Monday April 9, 1979

_. It poured down from dawn till dusk. Whatever became of the long, warm Spring which was forecast in the delightful EP?

Carol J paid me £10 for doing the bathroom and asked me whether I would possibly do the wall behind the door in that same, auspicious room. I leapt at the chance. It will only take me ten minutes.

Delia phoned and was most revealing. She told me she had argued with Sarah late last week at the cruel way S had sent me to Coventry for giving her that "frightful cold". She told Sarah to pull herself together and start being nice to me once again. She can be a horrid, precocious child at times. I'd love to be given the opportunity to really sort her out. In a brutal, forceful Clint Eastwood sort of way.

The general election campaign is already in full swing. A month of codswallop and blatant lies from our beloved pin-striped PM is something I can do without. Jim Callaghan really should do the honourable thing and shoot himself. It would be far better to go now than to wait until May 3 and suffer the same fate as King Charles I, Mr Hoveyda, the former Jamaican premier and poor Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who died by hanging last week simply because he was the leader of a defeated party. Margaret Hilda [Thatcher] seems to have the right idea. She says she is ignoring the campaign for a while because she doesn't want to bore the pants off Joe Electorate. Hoe right and clever of the sainted Margaret.

To bed at 1:12am.

-=-

Wednesday March 28, 1979

_. A revolting wet day. It's blowing a gale at the moment [12:15am 29/03/1979] .

Auntie Hilda is 43 today. Mum phoned her this morning. Mum suggested that they team up and go to Ruby and Arthur's together at Easter. H seemed to think this is a good idea.

Sarah has been a cow all day. ______________.

Susan and Peter went out for an Indian meal to celebrate their recovery from gastroenteritis. Oh God!

I have excellent news to relate here. At 10:30 tonight the government was defeated in the House of Commons on a vote of no confidence, by 311 to 310 votes. Old Callaghan will have to go to the country at last. The Queen will be asked to dissolve Parliament in the next few days and the general election campaign will begin. April 26 and May 10 are possible dates. It looks like Margaret Hilda Thatcher will be the first woman prime minister. One Labour MP missed the vote due to illness. I'd be interested to know who that was. His vote would have resulted in a tie and the Speaker would have cast the deciding vote with Her Majesty's Government. Angela Rippon was obviously beside herself with glee whilst reading the late news. It's obvious she is a 'true blue'. No government has been defeated in this way and subsequently fallen since Ramsay MacDonald's first Labour administration in 1924, and he was succeeded by Baldwin. Poor Jim Callaghan's 'Zinoviev Letter' is the failure of devolution ~ such a pathetic subject on which to risk all, don't you think?

Things will now hot up at the YP and the build up to the general election will be all good stuff. It's an exciting time. I really pity the poor people of Paraguay or Argentina, where elections of any kind are strictly taboo. They don't realise just what they are missing. ________.

Went to bed with Agatha Christie at 12:25am.

-=-

Friday March 23, 1979

_. Woke up feeling quite well but regretting last night's stunt which cost me a fine pair of trousers. I didn't climb out of bed until 8 o'clock and so I missed Jim [Rawnsley]. Battling down the lane at 8:30 I met Lynn and Dave and scrounged a lift to town with them.

At the YP the atmosphere has improved. Sarah was all light and loveliness, but when she is one of her moods I could cheerfully throttle the life out of her.

At home tonight ~ Peter was in trouble. He phoned Sue, giggling, at 7:30, with Chippy in the background. They had of course been in Otley all day. He excused himself from visiting tonight by saying he was doing some work on his car. "If he tells you lies now, then what will he do when he's married?" interjected mother, unhelpfully. He did come up for Sue aft 8 but I was in the bath and avoided the aggravation.

Sat in front of the television tonight. A Variety Club of Gt Britain lunch in honour of Earl Mountbatten of Burma. Lord Mountbatten was accompanied by Prince & Princess Michael of Kent. She is expecting a baby in about three weeks and looked delicious, as usual. Marie-Christine von Reibnitz is the most beautiful addition to the Royal Family since Queen Alexandra joined it in 1863. Harry Secombe made a funny speech and so did Peter Ustinov. The poor, demented prime minister arrived late and seemed almost human. The Tories are demanding a vote of confidence next week and the government doesn't stand a chance of surviving. A general election is now on the cards and good old Margaret Thatcher will be shaking hands with the Queen as the first daffodils emerge through the snow.

