Thursday July 14, 1977

Rick's boat trip. A great piss up. I misplaced my El Capone T-shirt and the sunglasses I acquired here last year.

In the Pavement Bar tonight Noel and I met a couple of girls, Jacqueline Sate, of 102 Grosvenor Road, Muswell Hill, London N10, and a marvellous little mover who strongly resembles Sandie Shaw, called Joy.

Es Paradis, San Antonio, Ibiza.

The four of us went to Es Paradis and Playboy One. Much alcohol. Great dancing done. At Es Paradis I met a German in the toilet who took me for a Spanish flamenco dancer. I made a quick escape when he fell down over a sink pulling it from the wall. In the bar I said I was Felipe de Borbon, heir to the Spanish throne. It didn't get any of us a free drink. Hysteria was had by all.

Martyn asked me to sleep in Noel's room because he wants to entertain a blond girl from Stevenage for the night. I readily agreed. He's only young once.

-=-

Wednesday July 13, 1977

Boat trip: Martyn, Mig, Chris, Dave, Peter and John.

Went on a foul boat-trip which cost 5,700,000 pesetas. My camera broke and I transferred my film into Glenn's appliance. Can't win 'em all, eh?

Tuesday July 12, 1977

Glen: picked on.

Bank Holiday in Ireland. Much the same as last night. On the beach all day and in a bar all night. Prince Charles is a complete idiot. Not the real Prince Charles of course - I'm referring to John Grady, Esq.

Glenn is very quiet, but Peter and Martyn do tend to pick on him. Cruel they are. Glen doesn't seem to want to 'fight' back.











-=-

Monday July 11, 1977

On the town in Ibiza with Noel Pilling (left) and John Grady (centre)

Go all over the bars in San Antonio and end up with John (Prince Charles) at Nito's with two German ladies, Brunhilda and 'Sicklinda' - God knows how you go about spelling that (Sieglinde?). We walked them to a grotty hotel and sat outside drinking some cheap brandy and Coca Cola - more brandy than coke. I accidentally dropped a lit cig down my shoe and burned my foot. Agony is hardly the word for it.






-=-

Sunday July 10, 1977

5th after Trinity. Left for Manchester (Airport) at about 8am with the lads, Peter and Chris having come from Denise's (21st birthday) party.

At Manchester Airport.

Flight was delayed and we passed two or three hours in the bar. We all seemed to get on OK. Got to the Hotel Pacific for lunch. Holiday begins.

Met three lads from Lancashire, Noel (Pilling), John (Grady) and Steve. All out on the town together. Riotous.












-=-

Saturday July 9, 1977

Delia Collis.

Delia's champagne and strawberry party. Not really my scene - old ladies with blue rinses and flashy rings. Delia was fabulous as usual.

Got home at about 5pm with Eileen and Michael (Robertshaw) and within minutes Tony, Linda and Martyn were here to take me off on holiday for 14 bloody days!

Night out at the Poca-a-Poca in sunny Stockport and then waved bye bye to Tony and Linda. To the Hollywood quite pissed up.





-=-

Thursday July 7, 1977

Got three weeks pay! Oh for the sands of Ibiza!

Out with Carole to the Regent and then the Station Hotel and the Ings (Yuk) and then the Drop. Carole was nice. Discussed very little. She may be going on holiday with Fogarty.

Back at Pine Tops. Mum and Dad entertain Ernest and Edith to home-brew. Much pissed.

-=-

Sunday July 3, 1977

4th after Trinity. Sat in the garden from 11.30 until nearly 3. Wonderful day. Mr Ratcliffe and Mr Mather called in with the flight tickets and holiday itinery.

Chris & Pete.

I entertained them in the lounge while attempting to devour a salad and speak to Tony on the blower at the same time. Chris and Peter still push the idea that we should go to Denise's party and then go to Manchester with them but I'm adamant. Besides, the flight has been altered to 9.35am - so they'll have to set off at about 5am to get the airport in time.

At the YP tonight I phoned Dave G to tell him Mr Mather would be contacting him to secure garage space for his van. We had a really good chat. How great is this holiday going to be? Work was dead. Wendy is nice though.

-=-

Saturday June 25, 1977

With Tony and Martyn to Bradford this morning. Martyn got a new pair of jeans and a T-shirt for Ibiza. I'm envious because not two pennies do I possess. Tony is in a very similar situation too.

We then took Martyn to Cleckheaton Golf Course and then went on to Otley to browse around - generally looking for old friends and acquaintances on whom to impose ourselves. Saw Jane (of Peter Mather fame, see Diary Sept 3-4, 1976) on Otley market and she's quite chatty. I'm not all that impressed with her though.

