Friday July 21, 1978

Susan is 19 years old today. At midnight we celebrated in the square in San Antonio with Sangria and three hours later we were compelled by Herr Global to board a plane to Manchester.

Snatched from paradise ~ from the topless, bronzed, strawberry~eating jet~setters to the grey thighed typists of Leeds.

By 8:00am we were at the Hollywood Hotel drinking milky tea with Mrs Glynn. By 10 I was nestling in my mother's bossom at Pine Tops. The shock of this upheaval is no good for me at all.

One minute you're basking in the sun and the next your on a number 33 bus clad in oil~skins and furs with your toes going blue at the ends.

Mum, Dad and Lynn have been safely preserved these past two weeks. No scandal or idle gossip is forthcoming other than the sudden departure of Edith and Ernest to Paignton. They departed in a large black van on Monday morning and never even said goodbye. Mum and Dad are upset and stunned by this.

Tonght I met Jacq at 8:30 and we went to the Drop. _________________. We came back at 10:30 and she stayed the night.

-=-

Thursday June 29, 1978

St Peter

Pay day. Met Jacq at her place at lunchtime and we managed to walk round town without resorting to having a drink. She went to Barclays and drew out more cash and I took a film to be developed at Gratispool's and ordered my £90 holiday money from the bank in Park Square.

Back at the office I altered my wall chart showing the order of succession to the throne. Prince Michael is wiped from the list from tomorrow and Princess Alexandra moves up from the 17 position to number 16. ______.

Tonight: The Nasons and Blackwells made their weekly visit to Pine Tops. We had a subdued evening watching television and Ern especially was a misery. This house buying and associated upheaval at his advanced age (he's 71) is a mistake. It's a wicked thing to say but I'm sure one of them will not live a year to reap the enjoyment ~ if any ~ of living in ghastly Devon. Cream teas and all that.

-=-

Thursday June 1, 1978

A scorching day.

Prince Michael is going to renounce the throne next month on marriage to his baroness, who will become HRH Princess Michael of Kent. The poor Duchess of Windsor will play hell about the injustice of this. Another interesting fact is that any children born of the marriage will be in line of succession to the throne because they are to be raised as Anglicans.

Edith and Ernest came round for the ritual orgy of booze and merriment. But once again no sign of Jim & Margaret Nason. These people obviously cannot take the pace, which bestows more laurels on the remarkable record of the 70-odd year-old Blackwells. We shall certainly miss them when the move to far-off Devon. I say this every week but it's true. I am such a repetitive swine, and boring with it, too. In fact I stand in salutation and marvel and your dedication and vigilance throughout. God Bless every one of you.

-=-

Thursday May 25, 1978

That nauseating, wriggling grub David Steel has announced today that the pact with the government will be ended at the close of the current parliamentary session in July in readiness for a clean sweep towards a general election. He must think we've all fallen off a Christmas tree or something, because I can tell you that the voting papers will still be warm in the ballot boxes when the swindling Liberals team up with Mr Callagas and his gruesome set.

Christine phoned today.

Tonight we expected Jim and Margaret Nason but they never materialised. Edith and Ernest are of course house hunting in far-off Devon. So, it was an unusually quiet night, and a hot one.

I'll fill in a bit of the blank page by mentioning Dad's moustache. He first grew one in 1973, but shaved it off in that historic year. His 1978 effort is even better, and I award him top marks for its high class cultivation, colouring, size, lustre, body and exquisite shape. Indeed, the facial adornment just sends the years rolling from him.

Goodnight.

-=-

Wednesday May 24, 1978

Princess Margaret and the 1st Earl of Snowdon were divorced ~ on this the 159th birthday of Queen Victoria. I don't think she'd have been amused at all. Mind you, it is 1978, and when everybody else in the kingdom are tearing up their marriage certificates I suppose it's only right that one or two members of the Royal Family should do likewise. Moving with the times, and all that. It's about the only excuse I can give.

