Saturday February 24, 1979

_. Spent the whole day alone like a recluse, lost in solitude and very deep, serious thought.  Mum and Dad went out to Clapham [near Settle] for the afternoon leaving me slumped over the typewriter dashing out a tale to Delia and then compiling a 'Stockport County Quiz' for David in that town.  I was far from satisfied with my efforts and by 5:30 all I had to show for a days toil was cold feet and a dull, aching pain in the back of my kneck. [Does kneck begin with a K? Of course not. Oh dear, I must be thinking of knickers].

Susan and Peter went to a cousin's 21st [a Miss Sanderson?] - at a club in Otley this afternoon, and Peter returned with glassy eyes and hair jutting out. They were off out again within minutes and then the walkers staggered in from the dales.

Watched TV with Mum and Dad. I didn't realise I was being morose or dull until Mama, that ever vigilant all seeing woman, pointed out that I hadn't said a word in hours. I blamed my lengthy silence on the long day in solitary confinement. I did feel like the Count of Monte Cristo - alone in my mustard coloured cell, commonly called the dining room, with no company other than the rats and vermin who have accumulated outside since the onset of the dustmen's strike - about eight long weeks ago.

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Sunday December 4, 1977

_.2nd in Advent. Slightly better. In fact I'm a lot better. Just watched TV the whole day and ate a sizeable Sunday dinner at about 6:00pm.

Watched 'Royal Heritage'. It was about Victoria and Albert. 'The Count of Monte Cristo' is finished! Over a thousand miserable pages in about as many days. It's nothing to be proud of at all, Michael Rhodes. Two months to read a book. I really should be horse whipped. I bet Mr Dumas wrote the bloody thing in half that time.

Mum and Dad went out for a drink tonight and I watched a play called 'Waste' on the BBC. Quite good.

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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.

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Monday November 21, 1977

Wet, cold and wicked is an apt description of today. The YP was quiet and inoffensive. Eileen is in hospital having something done to her nose again and won't be back before Easter _________.

Anwar Sadat.

Masses of drivel in the papers on President Sadat's hysterical trip to Jerusalem. The PLO will have him done away with before you can say Golda Meir. The poor man is doing his utmost to achieve peace.

Jacqui phoned at 1pm to ask whether I can stay in London from Dec 16 to the morning of Dec 19 so enabling me to be entertained to dinner by her mum on the night of Sunday Dec 18. I shall have to see what I can do. It all sounds very nice especially in these miserable times up here. I can think of nothing nicer than escaping to the metropolis for three whole days.

Mum and Dad went to see John and Maria for a couple of hours. Mum returned very cheerful and revived. Seeing her grandson has an amazing effect upon her. __________.

Watched some TV and read 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. By 12:26 I'm on page 870. I am going to throw a party when I finish the book. Took a bath and did some more reading. Dad's been looking at Shaw's preface to 'The Apple Cart'. He thinks GBS is a silly, cynical old man. He's more than that I'm afraid ...  he's dead.

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Sunday November 20, 1977

Ernest Blackwell.

Last after Trinity. Out to the Commercial just after twelve. Sue, Pete, Chippy and me that is. Had three or four drinks and came back to Pine Tops where Susan attempted to make lunch. I went to Edith's to ask what flour is required to make Yorkshire pudding and remained there for one and a half hours with Ernest in his kitchen drinking his lager (from the barrel) and grape wine.

On returning home I found the mortal remains of my lunch over a pan of hot water and no sooner had I started to eat it when Mum and Dad appeared. Mum was in one of her foul moods and not at all nice to Sue. I think they expected a cooked lunch on the table and the sight of a chicken skeleton and three cold Brussels sprouts cannot have been a heart warming sight.

To make matters worse I invited Edith and Ernest to come round at 4:30 and they arrived on time with bottles of wine. Mum complained of feeling tired and was far from sociable. We drank until about 8 when I evacuated the lounge and let go of my pent up frustrations on Delia's pheasant. I, with the aid of David, removed it of it's feathers and innards and conveyed the pathetic bird back into the house. I do not suppose it will make a decent meal. In fact, it strongly resembled a Vietnamese refugee. Nevertheless, one shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth ... or gift pheasant in the beak.

Mum and Dad enjoyed Norfolk but are far too grumpy for my liking. Saw a film and retired to bed at 12. Still battling on with our mutual friend 'The Count of Monte Cristo'.

