursday.

Tomorrow she is undergoing yet another 'milogramme' or whatever. She's got the bravest little character on earth ______.

-=-

Monday November 28, 1977

Eileen is still in hospital. Sarah is off sick. It's Kathleen's day off, and so only Carol J and I in the office. Not such a hectic day though and we refuse to panic and let the bastards get on top of us.

My unhealthy Barclaycard statement.

Jack Heath, who died on Tuesday, was cremated today. Most people went from the office just to get off work. ______.

Carole PHONED ME  this morning in marvellous spirits. It was wonderful to hear her sweet voice on the blower. I promise to call in and see her at 2:30. She looked like her mother today. Her face was round, which she put down to the steroids that they are pumping into her each day. She is very much back to normal though and because of this her mother was half as attentive. In fact the old girl disappeared onto another ward with a mug of cocoa to visit a less fortunate patient. I asked Carole where she plans on taking me when she gets out. It triggered off the usual story about why our relationship fell down in July. She seems to think it was all my fault and we had a whispered quarrel, not wishing to have a full argument whilst she's laid up hospitalised. My God she must be improving if she can oppose everything I say! Great, isn't it? I didn't mention __________whom I'm sure is the 'nigger in the wood pile' regarding Carole and I.

I left at 3:15 say I will see her tomorrow. She doesn't allow me to give her a parting kiss on the lips because she doesn't want me going back to the YP smothered in lipstick.

Edith's aunt has died in Luton and Mum and Dad are taking the Blackwells down tomorrow for a couple of days to sort out the estate. The old dear was 87 and died suddenly the other night in her sleep. Not a nice way to go. I'd like just a tiny, little warning, I think. No long, painful illness but a gentle reminder that my time is up.

Watched a Western on the BBC and played Patience. The family sat startled as I shuffled a deck of cards.

-=-

Friday November 25, 1977

Mr Peter Nason broke his leg this morning. This horrific news was conveyed to me at tea time by a desolate Mama. Susan is at the hospital consoling the ashen faced young man. He will be out of action until the New Year undoubtedly.  Bang goes his Christmas cheer at Oakwood Hall or any other discotheque for that matter. The poor boy has endless trouble with his legs, feet, toes, &c. It would perhaps prove far better if he were to have the lot off.

QEII: Carole's nail varnish would paint it 3 times over...

Talking of invalids and the like, I think it's about time I paid another visit to Carole. It's eight days since I last laid eyes on the fair maid. I cannot understand the change of attitude of her mother, the Dowager Lady Phillips. It was a known fact 18 months ago that her Ladyship hated the sight of me, and yet over the past weeks she's been positively angelic. However, I cannot help quivering when I view the number of presents she 'bought' Carole. The bottles of nail varnish could paint the Q.E.2. three times over. I cannot help thinking that the dear Mrs P isn't paying for it all. __________. Kleptomaniacs seldom recover, do they? Am I being frightfully cruel? Should  I perhaps give the old girl the benefit of the doubt? Oh, go on then.

Saw TV tonight until 12 and then retired to bed with my book. I received a lecture from Mummy this evening on my financial situation again. Things always become a little heated when we discuss my budget and the scenes at Westminster on the days following the Queen's Speech cannot be any worse.

-=-

Friday November 18, 1977

Margaret Phillips phoned me this morning to say Carole had yet another milogram (if that's how it's spelt)  yesterday evening and that they have discovered something in the pit of her neck which means she'll be having more treatment next week. However, her main reason for phoning was to let me know that Mr Phillips plans to be off work all week next week so enabling both of them to be be in attendance at the hospital on afternoons, and therefor my presence at the hospital will not be required. I wouldn't wish to meet John Phillips anyway. Poor kid Carole. It is of course her 20th birthday on Sunday. I posted her a birthday card this afternoon.

Although I'm just about broke I decided to go out tonight and not to leave the homestead tomorrow. Chris collected me at 9 and we went to the Fox where we were joined by Sue and Pete and Pete M. Denise was there, being entertained by Dave Rogers, and her sister Lorraine and brother-in-law, Mick. Tony and Martyn have gone to Batley Variety Club. To be honest I don't like these variety places. In fact I'd prefer to be held hostage by Baader-Meinhof terrorists for three months than be subject to the horrors of a pissed, aged and declining 'star'. You know the sort I mean, don't you? Des O'Connor, Johnny Hackett and such like.

Oakwood Hall.

From the Fox we went to the Hare at Heaton where Wendy calls everyone 'Kenneth' - this especially suits Peter Mather. Pete met Sue (of Smith's fame), and took me to Oakwood Hall. Any normal persons would feel like a tulip, or a gooseberry, or whatever people who get in the way of young lovers are termed. I didn't feel remotely like a rhododendron. I became quite pissed up. Most of my adventures at this very exclusive club are vague and hazy, and no dialogue of the event remains in my memory at all. Pete M and his Sue came back at 2:30 for coffee and I fell asleep on the rug at 4. Waking to find them gone at 8am.

-=-

Thursday November 17, 1977

It's one o'clock on Friday morning so don't expect a John Evelyn-type of effort. I took a half day because Kathleen was getting on my nerves __________.

To pass the time whilst waiting for the start of hospital visiting time I went to look at the Stanley Spencer paintings in the Art Gallery and then, unimpressed and dejected, I went next door to study 'Burke's Presidential Families of the United States'. I laughed out loud, much to the horror of a sober gathering of students, on reading that Richard Nixon is descended from Edward III. (Aren't we all?)

Went to see Carole who wasn't quite as cheerful and looked depressed. She was wearing her engagement ring and so I presume that she and Fogarty have patched things up on Ward 26. Either that or he's given her the ring back because he thinks she's going to die. I gave her a Paddington Bear and left at 3.45. She likes me to visit. Her mum is sweet too.

Royal Albert teapot: £8.95.

Passing Schofield's (a shop) on the Headrow I spied a Royal Albert Old Country Roses teapot and forked out the £8.95 for it and carried it around town with it under my arm for a couple of hours. Got home at 5. Did nothing.

Drank a bottle of vino with Lynn and watched the Miss World competition. The title was won by Miss Bessie Braddock MP. Watched 'Rock Follies' which took me up to 12:30 when I plunged into the bath.

It's now 1:08am (Blimey, it's taken me 8 minutes to fill in this page).

-=-