The only other violent eruption I can envisage this year in the Royal House is Prince Michael of Kent's marital intentions with Marie-Christine Troubridge.

Politics: a recent opinion poll suggests Margaret Hilda Thatcher might not become prime minister at the next general election. It is infuriating to see the present enfeebled prime minister growing to look more like Sir Winston Churchill and all the more how one expects a Conservative leader to look while at the same time the 'true blue' leader is a peroxide blonde housewife smothered in Max Factor ~ going through the change ~ &c. It really is intolerable. The political analysts are now saying we won't be going to the polls until next Spring and the thought of a jubilant James Callaghan and Denis Healey rolling, frolicking, and skipping midst the crocuses at Westminster just doesn't bear thinking about. Another Labour government would take us to 1984, George Orwell and all that.

Home news: Just watched tv this evening. Mama is back to normal I think. Her moods can put a tremendous dampener on things.

Lynn came home with a new hairstyle ~ a perm. She's such a pretty girl ~ one of the finest maidens in the parish.

Edith and Ernest are going to Devon tomorrow to view a house near Kenneth's that's for sale. Mum says it's a bad idea that they go south. She hasn't told them of course. I agree when she says that moving at that age can do more harm than good. Ernest has many friends up here and to old people that can be the difference between an active, youthful mind, and a geriatric cabbage.

-=-

Thursday April 20, 1978

Once again 'tis pay day for your humble narrator. Today, just in case you are interested, is the birthday of Adolf Hitler. He was born in 1889 and so you can work out for yourself just which birthday he is celebrating quietly in his Rio flat.

Jacq and I had a drink at the Ostlers at 12:45. Pleasant conversation flowed, as did the 2 pints of lager. I pulled her leg about her Cockney accent. Her interpretation of 'light ale' is a killer.

I prepared for my expedition to the southern counties. At 5 I went to John and Maria's but finding the house locked and shuttered I was compelled to go to the mill to dig him out of the sawdust.He took me back to Silverdale where I borrowed his grey suit (in fact it was originally my suit - see the end of 1975 for the purchase of this grotty, sack-like object).

Saw Carole and (Peter) Fogarty but nothing much was said. Carole, however, did colour up when our eyes met. I don't think I registered any emotion. Back home I thrust everything into my ruck-sack and all was ready.

Tonight, being Thursday, we were bombarded by Jim and Margaret Nason and the intrepid Edith and Ernest. _________. Afterwards Sue, Pete and I had a prawn curry with chips.

To bed at 1:0am.

-=-

Friday April 14, 1978

Mother woke me at 10:30 with a coffee and the horrible Daily Mail. Half an hour later they collected Edith and Ernest and set off to Morecambe where they are holidaying for the weekend.

A bright, sunny morning, but the confounded snow is still clinging to the garden. The poor daffodils look absolutely stupid. I sat with the radio blasting merrily away and with a volume of Mr Pepys's journal laying open. The 1650s were no less permissive than the 1970s. Some of the people today who moan about the state of affairs ~ morally ~ really should spend half an hour with Samuel Pepys, Esq.

I spent the whole day eating, reading and being blasted out of my chair by the record player. Sarah phoned at lunchtime to ask for the maiden name of the divorced wife of the present Earl of Dartmouth. After a slight pause I told her that the lady is the former Miss Raine McCorquodale, now wife of Lord Spencer, and daughter of the revolting authoress Barbara Cartland. To be honest, I thought Sarah was really phoning to see if I was really laid up at home, and the aristocratic inquiry was a last resort when I surprised her by picking up the receiver. I do have a devious mind.


Raine McCorquodale, Countess Spencer.

