Tuesday April 17, 1979

_. Last night, it's all very vague. Ally and I really joked about our so-called romance. She said Lynn is taking it all quite seriously and whenever they are alone together Lynn feeds her potted anecdotes from my distant childhood. Oh dear.

YP was dull and uninteresting. I didn't arrive at the office until after ten because I failed to respond to both my alarm clocks (yes, two of them). Kathleen seldom complains about my diabolical time keeping, but I don't like to get in too late in case the Ayatollah Khomeini should happen to be in the throes of a guided tour of the building with the Lord Lieutenant and dear old Sir Kenneth Parkinson.

David B phoned after lunch to say we are going to Salvo's after work, and he collected me at 5:30 and we met Lynn, Ally, Sue & Peter at the New Inn in Headingley. On to Salvo's at 6:30 for pizzas and el vino. We all enjoyed a couple of bawdy hours, The food was incredibly good and the only sadness was poor Ally having to return to Hampshire. Before she left I took her phone numbers so that I can contact her when I am in Bournemouth next week.

Lynn and Dave didn't want to come back to Pine Tops and see Mum but I insisted and both of them seemed subdued. Lynn said she was tired, but I still think something is queer. ____________. Drank coffee and sent Ally off south at 9 o'clock. Poor Alison. ______________________________.

-=-

Thursday March 8, 1979

_. David Andrew Baker is 23 to-day. I bought him a bottle of pernod, which no doubt he will demolish within minutes of receiving it. I didn't see Lynn & Dave today because after work I went to Bill North's to continue daubing pain everywhere.

Did I tell you that Bill and I have settled upon the sum of £50 for decorating? Not bad, eh? Bill tells me that Sarah is a notorious hyporchondriac. I have always thought that the girl is obsessed with disease and illness and seems to go through endless lengths to avoid people with even the most minor ailments.

Worked until 8:30pm. Crossing a field at Headingley to get a bus I was accosted by two youths who asked: "Hey, Mister. Can we wank you off?" I replied in the negative. I would have missed the bus to Guiseley.

Peter came up at 9:30 and we went to find Chippy and Dave W in the White Cross. Chatted with Naomi and Jill. Did you know that, for some reason, I am attracted to Jill? God knows why. She is massive. She must weigh 12 stone - and nothing about her appearance is stunning.  The only thing that would stun you would be if she sat on you. However, I like her brain. Her mind intrigues me and I cannot refrain from chatting her up as if she is a Goddess, or something.

On to Oakwood [Hall]. Saw Steve Hudson there, and the divine Sarah [not Collis]. Also saw Tony Simpson and his friend from the Keighley Argus. Got horribly drunk, and remember nothing from the journey home.

-=-

Wednesday March 7, 1979

_. Didn't get to bed until 4 this morning - so I don't feel like dancing to Victor Silvester.

Delia came over for me at 9am and we went over to Headingley and Bill North's flat. To our horror, he's lurking around in his dressing gown, or robe, sneezing and coughing as though at death's door. We expected the place to be deserted, but he announces that he has taken the week off and will be 'hanging around' whilst I am attempting to dollop paint all over the walls. Delia was very concerned at the prospect of my being closeted up with Bill for the day. We went through some amateur dramatics on the corridor near the lift, and when I took leave of her she disappeared through the floor wailing like a banshee.

I rubbed down the doors, painted the walls and finished for the day at about 6:30. Knackered I was in body and mind.

At home it wasn't long before I took to my bed.

-=-

Sunday March 4, 1979

1st Sunday in Lent.

_. Went with Sarah and Delia to see Bill North at Headingley. It was my first ascent of a block of high rise flats and I was pleasantly surprised.

Bill is something of a cross between Larry Grayson and Liberace, and very suspect. We drank gin and tonic. I agreed to paint his hallway, which has ten doors leading from it, but no overall price was settled upon. He gave me £10 to be going along with though. Delia kept bursting into howls of laughter and blaming it on me, and it was all so childlike and good fun.  I am eternally grateful to that small, valiant lady, with the bunch of gladioli and campaigning spirit, who has undoubtedly saved me from prostitution & degradation.