-=-

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.

-=-

Wednesday August 23, 1978

To Lawn Road again. Far too busy painting to sit here with my pen.

A general election is almost on the cards now for October 5, and not October 12. The latter date is too close to Yom Kippur, the day of Atonement, and Jim (Callaghan) wants all the Jewish votes he can lay his hands on. Also, Jeremy Thorpe's day in court has been postponed until the second week in October so that it won't interfere with polling.

Let us hope and pray that Margaret Hilda will be spending her 53rd birthday in number 10, Downing Street. (That will be October 13). Oh, I'm on tip~toe with excitement.

-=-

Wednesday May 24, 1978

Princess Margaret and the 1st Earl of Snowdon were divorced ~ on this the 159th birthday of Queen Victoria. I don't think she'd have been amused at all. Mind you, it is 1978, and when everybody else in the kingdom are tearing up their marriage certificates I suppose it's only right that one or two members of the Royal Family should do likewise. Moving with the times, and all that. It's about the only excuse I can give.

The only other violent eruption I can envisage this year in the Royal House is Prince Michael of Kent's marital intentions with Marie-Christine Troubridge.

Politics: a recent opinion poll suggests Margaret Hilda Thatcher might not become prime minister at the next general election. It is infuriating to see the present enfeebled prime minister growing to look more like Sir Winston Churchill and all the more how one expects a Conservative leader to look while at the same time the 'true blue' leader is a peroxide blonde housewife smothered in Max Factor ~ going through the change ~ &c. It really is intolerable. The political analysts are now saying we won't be going to the polls until next Spring and the thought of a jubilant James Callaghan and Denis Healey rolling, frolicking, and skipping midst the crocuses at Westminster just doesn't bear thinking about. Another Labour government would take us to 1984, George Orwell and all that.

Home news: Just watched tv this evening. Mama is back to normal I think. Her moods can put a tremendous dampener on things.

Lynn came home with a new hairstyle ~ a perm. She's such a pretty girl ~ one of the finest maidens in the parish.

Edith and Ernest are going to Devon tomorrow to view a house near Kenneth's that's for sale. Mum says it's a bad idea that they go south. She hasn't told them of course. I agree when she says that moving at that age can do more harm than good. Ernest has many friends up here and to old people that can be the difference between an active, youthful mind, and a geriatric cabbage.

-=-

Tuesday May 9, 1978

Sarah and I went to Parker's wine bar at lunchtime. Had a couple of pints and a glass of dry white wine. She is a giggle is Sarah, but the soul destroying infatuation which ruled my thoughts for years on end is now over. She is attractive, humorous and enchanting but a relationship would never get off the ground. We discuss quitting the YP.

Hot day. Christine phoned this afternoon to say she went out last night with a guy she met at the party on Saturday. She refers to herself as a 'bugger'. She flies off to Jersey on Wednesday with with Mum. Paddy Braithwaite died a year ago this month. I do suppose they'll be thinking about him all the more.

Items of news: Aldo Moro, the former Italian PM who was kidnapped 54 days ago was found dead today. Lord Hillingdon, of Williams & Glyn's Bank, is dead too. Margaret Hilda Thatcher and Mr Callagas have been squabbling about knocking off one solitary penny in the pound in Income Tax. Fools. The Queen is still wearing spectacles when reading in public.

Mum visited Dr Mellor this morning and he did nothing but talk about Dad and how marvellous the British police force is. In the surgery she chatted to a woman with a baby called Peter. The woman told her Peter is becoming popular again thanks to Princess Anne. I don't think so.

John came up to see Lynn and Dave about something. He told me Tony has moved to Shipley and is throwing a party there on Saturday. He and Maria are going. _____________________.

Bed at midnight.

-=-

Wednesday March 15, 1978

Oh bugger the old English handwriting today. I feel absolutely revolting. Nevertheless, I crawled out of bed and attempted to make an effort at the YP, but by 11:30am I was dead. In fact, at that fateful hour I was compelled to enter the lavatories of the Yorkshire Post and did wretchedly vomit forth. It was ghastly. At 12 I 'signed off' for the day and returned homeward. The omnibus bearing my pale corpse to Guiseley was within seconds of inspecting the remainder of the contents of the above mentioned stomach.