Back to the flat for tea. Read the Daily Express, watched Wimbledon and the Muppet Show and then played some ancient records in Tony's collection. I taped a batch of them so that we can have a sing-along in the car.

Harrogate Arms.

Martyn came at 8.30 and we went out a 9. First to Pool-in-Wharfedale and then to the Harrogate Arms. At the latter Carole is in the lounge with Fogarty and did her best to hide when we walked in. I didn't even spot her but Tony's eye fell on her straight away. I could laugh really. When I was at the bar she went over to chat with the boys and when I approached them laden with glasses she ducked away back to Peter. The childish, stupid bitch. Tony told her to go away and asked her to ring him tomorrow.

Back to the flat where I got horribly drunk and vomited. A concoction of brandy and whisky. Val came to see Tony and they took Martyn home at 1.30. I sat in a chair by candlelight until dawn.

-=-

Wednesday May 25, 1977

Hot day. Home by 5 and fully expect to stay in tonight but it is not to be. Martyn rings after tea and suggests going for a drink in Guiseley. Bloody Hell! Why not? Top marks for this brilliant idea, Martyn! He comes up and 8 and we walk over the fields to the Commercial (dear Beckindale in the classic tv series 'Emmerdale Farm'). We begin with lager and go on to pernod and by 10pm we're quite pissed.

Martyn: brilliant idea

You won't believe this but we decided over our second pernod to go work in Ibiza or Majorca after our holiday. OK, I've said it all before but I've never had anyone to team up with before and Martyn is just as much pissed off with the United Kingdom of Gt Britain as I am. Tony too and Dave of Stockport wouldn't mind leaving this miserable land to find a life of fortune in the Ballearic Islands. How do we go about getting there though? Do we write to the Spanish Embassy or the British Tourist Board? Or what?

We walked home over the fields again but now heavily laden with cow excreta and a profusion of nettles seem to have mysteriously appeared. Up to our buttocks in shit. Home by 10.30 and I entertain Martyn to coffee and toast thickly spread with mustard. He waits to be collected by Karen (Cole) who makes an appearance near midnight. In the cold light of tomorrow morning I will probably think the whole idea of drifting off to Spain is bloody idiotic, but now - here at this minute - all I can think is 'Why not?'


--==-

Sunday May 15, 1977

Hereward the Wake

Rogation Sunday. Up at 6.30am with the biggest hangover history has ever seen. The combined hangovers of Hereward the Wake, Edward the Confessor, Napoleon, George Bernard Shaw and Mitzi Gaynor only equal half the one I experienced this morning. Water. All I wanted was water. I would have willingly swapped my best girl for a glass of chilled H2o. Dave obliged by rushing to the bathroom and bringing me a cup full. Passed into unconsciousness and slept until about 10.30. Discuss Glenn's disappearance but we decide not to visit his residence just in case he never made it home last night. Good God. Suppose he's fallen into the Manchester Ship Canal?

Mitzi Gaynor.

Dave accidentally locked his bedroom door with the key inside and we spent half an hour trying to break in. Eventually we used a large built gent from the tap room as a battering ram. Dave and I were in the bar by 12.10 and ale was supped until 2pm. joined by Garry and another guy whose name escapes me. At 2 Dave and I take lunch in the private apartments of the Hollywood and we shared a bottle of wine (Chevalier de la Rose Grand vin De Bourgogne. Importers H. Sichel and Sons Ltd, W2). Not too bad.

Glenn called on us with his holiday money (£145) and the three of us went to the pool room for a game. Laugh myself stupid at Dave who clowns around like no one I've ever known. At 7 o'clock it's time to part. Had a word with Jim Glynn and went to the bar and bought Mrs G a drink and said farewell. The lads took me to Manchester at 7.30-ish and I was home by 10.30 with £290 in my pocket. The lads are coming on June 3 and I plan to go back to Stockport on July 9, the day before 'Operation Ibiza'.

Martyn and Tony are at Pine Tops and M gives me a blank cheque for tomorrow's pilgrimage to WH Smith and Sons. Bath and bed at approximately midnight.

-=-

Wednesday January 19, 1977

More sweet dreams until 11.30 this morning. Dad brought me a drink in bed along with the radio before disappearing down to John & Maria's with Molly Macdonald to see JPH who's got a slight chill - poor bairn.

