Monday October 10, 1977

Margaret Thatcher: party conference in Ibiza?

The valiant Margaret Thatcher is loading her guns in readiness for the Tory conference which opens at Brighton tomorrow. Why do they insist upon holding these stupid gatherings in hideous 19th century watering places? Surely, if little me can can manage a fortnight in Ibiza then the great bulwark of the Conservative party machine can surely do the same? I can understand the feeble Liberal party holding its annual circus on English soil because they are rather dull, aren't they?

The Duchess of Kent left hospital yesterday looking well and smiling. It was the duke's 42nd birthday. They are such a loving, close couple and the children all seem so nice. The 'Princess Margaret sort' are all very well, but our monarchy would not survive if all members of the Royal Family were like her.

Saw television which was quite dead. Also kept on with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' which has drifted from the original theme somewhat but I refuse to be defeated.

Phoned Tony. He said he's been 'let down' at the weekend and that he'd not taken Toni (confusion) for dinner at all. "We had a party at the flat instead" he said.  ________________.Heard from Martyn. He started work at Samuel's today.

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Tuesday October 5, 1976

Karen Gadsby, 17. MM, 21. Another filthy, wet day. Get soaked at lunchtime in Leeds buying a Teddy Bear for John Philip Hugh at Schofield's. It's only three days since I purchased a bloody umberella [£3.80]. But did I have it with me?

Home at 5.15. Spill a cup of white-hot coffee over myself after a delectable evening meal and all they can worry about is whether I've stained the settee or not. As it happens, it was unmarked by the volcanic deluge.

With Tony, Stuart, Andrew and Simon [I think he's Simon anyway] to the Odeon in Leeds to see 'The Omen' with Gregory Peck and Lee Remick. Very good. A clever ending to it too. Go see it if you get the chance. [No doubt you've all watched it on TV recently and said unto one another: 'What a load of crap, indeed'.]

Home at 11. Mum and Dad, Lynn and Dave have been to see John, Maria & Co at Ridgeway. Maria came out of hospital today.

The Conservative party's annual tea party has begun at Brighton. Margaret Hilda Thatcher is threatening to dance in the streets if she's elected to the premiership at the next general election fiasco. Oh God.

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Monday February 10, 1975

A unusual Monday. After the usual ritual of work, John and I went to the Hare & Hounds where his ladyfriend had begged him to attend upon her. Quite a stunning piece she is too. Called Naomi, or 'Nay', an attractive name. It certainly made a change going out with a different crowd.

Had a letter from Denny today. She said she thought she'd been 'a cow' over the way she's ignored me and the happy family these past few months. I forgave her immediately. (Conceited swine that I am).

The Tory Fiasco reaches its cresendo tomorrow. Will it be Margaret Thatcher or old Willie Whitelaw? In my own mind I know that Mrs T will succeed, but anything can happen in politics. Have a bet with Sarah, Carol and Eileen. I stand to win 10p.

A year ago almost to the day I was saying that Mr Heath's (who's he?) leaning towards male company could not be doing him any good. I was right. One day you can be Prime Minister and the next you're just a middle-aged old puff who used to be a big shot in the Conservative party. Cruel, cruel politics.

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Thursday February 6, 1975

Pleasant day. Eileen and I mess about in town at lunchtime and I return home furnished with 'How Long' by Ace, a particular favourite record of Miss Braithwaite and myself.

Pleased to see the flags flying in Leeds and indeed above Guiseley Police Station, for the twenty third anniversary of the accession of Her Majesty the Queen. These anniversaries certainly come round quickly. Two years time and it will be the Silver Jubilee.

The Tory party fiasco continues. The revolting reactionary Sir Geoffrey Howe is now standing for the leadership, along with the Nation's Sweetheart Mrs Thatcher, William Whitelaw, one of the bulldog breed, old James Prior of whom little can be said, and an unknown person called Peyton, who was originally thought to have become extinct along with the Dodo and Lord Hailsham.

Do nothing at all in the evening other than watch the TV, and play my new record a few times. Bed at a relatively early hour.

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Tuesday February 4, 1975

Busy day again. Kathleen goes home at lunch with 'flu. Never seen Kate ill before. See in the Sunday People that another young lady is denying a romantic relationship with the Prince of Wales. The difference this time is that she's married. Yes, Mrs Rosalind Ward, the wife of a young millionaire landowner. Like Edward VIII and Mrs Freda Dudley Ward in the early '30s. Can't really say I believe it, but you never can tell.

Wait for ages in the cold for a bus home and meet Marita on Wellington Street. We come home on the 35 together. Hear all about the love, passion and ecstasy of Sheffield at the weekend. Her 20th birthday celebrations went with a bang in more ways than one I can imagine.

See in the EP that Margaret Thatcher won todays battle for the Tory leadership, but even better news awaits me on my arrival home. Dad informs me that Edward Heath has conceded defeat and will not stand in next Tuesday's ballot! The Grocer is gone! Ted Heath is no more! Tories all over England will feel numbed by it all, other than Margaret Thatcher and myself that is. Mrs Thatcher captured my heart sometime last week when the current affairs programmes were going to town over her. An utterly charming lady, whom I'm sure the Queen would love to ask: 'Come on, Margaret. Form a government!' A weird feeling hangs over us all. As though a great cloud has moved from above, letting the sunshine through for the first time since 1965. Only the ending of a war, the death of a beloved monarch, and the freedom from prison of a man who has served 29 years for something he never did, can be likened to the resignation of the hopeless Edward Heath. To be rendered insane at the height of ones political career is tragedy indeed.

