Monday February 12, 1979

_. Thick, deep snow fell today. Sod it. The white stuff had just begun to clear, and now we are knee deep again. Ah well, I suppose we are better of than those in Iran. The Ayatollah Khomeini is now at the top of my assassinations list, along with Anthony Neil Wedgwood Benn, Willie Hamilton and Dame Gracie Fields.

Trouble at mill over Miss Jacqui ______________________________.

It seems that the brief affair between Sarah and John MacMurray is o'er. She tells me that he will no longer be called upon to escort her to Leeds RL matches or performances at Opera North. I didn't say much about this because I fail to see why she can go off with Richard Burke every weekend, whilst Mr Mac is doomed to a life of fidelity lightened only by the occasional excursion to the Leeds Grand Theatre every few weeks or so. ________.

Sarah says that she has heard from Marilyn Wheeler who has told her I was bored stiff on my recent lunch date with Delia at Len's Bar. Me, bored? Marilyn was sat like a heap of rotting fish on a dock side! Delia phoned Sarah and I passed on my regards telling Sarah to send love from her 'bored nephew'.

Home in a snow drift and ate everything in sight. The house was filled with the aroma of Karen's wedding cake, all three tiers of it.

Watched the news. The Queen has made history by being the first British monarch to visit Kuwait. It is unprecedented for a woman to be formally received in an Arab state, and one Arabic newspaper has described Her Majesty as being "a highly honoured honorary gentleman". Quite ridiculous.

Bed at 12:37am.

-=-

Monday December 4, 1978

This afternoon the National Union of Journalists voted to strike, and according to John MacMurray it may mean a virtual shut~down (of the Yorkshire Post) until the New Year. The editors will not last long working alone. A sad day indeed. However, we in the library will carry on undaunted.

Sarah is off with a cold which is no surprise because she looked washed out all last week. No personal phone calls today - but I did send a quick note to Christine on the prospect of our seeing each other on Thursday.

Carol J saw Jacq on Saturday night at the Regent in Chapel Allerton. ___________________.


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Friday October 20, 1978

Steve Sharp's leaving party this evening.

This afternoon Sarah, Carol J and I went to Parker's and then to Len's for a few lunchtime drinkies to get me in the right frame of mind for the festivities. The girls are refusing to go to Steve's orgy because the Eagle pub on North Street is something of a rough dive, they say. What does it matter?

At 6 o'clock John Mac took Alan Macgregor and I to the Eagle. Timothy Taylor's bitter was drained in vast quantities from the outset. I sat with Steve, Geoff Winter, Sue Tirbutt, Jill Armstrong, Fred (Manby) &c. I collected Jacq at 7:30 after fighting my way through the vast crowds in Leeds queueing to see Mr Revolta in 'Grease'. I am shocked that millions of apparently educated people should sink to such depths of incredible madness.

By 10:30 we were all quite pissed. At one point Steve used the back of my tie to write down a lengthy drinks order. Oh My God! It all looked very 'punk' anyway.

Jacq and I went with John MacM and a new lady YP reporter to Steve's place at Alwoodley where we drank ourselves stupid. I was violently sick on the manicured front lawn, and after a few gins I passed into a tranquil state of unconsciousness from which I didn't emerge until morn. In the meantime Jacq was mauled by Campbell Spray, and she sustained injuries to her left ankle on the dance floor.

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Friday October 13, 1978

Friday the Thirteenth. Nothing ghastly befell me. I had a pint of lager in the Central with Sarah at lunchtime. Poor Jilted John sat at the bar swilling gin and weeping on Dave Bruce's shoulder. He's taken Sarah's renunciation of his affections very badly. We drank our drink quickly and left.

This evening John (my prodigal brother) came at 6:30 and I told him he had to come out with us. Jacq got off a bus at 8:30, and the three of us paid a visit to the Drop where Mrs Hanson howled with laughter at Jacq and I. She's still getting over our visit there at the end of August with Trixie, Lynn and Dave. John looked very well. Maria was down at Carole's catching up on four or five weeks gossip.

From the Drop we went to the Fox and Hounds and then the Commercial, where Annie chatted merrily with us, especially John, whom she hasn't seen since he married. Anne, her niece, is coming over from America in November.

From the Commercial we had one at the Regent in Guiseley. We came back to Pine Tops for home~brew. We were all quite pissed up. Bed at 2.

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Tuesday September 19, 1978

Didn't phone Jacq today. Jilted John (Mac) asked if Jacq and I would like to accompany him to see the Dortmund Opera in Leeds next week. I was slightly taken aback. ____________. But at £6 a ticket!

