Thursday February 3, 1977

Busy day at the YP again. At lunchtime I went to Schofield's to claim Mama's repaired coffee perculator which I carry off without having to pay anything. Look in Austick's and run my fingers through 'Majesty' by Robert Lacey. I shall have to buy it.

Ring Lynne. She's getting a cold, pneumonia, or something. I feel bored and utterly flattened. I fancy having a passionate, close, sexy romance with a lusty bombshell. Lynne just isn't up to it. Where will it all end?

Jim Callaghan: Scottish referendum

To Yeadon cinema with Lynne to see 'The Omen' (Yes, I've seen it before). It is good. Lee Remick especially. She goes off to Roundhay at 11pm in a gust of wind, hail and conglomoration of other elements.

Sit with a Scotch in front of the TV watching one of President Carter's fireside chats to the Universe from his White House parlour. Greasy little man. Never trust a president with gold fillings and Mohair pullovers that's what I say.

Quake in my socks at the late night news with Miss (Angela) Rippon. Evidently, Scotland, Wales and other bits of the UK are going to have one of those referendums in November to decide whether they want to get out of the Empire or not. We under-privileged English do not have a say in the matter. The tartan maniacs and mean leek-growing sods can pull out on us at any time but we English do not have the right to say whether we want  them to go or not.  Jim Callaghan really is the bloody limit. We should have a referendum asking the simple question: "Don't you think it's about time the Labour Government resigned? Answer 'Definately' or 'Yes'.

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