Thursday March 13, 1975

Glorious pay day once again. God knows what I'd do, or where I'd be, if that little bundle of notes wasn't thrust upon me once a week in the usual manner.

Marita rings at about 7 and says she's bored and gives me the usual stories about how sickened off she is lately, &c. I immediately leap to her rescue by saying 'we really ought to go out for a few drinks' or words to that effect. She agrees. Picking me up at 8 we go down to the Fox at Menston. I vowed never to darken the doorstep of that hostelry again following an incident therein the other week involving Helen and Miss Dibb. However, Marita likes it, so who cares? She informs me, whilst slumped over her tonic water, that Our Lady of Bramhope is no longer a spoken for person. My heart leaps at the thought of darling Denise being once again in our midst and tears of joy fell into my ale at Marita's tale of cruelty and misery. Ade, for all his good points, dealt irreparable blows to dearest Denise, and for that alone he deserves all the evils that will surely come to him.

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Saturday March 8, 1975

Lesley Whittle is dead. This puts the toll reaped by the Black Panther up to four. Three sub-postmasters and one innocent young girl. Anyway, I'm not going to dwell on that.

Wake up at 8 and find a beautiful morning awaiting my inspection. Have a cup of tea with Helen and Jane and then have a lift home in style with Miss Jane Lockyer at the wheel. Make a steaming hot pot of tea and take it up to Mama and Papa with the miserable looking morning papers. We sit for half an hour discussing the Black Panther and criminology in general. This conversation really saved the day, because sleep, rigormortis and lock-jaw would have set in had no one made the effort to talk to me. By 10am the brightness of the morning and the pleasant thought of food fives me that 'get up and go!'feeling. Oh for the Joys of Spring! (Sickly, isn't it?)

Mum takes on the mood of an ogre before lunch because Dad renders the car inoperable with repairs when it happens to be his weekend off. The poor girl hasn't been out for weeks and it looks like being another quiet weekend for her. Tomorrow is Mother's Day, so I hope she cheers herself up a bit.

Chris, Dave and Peter M go to the Dyneley - and Lynn and the birthday boy and me go to the Hare & Hounds, where MM and Marita are therein accompanied by Chris and Dave L. MM and Marita aren't too talkative and they leave after a few minutes. Dave, Pete and Chris (Christine having finished with him this afternoon) all go to the Dyneley, and Helen, Christine Dibb, Dave B and me go straight to Wheels,a discotheque in Seacroft. The others from the Dyneley follow on and a great time in enjoyed by all. Helen Lockyer is a darling - just my type really. She's Aries too - April 8 - which makes us very compatible. Dave L got on extremeley well with Christine Dibb and the birthday boy and me attempt to get drunk. Had a few dances. Home at 2am.

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Thursday February 27, 1975

More ruddy fog all day. I don't mind snow. I can tolerate frost, ice, rain, heatwaves and hurricanes, but I draw the line at fog. A lung congesting white blanket which does nothing but depress all who who into contact with it. Sickening.

We all, other than Kathleen that is, evacuate the library and perch in 'the Black Hole of Calcutta' as Ronnie Wilkinson would say. Bogged down cutting yesterdays EP and todays YP.

Escape to the Central with Eileen again for our Thursday afternoon booze-up. This is becoming quite a regular thing, and I only hope we can manage to keep it up. The trouble is I become so tired after a lunchtime drink. By 3.30 I'm invariably snoring under a desk or in a semi-coma behind a filing cabinet. Out at 4.30 and home by 5.15.

Tomorrow Uncle Harold and the Labour government more or less celebrate their first birthday. I say 'more or less' because the general election was on Feb 28, but the late Mr Heath didn't resign until the middle of August or something. Please do not think that my views about the government have changed in any way. That would be the last thing I'd want. It's just that I've made up my mind that Uncle Harold isn't such a filthy old Bastard after all. In fact, he's quite human really. If he changed to a Tory I'm sure he'd do everyone a favour. Anyway, he pushed the Queen's money through parliament last night, which was good of him.