Hilda and Tony came here again. Wine was consumed on the usual vast scale and we discussed the so-called family tree. I am sure that Tony knows more on this subject than he lets on , and when I next go to Pudsey I must look at the Wilson family Bible. I gave him the dates of the burials of John & Rella Wilson who died in Dec 1920 and March 1926 respectively. Lynn and David came and saw Auntie H for the first time in three years.

Saturday December 9, 1978

Sun rises 07:54

Sun sets 15:52

KING HENRY VI YOU SILLY GIT

Joke: "What fucks old age pensioners?" (For the answer see the heading of Dec 16).

My stomach isn't what it should be today. I am dribbling and rumbling all over the place and put it down to the Tetley's bitter in the Shoulder last night.

Did absolutely nothing all day other than listen to music and watching Mummy going about her work. If I was the Holy Father I'd have her beatified. (Richard III's niece, Margaret, Countess of Salisbury was beatified in the 1880s). Mum does work like a bee though.

Original Oak: Headingley

Tonight: phoned Chippy at 7 and he and Frank came at 8. We went to Queensway for Gus and then had a drink in the Crown before moving on to the Original Oak to meet Johnny. We latched on to the vicars and tarts. Frank and I went outside to change into our costumes. He was clad in a black skirt and canary~yellow jacket and I put on a white shirt backwards beneath a black t~shirt so that soon I'm the image of the Archdeacon of Bath &Wells. Frank brought the place to a standstill with his impersonation of a tart, he even used the ladies toilets. The gin and ale swilled everywhere. I persuaded a crowd of people to join me in the singing of rousing hymns including "Christ the Lord is Risen Today, Hallelujah!" Someone complemented me on my ecclesiastical voice. One gorgeous tart said I sound like William Rushton! What a tremendous complement. I didn't know I was so articulate. An articulated lorry yes, but no orator.

We gave a lift to a guy called Smith and carrying a seven pint can I entered the party. As usual everything is shrouded in mist and stale alcohol fumes. I had a romantic interlude with one nameless tart who enquired: "Ooh Father, where did you learn to kiss like that?"

Became deeply involved in a discussion on which part of the UK is the friendliest. I said (of course) that Yorkshiremen are the warmest but my opponent said boys from Devon are far friendlier. I concluded that they all vote Liberal in Devon and are invariably homosexual, at which I was set upon by a rugby player from Paignton.

-=-

Thursday September 14, 1978

Pete N and I went to Leeds at 7:30 to meet Dave G at the Original Oak in Headingley. Pete's first experience of the Headingley pubs!

Dave G has really enjoyed his stay in Leeds and has done nothing but drink since the start of the course. His only task this afternoon was to bring a tin of tomato juice to the boil on a gas oven.

We came back to the Shoulder of Mutton and met Chippy, Gus, Dave Wainwright, Neil Addyman and Frank Hall (who used to reside on Hawksworth Lane), and others. Chippy is taking on the personality of one of his mental patients, but Gus was his usual good~natured self. I was slightly pissed and at 10:30 we all went to Oakwood Hall until some very late hour.

I don't remember it but I am told I assaulted Chippy and knocked a lens out of his spectacles. Oh dear.

Pete took Dave G back to Leeds. Yes, I was pissed and don't mind admitting it. Sat reading Evelyn Waugh until the light of dawn was seeping through the curtains.

-=-

Saturday July 1, 1978

Sun rises 04:47 Sun sets 21:21 Dominion Day (Canada)

Jacq and I woke up on Grant's settee surrounded by wine glasses and clothing. A guy was asleep in the hallway and another poor sod was stood in the bathroom unable to decide whether or not to vomit. Jacq collected her handbag and shoes from Grant's bedroom and I heard further squeals of laughter. About 18 people were in one bed.