For lunch I made fish and parsley sauce with a touch of garlic. Susan was home at 4:30 and we had a prawn curry. Can you imagine what state my breath is in? However, undaunted, I met Jacq at 7:45 and went to the Yorkshire Rose. From here we went to the Crown at Yeadon (a cold night) and then the Clothiers where we were joined by Sue, Pete, Gus, Chippy, Janet Simon, Dave (Wainwright), Brian Johnson, &c. I was 'grossly over served' with drink, for the want of a better phrase, and smoked several of Jacq's cigarettes.

At 11:30 we all went back to Pine Tops where the spotty faced, teenage Dave made several passes at Jacq saying he'd never liked Cockneys until he met her. To be honest, he was only hanging around to smoke her cigs.

I was legless and threw up in the garden that is dear Papa's pride and joy. I was in a disgusting state. Chippy and Gus were behaving in a riotous fashion.

Lynn and Dave were utter miseries and she stormed off to bed after Dave's departure and insisted on yelling down at me from the top of the stairs about the volume of the record player. Susan and Peter somehow managed to snatch my bed and Jacq and I collapsed on Mum and Dad's bed. I think it was probably 2:30am when things died down.

-=-

Thursday April 13, 1978

Deep, crisp, pathetic snow. Today I felt particularly violent. At lunchtime I trudged through the driving snow to Boots to collect an enlargement of a photograph of Mother and JPH. I think I saw the Abominable Snowman coming out of WH Smiths but I may have been mistaken.

Coming up a white Hawksworth Lane this evening I met Dad clad in his uniform carrying out his constabulary duties. He bowled me over by announcing that he and Mum have decided NOT now to buy Edith and Ernest's house after all. I told him he must have gone raving mad. The whole business is so typical of my parents. Everything is settled and then they go and throw a bomb into the saloon, or spanner in the works, or more apt ~ a turd in the swimming pool.



The tea, evening meal, or dinner, or whatever it's called was miserable. Mum and Dad, and even Lynn were justifying staying at Pine Tops, and I said not one word. Mum accused me of being a misery, but my opinion is once you set on a quest - an adventure - you should complete it. Blimey, Captain Cook didn't get half way to the North Pole and then suddenly decide to pack in, did he? Where would we be now if Mr Columbus had decided to be a bricklayer instead of discovering places? What my parents lack is a sense of adventure and I'm saddened. I have taken such a liking to 54, Hawksworth Lane.

I went and had a bath at 7:30. My nose is blocked. Bloody Carol Johnson is breathing her germs all over the place at the office. I must be 'run down' of late because I'm forever snuffling like a geriatric.

The Nasons and Edith and Ernest came at about 8 for the Thursday piss-up. I remained silent in the chair observing the different characters. I dislike _____ intensely.

The collapse of the house deal was not discussed other than when Mum told Ern I was the most disappointed member of the family. At 10:10 the Prince of Wales narrated the first of a new tv series on different cultures. The programme was quite good, and HRH made us roar with laughter when he said 'men are different to women'. I retired at 11:30 telling Mama I'm not going to work tomorrow.

-=-

Wednesday April 5, 1978

Lynn gave me 'Worth' aftershave (for my birthday) and Sue and Pete a £5 note. From John and Maria I had a 1300 page paper back 'Adolf Hitler' by John Toland. Little JPH could only just carry it through the door - bless him.



Yes, I'm 23 today. Cards from Sarah, Eileen and dear Jacq, who presented me with one plus the Doobie Brothers LP at the Central this lunchtime.

We met at 1pm and knocked back Pernod and a few lagers. Peter Lazenby was eyeing Jacq up and down and back at the office he told me I was doomed to marriage. Surely, I'm much too young to enter into that Holy estate? Too bloody young by about 40 years? However, I suppose it will happen one day whether I like it or not.

This evening I played the Doobie Brothers LP very loudly and generally annoyed everyone at home.John, Maria and JPH came followed by Edith and Ernest shortly afterwards. Much alcohol was supped and JPH did his party pieces. A heated debate on Princess Margaret's £50,000 per annum took place and I was out-voted by the misguided majority.