Nora Rhodes

Give Miss Akroyd a ring and tell her to go ahead booking the Hotel Pacific for July 10-July 24. I'm going to miss Sue's 18th birthday party, but it can't be helped. I shall just have to give her an extra large birthday present. Denise tells me she's having her 21st birthday party on July 9. Great stuff, eh? Also ring Lynne to tell her of the holiday details. She says she's going to Tenerife with a Miss Robinson from Harrogate, which I think is a good thing. If we're still going out together in July I will eat my own knee-cap but I wish a good holiday all the same.After lunch I go down to the Register Office in Guiseley and obtain a copy of Mum's birth certificate (Pudsey, January 2, 1935). Don't manage to get my Grandad and Grandma Wilson's marriage certificate because I don't know the name of the church. I went to the 'Stable Door' shop at White Cross and bought another Victorian-style print for Mum and Dad (birthday present).

Ring Auntie Mabel. Discover he parents married at St Paul's (church) Stanningley. She also related to me several tales of her maternal grandparents, who are buried at Pudsey cemetery. I say I'll be over to rumage in the cemetery shortly. She agrees to join me in  my macabre search.

-==-

Tuesday January 18, 1977

Sweet dreams until midday. The hour of 12 no less. I emerged from my bed in no placid frame of mind. I attempted to bite Mama's head off and swore and cursed as I devoured my lunch. People do tell me that I can change suddenly from being the perfect specimen of gentility to a snarling beast within seconds. A split personality do you think? My cousin ________is a schizophrenic so perhaps I am too. Is it hereditary? Yours worriedly, Mr Hyde. From my mental state to the physical side. I am much improved today, but not ready for the great responsibilities of the Yorkshire Post. Well, not until Thursday anyway. -=-

Cousin Sam, me and Papa ....

Michelle (the friendly travel agent) rang me this afternoon to say the Hotel Pacific was booked provisionally until 4.30. She is sweet. I ask her to hang on until tomorrow. I'm sure everyone will agree. I ring Chris and he says 'yes'. So does Peter M. Glenn rings and we go into raptures over 'Ibiza 77' chanting 'Up Pam' &c. Watch a play on the TV and discuss Papa's parentage with him before retiring to bed. He says his mother was born at a place called Lewis in Wiltshire. There are only two Lewises. One is in the Outer Hebrides and the other is spelt LEWES and is in Sussex - near Eastbourne. That must be the place, but first I'll write to Uncle Harry in Cumbria for confirmation.

Monday January 17, 1977

Did you realise that the author of this diary was - or is - an out and out coward? Just nod your head if this notion has crossed your mind at some stage or other in the past four years. Good.

At work today I was in a terrible state. At death's door. Runny nose, sore throat, wet eyes, sneezing bouts, the bloody lot, and on top of all this I wanted to ring Lynne to tell her that I do not want to go out with her anymore. Awful eh? I even took a couple of 10p pieces and nipped down to a public phone downstairs (at the YP) but when Lynne answered I just dried up and made polite conversation. At 12.30 Sarah gave me the dispensation to go home - the sweet thing - and by 2.30pm I was tucked up in my bed with something hot. Slept until 6.30 and then went down and ate a plate full of stew.

Hotel Pacific, San Antonio, Ibiza.

 I contacted Denise today. We cannot get in at the Hotel March (in San Antonio) with Club 18-30, but she's reserved seven places at the Hotel Pacific. Later tonight I rang Chris and Dave G, and then Glenn rang me. Chris mentions the Riviera but tomorrow I'll get him fully on our side. Tony rings to say he has a lousy cold. Lynne came at 8.30 and stayed until about 10. She can be very sweet and nice but I think _____.I have a fear about finishing with anyone after the 'Miss Phillips incident'. Don't I get myself into some messes? -==-

Tuesday December 14, 1976

King George VI is celebrating quietly somewhere today - his 81st birthday. Prince Albert died 115 years ago, and Coun Norman Anthony Gadsby was born this day in 1935 ...

Write letters tonight to Helen Malin in Gloucester and send cards to Glenn and Dave G telling them of Peter's change of heart. I knew all along that Mr Mather wouldn't let the summer of next year go by without seeing Ibiza and all those women.

Tony rings and we arrange to go to the Hare with Stuart at 8.15. I then contact Martyn and he says he's going with his girlfriend Carla to a new wine bar in Ilkley so I don't think we'll see him tonight. Later: Tony comes at 8.15 and we go to a Christmas-decorated Hare & Hounds and meet Stuart Walker, Esq, and Susan and Peter. After a couple of drinks we join Martyn and his lady at Ilkley and we polish off two bottles of wine before going on to the Rose & Crown. Quite a liquid evening. All back to W.H. Smith's for a coffee and Tony discovers he has a flat tyre which takes us through until 12.15am. Home in a fog and we discuss Thursday night. Hit the sack at 1.05am.

