Tuesday May 17, 1977

Feel grotty all day. Stomach ache mainly, and anorexia. All the same I forced down two sandwiches and a pea and ham soup - but could easily have done without. You don't want me collapsing at work do you?

Kathleen suggested that I ought to go home early, but like King Charles I (you know, him with the ginger hair and no head) I decided to be a martyr instead.

Carole: grandmother's accident

Carole rang at 3 and we decided to go out again on Thursday, again to Oakwood (Hall). I asked whether her mother had been knocked down, the victim of a road traffic accident and she laughed saying: "Oh no...
it 's my grandmother". It seems that the old lady fell in the path of a van belonging to the Gas Board and passed a night in Otley Hospital emerging with three stitches. Carole's attitude is quite frightening and she insists that the sight of ones beloved Grandmama disappearing beneath the wheels of a bright yellow NEGAS van isn't half as horrific as it sounds. Having no living grandmother myself I can never experience such a phenomenon.

Spent an evening in front of the television. The headlines on the 9 o'clock news was the royal visit to Scotland. It's the first of the 'Jubilee tours'. The BBC must have taken leave of their senses. A royal item to be the first item on the news? Surely the first such thing to occur since the abdication Edward VIII.

Took a bath after the royal spectacular and then returned to the drawing room to find Mama reclining on a sofa sipping delicately at her glass of Guinness. No other exercise whatsoever is allowed - Dr Jacques's orders.

Sit with a mug of cocoa and decide I feel much better. My bowels have improved tremendously since tea time. I cannot help thinking that Uncle Bert might have brought a virus with him from darkest Nottingham. Dearest Uncle will get his head kicked in if I find this to be so.

-=-

Tuesday April 26, 1977

The great battle with Kathleen never took place. She came in at 9 o'clock and did a Neville Chamberlain on me. In other words she appeased me and for a few minutes I was astounded. "Before you have chance to say no and refuse me" she said "I'm not going to ask you to work Friday nights". That's my little problem solved.

Carol: like Princess Alexandra of Kent

Sarah demanded some action on Carol's behaviour but Kathleen pointed out that the editor and other great officers of state would be on C's side. Allies as it were. Carol came in the office and paraded about as though she was Princess Alexandra of Kent. Sickening it all was, and Sarah looked piteously dejected when we left this evening. We talked of resigning.

At tea time I asked Susan whether Miss Phillips and Mr Fogarty were becoming engaged today. She says that they entered into a matrimonial agreement on Saturday. Minutes later Tony rang and he mentioned Carole. He rang her today and she told him she 'wasn't really bothered' about being engaged and it had been Peter (Fogarty) who had pushed all the way. Does the girl realise just what she is doing? I never intended leading her on but she is now actually engaged to a poor soul with whom she feels nothing but indifference. Martyn has said she is doing all this to spite me and my reaction was that it was a far fetched suggestion but now I'm not too sure. Lynn plays hell about Carole when I tell her of the conversation and she says Carole's attitude is 'immature'.

It pissed down all morning and blinded us with bright sun in the afternoon. I think I'm very tired. My eyes ache and I feel unpleasant too. I don't think I can put up with the strain much longer.

I just sat in front of the television and watched another play. The nine o'clock news boring as usual with the same old story about the 'stricken oil rig'. One oil rig is very much like another. Pleasant sort of person aren't I? Retired to bed at 11 after a bath. Sat with Queen Victoria and the Princess Royal, or Crown Princess of Prussia, or the Empress Frederick or whatever you call her.

-=-

Monday April 25, 1977

A revolting day. Went to the office fully expecting a battle with Kathleen, over what I don't quite know, but to my great disappointment she is taking the day off.

Scargill: signed photograph

Sarah and I joined a trade union this afternoon. Yes, Jack Jones and that lot. A revolting thing for me to do in Silver Jubilee year but no one, and I mean no one, is going to cut my throat. I'm fully expecting a signed photograph from Mr & Mrs Arthur Scargill and red badge in tomorrow's post. I do feel somewhat restless as to what I'm going to say to the beloved chief (Kathleen) in the morning  but the main theme will be centred around the Friday night working - or lack if it.  I think I'll change the subject now, anyway.

Some boring oil rig has gone and sunk, I think. Billions of gallons of crude oil is giving Bridlington's director of tourism something of a headache. Black shit all over the beach cannot be a good advertisement, can it? I can't stand Bridlington anyway and besides, the cleansing of thousands of soggy seabirds will give the out of work landladies something worthwhile to do.

