Friday March 16, 1979

_. More snow today. At 5pm I battled across Leeds to complete Bill North's major operation. Was all cleaned up in a couple of hours and we parted on speaking terms, and I had all on carrying the wads of cash down the stairs. I almost danced my way to Kirkstall because the weight of responsibility had been lifted from my shoulders like a cloud of low depression being wiped from the BBC weather chart.

Bill had kept his revolting highly effeminate hands to himself throughout the refurbishment and he had avoided propositioning me for sexual favours, or offering me cash to flash my y-fronts, or the contents thereof. What an incredibly boring existence he leads. He told me that he is very often in bed at 9:30pm after the 'Archers' and various other ghastly Radio 4 programmes. By the look of things his boyfriends must be few, or far between.

Home in a snow-drift and devour a rotten dinner with no enthusiasm whatsoever. Ice-skating is on the tv. How exciting, eh? Bed at midnight. Exhausted.

-=-

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 January 6, 1979

Epiphany.

The boiler in Lynn's bathroom bangs a good deal.  Up at 11. Ate toast and then went out with Lynn to buy some meat for David's Sunday lunch. All very domesticated. A cold, slushy day.

Back to Lawn Rd for 12:30. We dismantled the Chrirtmas tree. I amused Lynn by deflating the balloons and telling her to save them all until next Christmas.

Dave later went out to see George (Waite) about a coal bunker. Home at 2. At 5 Mum and Dad left for a party at Auntie Mabel's, and then it happened. All Hell was released upon Hawksworth Lane in what is termed 'a three car pile~up'. It was just after 5 when I heard an almighty bang come from the kitchen. I opened the door and in fell Susan Prior, with grit and gravel all over her fur coat. A man with a beard was holding her up. He told me he had bumped into her car and she had smashed into the rear of Peter N's Capri. All three cars were near the top of our drive in a pathetic huddle.

The man with the beard handed Miss Prior a blank sheet of paper and asked her to sign the bottom. Wisely, she refused to do this. She refused to say anything until her boyfriend arrived from playing squash at Headingley. The beard had two girls with him. One became hysterical. She had recently lost a brother in a car accident and insisted on screaming: "Kevin! Kevin!" at the top of her voice. I presumed Kevin to be the unfortunate brother. JPH came into the kitchen and ran around imitating a police car and bursting balloons.

Then, the squash playing boyfriend arrived. His fly was down and his cock clearly exposed. I didn't like to mention this. It poked out for all to see. The gravel filled fur coated Miss Prior had a weep, and the beard wanted her blood and things became very heated. It was like a scene in downtown Teheran. Miss Prior and the indecently exposed boyfriend went outside to her car (where presumably she spotted his exposed genitals), and the beard rang his father who arrived promptly, looking like Jeremy Thorpe in a trilby and dark overcoat. This gent suggested that Miss Prior should be booked for driving without due care and attention. Peter phoned Dad at Auntie Mabel's for some advice. They all converged onto the lane and some haggling took place. Little JPH ate an apple and dashed about between the hagglers. He helped defuse the situation.

Eventually the police were summoned. A constable with black teeth and a flashing blue light arrived half an hour later. He told the beard that he was just as liable as Miss Prior, and told them to exchange addresses for insurance purposes. I thought he might arrest the squash player for indecent exposure, but he can't have noticed the dangling cock.

The girl with the dead brother Kevin became tearful once more. Then a van came to tow away the wrecked vehicles and they all suddenly became very apologetic. It was the closest I have been to ever embracing the lovely Sue Prior (from No. 90, Hawksworth Lane).

Peter took it all marvelously even though his Capri suffered £200 worth of damage. Susan is very good in a crisis.

Jim Nason arrived at 7:30 to inspect the damage before taking Sue, Pete and I to the White Cross. Joined by Chippy, Gus, Johnny, Mick (?), and Dave W {who disappeared after an argument over his charging us all 30p to take us to Burley in Wharfedale}. In fact the language was quite violent and abusive so much so that the landlord asked us to be quiet.

At 10:45 we went by bus to the Flying Pizza at Burley in Wharfedale. The food was hideous. We laughed when Frank asked the waitress for "French fries" and she replied: "don't you mean chips?" Upstairs a sort of discotheque was underway and Josephine and a crowd from the Regent were in. Chippy was being obnoxious. Josephine asked him to "stop fucking swearing". We all followed her into the dance area but the revolting manager with spectacles and Italian features told us to take our drinks back downstairs "because even a blind man can see this area is for dancing only". How very rude. Chippy got into an argument. The manager removed his spectacles and offered to give Chippy a thrashing outside. Johnny and Frank left to go to town. The manager quipped that he didn't cater for homosexuals on his premises. We drank up and left. I gave him (the manager) a naughty wink and blew a provocative kiss. It wasn't well received.

It was raining and we thought of walking to Lynn and Dave's. The lads walked towards Guiseley and me and Sue went to Lawn Road.

-=-

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.

