Showing posts with label curry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label curry. Show all posts

20140808

Friday December 29, 1978

New Moon 19:36

Margaret made a cup of milky tea and I was almost sick over Fieldhead Road. Snow and ice. Susan and Peter brought me home at 11:30am. I collapsed into bed.

Mum woke me at 4:30 for a curry. I then laid in a chair and stared glumly into the television set. Do you know I haven't been into a pub for a drink of alcohol for almost a week? Am I perhaps cracking up?

Mummy seems to think I am exceptionally quiet but why should I always be acting like a circus act or member of the Royal Shakespeare Company? I just want solitude and quiet. Peter and Susan are in a similar frame of mind.

Dad took to his bed at 8pm saying he had 'flu. Mum doesn't look much better.

On the hosiery counter until Day of Judgement
Poor Uncle Albert died 9 years ago today at Pudsey. I remember crying like a baby whilst doing my paper round. Isn't death a useless, wasteful end? God should perhaps devise a way whereby at the age of 70 everybody goes instead to work on the hosiery counter at British Home Stores, or take up Involuntary Service until the Day of Judgement. Think how beneficial we all would be to the economy? No, on second thoughts, I'd rather just fester away.

When you think about it he (God) has everything worked out, hasn't he?

-=-

20140507

Thursday December 7, 1978

Moon's first quarter 00:34

Slightly festive. Out tonight with Christine to the Fox & Hounds in a deluge of bloody rain. She was swearing, using four~letter words in fact, about getting her delicious hair wet.

The Fox was dead and dull and was brightened slightly by the arrival of Philip Knowles and a fellow soccer enthusiast. He and CB had been out together last night.

At 10:30 we went to Oakwood Hall and danced all night. We must be growing quite ancient and unfit because at 1:30 we were exhausted and close to collapse. Sweat trickled and cascaded down the delightful contours of Christine's form.

Peter, Gus, Chippy and Dave Wainwright made an appearance but we didn't fraternize. Christine and Chippy have something of a personality clash. In fact, they hate each other.

Sexual croquet ...
Outside was hilarious. Christine wanted a curry and a £1 note from her purse blew from her fingers and under the mobile curry van. I proceeded to discard clothing and spread~eagle myself beneath the vehicle to salvage the offending note much to the amusement of the assembled multitude. I got stuck. People tried to pull me out. A woman dropped an onion bhaji and it rolled between my legs ~ like a game of sexual croquet. Eventually I got out, covered in filth and clutching CB's money.

Christine laughed all the way home. bed at 2am.




-=-

20131128

Thursday November 2, 1978

To town with Sarah at lunchtime. To Boots - we took a couple of negatives of photos of Lynn and Dave's engagement in Oct 1977. Really good pics.

Tonight Christine came at 8 and we went to Otley to collect her 30~year~old blond friend, Doreen. She's straight~forward, crude, blunt, in fact just like us.

We went to the Shoulder of Mutton. Saw Pete N who told us he isn't going to Oakwood Hall. We don't let this trouble us. I was well away after only three or four pints. On to the White Cross where Doreen picked up a young, bearded garage proprietor, who really got on my nerves. Then, after seeing Jimmy Macdonald, but only briefly, we went to the wretched Fox & Hounds. Naomi was in, but no darling Carole. Philip 'Birdgarden' Houldsworth and little Gary were chatting up Christine, and at 10:30 Doreen and 'Howard Hughes II' cleared off. Her excuse was that she is too old for Oakwood Hall. She must be mad.

My recollections now grow quite faint. I do remember accidentally dropping a half pint of lager down a debutante's cleavage, and Christine later said I sat in a pint of cider that was on the dance floor.

Evidently, at about 1:30 I bought a hot curry from the man in the van outside Oakwood Hall. I cried all the way through it. Oozing snot. I almost said hot as 'Dante's Inferno' but a few years ago somebody told me that Dante's Inferno has nothing whatsoever to do with fire or heat. I'm in the dark on this really.

At home I pelted Christine with 2lb of onions and forced elderflower champagne down her throat.

-=-

Wednesday May 9, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, &c Still dull outside. Who cares? Our alarm clock is on the blink and refuses to sound off. Samuel laid patiently...