Mum said HRH is nothing short of being a 'prostitute' and Ern hilariously said that had Princess Margaret been in the army she'd have been shot for deserting her post. If this is so then the army is slipping because the princess is a colonel-in-chief several times over. Poor Margaret.

-=-

Friday March 31, 1978

Moon's last quarter 16:11......... I am not feeling too well at all. It's me throat, ears and kneck (Does neck have a 'k'. No) Anyway it's burning away like hell and palpitating cheerfully. So typical. I'm entertaining Dave of Stockport and others at the weekend. I came home at 12 to prepare for my venture to the bank and espied Ernest scurrying round his garden beaming broadly. He told me to get home as quickly as I could because Mum has some interesting news for me. Has Roddy Llewellyn proposed to Princess Margaret? Is Daddy going to stand for Parliament at the next general election? No, but it is in fact quite thrilling news. Mum and Dad are going to buy Edith and Ernest's house, 54, Hawksworth Lane, for a mere £19,000. The property is detached and has four bedrooms. Mum and Dad are convinced that Pine Tops could sell for £19,750, or even more. No 54 does require renovations, but it really is remarkable. I won't be sad at leaving Pine Tops. Eight years under one roof is quite long enough. Dave G came at about 4pm. He laughed at the idea of us moving 2 doors down the road. It was good to see him and it's so nice that he is hitting it off with the family. Susan especially delights in his company, as she does with most males. Tonight we went to the Shoulder of Mutton where Dave was introduced to Gus, his 1978 holiday companion. Johnny, Nigel Wooller, but no Chippy were with us. From the Shoulder we ventured to the Dog and Gun at Apperley Bridge, which was packed, and then to the Queen's across the road. Peter N told me he could go to university in September and do a 2 year engineering degree. I was surprised. There's more to Pete than his exquisite taste in women. However, I can't see him furthering his education, due to the fact that his exquisite taste no doubt wishes to marry him and have masses of children. -=-

Tuesday March 14, 1978

The March winds did blow. In fact, the blowing on Hawksworth Lane was gale force. The meteorological freaks will be having a field day.

David Greenwood, Lynn's boss, is celebrating his birthday tomorrow ___________________.

Mum: slewed

I came home from work to be confronted by dear Mama with the reddest face I have ever laid eyes on. She puts it down to the combination of the sun ray lamp and alcohol. She and Daddy quarrelled this afternoon and she decided to drown her sorrows. I promised not to tell a living soul that my mother has consumed a whole bottle of sherry whilst reclining 'neath the glowing lamp. She is thoroughly ashamed of herself. I say it's all well and good. If my dear old Ma can't get slewed once in a while, who can? By 6:30 Dad was still absent and she went round to Edith's.

Alexandre Dumas is a real dead beat. 'The Man in the Iron Mask' is boring me to death. After a couple of minutes with it I'm either asleep or distracted by something else.

Meanwhile: back to the excitement. At 9 o'clock I went to lay siege to the Blackwell residence and was roped into an old photo appreciation session. We had hysterics over some ancient images of Edith's granny, and much wine was partaken of in the process.  At midnight Mama returned homeward and I sat with Ernest (Edith was in bed) listening to his wartime reminiscences. It was almost 3:30am when I arrived home.

-=-

Saturday March 11, 1978

Sun rises 6:25 Sun sets 17:58

Bright sunny day. Lynn woke me at 10:30 to inform me that I was escorting her, on foot, to Yeadon to do some shopping. This was no ideal awakening my any means. I was out of bed by 11 and within minutes I was pouring a glass of beer for Ernest and glass of wine for Edith.

Yeadon.

Shortly afterwards to Yeadon with Lynn. The day was warm and we laughed and chatted on the way down the open road. We were home for 3pm weighed down with shopping. Lynn's feet were blistered and my hands were bright pink. And, dear friends, that was my day. Yes, it does seem pathetically short and mundane, but I cannot be expected to carry out earth shattering, spectacular feats of brilliance all the time. Perhaps you can look in tomorrow?  Oh, go on then I'll just say a bit more.