Read more of the 'Dear Letters' and watched a play on TV. Nothing more startling. Spike Milligan was on followed by repeats of 1969 Monty Python. Bloody hilarious they are - so good to see good comedy for a change. Better than all that 'My Neighbour Next Door' shit and 'Never Mind the Quality Feel the Tit'.

Bed at 11.05 with 'Dear Letters'. Looking forward like Mr Churchill did on the eve of Dunkirk to sticking one over on Kathleen tomorrow. Let not victory be denied ...


-=-

Sunday April 24, 1977

2nd after Easter. Arose at 12. Edith Blackwell had just been in and Mama had entertained her to breakfast of eggs and bacon of all things. A peculiar thing to do I must say. Mind you, Edith is a peculiar old thing. (Yes, you've guessed correctly - "thing" is the word of the day).

I came down and had a cooked thing and went back up to my thingy and filled in the thing with that thingummy. Thing, Thing and Thing are covered in grease underneath John's thing on the drive. Those bleeding things never work right. I for one wouldn't have the patience to mess around with them. Not rellishing the idea of going into the thing this afternoon. No doubt thing will have left me a note informing me of a proposed catastrophic change in my social life. No Bloody chance, Kathleen!

The Hon Chris Monckton

Sue and I walked round to Ridgeway and took JPH for a ride, walk, push, call it what you will, in his pram. Jimmy was marking essays and breaking wind. He blamed the beer he'd had of late. Maria bundled baby up and Sue and I walked him in the sun up Thorpe Lane and to Pine Tops where he was pandered to and played with by his doting grandmama until his benevolent Uncle Mike returned him home at 4.

To work after dinner. Ursula confirms that Kathleen's plans for Friday nights are as sinister as I thought they were.

Chris Monckton invited me to his Silver Jubilee party at Wetherby Town Hall on June 18. I must go to that one. He has a sister you know and I'm sure a 'Hon' in the family would prove quite refreshing. The Hon Miss Monckton is about my age too.

Home by taxi at 11. The taxi driver talks of the death of the Leeds Rugby League player Sanderson who died on the pitch this afternoon during a skirmish with Salford players.

To my bedroom at 11.30 with Queen Victoria's correspondence with the Empress Frederick and vice versa, 1865-1871.

-=-

Saturday April 23, 1977

St George's Day. Up at 11 and after ten minutes or so a panic-stricken Sarah rang to say Kathleen will shortly be ringing to put a new scheme to me about working Friday nights in future following another "Mrs J Incident" yesterday afternoon when she apparently spent her working hours in a Bacchanalian orgy in the editor's office. Kathleen is now intending to work no night shifts because these disgraceful incidents only ever occur when she isn't in the office.

Kathleen rang at 11.30 but Mum told her I was out. Good old Mum who never tells lies. She did it quite convincingly too. If she insists on pushing this Friday night lark I shall go.

I rang Sarah but only Delia was in. She had me in stitches about the Harrogate Flower Show disaster. The marquee collapsed and hundreds of pounds worth of damage was caused. Queer sense of humour don't you think?

Chat with Lynn about relationships. _______.

New Knights of the Garter are the Earl of Cromer and Lord Elworthy. No one sensational like Tommy Docherty or George Best ever get it.

Peter.

Peter M came at lunchtime. He announced that Chris isn't socialising today because of forthcoming examinations and so he came to pester me for a change. We went to see Tony in Ilkley and decided to go out in a foursome tonight - Linda included.

Back for tea at 5.30. John and Maria were just leaving for their country retreat on Ridgeway and Mum and Dad head off to Wath for dinner. Susan and Peter go to Flashman's. They return with tales of wonderment but  I cannot see anything taking the place of dear Wikis.

Pete arrived at 8 and Tony and Linda half an hour later. To the Bod in Bradford. A very good pub. Packed out with females. Laughed with Linda until my sides ached. Peter M and I were more than a little pissed. He came back home and had coffee and played the record player at full belt. The others were still out. Lynn and Dave went to see the new Barbra Streisand film.

Pete said he'd enjoyed himself for the first time in ages. _______.

-==

Tuesday March 15, 1977

Pathetic day. Bloody rain. The Ides of March, whatever that means. I know Julius Caesar bit the dust on this day but if his last March 15 was anything like this one he was well out of it. Old Brutus did him a bloody favour.