At home the situation is cold to say the least. Mama and Papa are still considering closing their respective diplomatic delegations and to me it seems that nothing but an out and out war is inevitable. For the remainder of the day I sat ~ quiet as a mouse ~ armed with a gas mask and copy of the New English Bible. Oh, it's all very sad. But this is what marriage is all about I do suppose.  I expect Mr & Mrs Thatcher (Conservative) often fall out in similar circumstances. Goodnight.

-=-

Monday February 13, 1978

A nasty, disappointing day. At the YP I find that Eileen is the only occupant of the Library ~ so that's an end to the Rawtenstall venture. Sarah is off with a stomach upset and Mrs ______ has 'the flu', or so we are informed by her horribly snobby mother. If this is the case the next time I have a cold I'm going to phone in and tell them I'm having an abortion.

I phoned Chris and told him I couldn't make it and he was good about it. He may not even go himself because of the weather.

At lunchtime I purchased three Valentine's cards and despatched them to Christine, Jacqui, and WPC Carolle Jones. I thought of sending one to Carole but decided against it. Fogarty would only make her life more of a Hell than it already is. It's a great pity that we cannot be friendly and nice to each other.

To other things: Mrs Thatcher's been making an impact at Harrogate where a Young Conservative thing is going on. She has an eleven per cent lead over the government according to an opinion poll (Ha Ha) but it seems that Callabum is determined to hang on until the Spring of 1979.

Peter Townsend was interviewed on TV tonight where he discussed Princess Margaret for the first time. He seems remarkable for a 63 year-old. Would things, one wonders, have worked out less sordid for the Princess had she married the Group Captain in 1955? Her love life since has definitely been one ghastly misfortune after another. Indeed, in a month's time the Snowdons will have been separated for 2 years and entitled to divorce. Snowdon wants to marry Mrs Lucy Lindsay-Hogg, reputedly his mistress. We shall have to wait and see.

To bed with Baroness Orczy at 12. Fell asleep with the bedroom light burning brightly.

-=-

Tuesday January 31, 1978

Moon's last quarter 23:51.

More snow. Marita's 23rd birthday, but something of a flop. I saw her at 4:30 on Wellington Street and she mentioned something about going out for a drink - a consolation booze-up - with Chris and Denise. I readily agreed to join the party.

At home I prepared a suitable birthday card (a Mig Rhodes montage no less, made from old YP photographs) and readied myself for this unusual Tuesday night venture. But at 8:00 she phoned saying Mr & Mrs Fountain have arranged to take her out for a surprise meal, and so it's a kick in the teeth for our night out. Lynn became suspicious and said __________.

King Edward VI.

I sat reading Edward VI by Hester Chapman, brooding over what might have been. The 1540s were troubled times and I must admit I'm quite confused about the intrigues of the Seymours and the Greys. I have managed to get to page 131 though. One thing's for sure, I no longer feel sorry for Lady Jane Grey.

Margaret Thatcher's immigration speech is creating a furore. There is also talk that Harold Wilson resigned when he did in March 1976 to lessen the impact of the breakdown of the Snowdon marriage. Did I comment on the closeness of these events at the time? I believe I did. I no longer read my old diaries regularly. I'm nauseated by myself, and keep the journals in a black box under lock and key.

To bed at 12:15 with King Edward VI.




-=-

Tuesday January 24, 1978

A provisional booking has been made at the Hotel S'Estanyol, San Antonio, but on the far side of the bay. Michelle's done really well to find places for 7 of us when everything is so booked up. I phoned Dave G who likes the idea but is unhappy with the flight times (1:30am going out, and 7:30am returning). Martyn is a different kettle of fish though. _____________.He is also unhappy with the dates (July 7-July 21) and says he'd prefer to go at the end of July. __________.

Got a letter from Jacqui. The party is still set for Feb 4, and Peter Sate's party is on March 18. I replied, but only in brief. I was in no corresponding frame of mind today.

Lady Jane Wellesley and the Prince of Wales.

Interesting items: Lady Jane Wellesley has been at Sandringham with the Prince of Wales over the weekend and was ferried about with much secrecy by the Queen. Will HRH be spliced by his 30th birthday? Oh God. After all I've said about Lady Jane. Poor Davina Sheffield - I always thought she would make a lovely fixture on the palace balcony.

Other news: Margaret Thatcher's voice has altered radically in recent times. In her three years as Conservative party leader the pitch of Mrs T's voice has changed from that high-pitched school ma'am drawl to one of depth, humour and level headedness. Am I perhaps imagining this?