Mama and Papa went out for dinner and Sue, Pete, Chippy and girlfriend went off to Appletreewick at tea time supposedly 'camping'. Not much of the countryside will be seen if I know anything of my sweet sister. The pleasures of the flesh are nearer the top of her priorities than river side walks, but at 18 and with her great beauty, I cannot blame her.

Lynn, Dave and I dined by candlelight together (do you think that perhaps my presence was not welcome?) and afterwards we sat looking at the television. Boring.

To bed with 'The Man in the Iron Mask' but fell asleep after two pages. In fact, a clapped out old French duchess hadn't even finished talking to a bloke named after that nice brand of aftershave lotion ... er, Ah yes, Aramis.

-=-

Thursday March 2, 1978

Moon's last quarter 08.34

Something of a chaotic day. At 2:30 I took my library books back and then went to see Carole. She is having horrid tests in the morning but seems quite happy and in good spirits. A nurse from Ward 26, who befriended Carole when she was hospitalised before Christmas, thinks I've been away on a winter holiday. Two minutes of sun-ray treatment and I'm bronzed and rippling all over. Afterwards, at about 3, Carole saw me to the door in her carpet slippers. ___________.

Mrs Troubridge: RC divorcee.

The EP have a story that Prince Michael of Kent and Marie-Christine Troubridge have visited the Archbishop of Canterbury recently no doubt to discuss the royal marriage question. Mrs Troubridge is a Roman Catholic divorcee and so you can imagine the mutterings that are going on in the corridors of Buckingham Palace. Our poor, desolate, over worked sovereign must surely be at her wits end over cousin Michael's papist diversion. However, they should allow the boy to do the decent, honest thing.

This evening the only diversion was a slide show and wine party, with Ernest giving a talk on Wharfedale. The Blackwells came at 8 and the Nasons at 9. Dave was here as 'odd job' man. The films were over by 10:30 followed by a booze up and a typical Rhodes political discussion took place. I was attacked when I said cigarettes and drink are no less drugs than LSD. The furore resembled the evacuation of Dunkirk. Ern offers to teach me Greek, German or Italian. Edith was very drunk and quite rude, especially to Mum. They left at 2-ish and I cleared everything up and returned the lounge to it's former glory. I'm in bed at 3:00am.

-=-

Monday February 27, 1978

Hello people. Another bright, Spring like day with singing sparrows and all the usual band waggon.

Carole phoned me at the YP to say she's in Ward 11 of the (Leeds General) Infirmary. I'd forgotten she was going in this morning. At 2:30 I went to see her. She isn't remotely ill-looking and chats away in her famous style. She says she loathes __________. She wasn't wearing an engagement ring but I saw it concealed under the pillow of her bed! When I left she escorted me to the Town Hall (Yep, they even let her out into the streets).

Marita saw me on Wellington St and brought me to Guiseley. She's having something done with her car at Senior Smith's.

Steel: foul smelling.

John made a fleeting call this evening. He and Maria are going to Michelle's party on Saturday. ______.

Susie cut my hair tonight. She's done a great job and once again I look almost semi-Punk. It looks good, I can tell you.

Edith and Ernest didn't get the cottage in Devon but are definitely going to go south this year. Sad, eh?

Dad's been strange tonight. He looks pale. He's terribly out of shape. Fat and out of breath. Quiet too.

Saw the obnoxious David Steel MP on BBC1. He really is a sly, foul smelling being.

-=-

Sunday February 26, 1978

3rd Sunday in Lent.

Edith and Ernest are going to live near their son, Kenneth in Devon. Isn't this awful? My best adoptive grandparents are deserting me for clotted cream, and all that. Mum immediately blanks out the sad details but says: "wouldn't it be nice to buy number 54?" I agree. The Blackwells live in a detached house which must be worth £22,000 and within months (after considerable alteration) could be worth as much as £30,000. Dad, as usual, is pessimistic and sceptical.