Out we went into the rain at 9:30. Silly sods were queueing across the road to see the Test match. The Pakistanis are, I think, the offending, marauding team.

My hair was something of a shock first thing, but I'm going to have to live with it.

We caught a bus back into Leeds and made our way to Wellington Street where we made our fond farewells. The two of us are to be parted for three weeks. We have seen each other daily since the beginning of April. After a quick kiss in the rain I departed on a West Yorkshire bus in a homeward direction. At 12:30 she leaves for London, and by nightfall she will be terrorising the Italians. She and Joy will make the Red Brigade look like the Muppet Show.

I was home for 11 and after a miserable breakfast and change of clothing I went off to Burley to lend my shaky, alcohol-filled hand to Dave & Lynn. It was purgatory I can tell you. Scraping old paint off doors for five hours is not the best way to pass a Saturday afternoon. Audrey Baker came in at about 2 with fish & chips.

Back home for tea at 5:20. John, Maria and JPH came to see Mum and Dad. They are going to look at a house on Victoria Road (Guiseley). JPH sat on my knee and showed me a picture book. According to him mice are cows and umbrellas are flowers. He's a delight. I would love six or seven offspring just like him ~ God willing.

-=-

Wednesday March 8, 1978

My future brother-in-law is 22 today. Not a very happy birthday either. I gave him £2.50 so I suppose you can say he's only £97.50 short now. Sad isn't it?

At lunchtime Dave was so sulky he boycotted the celebration drink I'd planned at Parker's. Mum, Dad, John P and Alison met me in Leeds and to that underground cavern of refreshment we immediately dashed. I'm afraid that the money flowed faster than the wine but all the same we ate, drank and toasted the absent David. From Parker's we went to the Emmott's at Rawdon. Good grief, the memories of that place certainly linger. We all drank too much and on getting home, after 3, I piled into the MG with John and Alison and we sped off towards Baildon Moor for a ridiculous photograph session. I'm sure they think I'm a lunatic.

Later we went to Ernest's to sample his 'stout' and we didn't get home until about 6. Alison thinks I'm a nutter, but Mother thinks I'm alcoholic.

Christine D and Graham came at 8 and we went with Lynn, Dave, John P, Alison, Sue and Pete to the Dyneley Arms, and then to the New Inn at Headingley and then to Salvo's.  Tony and Martyn with lady friends met us at Salvo's, and they sat next to Alison. ________. Susan and I had a pizza and then shared another one. Gluttony Rules OK. Lynn was very drunk. I do really like Christine Dibb.

-=-

Saturday October 8, 1977

Foggy, wet and damp. Party at 102, Grosvenor Road, Muswell Hill, London N10. I got a coach from Leeds at 12.30 and read 'The Count of Monte Cristo' until my eyes ached. We were in the centre of London before I deposited the book in my luggage. The coach driver, making his first venture to the capital, was lost, and we circled Buckingham Palace five or six times before one of my fellow passengers enlightened him as to the whereabouts of Victoria. All very trying it was.

Met Jacqui at about 5.30 and, in pouring rain, we went by bus to Muswell Hill, which seemed just as far from London as did Leeds. It was miles!

George Davis: drinking with his relations.

Jacqui shares a marvellous flat with a couple of other birds - one a sexy Australian. We ate and listened to records until the first party guests arrived at about 9 o'clock. Lononders frowned at the suggestion that we should first go to the pub until closing time. Weird lot. All the men wear one ear-ring, and several claimed to be related to George Davis, the bank robber of Headingley wicket sabotage fame. Didn't know whether to believe them or not. Most people (were) quite pissed, but gallons of wine didn't do much for me at all. The party was good. I thoroughly enjoyed it. My northern accent amused endless people and I brought hours of amusement to scores of Londoners who had never actually met a Yorkshire man before. I remember drinking Pernod and chatting to a Greek.

Jacqui and I get on very well. We were the last survivors at about 4am.