Bed at 12 with Lord Peter Wimsey.

-=-

Monday October 10, 1977

Margaret Thatcher: party conference in Ibiza?

The valiant Margaret Thatcher is loading her guns in readiness for the Tory conference which opens at Brighton tomorrow. Why do they insist upon holding these stupid gatherings in hideous 19th century watering places? Surely, if little me can can manage a fortnight in Ibiza then the great bulwark of the Conservative party machine can surely do the same? I can understand the feeble Liberal party holding its annual circus on English soil because they are rather dull, aren't they?

The Duchess of Kent left hospital yesterday looking well and smiling. It was the duke's 42nd birthday. They are such a loving, close couple and the children all seem so nice. The 'Princess Margaret sort' are all very well, but our monarchy would not survive if all members of the Royal Family were like her.

Saw television which was quite dead. Also kept on with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' which has drifted from the original theme somewhat but I refuse to be defeated.

Phoned Tony. He said he's been 'let down' at the weekend and that he'd not taken Toni (confusion) for dinner at all. "We had a party at the flat instead" he said.  ________________.Heard from Martyn. He started work at Samuel's today.

-=-

Wednesday September 21, 1977

The autumn equinox, I believe. Yes folks, with a rendering of 'Autumn Leaves' I now bid farewell to you in order to roast my chestnuts on my little garden bonfire. Oh, how I love this time of year!  The browns! The golds! The burnt yellows! No.To be honest I can take it or leave it.

An autumn without a good old general election is just not on. It's like having peaches without cream or whisky without American Dry Ginger and lots of ice. I'm sure that dear Mrs Thatcher thinks along these lines too. To see the beloved leader of the only true political party, ballot papers in hand, coming into focus through a typically misty autumn dawn would be a sight to cherish. But alas, the sorrowing nation must now wait until this gorgeous season is once again upon us before the Sainted Margaret - her hair burnished with the magnificent hue of autumn leaves - rides into Parliament as our prime minister.

Otherwise a normal day the YP and with little play.

-=-

Saturday September 17, 1977

I have very strange thoughts about the events of last night. Sarah became so ridiculously miserable _______. From what I remember of our visit to Wetherby Delia and I were eating carnations and slapping turkeys before we left for home. (For some reason a very large, uncooked turkey was sitting in the bath in the upstairs loo of the private flat of the pub where we made merry).

Turkey slapping ....

I was up at 9.30 and expected a call from Delia about returning to Harewood for coffee, but the summons never arrived. Had a bath and left at 12.30 for Stockport.

I was in Manchester by 2.30 and managed to get through the blockade of Manchester Utd fans who were attempting to sabotage the Lord Mayor's Parade. I got lost in Stockport and arrived at the Hollywood after 4pm. Dave G was awakened from his afternoon slumbers and he greeted me with yawns and bleariness of eye.

Tonight to Stockport County Club with Dave, Steve B, Garry B, and Bill (Wright). Bill is one of the most hilarious people I have ever met. We just acted wild and really daft. At one point an act on the stage just stopped to watch us lads performing. In tears laughing. Mind you, it doesn't take Agatha Christie to fathom that the drink intake was at the bottom of the cause of this revelry. Back to the Hollywood at 2.30 not that I can remember anything about it. Stockport always guarantees severe intoxication and in most cases, paralysis. Visits here should perhaps be banned. Perhaps Margaret Thatcher will put a stop to it all next autumn.

-=-

Thursday June 23, 1977

The diaries of John Evelyn have been sold for a tremendous (I keep using that word) sum at Christie's or Sotheby's yesterday. Are you considering put these volumes under the hammer? You might as well.

The 'flying pickets': Grunwick Dispute

A hot day but the Yorkshire Post prevents my becoming involved in it or participating in any of its pleasures. Kathleen was infuriating.

Home at 5 for sandwiches on the lawn with Mama and Papa. Tony rang at 7.30 from deepest Hertfordshire - or wherever Bishop Thingy is. He is back among us tomorrow. It was good to hear him.

Martyn is playing golf somewhere and nothing was heard from him all night.