Saw Alex Haley's 'Roots' tonight and retired to bed with John Toland's 'Adolf Hitler' which I left at Trixie's in April or May.

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Saturday August 5, 1978

Sun rises 05:30 Sun sets 20:43

First Day of Ramadan {tabular}

A full day at Burley painting the bathroom. It now resembles a peppermint cream because it's chocolate and lime. Dad and Dave put up beams in the lounge and Henry Baker fixed the sink, &c.

Home at 6:30 and an hour later, clad in white trousers, Philippe Junot~styled sandals, I was waiting at the Station Hotel for Jacq. She arrived ~ a vision of loveliness ~at 7:45 and we messed around for half an hour waiting for a bus to take us to the Fox & Hounds. From the start of the evening we were 'dogged' by accidents of one kind or another. On the way to meet Jacq I was seriously 'pawed' by an Alsatian dog who muddied my trousers. On our arrival at the Fox Jacq went to the ladies (toilet) taking with her my camera and flash cubes in her handbag and when she emerged minutes later she was screaming with laughter and bearing in her hands a conglomeration of wet photographic equipment ~ Yes, it had all accidentally fallen down the bog! Luckily all seemed to be working after we had shaken off the water.

Jacq and I were drinking Stella Artois and we became quite merry. David L joined us and Sue, Dave B, Lynn, John, Maria, Sarah C, John Mac, Christine D and Graham A, &c. Susan had had some sort of fall out with Peter about coming to the Fox and he had gone off somewhere with Chippy. He eventually followed her to the party (David L's) but she had nothing to do with him for the rest of the night. Jacq and I went with Sarah and John and he insisted on having fish and chips first which set us back a bit.

My recollections of the night are dim and mixed. Janet Rootes (Roots?) arrived with Mick Orchard and his wife and we laughed a good deal about old times. She talked about June B but I cannot remember exactly what was discussed. Tony, Martyn and Chris R were there.

A nasty accident occurred. I sat on a glass. A sherry glass to be precise. It gave me a deep cut at the top of my buttocks, and I bled profusely for over an hour. My white trousers were ruined. People filed solemnly through the bedroom to inspect the damage, and it soon became clear that I'd require stitches. So, at 5am Dave B drove me to Otley Hospital where I was given three stitches. The nurses were in hysterics at the sight of my holed and bloody underpants. I looked like the victim of an attempted assassination. We arrived home after 7. Lynn and Jacq were waiting patiently.

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Friday June 30, 1978

A very historic day indeed ~two fold. Prince Michael of Kent and Baroness Marie-Christine von Reibnitz married in a civil ceremony in Vienna. The Queen despatched Princess Anne and Earl Mountbatten of Burma to give the whole thing the feeling of approval. The new Princess Michael of Kent is very beautiful and looks far more 'royal' than poor Mrs Mark Phillips ever could.

The second historic happening took place on my head. After a nervous and nasty morning at the YP I went to Images salon in Yeadon at 1pm where I was permed, curled, frizzled ~ call it what you will. This operation lasted until after 3 and I emerged looking decidedly woolly and feeling very self-conscious.

At home opinion was varied. Typically Dad came right out with it and said I looked "queer". Mum thought it was, er "modern". Sue liked it, of course. John called in but couldn't speak for laughing.

Tonight: met Jacq at 8 on Wellington Street and then went by bus to the Original Oak at Headingley. She thinks the hair is marvellous and keeps patting me on the head over and over again. We were joined by Sarah and John Mac at 9. Their opinion is that I look like a professional footballer and Sarah too gets the urge to pat me ceaselessly about the top.

At 10:30 it was on to Grant McKee's party. I took a bottle of elderberry wine which was a knock-out although the turn-out was poor. Jacq and I became horribly drunk and at about 3am the pair of us were puking in a privet hedge in McKee's garden. ________. Paul Vallely gave us a review copy of their 'Nasty Media' record. Grant invited us to stay the night and I have every reason to believe we did.

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Thursday June 22, 1978

A cultural evening again. I phoned Jacq at 9 this morning to ask if she fancied the theatre this evening and she said yes but I would have to subsidise her, of course. I agreed to go with Sarah and John Mac to see 'A Family' or 'The Family' starring Eleanor Bron and Paul Scofield at the Grand (Theatre) Leeds (tickets £2). I have no money, but who cares?

Sarah bought one of my 'House of Holroyd' shirts for £5 which, unethical it may have been, but it was the only way I could remain solvent this week.

Sarah took me to Ivory Towers at 4 and I had a massive tea of salad, strawberries and cream, chocolate sundae, &c. The poor shih tzu was violently sick on the lounge carpet, and then did something else, but I averted my eyes and my tea was unspoiled. Sarah laughed at my recumbent figure reclining in the arm chair.

