Sunday February 25, 1979

_. Quinquagesima.

Continuing heat wave. Lawn cutting weather is just over the horizon and I can almost envisage the dancing daffodils & hear the conscientious bee as he dashes about his business, which is more than can be said for 15 million British workers including the civil service and that sainted profession, the refuse collectors, who have done sweet sod all since Christmas.

We can no longer see down the lane because the piles of festering rubbish are over twenty feet high. To make matters worse the stench is intolerable, and the little masked gent pulling the hand cart piled high with human remains crying: "bring out yer dead!" finds it impossible to get through the heaps of filth and effluence.  Otherwise, everything is rosy and going well on this fake Spring morn.

Did nothing today but watch TV and eat fruit. Sounds weird I know, but true. My reclusive lifestyle continues. I'm now on the path to a lifetime of celibacy and peace. Booze is definitely out and the joys of the female flesh are now a thing of the past. It's strange really because theses sorry symptoms are not the normal ones for those recuperating from pnuemocallaghanicosis. Those on the mend from 'Jim's disease' usually drink themselves into a coma and the majority of them are old regulars down at the clinic having treatment for sexually transmitted diseases.

Watched Irene Dunne in a 1906 epic 'The White Cliffs of Dover' - nauseating. Mum made up her own dialogue as the film crackled along its weepy, tragic course. Later saw Shakespeare's 'Henry VIII' - which was good.

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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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Wednesday October 16, 1974

Cold and miserable all day. Really a typical autumn. My half-day. Meet Lynne outside the YP at a bit past 12. Because of the rain we go to Whitelocks, where we have one drink and discuss what we want to do for the rest of the afternoon. Don't fancy walking through Leeds in the drizzle, and she suggests we go home to Bramhope, for lunch, &c.

Look around the Art Gallery whilst waiting for the bus, and eventually arrive at Lynne's at 2. We sit cosily on her sumptuous sofa, doing romantic things like eating beans on toast, and afterwards the passion becomes too great for us and we go wild watching a repeat of the 'Forsyte Saga' on the BBC until 4. We leave at 4.30. She goes to Leeds to have tea with her Papa, who is general manager of Schofield's (just thought I'd drop that morsel of information in). I get several buses and eventually roll in at 6. See 'Carry On Screaming' till 8 and feel generally bored. John goes out as usual, and so too do Mum and Dad. Dave rings Lynn, Peter calls on Susan - so in one way or another we are all paired off now. Haven't seen or heard of Denny since Saturday.

Dustmen who went on strike in Nottingham after being called 'idiots' by a local councillor, have gone back to work after the young man in question made a public apology. (Just heard that morsel on Radio Luxembourg and thought I'd slip it in).

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