Friday April 11, 1975

Friday night again. OK, so Friday night usually does follow Friday day, but it's just that I like Friday nights particularly and you'll never fully appreciate just what pleasure I get from writing 'Friday night again' at the head of the page. After all, I ought to be able to write just what the hell I like at the top, middle or bottom of any page of my own choice in this diary. I did buy the bloody thing with my own money, just in case you've forgotten. Anyway, let's not get silly about it.

Traumatic evening. Christine is in the Hare and Hounds without Gary - they had a squabble at work and he declined to say he'd take her out. I love her you know, and the thought of her going out with that emaciated little bank clerk with nine inch hips and no hair repulses me like I've never been repulsed before. But as the ancient Chinese proverb says: "that's the way the cookie crumbles'. Move on to the Tudor Bar with David, Chris, Carol, Helen, Christine D, Christine. Leave at about 10.30 for Wikis. With Christine all night, though we do not enter into the subject of our relationship until the very end. At 1.50 we go sit outside in the cool air, near Chris's car, and we talk about us. She thinks a lot about Gary and is annoyed that I didn't make my feelings known before this point. But you know what they say about true love and the fact that it never runs smoothly? Well, mine hasn't had the opportunity to run at all yet.

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Wednesday April 2, 1975

Feeling much better today. The day flew by, and with Kathleen off (until tomorrow) I wassn't pestered or continually quizzed all the time about my movements.

Nothing spectacular in the news. Nasty Mr Shelepin, of the KGB, went home this afternoon after three or four days of ridiculous publicity. The newspapers went insane over his every move.

The poor Queen is to endure a gruelling state visit to Japan commencing May 7, and a rumpus is going on at the moment about whether or not she'll visit to the Tomb of the Unknown Japanese Warrior. I hope not. After all, the blackguard probably mutilated half the Green Howards with his sabre before some little private put a bullet in his brain. Keep Japan to the Japs and leave our Queen alone. That's what I say.

Christine B rang at lunchtime and I said I'd meet her in the Hare at about 8.30. She said she'd bring Maura with her. I must ask Miss Tobin if she wants to join the party on Saturday night. I'm crying out for folk to fill this 29 seater bus. I only hope and pray that it will be something of a success.

Aaarrghh! I'll only be a teenager now for a further two miserable days. Two days!! God, I'm becoming so old. My days are numbered. My hair is greying and falling out along with half my teeth. Poor, miserable looking sod that I am.

To the Hare, where Jane arrives shortly after me. Revolting, creepy Gillian comes over to us, but I don't egg her on about anything. Christine comes in, and we have a laugh, but unfortunately Gary got in the way. It's about time he went.

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Saturday March 29, 1975

A drunken day to end all drunken days. John, Chris and I chauffeured by Mr Ratcliffe go to the Black Bull in Otley where I consume 5 pints of Carlsberg Special Brew in the space of 2 hours and proceed to look horribly ill in the back of the Ratlciffe __. Very nearly spewed up, but my genius for self-control prevented me from doing so. They bomb off in the direction of Harrogate with me spread-eagled in the rear of the automobile and on arrival in the township they search the area for a gentleman's bog. I am thrust therein, but nothing happens. No vomit. No ill effects at all. They marvel at my quick recovery. I see 'What's Up Doc?' advertised over a cinema, but they refuse to accompany me in. After a heated argument lasting half an hour I concede defeat and go home with them.

Back out at 8 with a hangover. See Christine and Gary, and then Dave L arrives with a college mate, Rich. Peter M, Chris and John make up the party, and we go to the Hare, the Westbourne, Bowling Green, Black Bull and back to the Hare again. Pubs are open until 11.30 and we have a brilliant night. I entertain myself with a Rag mag and Dave nearly crashed the car laughing at the wheel. John bumped into Peter Nason and a pal in the Hare and brings them home for a coffee with all the others.

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Thursday March 27, 1975

Maundy Thursday. Yet another bloody busy day. Chaos and Hell Fire all rolled into one. Curious about something on the Court page of the Daily Telegraph. The Queen, Queen Mother and Princess Anne yesterday attended a memorial service for Her Majesty's cousin, Rev the Hon Andrew Elphinstone. No where have I seen anything to the effect that he has actually died. So, being highly curious I rang the Daily Telegraph to be informed that he had passed away on or about March 21. Obviously such information is of little interest to sane people, but it means a lot to me.

Sarah was in a good mood for a change and leapt to my aid when I had written a letter to Christine only to discover I had no postage stamps. She suggested I route around in the waste paper basket to salvage a respectable looking unfranked stamp to glue onto my epistle. And to think her Papa is the head postmaster at York.

In my letter to Christine I woffled on for ages about nothing. Well, when I say nothing I mean woffling on about Gary's surname - Walters. Being absolutely insane I connect Gary with Lucy Walters, the mistress of King Charles II, by making out he was her grandson.