John Mac came at 7 and we went to the Grand where I met Jacq. She says she loathed the play but I thought it was brilliant. _________.

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Friday June 9, 1978

Strangely enough I had no hangover when I climbed out of bed at 10:30 or 11 o'clock. Perhaps I warded off this malady due to the fact that I ate a sizeable plate of sandwiches (soaked in blood from my cut finger) washed down with coffee, orange squash, &c.

This morning Mother and Father are covered in dust demolishing the dining room. More decorating. After a small breakfast I left them to it and set out to meet Jacq in Leeds. There for 12:30. I have £3 to see me through to Thursday next week which made my journey seem futile. _____________. Jacq and I passed a serious, reflective afternoon in the Ostlers discussing previous relationships. It was interesting. I was just about in tears on the subject of June and my thwarted passion.

From the pub we went next door to the HMV shop and Jacq snatched up the old Barclaycard and bought the 'Saturday Night Fever' LP and the single 'Hey America' by Mr James Brown.

We walked around Leeds arm in arm. Do you know I am quite proud of my appearance these days. The days when Lynne Mather accused me of 'letting myself go' are now history. Clad in my tight jeans, black pointed boots and baggy Pete Holroyd shirt I llook like some stunning Romeo from the jet-set world.

However, to come down to earth and reality slightly, I worked from 5pm until midnight. Back to the old routine folks, and I quite enjoyed it. Jacq came into the YP at 6:30 and I entertained her with the picture files of the royal family until 9 o'clock when I threw her out. John Mac commented (jokingly) on her presence in the office and pointed out that NATSOPA wouldn't be amused if they knew I was entertaining a strawberry blonde. My response was that the editor has women in his office every day and that Lord Briginshaw can go piss off. (In case you're interested, Lord Briginshaw is a big noise in NATSOPA, reputedly a trade union). I left at midnight leaving the new records in the office.

-=-

Monday June 5, 1978

New Moon 20:01

Jacq has been told by some of the inmates (at the YWCA) that the haggis is a four-legged rabbit-like creature that inhabits the Scottish Highlands. What a cruel and nasty leg pull to do to a fellow dosser, or 'down and out', or whatever they think they are at the YWCA.

Jacq has set herself the goal of making my greatness known to the general public. Discussing me with John Mac on Saturday they decided I'd be a decent sort of author. Er ...
-=-

Wednesday May 31, 1978

Sat in the garden ~ wearing only my shorts ~ compiling this journal today. It has been another 'scorcher'.

Sarah and I went to Parker's (wine bar) at lunchtime. She bought me three or four pints and we discussed taking our 'concubines' out on Saturday in what will be an onslaught on Harrogate. Sarah and I haven't formed a foursome since Aug 1976 when we went out with Peter (Baker) and Lynne Mather.

A hot sticky afternoon filing portraits. You can imagine what bliss it was to sit in my deckchair with a heddy summer breeze blowing round my knees.

Also contacted Jacq who is burnt to a cinder after sprawling in the park all day yesterday. She says she's not eating this weekend.

Uncle Peter's daughter, Julie, is coming to stay with us on Saturday for what's left of the weekend. Peter's children are good kids.

This evening I took a layer off the lawns.

Prince Michael of Kent and Marie-Christine Troubridge have become engaged. The Queen consented in Privy Council this afternoon to her cousin's marriage with a Czech-born Roman Catholic with one ex husband still living. Formerly Baroness Marie-Christine von Reibnitz, Marie-Christine's marriage to Tom Troubridge was declared null a couple of weeks ago. I do not think any member of the Royal Family has married a Roman Catholic since the 1680s. However, I may be wrong. I have just seen the couple on the six o'clock news and I can tell you I would also renounce any claim to the throne to lay my hands on her. She's beautiful.

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Friday May 12, 1978

Met Jacq at the Hog's Head at 12 and we discussed our finances. I'm supposed to be changing over to receiving my pay on a monthly basis in October or November but because I'll be a month in hand I will have to work for four or five weeks with no cash. Like a nightmare, eh?

Kathleen was ill ~ dying at home. Sarah went off this afternoon with John MacM. Tomorrow they go to the RL Cup Final at Wembley.

Oh, I forgot to say that last night both Tony and Martyn phoned to invite me to Tony's flat warming in Shipley. I said yes immediately. Martyn said: "bring along your little lady friend from Clapham, or wherever." He ended with a typical "are you engaged, yet?" Silly sod.

