Monday March 5, 1979

_. I spent all day looking for something to buy Lynn for her birthday and finally settled upon a 'Toulouse Lautrec' Parisian-style poster. You know the one I mean. An old French tart with the top of her corset open, her tits hanging out and swimming in Pernod,  being ogled by bloated old gents in frock coats and top hats, monocles hanging everywhere.
I'm sure she'll like it. It will add to the bistro-effect of her dining room.

Saw 'Fawlty Towers' tonight. Someone should really persuade John Cleese to continue churning episodes out. So sad, isn't it, that all good things come to an end?

The dear Labour administration is five years old this week. Five wonderful years of prosperity and growth with round, fat children, all with well preserved teeth, dancing and openly rejoicing in the streets. Five years of giving so much money to old age pensioners that even now, as I sit here pen in hand, I can see a group of merry geriatrics dashing down the lane all pushing large wheel barrows crammed with crumpled old fivers. No doubt all having a Monday trip to the local rubbish tip. It's more convenient for them to dump excess cash than try and spend it. Most OAPs are too settled to become tax exiles in Juan Les Pins and St Helier.






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Monday January 15, 1979

Will Margaret Hilda (Thatcher) ever become prime minister of these crumbling, desperate islands? I have a quaking, nasty feeling of nausea about the whole subject of the next general election. Do I forsee yet another feeble minority Labour government taking us through to the mid 1980s? Please, Oh please God, spare us this horror!

Another one of those Spencer girls has been spotted in the royal circle. Lady Diana Spencer, 17, is now at Sandringham with her elder sister, Lady Sarah, and both have been out shooting with the Prince of Wales. Lady Diana was born in 1961 and I can't help thinking that our future Queen consort is going to be a child of the 1960s. The Prince of Wales cannot marry someone thirty years old because her child~bearing days (or perhaps years) can be numbered on one hand. So, in the next couple of years a batch of females in their early 20s will have to be taken into consideration. All very exciting, isn't it?



I have decided that Peter Nason's beard is a perfect addition to his face. His features were too elongated, and now you can't see 'em for hair. The facial hair makes him look older too. He's been in a cheerful, almost elated mood recently. What can it be?

Watched TV until the set nearly exploded from the heat. A Charles Bronson film on BBC2, and of course a repeat of a 1972 edition of Monty Python's Flying Circus. Bed after 12 and read 'Confessions of a Private Soldier'. Blimey, anything is better than the Crossman diaries.

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Friday November 3, 1978

Dear God I feel just terrible. To quote Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman ~ "my eyes are like piss holes in the snow". Hideous, quite hideous.

Did little or no work and Sarah took me to Len's Bar at lunch in an attempt to revive me but it simply failed to work.

Didn't hear from Christine. I bet she feels the same.

At 5:30 Jacq and I went with Dave B to meet Lynn at Yeadon. We had every intention of going to see 'Grease'. At 6:30 after fish and chips we 'nipped' into the Clothiers 'just for a quick one' where we were joined by Sue and Pete, who put us off by telling us that the queue for the film at the Odeon is five miles long. We too readily believed them, and carried on drinking. It was a great relief for me. I can think of nothing worse than John Travolta's leather gear in glorious technicolour.

The six of us moved on the the Crown, and then the Drop. All quite pissed up. ______________________.

Pete says he's going to blackmail me over _________________________.

Jacq got a bus at about 11 and the others called in at Pine Tops to see Mum and Dad. Dave and I were hideously pissed, and this always niggles Mummy when she's stone cold sober. We squabbled slightly and I argued with Dad about the Labour party and nationalisation. David joined in the argument but nobody could understand what he was talking about.

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Tuesday October 3, 1978

Sorry about the change of ink again (from red to black). I really am quite sick of the red mess that's dominated these pages since Lynne Mather's demise in February, 1977. I do feel that the time for celebration is over, don't you?

On the subject of my 'love life' _____________________________________.

Christine phoned this afternoon. She's exhausted and flat broke and suggested we postpone our meeting until a week on Thursday. I am very disappointed but agreed to this change of plan. Instead I shall go to the Shoulder (of Mutton) with Peter and the boys. Frank (Hall) was released from hospital with nothing but bruises so no doubt he'll be out to tell the tale.

Back to Christine: she sounded positively devilish on the telephone, so much so that my laughter and loud inuendo apparently brought the office to a standstill and Kathleen had to prod my in the spine and ask me to belt up after about 15 minutes.

Saw "Roots" tonight. Later heard the Prime Minister speaking at his party conference in sunny Blackpool. He really is becoming quite an orator in his old age. But this 5 per cent pay increase limit just leaves me cold. I need an increase of about 105 per cent to bring me into the basic living wage brigade.

Callaghan should have been having a general election this week instead of mucking around at the seaside. This long drawn out farewell can't be doing any of us any good.

To bed at 11:56pm with Adolf Hitler.

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Thursday November 3, 1977

Pay day. The State Opening of Parliament took place this morning. BBC TV technicians blacked out the coverage of the 'spectacle' because they too want more cash from HM Government. When I say 'spectacle' I say so in more ways than you imagine because the Queen wore her half-moon spectacles for the first time at the opening of the British Parliament. The fact that she is become a grandmother in two weeks time must have gone to her head, or perhaps I should say face. The specs do not flatter HM one bit. I do realise that the Queen doesn't want to be a trend setter or sex symbol. The sole aim was to the read the rubbish provided for her by the pathetic government with speed and accuracy.

At tea time we had fish and chips washed down with a bottle of hock. Papa was pissed from an afternoon session with Mum, Edith and Ernest. They had been up to the Cow & Calf to enquire about a wedding reception for Lynn & Dave. It sounds impressive.

Sat by the television this evening.

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Thursday March 25, 1976

Carole, Lynn, Dave, Mum, Dad and I go over to see Auntie Mabel for the evening. She's taking Uncle Jack's passing like a brave warrior really and I think she is marvellous.

We all laugh at her old photographs and drink apricot wine, and her home-made peach wine and sherry. David teased her in his usual way. Everyone definately takes to him - I've realised this after knowing him quite well now for two years or so. A pleasant, cheerful character who can get away with 'blue murder' - that's our Dave.

(Michael) Foot won the first Labour leadership ballot. He could well be the first British Prime Minister to be called Michael. However, James Callaghan must not be underestimated. He will not go without a struggle and his wife, Audrey, is at this very moment measuring the bedrooms and No. 10 for new damask curtains because it's common knowledge that the present chintzy drapes have been hanging since Bonar Law's time.

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Thursday October 10, 1974

King Henry III born 1206. Polling Day again. John and I go (vote) in the car at about 7.30. He votes Labour, and I Liberal. I know it's shocking of me to desert the poor Tories in their hour of need, but they made such a mess of it last time I feel as though it would be almost criminal to get them elected again. YP all day. Quite busy, but nothing of importance happens. Home at 6pm and see tv until 1am. It's quite clear by midnight that 'Darling Harold' will remain Prime Minister. Go to bed feeling very tired, and fall asleep with the knowledge that the nation is now doomed to destruction under the crushing hammer of Antony Wedgwood Benn's nationalisation plans.

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