Our trip to Brands Hatch seems well and truly doomed. I've brought up the subject in the office seven or eight times and have had no decent response. Kathleen most certainly cannot work Sunday night.Really annoyed. Ursula says she can manage quite well without me.

Go to town and buy birthday cards for Christine and Tony, who celebrate tomorrow. CB's card has a photo of Greta Garbo in the arms of Basil Rathbone, I think, with the inscription: "They don't make 'em like you, anymore". No doubt I'll hear from here before Friday. We're supposed to be going on a booze up to Otley.

Nothing in the news. The Queen is in Tasmania. Mother is baking bread and I'm doing absolutely bugger all. Today is my Uncle Jack's first anniversary in Heaven. Let's hope they have parties up there because I tend to live from one party to the next. CB says she'd prefer to go to Hell because it's warmer and she'd prefer to spend eternity with her old friends. Not a bad idea. Is all this blasphemous? I might as well go all the way and say something disrespectful about the Pope. He is ill with 'flu and I can imagine the scene in the Vatican every time he sneezes - "Bless Me!" Not funny?

Reading Evelyn Waugh's diary. He's so sarcastic.

See a TV play based on the life of Vivian Nicholson, the pools winner, who spent £150,000 in four or five years. Very good. Bed at 11.36pm.

-==-

Monday February 28, 1977

Forgive me keeping you waiting but I mislaid my old pen and have just discovered it tucked under one of the cushions on a chair in the lounge. The last day of February. A revolting month and can't wait to see the back of it.

Martyn told me a good joke.A young man, Jim, is in the pub with Dilys, who lives in her own flat free from parental control. Jim enquires: "How about me coming back to yours for the night?" Dilys replies: "Sorry, but no. You see I'm on my menstrual cycle". "Oh" exclaimed Jim, "that's no bother. I can follow you on my Honda 50."

No Kathleen at the YP today. We chat about the possibility of an evening at Batley Variety Club tomorrow. Ursula has managed to get hold of eight free tickets and I claim three of them for Tony, Martyn and self.

Tony and Martyn come here at 9. After they'd left Lynn remarked how well they seem to get on considering the age difference. Tony is 30 next month and Martyn is only 18. Age is something I never consider.

Miss Phillips range me this morning just to see what I'm getting up to. It must be three weeks since we've spoken. Poor Carole. She should never have met me. I must be a lunatic.

Sir Ian and Lady Caroline Gilmour.

See a Clint Eastwood film and watch Sir Ian Gilmour moan on and on about defence cuts on a boring current affairs programme. Gilmour is opposition defence spokesman and married to a daughter of the Duke of Buccleuch. A regular little alcoholic encyclopaedia, aren't I?






-=-

Thursday September 9, 1976

The day that could have been the most eventful day of the year went by without any news from Maria. Dad saw her this lunchtime and he says she had visited the doctor and he's now arranged to see her on Tuesday. Oh God I can't stand all this waiting. Anyone would think it was my baby she is having [don't even think about it].

Stagger to work with what might be termed a 'hangover'. Feel bloody awful. Tell Kathleen my decision to pack in at noon and she offers up no opposition. I get a bus at 12 o'clock and get home for lunch at 12.45. Mum is on edge about Maria. It must be a terrible experience becoming a grandparent at 41. Blimey, in 20 years time I could be 'grandad' material!

By late afternoon I've recovered and by the time Lynne gets here at 7pm I'm in good shape. We go to the Red Lion at Burley [in Whafredale] with Sue & Pete where we see Naomi, Carole and another girl. On to the Rose & Crown in Ilkley and meet Tony and Stuart. At 10 o'clock the four of us go on to Oakwood Hall for a couple of hours. It resembles a scene from the new Hitchcock epic 'Carry On Up the Black Hole of Calcutta'. Ghastly. Tempers were frayed. Home at 12.30 and to bed with Hunter Davies's The Beatles'.

-==-

Thursday August 5, 1976

Pleasant day. Sarah is back - Thank God. Another day alone with Kathleen would have finished me off. Go have another session with Hough (dentist). It costs me £3.50 - the first time I have ever had to pay.