Tonight I met Jacq off the 8:45 train from Leeds and we walked to the Crown at Yeadon. We did have quite a good evening. Didn't see Philip K. Carol Smith was in with her boyfriend, Trevor. Jacq and I propped up the bar and had three or four pints.

Alan Thompson, the EP film critic, was in with his hippy son. He told me he won't be on the Father's Day trip to Blackpool this year because he wants to keep his limbs intact for a little while longer. It was on the Father's Day trip in 1976 that Denis Haywood fell off the pier into the murky depths.

At 11 we walked back to Guiseley in a mild drizzle stopping at the bus shelter near Aireborough Grammar School in the hope that somebody would stop and pick us up, but no such luck.

Home at 12:15 and we read 'The Woman He Loved' by Ralph G. Martin. Yes, we both sat like Ryan O'Neal and Ally McGraw wrapped in one another's arms with our eyes riveted to the yellowing pages.

-=-

Monday March 13, 1978

Once again an incredibly uninteresting day. Sarah's is not in the office this week. She's in horrid Wales with John MacMurray watching the Welsh National Opera. Somehow I think this relationship has more of a concrete base than any of her previous leaps into romance. Good luck anyway.

Tonight. I spent an hour or so writing to Jacq. Not a good letter by my standards, but Monday evenings are never inspiring, are they? (I don't suppose that any of you bother in the 21st century ~ to write that is.)

"Sunday, Bloody Sunday"

Once again, the television was the prominent source of entertainment. My eyes are going square. Saw 2 films. 'Bloody, Bloody Sunday' with Peter Finch, Glenda Jackson and Murray Head ~ all about homosexuals and middle class people like the Mather family; and the other film was 'Fright', in which Susan George played a babysitter who is raped by the psychopathic Ian Bannen. Honor Blackman was also in the star studded cast.

Today's deliberate mistake can be found in the first film title. Yes, it's not 'Bloody, Bloody Sunday' at all. It's 'Sunday, Bloody Sunday'.

Have received a postcard from Judith in Benidorm. Yeah, she wants the cheque for £28m sending back. No bloody likely.

-=-

Friday February 10, 1978

Mike Holman's party at the Wellesley. Sarah, John MacM and I went from the YP at 6, but first I must say something about the catastrophic day.

At breakfast I decided to go by train to the vast metropolis that is Leeds. On the train I discovered, with horror, that my jeans had split open and that I was revealing all and everything to the Ilkley/Leeds inter city travellers. The woman in the seat opposite me certainly got her 37p worth. It was a good thing I had an old pair of pants at the office to change into. My arrival at the YP was received with some hilarity. Kathleen's eyes shone with delight at my predicament.

Finding my pre-war trousers incompatible with the 1978 way of life I went at lunchtime to Schofield's where I purchased a new zip fastener, a needle and cotton. Sarah did the seamstress bit after Kathleen's departure and by 5:30 I was once again clad in my faithful jeans. Good old Sarah.

Anyway, back to Mike Holman's party. The first two or three hours were somewhat dull. The booze flowed like the Danube, River Trent and Lake Windermere merged into one. Sarah and John Mac were soon pink and giggly on gin and we endured Edna Mason's dramatic entry which would have brought colour to Shakespeare's cheeks. However, things cheered up with the arrival of Tom Greenwell's assistant leader writer who is insane. He had us rolling uncontrollably in heaps on the floor. All the man could talk about was the Republic of Upper Volta and rabbit breeding.

Ursula, Wendy and others poured in and of course John Cameron, who said I'd make a nice lad once I reach puberty. Very amusing is Mr Cameron. At some unearthly hour we returned to the YP and drank in the editor's office from crates of warm, bottled beer. The little men from the Wire Room were amusing and told me things about Edna Mason that cannot appear here. Chris Oakley made a good speech for Mike and we consumed more beer before Wendy grabbed me and brought me home to Guiseley. It must have been 2:00am.

-=-

Thursday December 15, 1977

Full of cold. Water is pouring from my every molecule. It wouldn't be so bad but my visit to London on the morrow will be completely ruined.

Sarah and John MacMurray came tonight and we went to the Hermit (Burley Woodhead) for a drink. I hate it because of my state of health. ________.

Home at 11 and pack everything including plastic flowers, morning coat and false facial attire. Off to bed. Shit, I'm going to die, I think.

-=-

Thursday October 20, 1977

_.No Squash or Sarah today. The call of the Welsh National Opera and Mr MacMurray proved too appealing. Instead I retired home for tea with Mum & Dad and watched television.

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.









-=-

Monday October 17, 1977

More bloody fog. It was so thick this morning that Jim drove straight passed me in his rotten car completely ignorant of my presence on the lane. It's ideal weather for committing murder in fact. (Please don't ask me why I should be thinking of murder first thing on a lousy, wet morning).