-=-

Friday September 23, 1977

Eileen showed me an article in that glorious relic 'Woman's Own' which I found hilarious. It states that the Royal Family is becoming far too large, the biggest one in fact since Victoria's day. Laugh at the thought that by the year 2000 the south of England will be overrun by minute Queen Mothers, devouring and devastating crops and making a general nuisance of themselves. _______.

Royal Family: too large.

Burdened with a ghastly hangover today. I'm home completely shattered at the usual hour and spend the time until 9 o'clock readying myself for Angela (Singer's) party. Jacqui phoned at 9.15 and by 10.15 we were teamed up outside the Yorkshire Post and we made our way to Headingley.

I loathe going to parties stone cold sober, but I soon remedied that. It was rewarding watching bleary eyed journalists eyeing up Jacqui and Joy. Peter Fearon attempted to woo Joy with his Fleet Street routine which failed brilliantly. She then went off to dance with a Daily Express man. I became quite drunk.

Carol Johnson and Roger Ratcliffe arrived at the same time, but not together. The girls thoroughly enjoyed themselves and were very sociable. Did I do a tango with Brenda Rankin? I hope not.

Joy brought me home and I foolishly had them in for coffee, giggles and screams, slamming doors and other loud robust noises. Naturally, Mama was awakened by the commotion but made no assault on us downstairs, luckily. They set off back for the depths of Roundhay at some unbelievable hour and I departed to my chambers for a few hours shut-eye. A very pleasant party. Angela Singer deserves to be the first woman editor of a national newspaper.

-=-

Thursday December 9, 1976

A weird day. Dad and I go down the lane at 7.30 in freezing circumstances expecting to get a lift with Jim. I have to tell you now that no lift arrived. By 8o'clock we were poised at the bus stop ready for action and to make matters worse, no bus arrived either. Frozen solid we were by 8.30 when a ruddy cart eventually turned up to take us to Leeds. Black ice and 45 minutes later I was at the YP. One and a half hours on the road!

Had lunch at the Central with Dad [he's on a course] and a work colleague of his called John. Good laugh.

Meanwhile: That night: Lynne comes up for a meal at 6.30, early for her, and we're both in jovial mood. After 'Top of the Pops' we decide to attend the cinema. Go to Headingley and see Margaux Hemingway in 'Lipstick', a tale of rape and vengeance. Very good it was too. However, the highlight of the night came afterwards in the carpark. Whilst negotiating a reverse in treacherous conditions Lynne had the misfortune to collide with another vehicle. It was doubly unfortunate that the incumbent of the bereaved motor car happened to be of Oriental origin - a Jap to be precise. The gentleman couldn't speak a word of the Queen's English. The usual exchange of names and addresses took place - written on a crumpled cinema ticket, and we parted ways and disappeared into the night. I have only just forgiven them for Pearl Harbour. I laughed all the way home. Lynne saw the lighter side after a while.

Friday November 19, 1976

A big piss-up tonight. Go with Lynne to the Leisure Centre [Horsforth] at 8.30 and stand with Sarah whilst Peter [Baker] plays squash down below. Quite a mob congregates herein. Mrs Johnson, Marilyn & Beverley Wheeler, Alan, an anti-monarchist with an effeminate mouth called David, who gets into the affections of Mrs J.

We all go off to Salvo's in Headingley for a pizzas, &c. Everyone is pissed and we make one hell of a racket in the restaurant which isn't on at all really, is it? Sarah becomes quite moronic and insensible. I scream like a mad thing at the effeminately mouthed David about the role of the Sovereign in current affairs. He says she's powerless, and I say 'but Ah yes, by her presence she prevents others from obtaining great power.' In between mouthfuls of pizza I find time to throw chunks of Walter Bagehot at him [i.e. that the monarchy is a 'mellowing influence on a dark and restless age'].