Carole rang this afternoon for some sort of chat. When I got home Lynn's first reaction was that she knew Carole would contact me this week knowing that Lynne is safely exiled in Wales. I never think of things like this - but I suppose it's the female mind at work. Miss Phillips did not say anything spectacular but I hate her ringing me. I put down the phone feeling happy, which is disturbing. I can never go out with her again - but knowing it would be wrong to do so makes the temptation, in my wicked mind, even stronger. I feel sick inside because she is so nice, and she has such hope in her voice. Please don't take this is a my bragging about having an attractive girl wasting away because I do not love her. The thought of it revolts me intensely, and until the day I die Carole will always mean a Hell of a lot to me. She says she'll write, and I promise to answer. She sounded nauseated at the idea of me going out with Lynne and spoke her name a few times in sentences punctuated with shudders. She must be a bit of a masocist ( I can't spell it).

Home at 5.15. Lynn is ill with something not unlike Lassa Fever. David comes up at 8 to keep her company. We get a bottle of booze, and with Mum the three of us discuss morals and why ________ shouldn't fornicate with married men. I say Lynn and Mum are ridiculous and melodramatic about the whole thing, and suggest to Lynn that perhaps she should be a candidate for the archbishopric of Canterbury when a vacancy next crops up.

-==-

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.

-==-

Friday March 26, 1976

Just Sarah and I at work until Kathleen's arrival at 2.45. Where the hell Carol J was remains a mystery to us because Sarah knows very well that C was out on the town indulging in a spot of mild adultery in the early hours of this very morning. Naturally, we were bloody busy and the day flew by.

To the Hare & Hounds with Carole tonight. Peter M gave the two of us a lift to our place at 11 o'clock. I'm feeling argumentative - not with Carole though - and I squabble with Dad about politics and taxation until a God forsaken hour. Peter N joins in too. He's stunned at the way his tax has increased this week. Carole says she's never seen me arguing with Papa before. Politics is the only thing we really argue about.

Carole and I sit like love birds until after 2am.

-==-

Monday March 1, 1976

St David's Day. Quite a busy day at work without Kathleen or Carol J. Arrange with Sarah for Mum to visit Delia tonight to discuss floral arrangements for the wedding.

See in 'The Times' that Georgiana Russell, an old girlfriend of the Prince of Wales is joining the ranks of the betrothed. The prince really should start thinking about finding a wife because all the elegible young ladies are falling. The likes of Rosie Clifton and Lady Henrietta FitzRoy and many more. Jane Wellesley won't do at all, and Angela Nevill is just about the only dish on the hot-plate.

Home at 5. Dad shows me a report from his accountant about the Henry Jenkins pub. He's been advised to offer £30,000 for it. They're going over tomorrow to sort things out and I wish them all the luck.

Go to the Yorkshire Rose with Mum & Dad and they book Lynn's party for Saturday for definate. We then go up to West End Lane to Sarah's and Mum does some arranging with Delia whilst Lucy the dog mauls me and Dad. Leave at about 8.30 - 9 o'clock.

Back at home Carole rings. We arrange to meet for tea at our place tomorrow. I see a clapped out old film on the BBC and watch the late night news before going off to bed at about midnight.

Well, March is upon us once more and I would never have imagined that this month could hold so many events of historic consequence.

--==--

Monday February 23, 1976

To Leeds with Jim Rawnsley and we have to endure the boring procrastinations of Donald Best, Esq, the local magistrate & do-gooder. With him in the car it's always a pleasure to get out after the 25 minute journey.

See in the Sunday People, or News of the World - I can't remember which - that Princess Margaret is holidaying in Mustique with Roddy Llewellyn, who can, I think, now be regarded as her lover. I found the article disturbing, especially because it was illustrated by seductive pictures of HRH on a sun scorched beach with her arms clasped firmly round the 27 year-old waist of Mr Llewellyn, the 'ear-ringed' fair-haired son of Colonel Harry Llewellyn, the showjumper. This romance may well develop into something big and if (Lord) Snowdon doesn't watch out he could find himself without a studio at Kensington Palace and a bed for that matter because the princess does appear to be enraptured with Roddy. Could the nation tolerate the monarch's sister in the divorce courts? Watch this space.

A busy day without Kathleen who never works Mondays, and Carol J who has the 'flu. The painter L.S. Lowry died today, and so too did Angela Baddeley, the actress. Other items in the news include several government resignations over the Chancellor's public expenditure cuts, and it looks as though Harold's second anniversary in No. 10 is going to be a stormy one. Will Margaret Thatcher be Prime Minister? Are we going to see a Tory government this year? Will Rod Stewart marry Britt Ekland? Oh, the excitement of it all is too much.