On the news saw the 'flying pickets' in the Grunwick Dispute. (Please refer to your history books, particularly the Dictionary of National Biography and the illustrious paragraph on Sir Arthur Scargill, KG, NUM, , &c). Someone at home asked what Mr Rees, our beloved Home Secretary, is doing about all the bother and Lynn quipped: "Oh Mrs Rees doesn't like Merlyn watching all this violence on the television and so she hasn't told him about it." Brilliant. No doubt silly Meryln goes to bed when Childrens' Hour finishes. Roll on Margaret Thatcher.

To bed at 11.30 after another squabble with Mama about my financial situation.

-=-

Wednesday March 23, 1977

Callaghan: reptile.

Our reptile of a Prime Minister has pulled a fast one over on the feeble little party the name of which I cannot seem to recall. Yes, the Tory vote of 'no confidence' in Her Majesty's government failed and the reptile scraped through with a majority of 20 or so. No doubt you know more about it than I do because it will be history by the time you come to read this. I bet your 'A' Level tutor has dictated Mrs Thatcher's speech to you recently. You know, the one referring to Jim (Callaghan) as 'Jim of all parties, and master of none'.

But to get down to the really important things: Spring is certainly in the air, folks. Indeed, as I walked down the lane today I made every attempt to ignore the fog, drizzle and biting wind and instead my eyes searched the hedgerows in vain for signs of those pretty Spring floral offerings - namely daffodils. None to be seen. Not a bud on a tree. The youngest sheep I've laid eyes on qualifies for a telegram from Her Majesty the Queen congratulating it on it's longevity. The word 'lamb' is about as relevant in today's society as 'dodo', 'democracy' and 'statesman'.

Tony is in Worksop. What a revolting place to be on a Wednesday night. Spoke to Barry via telephonic communication. He says he's working 'too hard'. Cannot contact Martyn because some unhelpful person or persons have seen fit to conceal our telephone number book in a place unknown. I can only just recall Mr Brotherwood's number (Ilkley 3173), but Martyn's evades me. I think it begins with a 3 and has a 9 in it somewhere.

Sheep: Telegram from Her Majesty?

Motherdear has spent the day in bed. A bad, irritating cough and aching bones. Probably influenza. She doesn't look too bad tonight but ought not to struggle into work for a few days.

Back to the subject of sheep. How long do they live if allowed to grow old gracefully? I ask this because the one I spied this morning was aged. When was the last time you saw next week's lamb cutlets in a wheelchair? I'm not mad either. Oh no.






-=-

Tuesday March 22, 1977

Not discussing work other than to say we've been having some bother with Carol.

Margaret Thatcher: I don't fancy the idea of a woman PM

A good cartoon in the Daily Mail this morning on the subject of Margaret Thatcher, the Prime Minister and Mrs Indira Gandhi. Tomorrow we will know for certain whether we're in for a general election or not.

I don't fancy the idea of a woman PM but anything will be better than Callaghan. Even a gorilla will do. A right-wing gorilla though.

Spoke to Delia Collis this afternoon on the phone. She has invited me to tea on an date yet unknown but in the near future. Should be a laugh.

Chris Monckton: future Tory whip?

To the dentist at 5pm. I need a couple of fillings. No appointment until September. I can think of nothing worse than dentists. They should all be herded together and shipped to the Maldives, or perhaps the Outer Hebrides. On reflection it's probably a silly idea, but I'm not here merely to be sensible. Blimey, I'm not standing for parliament.

Chris Monckton is departing from the YP to become a PRO with the Conservative party. Should suit him well. One day I bet he's a Tory whip - in more ways than one. On the subject of the peerage, a duke saw fit to make an exit from his mortal role yesterday. Namely the Duke of Portland who was 84. Strangely enough the successor to this title is only a slip of a lad himself. In fact he's 88.

11:30pm. Nothing much more to report. The BBC is, at this very moment, going on and on about the revolting government. It angers me more and more. James Callaghan is no politician. How he has the cheek to crawl round the Liberal party at this stage is quite amazing. No, obscene is the word. Even Dad says it's disgusting. The shoddy way this country is governed! If I was an MP I'd admit defeat when it it staring me right in the face.

To bed with P.G. Wodehouse. An amusing book. No telephone calls tonight. Must ring the lads tomorrow.

-=-

Monday March 21, 1977

What a wonderful weekend. But in no mood to discuss it this morning. Thoroughly tired out.

Cheered somewhat by the fact that our beloved government may be resigning this week. Mr 'Callagas' may be packing his bags and shifting his belongings from Downing Street at this very moment. Is Margaret Thatcher's moment of truth upon us already? You just wait and see. Callabum has only been in office for ten or eleven months.