Home at 5.15, my usual hour of late, and sit in front of the tv making little attempt to prepare for my meeting with Helen at the Hare. Both John and Papa refused to take me to the pub, so I go by bus, arriving at about 8.45. Sit with Helen, and Naomi (who John thought wasn't going out) brought us home at kicking out time.

I departed for bed after being quizzed as to what I'd been doing out with Naomi.

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Saturday March 15, 1975

Up at noon. Sue wants to go to Bradford in order to get a present for Peter, who is 17 on March 20, and I seem like a capable victim for her escort into Yorkshire's answer to Delhi. A bright sunny afternoon - cold though -is awaiting us in Bradford, and we visit Lynn who is selling suitcases in the British Home Stores. On to see Dear Denny, who enjoyed herself immensely in the Hare last night. Sue purchased a St Christopher locket for Peter, and we vacatedthe city at about 4.30.

To the Hare again. Gillian looks a bloody misery - so I soon get out of her company, and Helen doesn't harbour any grudges about last night, so all's well really.

Christine is in with Gary and she jokes about her birthday cards, but she soon departs when Chris arrives with Denny and Peter Mather. Chris was riddled with laryngitis when I last heard - but he's slightly improved now. John and Co. go off to Wheels and the remainder of us sod about in the Hare until 11. Ron, who was once more than good friends with Denny, and Graham Pease join us. Quite a laugh.

Chris and I come back home for a coffee but he leaves shortly after. See a Bob Hope film with Lynn, Dave, Sue and Peter. Bed at about 2.30. (It's 1.30 really but they've altered the clocks to Summer Time now.)

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Sunday March 9, 1975

4th Sunday in Lent. Reflections: Chris was a bit grotty to begin with last night, which is quite understandable, but he pulled round later on. Christine broke the news to him yesterday lunchtime, but he realised what the intention of her calling was before the fateful words had escaped her venomous lips. How long will she last with Gary? Is my love for her a remnant of those Halcyon days and hot Indian summer nights at Benton Park Grammar School? Yes, I think it might be.

Up at 12.30 to be told by Mummy that her Mother's Day present is about 15 sizes too small. Susan and Peter are to blame, and they receive the full weight of my wrath when we assemble after lunch. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for lunch and see the edited version of the Royal visit to Mexico on TV afterwards.

Lynn and Dave come over he settles down to fiddle with his car on the drive. Last night I realised what a jealous person Mr Baker really is. In the seating arrangements at Wheels Lynn was placed between Dave and Chris. After chatting with Chris for a while Dave was seen to drain of all colour and become very abrupt. Things improved later, but it just goes to show how many types of people it takes to make a world.

Helen Lockyer rings up later to see if I'm going out. I say I'll ring her back later but I know what the answer will be. Yes.

Ring Chris after tea but he's still in mourning for Christine and doesn't feel like going out anywhere. Dave B and Peter stayed for tea, and we had quite a laugh really.

To the Hare and Hounds with John and Naomi. Christine comes with Gary and they're all over each other at the bar. Helen comes in at 8.30 and the two of us stand at the bar for a couple of hours. Back to her place at see the last 35 minutes of an Edward G. Robinson film. Home in her car at midnight.

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Friday March 7, 1975

SPECIAL NEWS FLASH EDITION: A rumpus at the Hare & Hounds tonight when Christine said she'd finished with Chris and is now going out with a banking friend, Gary, whom I know only briefly. It all came about when good old Dave L (making a guest appearance)said he'd rather go to Wheels tomorrow than go to Wikis tonight - Chris agreed with this and dashed over to the other end of the pub to convery these thoughts to Christine, who was now doing her upmost to pull Gary. Pandemonium ensued when Helen said: "Why can't we do both?" Being the Jet-Set, high living spenders that we are. This suggestion was received coldly and with a good deal of discontent, and Christine ended up telling David to "piss off", but in a friendly way. (Christine's the only bird I know who can insult you in a nice way). Helen and I stick to our guns and say we are going to do both venues. So, it's Christine Dibb, Helen and me to Wikis where nothing much goes on, or indeed comes off. John is with Naomi and her cousin, and Carol S is with her recent acquisition. I think she intends to generously leave all her boyfriends to the nation when she dies. I'm sure it will be the largest collection of males under one roof. Since we formed the Royal Society for the Prevention of Wastage of Drinks I've sure had my share of alcoholic refreshment.
John isn't in the car (changing the subject) and so I walked Helen back to Menston and stayed the night sleeping in a sleeping bag on her settee. Prior to this we discussed all manner of things - women's lib, monarachy, ghosts. PS - at about 8 Kathleen rang looking for Lesley Whittle's picture file. Is the poor girl a goner?

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