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Saturday February 1, 1975

Sleep until lunch at 12. Leap into the bath in order to revive myself, but even after this experience I don't really feel much better. All that sleep didn't seem to do any good.

See a film on the BBC and then go play 'Ruslan and Ludmilla' by Glinka and the prelude to Act III of Lohengrin by Mr Wagner. Yes, we aren't all unsophisticated Donny Osmond fans up here you know. The classics are as welcome here as they are in Covent Garden, and in some cases even more so.

My first free Saturday in years. Yes, I have the occasional one off, but it's much more pleasant to know that it's a permanent thing.

The papers are full of Edward Heath and Mrs Thatcher. I must admit, at first I abhored the idea of woman Tory leader, but these past few days have heralded a change. Good luck to her anyway. We certainly having nothing to lose. She can't make a worse mess of it than Heath did, and even if she does we'll forgive her because she's only a silly, dumb blond.

To the Hare & Hounds for a couple of drinks before moving on to a pub in Bingley, one of Andy's hang outs. The highlight of the evening was when Dave rang me up at 7 and said he was coming out. I'd no idea he was home this weekend. When the pubs shut John, Dave and I go to the new take-away in Guiseley. Food is horrible and what's more _______walked past on the arm of her boyfriend. ____ignored her completely.
Home in time to see a good Bette Davis film. Laughed all the way through. Sit in Lynn's bedroom until the early hours reading Agatha Christie.

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Wednesday January 29, 1975

A busy half day.Kathleen gives me a half-day off because she feels I've worked too hard lately - and this is the reward. Meet Christine outside the CA and we make our way to the Ostlers where I consume several pints of lager and spend a small fortune on the juke box. We go looking for tartan material in order to make some 'Rod Stewart style' scarfes. Don't find any we like, and proceed to make our way to the bus station. Masses of photographs are taken in a booth whilst waiting for a bus, and then fight and squabble over who is having which ones. Home at 3.30 or something very close & then sit in a chair with Agatha Christie. I really am passionate over reading at the moment, and having to wait for volume 2 of 'Edward VII' is hideous. Collapse underneath my book and sleep for ten minutes, which is weird for me. I'm becoming an old man before my time.

To the Hare with John, Christine and Chris at 8.45 - have a few lagers and then back here for coffee. Christine and I sit listening to records whilst John and Chris talk holiday brochures. I haven't the stomach to do so. A few nights with all these glossy magazines and I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Margaret Thatcher, Hugh Fraser and Ted Heath have been nominated for the Tory leadership, and it'll be a close battle between Uncle Ted and Mrs T. I'll die if the old bag wins. The thought of a woman Tory leader is repugnant in the extreme.

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Wednesday January 22, 1975

Dad wakes me at about 10am with a cup of tea - no sugar of course. I don't think I've mentioned the fact that on Monday afternoon I stopped taking sugar in tea, coffee or whatever other drinks I will be partaking of in the future. Sugar can't really be beneficial, and besides, with the price of it rocketing up and up it's bound to make it last longer at home. It all tasted weird at first, but now I'm quite used to it. Sit in bed gulping tea and reading of the death of the Prince Consort in my new book. How anyone can be devoted to someone else, like Victoria was to Albert, I shall never know. I do tend to be a loner. The thought of a permanent partnership with a young lady brings on suffocating nausea. Marriage for me is out of the question for five or six years at least. Two years ago I felt quite different. June would have been down the aisle and then swept off to a little hotel in Majorca if she'd have let me. Thank God she didn't.

Saw something in the paper the other day suggesting that Hugh Fraser, the feeble husband of the sexy writer Lady Antonia Fraser, is to stand in the election for the Tory leadership. I quite fancy the idea myself. Margaret Thatcher just wouldn't do. And with Mr Heath going about killing dolphins just for the sake of it, I see no point in him remaining leader any longer - the poor sod is obviously off his rocker, i.e. mad.
Meanwhile later that evening: whilst on the phone to Chris, Dave walks in and drops a snowball down my shirt front! The winter is come at last! About bloody time too.

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Monday October 14, 1974

Queen Jane Seymour died 1537. James II, born 1633. Busy day at the YP. The papers are full of poor Edward Heath, who looks like he's about to have his cards thrust upon him. The Tories are a very ruthless mob when it comes to being defeated. Take poor Sir Alec Douglas-Home for example. He got the chop for losing one general election. So, now Heath's lost TWO elections, and I cannot see the Monday Club allowing their hapless leader to continue in his miserable existence.

MUM PASSED HER DRIVING TEST!! Really, I should have gone with this at the top of the page. but I forgot all about it. She rang me at work whilst I was out of the office, and passed on the joyous information to Eileen. We are all thrilled at the thought of Mum behind the steering wheel, and soon I can forsee us having four drivers in the family. Don't ring Lynne tonight, though I will do before my half-day on Wednesday in order to arrange a lunch time booze-up, or something equally entertaining.

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