Friday January 2, 1976

Snow still covering most of the area. I can't help thinking that this Bing Crosby type weather is two weeks too late. Crispy snow is all very well on Christmas Eve, but I can't agree with it coming and hanging around at the beginning of January. Most unpleasant and awkward.

Mum is 41 today and Dad is 42. They don't look a day over 35 and I'm proud to be the owner of such a handsome pair of parents. We all gave them cards. I didn't give them a present because I bought them whisky on New Years Eve. Carole came up at 9pm with a present for them. Lovely and thoughtful of her.

At 9.30 Dad takes us to the Hare where all the others are assembled with the exception of Dave L. We drink gin and orange, and Peter N even had his own bottle of gin with him. At 10.30 Raymond took Carole and I to Harry Ramsden's, where we had fish and chips wrapped and delivered to Pine Tops by Dave B while the two of us went by bus.

We all sat about laughing and joking about the New Years Eve party and the saga of the size of our Christmas tree in comparison with the Macdonald's tree. Dave took Carole home at about 1.30.

Carole is going to town tomorrow and doesn't particularly want me to go with her. She seems hurt when I refuse to beg to go with her. I fancy a lazy day in bed anyway and the thought of trailing around town is OUT.

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Sunday December 28, 1975

1st after Christmas. Work nights again. Quite uneventful really and I knicked off home at 10.30 quite unnoticed by the half-doped journalists who remain. Feel miserable sat on the bus and realise only too well that Christmas is over for yet another year.

See the end of a Humphrey Bogart film and retire to bed. A relief that I do not have to work again until next year ... Jan 2, to be exact.

Oh, I've forgotten to mention that I have been looking after the Walton's keys next door while they went off to see relatives in Colchester. OK, what's startling about that? Well, last night they were burgled, by burglars no less! Mum is on the verge of a breakdown from the trauma and excitement of it all.

Uncle Peter arrived just before lunch.


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Friday January 3, 1975

Home all day because I'm working 5 to 12 tonight. Get up at about 11.30 and remove the wilting Christmas tree from the lounge. The house looks bare without the familiar sparkle of tinsel and decorative objects, but the festive season is over now and we must all get back to reality.

Arrive at the YP at about 4.30 feeling awfully knackered. It isn't as if I've been up and about all day either. My throat feels unusually hot and I can sense a cold coming on. A busy night. Kathleen left all the filing for me - 2 EPs and 1 YP. A large bulk to battle through. Go across to the Central for a few lagers with Tony (Kelly). At 11.30 I stop work and have time to realise that I'm far from well. Keeping busy has kept my mind on the work. Get a taxi at 12 and home 20 minutes later. Sit about until 1 in a poorly state. Inform Lynn that I am not working tomorrow and go to bed. Kathleen won't be amused but I fail to see why I should put myself into an early grave for the sake of the Yorkshire Post.

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Tthursday January 2, 1975

Have a rotten nights sleep and get up feeling a bit bog-eyed at 20 to 8.
Busy day at the YP with the New Years Honours List. Charlie Chaplin, PG Wodehouse and Gary Sobers are new knights, and the revolting deaf MP Jack Ashley is a CH. Chaplin is 85, and Wodehouse is 93. Mr Wodehouse may be a genius of the pen, but his politics aren't really what they should be. He made certain hideous broadcasts from Berlin in 1941 which upset everyone a good deal. As for Sir Charlie Chaplin, I'm not a fan of his at all. I do smile occasionally at his silent movies, but that hardly makes him 'knight worthy'.

Mum is 40 today, but like Jack Benny she says she's not going to get any older than 39. She does right too. Dad is 41 today. We bought Mum a series of black underwear, and Dad another new shirt. John and I have tea alone whilst Mum and Dad discuss buying a new car with one of Daddy's PC friends. Lynn and Dave are in Scarborough for the day. Lynn may be in love for the first time. (I think it's the first time anyway, but I wouldn't know about that).

Sit looking at the bedraggled Christmas tree and make up my mind to remove it from the lounge tomorrow - a sad occasion indeed.

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Sunday December 29, 1974

1st after Christmas. Wake up in a lousy state at noon. Still fully clad in jeans and cardigan, but all in knots. Am still drunk at 12. After a bath with the window wide open and a large cooked breakfast I disappeared back to bed until 4.30. Came downstairs to be faced by a bowl of Mum's trifle which had gone off. Nearly decided to call it a day and return to bed, but chose to stay to entertain Dave and Lynn, who are discussing tonight's rave at the Gadsby mansion.

They all go at about 6 and I sit about listening to the radio. Once again the fateful December 29 is upon us. The fifth anniversary of the death of Uncle Albert. Not wishing to be too morbid I'd like to say a few words about him. At the age of 14 I had led a completely sheltered life of happiness and domestic bliss. For those 14 years death had been an unknown monster. Like other children, I never expected this ugly __to raise its sombre face in my direction. But, on December 29, 1969, my little world was shattered by the death Uncle Albert, my beloved relative and friend. This event marked a point of some significance. Nobody before or since has died leaving me so upset. In short, he's the only person I ever been close to and lost. That is why I keep this day in horror next to my heart. I realise that before my life is done, many such dates will be of horrid significance to me.

