Tuesday August 5, 1975

Eek! It's only four days until the holiday! My first ever aeroplane journey! Two whole weeks away from all those worries!! Oh, the sun! The sea! The women! Aaarrgghh!! All these exclamation marks are too much to bear!!

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Wednesday July 30, 1975

In just over one weeks time I will be boarding an aeroplane for the very first time. Obviously, I'm longing for a holiday, but I'm not all that sure about flying. Never experiencing anything like it before I cannot be afraid, because one can only be worried about something if one knows what that something is. I do not. People say it's similar to being on a waltzer at a fairground, or riding on a double-decker bus down a badly constructed road, but 300 people do not die instantly when a bus runs out of petrol, and neither are people dashed to death on a fairground ride. That is my worry. Don't get me wrong. I'm not scared of dying. I just want to die in better circumstances that's all. Is not wanting to drop 30,000 feet out of the sky onto a sun-scorched moutnain range a fear of dying? I don't think so. I want to die in bed, sometime in the middle of the next century, surrounded by weeping, middle-aged grandchildren.

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Friday July 18, 1975

Wet day. Lounge around in bed until 11.30 because I'm working at the YP tonight. Fridays are horrid at work, but at least I'll save myself a bit of money. Under normal circumstances I spend £3 or £4 on a Friday night.

Have lunch at 12.30 and Mum gets on at John and I about getting innoculated against typhoid, which is spreading like wildfire in Majorca at the moment. Several cases have been reported in Britain recently, but we haven't been notified by our travel agent who should surely warn clients about pestilence & disease. John is terrified at the thought of being 'jabbed', and he wants me to ring Denise first to see if we really do need one. I ring at 2.10 and she isn't in either at Smiths or at home. I'll have to contact her at the weekend.

Sarah rings me at 2.30 to say they've got some booze at work and wants to know whether I'd like to come early to join in. I get to the YP for 3.45. Have a drink with the girls until 5pm, then start work. Quite uneventful really, though Kathleen was cheerful and greatly improved.

Anne Simpson leaves tonight, and at 11pm as I was leaving for my bus I bumped into her and we had a chat. Iv'e never quite liked her, but she thanked me for all I'd done for her, and I modestly replied it wasn't much, at which she replied 'nonsense, you've been a great help'. Good Old Anne! Home on the 11 o'clock 33 bus. Warm night. Get in before 12. See the end of a horror film and leap into bed for 2am.

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Thursday July 10, 1975

Another sunless day. Hot and damp and completely overpowering. Oh, I didn't mention that on Monday David L arrived home and he will be knocking about with us until the new term starts in September. He rang me on Monday night for a chat. The poor chap will be horribly bored, and he's only getting £5 social security.

Work was OK today. At lunchtime I got yet another £2.99 T-shirt. It makes three in three weeks. Some cheese and onion sandwiches didn't go down too well, and I sat for an hour with a cup of tea to recouperate.

Saw in the YP that typhoid, cholera, rabies, diphtheria, influenza, and many more succulent diseases are currently running havoc in Majorca. No doubt the travel agent will contact us for instructions about innoculations and things. Is it worth going on holiday for two weeks to come home only to drop dead?

Christine rang me this morning. She got on about the party I'm having on July 26. I knew from the way the chat went that she wanted to bring someone. I said 'bring just who you like', and she replied: 'will you mind?' I retorted: 'No'. She blurted out: 'Well, you should do!' I knew she was thinking of bringing Roger - who knocks about in the Hare - but neither of us mentioned names. We didn't have to. She is a little beggar, isn't she?

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Thursday January 30, 1975

Whilst messing around with the EP at work I see that the headlines of last night's paper concerned Lord Snowdon and Mr Hamilton, the repulsive Labour MP who should have been shot years ago. It appears that Lord Snowdon has written to the publishers of Hamilton's new book 'My Queen and I', and has has asked him not to publish it. Obviously, he's been instructed to do this by Her Majesty herself or by Princess Margaret, who receives some obnoxious insults in the vile publication, and it is quite understandable that the Royal Family are hurt by it. I for one, absolutely refuse to read it. William Hamilton is so disgustingly low, it would be impossible for most normal people, even certain Labour members of Parliament, to stoop to his level.

Home at 6 o'clock to discover that I've mislaid £2 since last night. After a frantic search I fail to discover it, and sit about moping, pestering myself with worry, and tearing out large chunks of hair, screaming and biting my nails off. Quite upset really. Chris rings at 8.30 to say we may have got in somewhere for the holidays. The travel agent in question is ringing him back at 9.30. So I'll report on the details later. My fingers are crossed with expectancy.

Three hundred and twenty six years ago this day King Charles I was brutally murdered by his captors. A foul day ineed that was. What with William Hamilton's new book and this anniversary I cannot envisage much joy and happiness at Sandringham this week.Her Majesty may well be quaking in her boots.

Chris rings at 9.30 to say we have managed to get a place in Majorca for the weeks we wanted. Not too happy about Majorca, but Chris was assured it's a good place where we're going. More developments tomorrow.

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