Margaret: 'ugly'

Ernest, looking at our Sunday Mirror, says Princess Margaret is 'ugly' and 'looks 60'. Never! Just because the dear thing's gone off to Mustique again (yesterday) with Mr Llewellyn Ernest is following the establishment tradition of 'blackening' her name. She is, and no doubt always will be, a very attractive woman, and her sexual appetite, whether it is for Welsh pop singing gentry or not, should be of no concern to peasants such as us. As long as HRH continues to dish out the honorary degrees, snip the ribbons, and make the speeches then she is fulfilling her intended role.

I did nothing all day but eat and roll around in the lounge. At 9 I went with Mum and Dad to Edith & Ernest's where we watched 'Anne of a Thousand Days' ~ a story very roughly based on Anne's Boleyn's brief association with King Henry VIII. Richard Burton made a very unimpressive monarch.

-=-

Thursday January 19, 1978

Deep snow. Didn't get out of bed until after 11am. Was roped into bottling lager and Saki. We were joined by an ill-looking Edith. She asked me to look up 'blood pressure' for her in the medical dictionary. The poor girl suffers from this. I didn't read out the diagnosis. The technical terms would have scared the pants off her. Looking at her I cannot imagine her surviving much longer.

To Leeds at 4:00pm. A sore throat. I'm getting another bloody cold. YP uneventful. I managed to ring Dave G. He's coming tomorrow night for the weekend. Home at 12:15. The taxi fare came to £3.50. Blimey, am I worth it? Of course. To bed and read Dorothy L. Sayers until my eyelids closed on this funny old world.

-=-

Sunday January 8, 1978

1st Sunday after Epiphany. When we arrived home last night Mum and I squabbled about something but this morning all was forgotten in the haze. She can be very irate at times. I'd barely finished breakfast when Ernest came round to use the telephone. This simple, quite small action by our venerable old neighbour sparked off something quite Bacchanalian. Yes, nothing less than an orgy to make the orgies of the Emperor Caligula look like one of Andy Pandy's tea parties. I was ordered to go collect Edith after half an hour and Mum, Dad, Ernest, Edith and I began drinking lager and playing records in the dining room. It endured until 5:30. It was dark when we eventually emerged.  Sue, who had closed herself off in the lounge to concentrate on her knitting, was on the verge of collapse from the noise of the merry making. The funniest part of the day was Ernest attempting to do a Greek dance which involved waving a handkerchief in the air. Edith insisted on flashing her pale, thin thighs and suspender belt. We howled in hysterics for ages afterwards. The four of them have decided to go off for a weekend to some poor, unsuspecting seaside town in about a month's time. It may well be Whitby.

At 6:00 Pete went to Harry Ramsden's and we devoured fish and chips heartily. The dear Blackwells departed afterwards, bless them, and I collapsed in a chair. This riotous living is no good.

Watched a Walter Matthau film on the BBC and retired to bed before 12 with James, Duke of Monmouth. Looking at the large pile of books by my bed I don't envisage getting through them all. James II may have to be dumped, I fear.

-=-

Sunday January 1, 1978

_.1st after Christmas - New Year's Day. Yes, at midnight I was in Edith's garden with a solitary Persian cat. Alone with just my thoughts of 1977. They didn't come to much really. Minutes later I was inside being kissed, fondled and embraced.

Edith & Ernest: not like OAPs.

From here we made a convoy to Pine Tops where the family had finally arrived. Mum, a bit sozzled, is with Christine and Len ( a couple of her buddies). The party got under way nicely but I detected a more reserved atmosphere this year and a falling of of the numbers attending. But I enjoyed it all immensely.

I won't bore you with the party details because when you've read about one you've read about them all, don't you think? I got to my bed at some time after 6:00am. _____________.