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Wednesday December 25, 1974

Christmas Day. Up at a decent time with no hangover, upset stomach or minor bruising in the area of the buttocks, like the situation I was in at last years festive peak. After the ritual handing over of millions of presents we all settle down in the lounge in preparation for lunch. It was better than the last one, and Mum really deserves a medal for all she's done today. Delicious.

David Baker, Esquire, calls after lunch to give Lynn her presents. We sit laughing for hours.
The Queen seemed rather abrupt in her usual Commonwealth broadcast, and we saw none of the usual family tit-bits like Prince Edward pushing a corgi off the back of a Land Rover, or Princess Margaret in cabaret at Braemar Womens' Institute annual prize giving. Still, we are grateful for the few words we did receive.
To Auntie Eleanor's at 7 with the family plus Mr Nason and Mr Baker. ________.Home at 2am. Dave looked like thunder from about 11.30 onwards. The poor boy doesn't understand the Wilson type of humour at all.

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Tuesday December 24, 1974

Christmas Eve. YP till 12 before the festivities begin. At 12 I go outside to meet John who is coming into Leeds for the booze-up in the Central Station pub. He comes up to the library and waits while we open our presents and knock back a glass of cinzano bianco.

The Central is packed out - unbelieveable. Sarah, John and I spend most of the time at the bar. Peter Lazenby and few of his 'Roundhead' Sealed Knot friends go almost hysterical when I tell them that Sarah is descended from Bridget, daughter of Oliver Cromwell, and General Henry Ireton. Praise upon praise was lavished upon her. However, they didn't go so far as to buy her a drink. Sarah, John and I left Leeds by bus at about 3 o'clock. The massive crowd in the Central prevented us from being rendered incapable with ales and spirits, but we weren't all that sober. Devour a few layers of chocolates while travelling home.

At home Mum is prepared for Christmas. Have tea - the first meal of the day for me, before going out on the town to the Hare at 8.30. We stay until 11.30 and nobody seems really enchanted with festive cheer. Come home with Lynn and Dave Baker and sit about merry-making until the early hours.

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Monday December 23, 1974

YP all day. Nearly Christmas once more. Doesn't seem ten minutes since the last one really.

Go with John, Mum and Dad to see cousin Dorothy at the White Horse in Burley-in-Wharfedale. She is not really like any of the Wilsons I know. My calculations show she's the daughter of my grandfather's elder brother, Edward Wilson. Mum says he was a typical local character whose vocabulary consisted of little other than swear words and uncouth language. 'The salt of the earth' as Dad would say. We have a few drinks at Burley before coming home for supper. On arriving home I call in on the Blackwells with a bottle of rum which Mum bought for them. They keep me for ages talking about the weather of yesteryear. Evidently, 1933 and 1947 were the worst Christmases they have known.

Pork sandwiches for supper with Lynn, Sue, Peter and Dave. See a cronic ghost story before coming to bed after 12.

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Wednesday December 18, 1974

Utterly shagged out all day. Never I have experienced such bloody tiredness in the whole of my long, laborious and important life. Tiredness, I have found, affects people in many different ways. I become a moronic structure, resembling nothing more than a over-stewed cabbage, or root vegetable. Sarah fades away to a sweet damsel of the sweetest nature. Carol pretends she's no different, but Kathleen's situation is unfortunate. Miss Rainford becomes quite nasty and quick tempered. This is a depressing phenomena when one is attempting to enjoy the few snatches of Christmas festivities one is privileged to have. You'll be aware from this that work was unkind to me today. Bloody glad to leave I was. Unpleasantness is hardly the word for it.

Sit in front of the TV all evening while John departs to bed at an early hour with something resembling more than a usual chill. Pneumonia for Christmas?

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Monday December 16, 1974

Reflections on the closure of the relationship of Mr Andrew Graham and Miss Linda Smith: Dave informed me of this fact while preparing the Christmas tree in the garage last night. I was dumbfounded to say the least, because I always expected them to settle down, after a society wedding at the local parish church of course. Andy is a bit cut up, but Miss Smith herself is cool and unmoved. Reasons? Apparently, Linda is overworked at college and can't do with Andy and her school kids at the same time.

Also, the papers hold another, more amusing story about the closure of a love affair. Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia seems to have changed her mind about Richard Burton. The Royal marriage of 1975 is off. It seems to me that Prince Paul has put his foot down. Another factor is that the princess is sick of Richard's drinking habits. 48 million bottles of Scotch a week is a bit much.