Go to Boots and collect a packet of photographs that have been waiting for me since April. Yes, pictures of Lynn's 18th (birthday) at the Yorkshire Rose.

Walkabout, starring Jenny Agutter.

Bathe and eat tomato sandwiches in front of the television. Watch a Jenny Agutter film about a nubile schoolgirl abandoned in the Outback with a solitary Aborigine. It quite put me off my food.

The Queen was on the BBC news. 'Go it, Old Girl!' Oh, and Peter Sellers is ill in hospital. He was only married (again) last month. He was similarly taken ill shortly after marring Miss (Britt) Ekland too - a coincidence? Over indulgence perhaps?

Yes, the more I think about the weekend the more I come to realise that life isn't all violence, politics, boredom and Margaret Thatcher, Thatcher, Thatcher as it is so often portrayed on 'Panorama'. Life is bliss. Life is a great joy.

Retired to bed at 12.05am. Read 'The World of Mr Mulliner' by Wodehouse.

Do you like this red ink yet?

-==-

Wednesday February 23, 1977

Ash Wednesday. Nothing much to talk about other than politics. The Devolution Bill was defeated in the Commons yesterday and I had the misfortune to watch Margaret Thatcher discussing this on News at Ten. Let us pray to God she will never get to No 10, Downing Street. (Does my politics confuse you all? I don't aim to deceive you in any way, but please remember I don't vote or support 'personalities'. I shall always cast my vote with the Tories but as far as I'm concerned Margaret Thatcher is as capable of forming the next government as Queen Victoria Eugenie of Spain. So that settles that problem.) -=-

David Glynn.

I feel relieved about the content of this diary. If you lot think you're being badly done to enduring my scribblings, just consult the published journals of Evelyn Waugh. Positively sickening they are. You ought to take my volumes round to Sir George Weidenfeld and get them published. I am doing far better than the depraved Mr Waugh. Sadly however, I'm not a world-famous author or leading wit, am I? Well, not yet anyway. I have been notified by Papa that Mrs Margaret Phillips, mother of Carole, of ex-relationship with the author fame, appeared in court at Otley last Friday and was fined £40 or so for ______. I always said that Mrs P was a silly cow. Tony rings at 8. He and Martyn are off out with Miss Moorhouse and Naomi to the wine bar and he wants to know if I am endulging. I say 'no' because it's Barclaycard pay-up or bust day tomorrow. Dave G also phoned from Stockport to say he'll try to make it on April 2. He rang on Sunday when I was at the YP and again yesterday when I was at John & Maria's. Good lad is David.

Tuesday February 22, 1977

Pancake Day, or whatever you want to call it. Pissing down with rain all day but I'm not put off wandering into town to collect the record 'Body Heat' by James Brown. Got a bit wet even after taking precautions with an umberella. The soaking was worth it for this soul masterpiece.

Link to Body Heat by Mr James Brown

David Owen.

Yes, David Owen is the new Foreign Secretary at 38. It sure looks like we're going to be lumbered with (Denis) Healey as chancellor until the next rotten general election, doesn't it? (Why am I asking you? You know the outcome anyway. I suppose David Owen is now Sir David Owen, KG, the former prime minister?) The Foreign Office at thirty eight surely ensures some sort of promotion in the next 20 years and the premiership is only three or four places up the scale. Oh, I'm bored with this topic anyway. Politics is dreadful. Mr Callaghan is a silly old fool, and you know what I think about Margaret Hilda Thatcher. Don't talk to me about devolution either.

Sitting on the bus at 4.30  I remembered I promised John & Maria I'd pay them a visit for tea tonight and so I disembarked in torrential rain in Guiseley and telephoned Papa with the news that I would not be home for a heap of pancakes. Down to J and M's where I sit entertaining the baby whilst Maria did her bit towards making Shrove Tuesday the traditional thingy. JPH is taking notice now and his grin is even wider. Spent a couple of hours going through Maria's mail order catalogue and made a few orders. I played my new James Brown record over and over again attempting to indoctrinate the baby with it. We want him to be a little soul kid. I also held his face very close to the TV when the 6 o'clock news showed the Queen and Prince Philip in New Zealand. He must learn to adore his sovereign from a very early age. His mother however yelled abuse and sang Irish rebel songs at the TV.

-==-