-=-

Saturday May 27, 1978

A hot, stinking day. I felt revoltingly ill and close to death. At 12 we went with Trixie and Pete S to the Five Bells at East Finchley where I performed my 'dead man lying on the floor' routine for anyone who cared to watch. They were all sinking pints of beer like Billy Ho (sic) but all I could do was moan and grovel about in the deep grass with my clammy fingers wrapped feebly round a tomato juice. ________. Trixie Holroyd however is just perfection itself _____.

Another party at Trixie's tonight ~ a dumping ground for homosexuals and Polish refugees with wealthy wives, and women wearing pink pullovers adorned with white beads and with faces that go numb after only two gin & tonics. All called Jack, Beryl, Dick and Celia. The food, chatter, booze and general atmosphere was a delight. Slept in the state bed.

-=-

Wednesday October 19, 1977

Mist and rain. A grotty day indeed. Sarah, John McMurray and I went to the library together. Sarah disappeared into the art section, John into music, and I buggered about in the biographical works and in fiction.

John laughed when I told him that the first book I borrowed from a library (aged 11) was 'Queen Mary' by Pope-Hennessy. He told me he knew a guy who lived with Mr Pope-Hennessy, who was of course a leading homosexual. The author was stabbed to death by a fellow flat-mate about three years ago.

Norman Scott.

On the subject of homosexuals the Jeremy Thorpe/Norman Scott Affair is back in the news. It now transpires that a 'prominent' member of the Liberal party payed a young man to shoot Mr Scott. It is for poor Marion Thorpe that I feel great sympathy. From Harewood House to the gutter in ten years. ________________.

Marion Thorpe.

John Grady phoned. He was very excited. He told me that Hylda Baker lives in Bolton. I told him I'd phone Granada TV tomorrow to get some information about her for him. He really is obsessed with dearest Hylda and I cannot help blaming myself. John Grady was once a normal lad without a care in the world.

Saw part III of 'The Norman Conquests' and Lynn and Dave came to talk about churches, flowers and big wedding cars.









-=-

Thursday September 15, 1977

Good old Lynn and David, eh? I am so relieved that they have stuck it out to the bitter end like this. I cannot wish for a better brother-in-law than David, and I told him so at lunchtime when we went to the Boar's Head, a new pub near the Bond Street development. He was feeling rough after last night and only managed one, solitary pint, but I managed to put away a couple. He could not understand why he felt so nervous approaching Mum and Dad because he knows them so well. I tell him how good and considerate it was of them to give the family prior notice of the engagement. I don't think Mum and Dad would have wanted them just to walk in with a ring.

Dave & Lynn.

I left Dave at about 1.15 and staggered back to the YP. Work was ghastly. I'm not discussing it, anyway. How can I talk about work when my beautiful sister is about to embark on the biggest step down life's pathway? That innocent little child on whom I've showered my brotherly affection for almost 20 years is going to be married, with all the responsibilities appertaining thereto, BEFORE ME! Am I neglecting my duty as an older brother? Should I set a shining example to my younger kin by taking a bride in hand? Is it right and proper for a 22 year-old male, and a healthy one I hope, to be set permanently in the wicked ways of bachelorhood? How long will it be before the whispering begins? You know the sort of thing I'm getting at: "Hey Doris, did you see Michael Rhodes in his pink socks?" And: "Isn't it queer, Doris, how he's always behind the bicycle sheds with his boy scouts?" &c. No doubt about it. If I'm still unattached by my 25th birthday I'll be branded homosexual for sure. Who knows though? The visit of Jacqui a week on Friday may trigger another romance that will outshine the one with the late Miss Mather, or even Carole. We'll see anyway.

-=-

Saturday October 30, 1976

Up late. The phone is ringing. It's Tony. He comes here at 2.30 and the two of us go to Ilkley. Stuart and Andrew are readying themselves for tonight's onslaught. We all drive over to Bradford where Stuart purchases a pair of trousers and then it's off on our way to Manchester down the M62. Stop at one of those revolting service stations on the way and pay £18.50 for a sausage roll, cup of tea and a piss. Disgusting isn't it? Get to Manchester by 7 o'clock - it's a farce in a pub car-park when Andrew strips off to change his trousers publicly just when a bus is passing. Hilarity. Start drinking at 7.40pm. Until 10 o'clock we go between two pubs, one of which is full of homosexuals dressed in polythene bags. The bar staff look like something from an episode of 'Star Trek'. To the party and spend most of the night with a girl called Gill, who dumps me at the very end to return to her fiancee, who was also, unbeknown to me, at the party. God I could have had my head kicked in! We had a very romantic time. She had a wonderful beaming smile. Just think, I'll never see her again. Stuart goes off to bed with the hostess of the party and Tony, Andrew and I get very pissed. We end up in our underwear singing along to Leo Sayer, devouring cheese on toast at the same time. God only knows at what hour the revelries fell through, but it must have been 4 or 5am.

Link to Mr Sayer's 'You Make Me Feel Like Dancin'

-==-

Tuesday September 21, 1976

Sorry if I'm neglecting daily bulletins on Maria's condition but things really have ceased to happen. She shows as many signs of giving birth as I do. Oops, I've just had quins. No, but rely on me, as soon as I hear anything you'll be the first to know.