The Uncle Harry Mystery is over. He rolled up at 4 this afternoon and collected the car. He didn't say much to Dad, who was the only one in, and cleared off after swigging a cup of coffee. Silly sods, these Rhodeses are at times. Oh, Uncle John and Auntie Sheila are coming to stay after Christmas for one night. Denny was thrilled when I informed her this afternoon by telephonic communication.

The Christmas spirit is more noticeable in me this year, methinks. Need I say what was troubling me last year? Yes, you've guessed. It was HER. Well, no one's getting me down this year and 1974 has been one free of heartbreaking and upsetting consequences.

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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.

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Tuesday December 25, 1973

Christmas Day. Awake with a hangover at 12.30. Mother is not too pleased at my drunken arrival home. John was also sloshed at midnight - when Andy and Chris brought him home and carried him upstairs and dumped him on the bed.

Christmas dinner is excellent. The 20lb turkey is exquisitely cooked. Meal begins with prawn cocktail. For the first time in years I do not have any Christmas pudding - my poor misguided stomach couldn't tolerate it.

See the Queen on tv at 3 o'clock and fall asleep immediately after the 15 minute broadcast, and sleep until almost 5.0. I have no recollection whatever of the traditional rubbish-type BBC pantomime which they try to force onto us once a year.

The weather is abominable for Christmas. Rain, rain and even more rain. See a bit of the 'Morecambe and Wise' Christmas show then have a shower.

John and I leave for Dave's at 9.0. Meet Denny in Guiseley. The party is genuinely a success. Two flashing Christmas trees! All the gang came - every single one. Denny was pissed by 12. She comes back to Pine tops at 2.0 - and camps down in the girls room - won't they have a surprise in the morning.

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Monday December 24, 1973

Christmas Eve is here at last. Finish filing at work at 11.30 and we all go behind the filing cabinets for a makeshift party - received 2 nice presents. The afternoon is given over to enjoying ourselves, and I get a train at 1.10 out of Leeds.

John and Lynn are watching tv and poor Sue is working all day at the hairdressers. Mum and Dad are shopping until 3.0.

At 7.30 John, Christine W and I go to the Emmotts where Marita, Laura, Chris, Andy, Peter, David and MM all assemble. A boozy evening.Feeling totally pissed. Denny and I go on to Peter Lazenby's party on Park Road, Guiseley. My God, don't ask me what I drank, but the whole evening from midnight onwards is a complete blank to me. Home at 3. Immediately to bed. Sleep until noon on Christmas Day.

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Friday December 21, 1973

The coming joys of the festive season have yet to take hold of me and all I think about is June. She's driving me crazy. I think I'll go and see her tomorrow.

Now that Princess Anne is truly established as a married woman I think it indelicate to retain her portrait in a prominent position in my bedroom. I have therefore replaced her by Miss Bottomley. The most angelic portrait I've ever seen.

At 5.0 I decided to ignore the EP editor's party and come straight home. Chris rings at 8.05 and says I can get a lift to Farsley if I'm at the Emmotts by 8.30. This is impossible. Sue and I remain indoors and see Stanley Baxter imitating the Queen's Christmas message - quite authentic.

Tonight was the first Friday since November 2 that I didn't enter a place set aside for the consumption of alcohol. It made a change.

I put up some mistletoe for Mother and sit by the light of the Christmas tree feeling generally sorry for myself.

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Thursday December 13, 1973

Britain today came to a grinding standstill when the Prime Minister, Mr Heath, announced drastic measures in the Commons. From Monday many industries will be on a three day week, which will create massive unemployment by the beginning of the New Year. Tv will close down at 10.30, and Christmas tree lights will only be allowed to be lit on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day. The steel industry is to close down and the so-called 'national boom' is dead. Poor Ludovic Kennedy was heart-broken when he realised that his programme 'Mid-Week' would be axed by Mr Heath's measures. The poor man was desolate. Anyway, on the bright side, turkeys are free from the VD epidemic which wiped out millions of them last year, and no restrictions concerning the manufacture of Christmas puddings have yet been enacted by HM Government. Poor Sarah was shivering with cold at work this afternoon due to the ban on office heating. Petrol will not be rationed until the New Year. And if you want my opinion, all we want now is a World War and we will have had everything. Went for a drink with Peter Lazenby at lunchtime. Didn't return to the YP until 2.20. Miss Went was nice about it. I was pissed. Drinking on an empty stomach always flattens me. Going to the editor's Xmas booze-up on Dec 21. Bed at 11.30. -==-

Sunday December 2, 1973

Advent Sunday. Awake at 12.0 and have breakfast. John was home for 11.45 - Mum didn't mind when I told her of the hour at which I had arrived home. Have a bath at 1.0 and listen to Jimmy Savile. The snow still lies, like a shroud, over the ground, and the sun cannot move it. A typical winters day. I hope we will have a white Christmas - like the one in 1970.

See the Royal Command Performance on tv. The Queen looked super. She was dressed in a aquamarine shimmering evening dress. As usual, the same old cracks about royalty were made. Not even the corgis escaped.

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