John and Maria go see Delia Collis tonight about the flowers for the wedding. I watched TV with Mum, Dad, Lynn, Sue & Peter. Carole didn't ring because I rang her this morning to tell her that one of the 'Supremes' (an ancient band of Negro singers), has died at the grand old age of 32. Other than this, I can report little else until tomorrow and so it leaves me only to say 'Goodnight'.

-==-

Thursday February 12, 1976

A wet bright day. At the YP Kathleen has a phone call to say the 1975 edition of Burke's Peerage is waiting to be collected at WH Smith's. I'm round there like a shot and return with the bound volume where, to my horror, I see that it is in fact a revised edition of the 1970 volume, andf even smaller because the royal section now forms a separate book. I think it's a disgrace, and at £38 it certainly isn't worth it. However, before taking it back I photostated the supplement in the front of the volume listing all the peers who have died since 1970, and proceed to amend our tatty volume myself. I then re-wrapped the book and took it back to Smith's. Devious I know.

Elton John is coming to the Grand Theatre Leeds on April 29-30 and Sarah, with her boyfriend Alan, Carol and her sweetheart, Eileen and Michael and Carole and I are going along to lend our support. Tickets are £3 each and we all payed today to get it over with. I'm not an absolute Elton John fanatic but I am curious to see how he performs on stage. The girls in the office will be clamouring to see Carole, because she's always been a mysterious voice on the other end of the phone. They'll be more interested in Carole than in Elton John.

Get home at 5.30 for fish and chips and chocolate cake and gallons of tea.

The Henry Jenkins deal is going through with great promise. Barkers accountants and valuers are working around the clock and we'll have a decision in two weeks.

John and I go down to the Hare at 7.30 and when he goes to Maria's half an hour later I go to Carole's. We have a romantic evening in the Hare and spend an hour in the tap room where all the locals seem to know us now. She really is cheerful and happy.

-==-

Wednesday February 11, 1976

I get up at two minutes to 8 and discover that I've mislaid Jim Rawnsley somewhere. A thin layer of snow covers the ground and John has some difficulty getting (his car) up the Blackwell's drive, and I find myself shovelling ice and snow like Hell, whilst he scatters grit from a bucket.

Catch a bus to Leeds and arrive at the YP just before nine o'clock feeling tired, run-down and shagged out.

See in the papers that Eleanor Dixie, daughter of the late Sir Wolstan Dixie, 13th Baronet, is going to claim the title for herself. She fails to se why women are excluded from holding peerages and baronetcies. I'm in total agreement with this. In fact I decide to write to the Garter King of Arms or someone to lodge my strong approval of Miss Dixie's claim. The Equal Opportunities Act should really have ended this discrimination when it came into force. Opening the peerage to both sexes will help slow down the rate of extinctions, and that can't be a bad thing. Certain ancient titles can of course he inherited by either sex, but these only number 14 or 15, and the total number of peerages amount to over 500 I think.

Meanwhile: back to the office. At lunchtime I still feel listless and washed-out & so I seek an audience of Kathleen, and she tells me to go home. Eileen thinks I'm joking and thinks I'm secretly meeting someone in town, but I get the 2.30 bus out of Leeds.

Lynn and Dad are in at home. Poor Lynn is still one of the unemployed 'school-leaver' types and she says that her qualifications are too good for most offices where she's applied for jobs. They all want dumb, large-breasted blondes, with pea-like brains, just to make the tea and type envelopes. Lynn just isn't the office junior type. She feels desperate really because she's not a lazy sort of kid and staying at home all day just revolts her.

I sit in the lounge with a cup of tea browsing through Burke's Peerage planning my line of attack to get all these wronged would-be peeresses acknowledged.

I got in the bath at 8.30 and Carole came round at 9 o'clock to see if I am still in the land of the living. She goes at 9.20. I stand and watch her skip happily down the lane.

-==-

Tuesday February 3, 1976

Busy day at work. Kathleen gets on my nerves at times. She fusses over such ridiculous things. Frustrated - that's what she is. A man would do her the world of good. Maybe a little crude, but true.

Sarah says Delia is planning for the day when I move into her place as a lodger. I thought they were having me on about this, but I actually think they would like me to stay there Monday-Friday when Mum & Dad go to Kirby Malzeard. That's if they ever do go to the Henry Jenkins Inn.

Carole rings this evening - 8.50 actually. She has one of her headaches. These crop up every couple of months or so. I can't figure it out how they keep recurring.

George Waite calls in to see John & is surprised to hear that J is going to beat him to the altar. George is getting married on June 19.