Woke up at 12 or so. Jacqui and I went to Edith & Ernest's at 2 and stayed until after 5. She thinks Ern is really interesting. I thought she would. The Blackwells aren't like OAPs at all. He reminds me of Uncle Albert. Back home for a nosh and then watched the film 'Nicholas & Alexandra'. Jacqui was bored by it.

-=-

Monday November 28, 1977

Eileen is still in hospital. Sarah is off sick. It's Kathleen's day off, and so only Carol J and I in the office. Not such a hectic day though and we refuse to panic and let the bastards get on top of us.

My unhealthy Barclaycard statement.

Jack Heath, who died on Tuesday, was cremated today. Most people went from the office just to get off work. ______.

Carole PHONED ME  this morning in marvellous spirits. It was wonderful to hear her sweet voice on the blower. I promise to call in and see her at 2:30. She looked like her mother today. Her face was round, which she put down to the steroids that they are pumping into her each day. She is very much back to normal though and because of this her mother was half as attentive. In fact the old girl disappeared onto another ward with a mug of cocoa to visit a less fortunate patient. I asked Carole where she plans on taking me when she gets out. It triggered off the usual story about why our relationship fell down in July. She seems to think it was all my fault and we had a whispered quarrel, not wishing to have a full argument whilst she's laid up hospitalised. My God she must be improving if she can oppose everything I say! Great, isn't it? I didn't mention __________whom I'm sure is the 'nigger in the wood pile' regarding Carole and I.

I left at 3:15 say I will see her tomorrow. She doesn't allow me to give her a parting kiss on the lips because she doesn't want me going back to the YP smothered in lipstick.

Edith's aunt has died in Luton and Mum and Dad are taking the Blackwells down tomorrow for a couple of days to sort out the estate. The old dear was 87 and died suddenly the other night in her sleep. Not a nice way to go. I'd like just a tiny, little warning, I think. No long, painful illness but a gentle reminder that my time is up.

Watched a Western on the BBC and played Patience. The family sat startled as I shuffled a deck of cards.

-=-

Sunday November 27, 1977

Advent Sunday. My eyes were opened to the principal bedroom of the Ratcliffe residence and Mr Mather's gaping mouth and Mantovani on the stereo playing 'Greensleeves' and then 'My Love is Like a Deep Red Rose'. All very nauseating. Peter George Mather, Esq is indeed a weird bundle of male. His eccentricities are numerous:

1). He persists in the wearing of the article of underclothing known as the VEST.
2). He wears his hair in the style of a lieutenant in Princess Patricia's Own Right Knee and Underskirt Regiment.
3). His bizarre musical tastes not only feature Mantovani and Max Jaffa, but Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson and Des O'Connor, &c.
4). His choice of footwear is indescribable.
5). His overall appearance is that of a 1958 bank clerk.
6). Sexually, he's a three year-old.
7). Sexually, he thinks he's a combination of Ryan O'Neal, Casanova, Mick Jagger, the Sex Pistols and Erroll Flynn.
8). He enjoys those archaic boys 'comics' like Hotspur.
9). Everybody's mother simply adores him.
10). If he'd been born American Mrs Edith Blackwell would campaign to have him elected president.

Peter: 1958 bank clerk.

Peter drove me home at 1:30. Shortly afterwards I went with Lynn, Mum and Dad to look at 34, Town Street, Guiseley, which is for sale. A poky, tiny little place but very 'country cottage with roses round the door' type of place. David is, I think, going to 'make an offer for it' as they say in the house buying business.

Back for luncheon and then collapsed in a chair by the fire with my knees firmly under the television set. The series 'Royal Heritage' featured George IV. Later, a Phyllis Diller film.

To bed at 12:00 with 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. Bloody Hell, I expect a visit any day from Alexandre Dumas to fill me in on where I'm missing the point. Oh, hang on, there goes the doorbell. He's here now. Come in, Alex! Sit down and take the weight off your Three Musketeers.

-=-