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Wednesday November 9, 1977

Mum was taken ill after tea. Have we perhaps been subject to poisoning? God knows, but one thing's for sure - the Norfolk visit for Mum and Dad is now in jeopardy. (I bet Jeopardy is far nicer than Norfolk anyway. The climate is better than ours at this time of year, and Jeopardy has no ghastly Broads to contend with).

We watched a play on the BBC which, quite remarkably, is good. The leading lady, whose name escapes me, deserves an Academy award for her portrayal of a deaf and dumb Bradford prostitute who stabs an alcoholic pimp to death in the Lumb Lane. Wonderful family viewing. It made such a change from all the sex and violence so often awash on our TV screens in these restless times. (I'm spreading the writing out tonight because I want to get to bed).

Dumas: infatuated with typist.

You will sit back and raise your hands in horror that I'm only on page 728 of 'The Count of Monte Christo' (and I can't even spell his soddin' name right). I know it's truly pathetic, but I'm afraid the book is becoming incredibly dull. The count is certainly taking his vengeance very seriously and incredibly slowly. One would think the guy had all the time in the world. Either Mr Dumas had connections in the paper manufacturing industry or he was infatuated with his typist.

Bed at the usual time and attempted to reach page 750, but failed.

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Tuesday October 25, 1977

_.Day off with Susan. To Bradford at 11 where she did a bit of Christmas shopping - or perhaps I should say all of her Christmas shopping. We met Martyn and had a drink in the Painted Waggon and then Sue went with him to Samuel's to see about a job.

Susan.

Coming home on the bus at 3 o'clock I fell to sleep. It gave Sue a good deal of amusement. At home I phoned the hospital and a helpful nurse said: "she (Carole) is very much better, but very much the same", which is a fat lot of good.

Tony came after tea with bad news. They are taking Carole to Chapel Allerton tomorrow where she is having a hole drilled into the back of her head on Thursday. Tony got this information from her mum, who also told him that they gave Carole something today which paralysed her. Oh God it's hideous. Chapel Allerton Hospital is a leading cancer hospital and most of the leukaemia cases in the area go there. However, the surgery on Carole at the moment is only of an investigative nature and the operation on Thursday is only a test. All may yet be well and in a few months I may well be moaning about seeing Carole out in the usual haunts looking adorable on the arm of Peter Fogarty. I hope to God this is the case.

I felt horribly tired tonight and by 10pm I was dropping off in the chair. By half past I was snoring in bed with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' over my face. I fear I'm never going to get the end of this book. It's taken me a fortnight to read 200 pages which is a very bad show.

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Thursday October 13, 1977

The delights of Sarah this evening once again. We played squash at the usual time after devouring far too much food at Delia's. She is terrible at over-feeding me.

Princess Margaret: peach

At lunchtime Sarah and I joined a crowd outside the Leeds Civic Hall and saw the arrival of Princess Margaret who came to a lunch with William Hudson, the Guiseley-born Lord Mayor. The princess looked marvellous. Just like a tiny peach and graceful as a swan. I fail to see how anybody can say she is 'dumpy' or 'fat'.

After squash we went to the Commercial. We discussed marriage again and our different relationships. ______. We also talked about work and I said I cannot last out at the YP for much longer. The money is diabolical and I point out it would be impossible for me to be married, have children and a house and remain in employment with the ridiculous newspaper. She agreed and says how sad it is that I cannot be given the opportunity of to stay with the company on a decent wage.

Back at Pine Tops for 10.30 where Sarah showed Mum four or five of her pots. She left them with us so that Mum can decide which one she prefers. I have a sneaking suspicion that dear Mama will keep them all.

Bed with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' again. It was pay day today, folks.

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Wednesday October 12, 1977

Dad was on Radio Leeds at 7.45 this morning (live) and throughout the Empire many millions of his followers sat grouped around tiny wireless sets to listen to his words of wisdom. I suppose you could liken him to Neville Chamberlain really.

PC 1656.

I went to Leeds with him and was in the office by 7.20. Bloody hell it was still dark. Mind you, I suppose that is how my forefathers started the working day.

I phoned Mum before lunch and she played a tape recording of dear Papa's speech down the receiver to me. He sounded quite good.

Did nothing but watch television this evening. Saw Penelope Keith and Richard Briers in Part II of 'The Norman Conquests'. Miss Keith ought to be made a Dame at the earliest opportunity because she's of the Edith Evans ilk without a doubt.

Dame Penelope?

To bed after 11 with 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. Dumas is excellent and I think I will have to tackle 'The Three Musketeers' series next. It seems quite ridiculous, doesn't it?