At one o'clock Lynne and I go back to Carol and Marilyn's flat. After an incident with the car door we arrive to find Marilyn with eight men in her sitting room holding court like Marie Antoinette. Mrs J is tucked up in bed with the anti-monarchist, effeminately-mouthed David. We leave after a glass of home-made cider and I receive abuse from Lynne about dragging her off to such a den of iniquity. Tut Tut Michael.

-==-

Wednesday August 18, 1976

Sarah [Collis] & Peter [Baker] come over at 8 o'clock. The three of us go see John & Maria where they inspect the rabbits and introduce Lucy [Sarah's shih tzu] to Prince [Maria's King Charles spaniel]. John gives Peter blank looks when the latter attempts to lassoo the dogs with Lucy's lead, but Sarah & I just laugh. Neither John or Maria seem impressed with Peter. Much too 'kinky' and childish I fear. The three of us leave at 9.15 and go to the Fox & Hounds, and then move on to the Horsforth Leisure Centre where they show me round the place. See Marilyn [Wheeler] playing squash. Afterwards we go to Brian's the fish and chip shop at Headingley, and devour large quantities of food. Peter, because he doesn't really know me, thinks I'm the type who enjoys listening to jokes. I do not. I find difficulty in laughing at tales of Irish citizens visiting brothels, and other outrageous anecdotes of the sexual activities of nuns, and coarse, unwholesome rhyms about Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs. However, Peter is a good laugh, despite the nasty things he said about Capt Mark Phillips. Evidently, they [he and the captain] were at Marlborough together, and Mark's sexual frolics were far from healthy.

-==-

Saturday March 20, 1976

A joint vendetta by Mrs Phillips and 'Cocky' her parrot, bring me out of my slumbers at the crack of dawn. I am very much afraid that Carole's mother isn't all that she should be, and this is blatantly obvious, when one sees her rushing about the house at 10 o'clock on a Spring morning working herself into a frenzy of excitement due to the fact that a 1967 'Man from U.N.C.L.E' film is on YTV in ten minutes time.
Horribly insane.

It is a beautiful morning but I feel shattered and my head is thumping like the clappers. At 12 o'clock Carole and I get the Bradford bus. I get off at Hawksworth Lane and head home to see the beloved Queen Mother who must be wondering in despair as to my whereabouts. Carole goes on to Bradford to buy me a bomber jacket for my birthday.

Mum was concerned at my whereabouts because she knows I never sleep at Carole's but she was soon calmed. I retired to bed until 4.20 and awake feeling greatly refreshed. Peter arrived to woo Sue and I congratulated him on his 18th birthday.

This evening Mum, Dad, Lynn, Dave, Sue, Pete, Carole and I go off for a meal to a restaurant in Headingley which is nice but hardly worth venturing all that distance for when one can enjoy virtually the same meal on our own doorstep - namely the Hare & Hounds.

Carole stays the night and beds down in the girls room. David sleeps in the dining room in a sleeping bag and Peter has the bottom bunk in my room.

-=-

Monday August 25, 1975

Holiday in England, N. Ireland & Wales. Back to the office. Ugh. The fact that it's Bank Holiday Monday makes it worse because the thought of everyone staying in bed until noon whilst I struggled across a deserted town was far from pleasant.

See Sarah and Kathleen and they both agree that I'm a tremendous colour. Work until 1pm and then Kathleen lets me go. I get the 55 bus with Sarah and arrive home at about 2 o'clock. The weather is still quite warm, but I don't sit out in it when I arrive home. I've had enough after 2 weeks in Majorca and 2 full weeks lying around in the sun.

Sue is watching a rotten film starring W.C. Fields, which is cronic. I devour beans on toast, and then see a Marx Brothers film 'Duck Soup' which is hilarious in parts.
Groucho should be knighted in the New Year's Honours list. If Charlie Chaplin can be (knighted), I fail to see why Groucho can't.

No much in the news whilst I've been away. Some nutter saw fit to dig up the Headingley cricket pitch in the middle of the Test Match, which seems a bit of a silly thing to do, and the historic event to beat all other historic events is the re-union of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. They're going to re-marry, and at the moment they're carrying on like a pair of 16 year-olds with the first pangs of love!