The YP was horribly busy. The whole day was reminiscent of a typical day in the English Civil War, the Battle of Newark, or something like that. Not exactly a Ypres or Waterloo, but close.

Rene Levesque ....

Sarah was pleasant. We are not 'squashing' this week because she's going to the opera (Welsh National Opera, I think) with John McMurray. No comment on this.

On the brighter side of things I'm sure you'll be gladdened to learn that Her Majesty the Queen is in Canada making some attempt to keep that nation united. Quebec is Canada's answer to Ireland and just because they would like to speak French instead of English they are, under a man named Levesque, seeking to break away as an independent country.

Just had a bath tonight and watched an ancient Bing Crosby film on BBC2 which was corny but quite good really. No one can complain about good old Bing, I'm sure.

Lynn and Dave went to see George and Jane Waite and they returned with a weird tale _______________.


-=-

Monday October 3, 1977

Sarah.

At work. Sarah was gorgeous. We kept talking about Saturday and she tested me on my memory of certain incidents from the evening.She was glum when I told her I couldn't remember a thing. But a lovely glint came into her eyes when I said I could recall the 'Rachmaninov interlude', which goes down as one of the most romantic incidents in my tiny life - so far. I was cooled somewhat when she said John Macmurray is back from Lithuania and that she had been to the theatre with him last night. Never have I wished anything unfortunate to befall a fellow human being as much as I did today on the poor, smiling Yorkshire Post journalist who is nothing but civility and kindness to me. As the words came from Sarah's lips I was transported to Bulgaria (or wherever he's been) and felt a growing anger that the authorities of that delightfully repressed nation had not incarcerated Macmurray in a rat infested cell, forgotten and shut away for at least 20 years. Or at least long enough for me to get my hands on Sarah. But, one cannot blame Mr Macmurray. It's Sarah fault for associating with a 24 year-old undergraduate of Scottish descent. When I seize power I'll ban English women associating with young men with surnames beginning with 'Mac'.

Saw Princess Anne tonight at the International Horse Show from the Empire Pool, Wembley. The cameras didn't focus on her 'bump'. She glared though the TV set with that fierce Windsor scowl. No sign of a Lord Phillips yet.

-=-

Saturday October 1, 1977

One of the most blank parties I've ever attended took place this evening ... or at least I think it did. Anyway, I'd better begin at the beginning. At what seemed like the crack of dawn I was taken  off against my will, in pouring rain, to Bradford by Alison, John, Lynn and David. (Oh God. I failed to mention that Alison and John (Pinder) arrived late last night from the depths of darkest Hampshire). Oh, how it poured down.

We messed around for a while buying records and flash cubes for tonight, and then after a brief lapse of time we found solace in the nearest pub. From here we found the Bod, which was unbelievable. We were the only inhabitants of what usually is the busiest tavern in West Yorkshire. It was here where we squabbled about surnames. Lynn said that after her marriage she wouldn't mind being 'Lynn Rhodes-Baker'. This made David blow his top for some obscure reason, and banging his glass of ale on the table he yelled: "If you intend keeping that name after we are married you might as well not bother with a party tonight because I'll call the whole thing off". It took ages to calm him down. It was such a silly thing for us all to become argumentative about, but it was David's attitude that fed my niggling. Lynn was very annoyed.

At Esholt: Sarah,Peter,Sue,David,Lynn and John.

Back home by 4pm. I began drinking bilberry wine and continued to do so until Sarah arrived at about 7.45. I was under the impression that we all were indulging in this wondrous wine, but from reports told to me later, I discovered I had been the 'Lone Boozer'. Sarah's arrival I remember well. She looked divine. What happened next though I just don't know. We all went to the Commercial where I spilt lager over everyone and swore in a disgusting manner. Mum and Dad asked me to be a little quieter. My next memory is back at home smashing eggs in the kitchen and breaking my camera. Mum joined in the egg breaking and went to town sticking them down Peter's shirt.

Because of the mess I changed into David's Fred Perry shorts and then became enraptured with Sarah. We seemed to be quite alone in the dining room dancing to Donna Summer and ending with Rachmaninov's 2nd Piano concerto. _______. We kissed, Everyone else just seemed to fade away. God knows what state I was in. Normally it wouldn't concern me but for the presence of Mr & Mrs Henry Baker and family. Sarah stayed very late and I escorted her to her car when she left. I really do fancy her to death you know. It's been in my blood now for a couple of years or more. What about John Macmurray though? I am sure she fancies me - so why are we always pretending nothing exists? Why indeed.

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