I must keep an eye on The Times and indeed the dear YP for signs of my brilliant letter. I do hope it will be published because they will be among the first organs to complain when Master/Miss Phillips is romping around on Her Majesty's knee without even a humble 'Honourable' prefixed before his/her name.

(By the way - I'm willing to bet you anything that the infant royal baby will be MALE. The last occasion in that august family when the first-born child was a daughter occurred on April 21, 1926, and that child is now the Queen).

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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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Sunday October 9, 1977

18th after Trinity. Awakened at 9am by the Australian girl who says the room stinks and nominates Jacqui and I for a Nobel Prize for tolerating it the night long. It was very stale. We ate more cheese and continued with the record player and before long we were the sole occupants of the flat. God only knows where the others went. Jacqui passed a frustrating hour searching for the vacuum cleaner - not dissimilar to the quest for the Holy Grail. The offending object turned up in a distant cupboard.

Jacqui.

The day was hot and sunny and we set out for a walk down the actual Muswell hill to see Jacqui's mum. We discovered her brother, Pete, in a state of great hangover-isation (he'd been to a party) but no sign of her mum. From there we walked to a weird pub for a couple of drinks. Jacqui didn't know the Queen's birthplace was in Piccadilly. Back to the flat at 2 and took my leave of the piano-playing flatmate. Got a bus and then a tube to Victoria and at 3 I left for Leeds. Jacqui was in hysterics because a woman climbed onto the coach with a massive, obscene looking Alsatian dog, which proceeded to park itself next to me. We were howling at each other through the window. I read, or at least attempted to read, 'The Count of Monte Cristo' but found myself asleep for most of the journey. Ate sandwiches at Leicester. This gave me indigestion. Landed at Chateau Pine Tops at about 8pm.

All in all, an exquisite weekend - or party, or day, or whatever you call it. Saw TV with the family and retired early with, yes, you've guessed it, the Count.

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Saturday October 8, 1977

Foggy, wet and damp. Party at 102, Grosvenor Road, Muswell Hill, London N10. I got a coach from Leeds at 12.30 and read 'The Count of Monte Cristo' until my eyes ached. We were in the centre of London before I deposited the book in my luggage. The coach driver, making his first venture to the capital, was lost, and we circled Buckingham Palace five or six times before one of my fellow passengers enlightened him as to the whereabouts of Victoria. All very trying it was.

Met Jacqui at about 5.30 and, in pouring rain, we went by bus to Muswell Hill, which seemed just as far from London as did Leeds. It was miles!

George Davis: drinking with his relations.

Jacqui shares a marvellous flat with a couple of other birds - one a sexy Australian. We ate and listened to records until the first party guests arrived at about 9 o'clock. Lononders frowned at the suggestion that we should first go to the pub until closing time. Weird lot. All the men wear one ear-ring, and several claimed to be related to George Davis, the bank robber of Headingley wicket sabotage fame. Didn't know whether to believe them or not. Most people (were) quite pissed, but gallons of wine didn't do much for me at all. The party was good. I thoroughly enjoyed it. My northern accent amused endless people and I brought hours of amusement to scores of Londoners who had never actually met a Yorkshire man before. I remember drinking Pernod and chatting to a Greek.

Jacqui and I get on very well. We were the last survivors at about 4am.

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Friday October 7, 1977

Phoned Tony to say I'm not going out tonight. I have been to the library and laid hands on a copy of 'The Count of Monte Cristo' by Dumas which held my attention to the extent that I could not bring myself to drop it for an evening and go stand in a pub. _____________. It cannot be helped. I'm sick and tired of people at the moment. At the library I also took out a Wodehouse novel. I have yet to finish the Waugh novels. Having finished 'Decline and Fall' I'm not quite as impressed with a second volume called 'Black Magic' or something. Aren't I reverting to my old intellectual ways? Going to see 'Twelfth Night' with Sarah on November 10, and on Nov 22 it's back to the Leeds Playhouse - also with Sarah. I suppose you can say she has a lot to do with it.

Watched a play on TV with Lynn and David and had a Pernod and a few beers. Retired to bed with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' at about 12-ish. London here I come, tomorrow.

P.S. I've just glanced over what I've entered today and have decided that it looks pathetic and ridiculous that I, at twenty-two and a half, I should be reading 'The Count of Monte Cristo' - may I add, reading it for the very first time too. Can it be put down to my secondary education perhaps? I did read two or three chapters of 'Wuthering Heights' when I was 16. Does that put me higher in your estimation?

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