-==-

Sunday November 28, 1976

Advent Sunday. Up at 12 o'clock and devour a piece of toast. The lads seem quite fresh except Martyn who still looks smashed. At 12.30 we go down to the Commercial and show the lads where 'Emmerdale Farm' is filmed. Dave and Glen really are a great couple of mates. Decide over a pint of Stella that I'm going to Ibiza next year whether Pete M or Chris want to or not. Back home for lunch at 2pm with a bottle of red wine. Afterwards we collapse in the lounge for a couple of hours. My head is terrible. The drink is taking it's toll. The lads leave [for Stockport] at about 6pm and we've decided top get more recruits for Ibiza and then they will bring over deposit money and we'll all book together.

Bed at midnight after squabbling with Mum. Since Martyn and Alison split up ________.The Poor lad's done nothing wrong, but she's pulling him to pieces. Nobody criticises my friends without a mouthful from me. It is one of my sore points I'm afraid.

-==-

Friday November 26, 1976

In bed until 11.30 when I'm stirred from my slumbers by the soddin' butcher with Mama's meat order. Still, I've had a good few extra hours 'neath the sheets. Listen to the record player until lunchtime and then leap into a good hot bath. Something of great importance about next years holiday. Late last night I received a phone call from Dave in Stockport asking if he and Glen can come over tomorrow. Great news. They'll be here at 4pm and they hope to stay until Sunday. It certainly looks as though they'll be booking with us for 1977 and a holiday in San Antonio again. We can't go in early June of course because of the Silver Jubilee lark. What about David L too? Martyn, Peter and Chris are the other likely holidaymakers. [This] subject is not yet mentioned to Lynne, but no doubt she'll be too busy saving for her Renault, or whatever car it is, to be interested of my whereabouts in July. Anyway, summer is one hell of a long way off and you all know only too well what I'm like with women.

Work at 5pm. Not feeling too good. Hope it isn't salmonella food poisoning. Quiet night at the YP with no historic news coming in. Saddened however to read in one of the gossip columns that Sir Harold W[ilson] may well be quitting the Commons to go an lecture in Israel. Talk about deserting the sinking ship! Home at 11.30 and watch a revolting film on Rasputin. It's completely distorted and ridiculous. I think a Hammer film.

-==-

Friday July 30, 1976

Peter Mather's 21st. Wake up at 11.15. Lynne is on the phone from Burley-in-Wharfedale. She wants to know if I fancy meeting her for lunch at the Red Lion. I say no because I want to to Leeds, but then change my mind after five minutes and ring her back. Mum comes home at 12.30 and she takes me down to the White Cross where I get a bus to Burley. I sit in the Red Lion and have a pint on my own until Lynne comes out of work. It is a nice, warm, sunny day and we sit outside watching the world go by. I have a gin and tonic for a change. Set off to Leeds at about 2.30.

Get my hair cut in that place in the Empire Arcade and then go buy Peter the 'Fly, Robin Fly' LP which he used to rave about in Ibiza. I also got Maria a perfume spray for her birthday - it's called 'Stevie B' or something.

Tiger Baby by Silver Convention

I feel like Tommy Steele with my haircut. Not too sure about the style, but I suppose it will 'grow on me' to coin a phrase. Into the YP just in time at 5pm and work until 11 o'clock.

Lynne comes to collect me and we debate which residence to go to. Eventually decide on Pine Tops and we sally forth in a homeward direction. We listen to a few LP tracks and sup coffee but somehow I feel bloody tired ands listless. What happened to that youthful exuberance! Knackered at 21. Oh, it's more than I can bear. Give me that gun. BANG BANG. Ugh, I think I'm dead. (It took two shots. Did the first one miss?)


--==--

Sunday July 11, 1976

4th after Trinity. Home to the United Kingdom of Gt Britain. The plane was delayed for an hour and a half and so we didn't touch down at Manchester until 12.15. Mum and Dad have been waiting for hours and look tired out. We take Pete to Bramhope and he has to lob pebbles at his mother's bedroom window before he can be let in. The rotten sods couldn't even be bothered to wait up for him. Diabolical. A fantastic holiday over. How the hell will I ever settle down?

-==-

Saturday July 10, 1976

Our last night on the town in San Antonio. Accompanied by two women from Burnley - Anne and Sandra. Back to the hotel after the Playboy. We have a riotous affair in our room. Joined by seven Spanish maidens who chant rugby songs until after 4am. The couple in the next room were not overjoyed by the serenade. Miserable gits.

-==-