See "Fawlty Towers" starring John Cleese which is fantastically funny. Much better than 'Monty Python' because it's much more mature.

This Jeremy Thorpe affair makes me laugh. I'll write more on the subject later, but you mark my words when I say Jeremy is more involved than he cares to admit. Much, much more.

Bed at about 11.30.



--==--

Monday November 24, 1975

Top people were prowling around the office this afternoon making sure that all is in readiness for tomorrow's royal visit. They've put new carpet in the lift, and all our desks have been polished for the first time since the Prince of Wales visited in 1970.

Royal visits certainly give the chiefs galloping Ooojahs. All the things they've been putting off for years are done, as if by magic, overnight.

Kathleen, who won't curtsey, has bought a brand new wardrobe especially for it and I've noticed quite a few abnormally decently dressed reporters crawling around the office.

Sunday November 23, 1975

Last after Trinity. A wet, horrible day. I walk down the lane after lunch to meet Carole off the 3 o'clock bus from Menston. She is a bit late and I walk about kicking leaves around pretending not to notice how unpunctual she is. I don't get too wet and feel refreshed by the gales and pounding rain. She does arrive in the end and we saunter up the lane like love birds.

Last night she lost her mother's priceless bracelet at the Cow & Calf and all hell was raised at 14, Oakridge Avenue, this morning.

We watched tv, and then John and Maria came over for tea. After tea, watched tv again. Nothing like a bit of variety, eh?

John obviously doesn't have my great willpower or strength of character because he and Maria made off to the Hare after part 2,000,000 of 'Upstairs, Downstarirs'. We all grit our teeth and fought our way through the news, eighteen war films and finally a Bette Davis epic.

Dave took Carole home with Peter at midnight or so, and I crawled away to bed.

Have I mentioned already that Kathleen found a 1956 Burke's Peerage in a cupboard at the office and I am now the proud owner of it?


--==-

Monday November 17, 1975

Chilly blasts and ice-cold draughts howl around my knees at 8am as I set foot out of the house for another day at the office. A hectic day too. Sarah is at her grandmother's funeral, and of course Kathleen never works Mondays. Carol is on the verge of mental collapse and Eileen reverts to her bad-mannered ways as she always seems to do at times of stress.

Someone was arguing about a quiz programme on tv yesterday. Evidently, the 50 dollar question was 'give me nine womens names beginning with the letter M'. The poor contestant could only think of six, and thus lost a chance to spend a week in St Tropez, all expenses paid. It's such an easy question too:
Mary, Marian, Mary, Mildred, Mary, Margaret, Mary, Millicent, Mary, Melissa, Mary, Maude, Mary, Mirabel, Mary, Mabel, Mary, Magdalene, Mary, Muriel, Mary, Megan, Mary, Marjorie, Mary, Michelle, Mary, Myrtle, Mary, Marianne, Mary, Marie, Mary,. Maria, Mary, Margot, Mary, Mandy. Well ok, Mandy is short for Amanda, but I bet someone somewhere is actually called Mandy.

Carole rings me and informs me that Mrs P has bought a bottle of pernod for us to get through on Thursday. Lynn and Dave and John and Maria are invited round, so we'll have a good time of it before dining out.

All I can say is I am glad we are nowhere near Londinium because you wouldn't find me in a restaurant down there. The IRA isn't going to have the pleasure of putting a stop to my happy, little existence. I intend to battle on to be over 100 whether these terrorists like it or not. Goddnight.

Tuesday October 14, 1975

Yet another day at the office. Kathleen is back at work after nursing her sick family all last week.

Very little in the news and the papers are quite boring.

This morning I bought two tickets for Thursday's London trip. Pete will give me his £5.60 on Wednesday, so I'll be moderately wealthy before the weekend is upon us. Still no word from John & Sheila, but the postal system isn't what it might be, and so they won't be in recepit of my damn letter until the New Year!

On the subject of not hearing anything we have yet to hear from Bass Charrington about the Station pub at Ilkley. If we don't get a pub this time I think poor Mum will go into seclusion. Anyone would think that they (Mum and Dad that is) have something wrong with them because the way they have been refused is really too bad.

Go to Carole's after she rang me to say she'd made a spectacular recovery! John hurries me down the lane in the car and I find her looking absolutely ravishing. The three of us go to the Hare & Hounds and we find it in the midst of being decorated. John leaves us to it after one drink, and we sit in a corner - arm in arm.

Carole is beautiful and sexy. Lynne Mather comes a close second.

-==-