-==-

Thursday April 17, 1975

The name Barbra Streisand will forever be imprinted in large capitals across the frontage of my heart. The woman should be knighted or perhaps canonised by by Pope Paul or something. Joan of Arc, Gladys Aylward, Queen Victoria, Germaine Greer and Princess Anne can ALL stand aside for this lady. Boy! What a Girl! Those eyes! That nose! That figure. God! Dave, Sandra and me went to to the Odeon in Leeds to see 'Funny Lady' in which Miss Streisand excelled all bounds of things which one normally excels. It finished at 10.30 and we nipped into the Take and Bake in Headingley for chicken and chips. Sandra devoured a nasty looking sausage and baked spud with crumbly cheese all over it. The car windows were so steamed up that David had to guess (more or less) where the bloody road was. Sandra looked sexy. I still don't believe she's as old as she surely must be - if you know what I mean. Well, she only looks 21-22-ish, no older than say Sarah - and yet her son Gary must be eight if he's a day. Wonderous it really is. Home at 11 to chat with Ma and Pa for half an hour. I try to persuade them to say they'll go to Windsor for a weekend with me in 3 or 4 weeks time but all Mum can talk about is my holiday in August and how much I'll have to save for it. Once again I'll finish with one word. Yak!

-==-

Sunday March 30, 1975

Easter Day. I'm sure Easter Sunday wasn't as early as this last year. I always thought it fell somewhere after my birthday, but it goes to show that even I can make the occasional mistake.

Do nothing all day other than eat chocolates and watch tv. The house was uncluttered with human bodies for the first time in years. Lynn, Dave, Sue and Peter went to the Lake District for the day. John was out on the booze. So, Easter Day lunch was a miserable event with just the three of us, i.e Mum, Dad and myself. Food very nice though.

At 8.15 Dave L comes for me in the car and I escape the horrors of Richard Harris and Vanessa Redgrave in 'Camelot', a revolting film on the BBC. King Arthur and all that. Meet MM and Marita and head for Leeds. The Three Bells, a nasty little pub in Headingley near Bryan's Fish and Chip Shop, is the first place to be patronised by us before moving on to the Skyrack, riddled with festering students and such like. At about 10 we all flee like big kids to the Woodhouse Moor Fair where, to our horror, we discover the bloody thing closing down for the night. After one go on the dodge 'ems the lights go out and the four of us console ourselves with chicken and chips in Headingley. Back to MM's for coffee until 1am. Sit telling tales of horror and fright. Home in the early hours in the Lawson-mobile. I can soon forsee a Matthews/Fountain engagement. Yes, Siree.

-==-

Sunday February 16, 1975

1st in Lent. Wake up on Gillian's floor at about 8.30 feeling obnoxiously cold and uncomfortable. Marian is underneath her coat next to me, and the faithful, flimsy scarfe is draped between us - the only link between us. Like an umbilical cord. Up at about 9 and we sit huddled around a gas fire. To my surprise I see that Denby and Co have gone off in the van without me. Filthy sods. My jacket was in the van and I now have no other clothing in which to venture forth on the great, perilous journey home.

Walk into Headingley, about a mile in all, then hitch a lift to Horsforth. Call in at Marian's for breakfast. A nice family - especially the mother who is quite a joker. It begins to snow, and so Mrs Read loans me the use of her son's coat for the second part of my journey. Arrange to see Marian sometime next week.

Home at 11.00. The clan are just getting up, and I join Mum for breakfast. Dad was stoned out of his mind last night at a dinner-dance in Ilkley. Dave B and John had to carry him upstairs and dump him on the bed. He was too drunken even to speak. Mum was quiet at first but laughed herself silly about it later.

Don't go out in the evening. See Richard Burton and Peter O'Toole in 'Becket' on ITV, and stagger to bed at 10.15. Tired and shagged out beyond description.

-==-