Wednesday June 23, 1976

Out to Grassington and then onto the Miners' Arms at Glasshouses (surely, Greenhow?) with Chris, Peter M, and Andy Graham. The latter mentioned is indeed a rare sight in public life these days without the ever watchful Linda Smith lurking somehwhere in the shadows.

Peter got terribly drunk and the so-called highlight of the evening was the return journey when Andy seriously attempted to uproot every sign post between Bolton Abbey and Guiseley. Chris had about ten road signs stacked in the back of his van by 1.30am and I found the whole operation ridiculous and not in the least amusing.____________.

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Monday May 31, 1976

Bank Holiday in England, N. Ireland and Wales. Wake up at 8.30 on the moors above Greenhow, not too far from Stump Cross Caverns. Feel slightly less like collapsing with pneumonia today, although today I'm still snuffling and wheezing somewhat.

After a makeshift breakfast of baked beans and coffee Pete, Chris and I march up a hillside which has a commanding view of the whole of the Dales. Get back to the vans at about 9.30 - my cold is cleared now. Drive home with Chris. ________________.

Arrive home at 10.30am and receive severe injuries from Mum & Dad about THAT PARTY.
Mum gives me a complete run down on how many glasses have been broken, and she demands to know just WHO has slept in her bed. Bloody Hell, I feel like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. I remain silent on the subject. What can I possibly say to defend myself? I know I deceived them by having an orgy behind their backs, but boys will be boys won't they? To console them I take them to the Commercial at 1pm. Prop up the bar therein until 3 and we all come home in a pleasant, less explosive frame of mind.

My good deed of the day is to cut Mrs Monkman's lawns at 4 o'clock and later entertain her over a cup of tea. Feel dog tired all evening and go to bed at 11 o'clock.

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Saturday May 29, 1976

Wake at some God forsaken hour with excruciating pains in my left leg. Cramp, I take it to be, but on inspecting the offending limb I discover a large conglomorate mass of what can only be described as nothing but vein. I sit on the edge of my bed and sigh. Why should it be my lot to undergo the trauma of a coronary thrombosis at my time of life? I am going to die without a fight, that's for certain. Ring Maria who doesn't know whether she's going to the wedding or not in the horribly wet conditions. I have a coffee and prepare a rough draft of my last will and testament.

To Menston at 12.45 and sit in the empty Methodist chapel for 10 minutes listening to the organist bashing away heartily. George Waite's Mum sits next to me and we sing the 23rd Psalm together. Only 15 people in church including the bride and groom. Helen looked fabulous - all flimsy and feminine - in fact like a Venetian lady from the 14th or 15th century, with the Juliet-style headdress. Both look so happy and matched and were the only people present who didn't seem to notice the pouring bloody rain. Maria and Carole arrived at 12.50 and sat on the other side of the chapel to me. Carole looked pale and almost insane. Her eyes dead and lifeless. The poor kid is taking life so seriously. She's going camping with Denise and 3,000 lads this afternoon. After the wedding Maria, Carole and I call in at the Hare for a drink. Carole leaves us at 3 and the two of us walk under Maria's umberella to Harry Ramsden's for a late luncheon.

Get home at 4pm. Pete M calls at 5 o'clock when along with Chris we leave for Pateley Bridge. Get to the pub at 7 o'clock and drink until 11 with the mob. Sleep in vans on a desolate hillside (Greenhow?). A good laugh all the same.

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