Oh no!! You are not going to like this at all. Do you recall what I said on the previous page about 'the YP plodding along quite nicely...' &c? Well I'm very sorry to say that the paragraph at the bottom of the page is one catastrophic error and should have appeared on this page. It was tonight that the Duke of Edinburgh didn't get lost at sea, and it was on this eventful night that Leonard James Callaghan continued to breathe and his heart continued to pump regardless of the Rhodesian question, and the somewhat 'murky' past of Davina Sheffield.

Monday night was in fact a quiet one spent in front of another Dirk Bogarde film on the BBC. Is it true that he is homosexual, or is it a figment of my imagination? [Come on you lot! Take down a copy of 'Who was Who in the Acting World of the Twentieth Century' and look up Mr Bogarde for me].

Still sleeping on a camp bed.

-==-

Monday April 26, 1976

For the first time in months I passed a whole day without seeing or hearing from Carole. I feel better for it really because at times I'm close to suffocation with it all. I need to feel free and uncaged. Not that she imposes any restrictions on me understand. Oh to be Robinson Crusoe.

Busy at the YP. Kathleen is on holiday for the week. See on the 9 o'clock news that Sid James, the comedian, has died. A fan of the 'Carry On' films as I once was - in my youth - cannot help feeling sad at this loss. Best remembered for his haggard face and dirty laugh.

See a good film 'If' starring Malcolm McDowell. I've seen it before and enjoyed it the first time. Shows the public school system in a bad light. Any parent who sends an impressionable child away to a boarding school can only expect to get a feeble, perverted, homosexual back at the end of the 5 or 6 year stint because the places are dens of sadistic cruelty.

-==-

Wednesday February 4, 1976

Efficient day at the office because Kathleen is at the Doncaster office for the day visiting the Vivien Nicholson-type female who came over here for the week not too long ago.

Sarah is in high spirits and I may be thick - you've probably known all along - but I think that sometimes she quite fancies me. Don't get me wrong. I've no plans to involve myself with her. No plans at all. Carole is the one for me at the moment.

I write to Carole again (I wrote yesterday) and spend all lunchtime at it.

Sarah and Eileen leave at 4 o'clock and I work with Carol until 4.30.

Marita is on page 1 of the EP! Pictured with her postman. Evidently he sent her a card on her birthday, or something, and her Dad was so touched he wrote to Malcolm Barker, &c &c.

Jeremy Thorpe is asking to resign now (as leader of the Liberal party) and the whole business is becoming more and more involved.

I don't see why he should resign because he's homosexual. If we can have a woman leading the Conservative party and a man leading the Labour party it seems only right and proper that the leader of the Liberal party should be something in-between. The man is a fool for offering to resign in the first place. In these promiscuous times I can't see the public objecting to the sexual escapades of a politician. (I do really. Just trying to write something controversial).

But seriously, Jeremy Thorpe may be a first class politician and I feel sad that he shouldn't have to go simply because he fancies young men with nice legs. After all, just look at Edward Heath. He is as bent as a £12 note but most of the Tory party continue to idolise him two years after his death. They'll be telling us next that Margaret Thatcher is a lesbian.

Home for tea at 5.30 and attempt to get in the bath afterwards which is foolish because John and Susan are on the same caper and they show more cunning that I do.

Carole rings twice. The first time we just have a friendly chat, but on the second call she's near to tears complaining about the way her mother and father treat her. They really are a pair of swines and I tell her to be more ruthless with them. The poor thing is far too soft and servile to fight back. She is coming to tea tomorrow night and we're going out afterwards most likely.

I go to bed with a cup of cocoa at about 10.30 to escape the winter olympics on TV.

-==-

Friday October 4, 1974

Up at the unearthly hour of 8.30 in order to tidy the place for Mum, who is expecting a little man round to mend her cooker.

 Sit in the dining room and drain the contents of a full tea-pot. Continue with the biography of Prince Albert Victor, which states in a round-about sort of way that he had several homosexual relationships whilst at Cambridge University in the 1880s. It must really be a blessing that the poor soul never lived to be king.

Much later: everyone to the Hare & Hounds, including Lynn and Christine Dibb. Stay till 9.30, and Dave B arrives with Denny, and he looks positively thrilled when he lays eyes on Lynn. See the photographs from last Saturday which are fantastic. The let down of the evening is when everyone refuses to go to Wikis. I insist that we all should go - Sarah Jane will be there - but they take little notice of me. John invites everyone back to our place, but before the pubs shut we all go to the Yorkshire Rose - a grotty place indeed. Back to Pine Tops where we show Mum the photos. She is almost hysterical. See a terrible film on the BBC which fascinates Chris, him being a Dracula-Frankenstein, Werewolf type. Far too ridiculous for my taste. Dave and Lynn were sitting together all night, which pleased me immensely. Denny and I are in the same chair which proves painful for me in many places. To bed after getting rid of everyone at about 1.0am. Miss not going to Wikis. Poor Sarah Jane.

-==-