Let the Bells ring out! Marita just rang. She's coming out with us the weekend after next.

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Tuesday February 4, 1975

Busy day again. Kathleen goes home at lunch with 'flu. Never seen Kate ill before. See in the Sunday People that another young lady is denying a romantic relationship with the Prince of Wales. The difference this time is that she's married. Yes, Mrs Rosalind Ward, the wife of a young millionaire landowner. Like Edward VIII and Mrs Freda Dudley Ward in the early '30s. Can't really say I believe it, but you never can tell.

Wait for ages in the cold for a bus home and meet Marita on Wellington Street. We come home on the 35 together. Hear all about the love, passion and ecstasy of Sheffield at the weekend. Her 20th birthday celebrations went with a bang in more ways than one I can imagine.

See in the EP that Margaret Thatcher won todays battle for the Tory leadership, but even better news awaits me on my arrival home. Dad informs me that Edward Heath has conceded defeat and will not stand in next Tuesday's ballot! The Grocer is gone! Ted Heath is no more! Tories all over England will feel numbed by it all, other than Margaret Thatcher and myself that is. Mrs Thatcher captured my heart sometime last week when the current affairs programmes were going to town over her. An utterly charming lady, whom I'm sure the Queen would love to ask: 'Come on, Margaret. Form a government!' A weird feeling hangs over us all. As though a great cloud has moved from above, letting the sunshine through for the first time since 1965. Only the ending of a war, the death of a beloved monarch, and the freedom from prison of a man who has served 29 years for something he never did, can be likened to the resignation of the hopeless Edward Heath. To be rendered insane at the height of ones political career is tragedy indeed.

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Friday January 31, 1975

Marita is 20 today. She'll be in Sheffield by now, but I made sure her card was in the post in good time. The poor girl hates the idea of being 20 - no longer the little teenager and all that. I suppose I will feel ancient too when the times comes (4 months yet).

A frantic, chaotic day at the YP. The Duke of Norfolk died in the night, and the phones haven't ceased ringing with queries about the new duke and Earl Marshal. I know everything about the 17th Duke of Norfolk off by heart now. Born in 1915, Miles Francis Fitzalan-Howard eldest son of the 3rd Baron Howard of Glossop and the 11th Baroness Beaumont. Married 1949, Anne Mary Theresa Constable Maxwell. 2 sons. 3 daughters. Residence: Carlton Towers near Goole. Heir: Edward Fitzalan-Howard who now becomes Earl of Arundel. Clever lad aren't I?

Carry on working through lunch and so Kathleen kicks me out at 4. Meet Lynn, Christine D, and Alison on the bus, and we are all home for just before 5. Lynn lodges a few complaints about the unimaginative meal awaiting us, and I go off upstairs to prepare for the usual Friday orgy.

To the Hare & Hounds as per usual with the regular mob. Chris and Christine don't come until nearly 10 o'clock and until then I rotate round the mob discussing all sorts of things. Give Chris £8 for the deposit for project Majorca, but he later gives me £5 back to see me through the week. Go to Wikis where nothing much takes place. I chat with Miss Dibb and have the occasional dance with 'CB', as I used to call her. John and I walk home arriving in at 2.30am. Eat piles of cheese and biscuits before hitting the sack.

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Monday January 27, 1975

To Leeds with Jim Rawnsley and on my arrival at the office I immediately lay hands on yesterday's Sunday Times to look at the first installment of Richard Crossman's diaries. He describes the Queen as 'a small woman with a beautiful waist'. He says that the stools set out for Privy Council meetings are so arranged that the gentlemen backing out of the audience chamber fall backwards over them when leaving the room! Far too gossipy and not what I expected. It just goes to show that a 'Harold Nicolson' lurks somewhere in all Labour MPs.
Kathleen announced today that we staff need no longer work on Saturday mornings. Quite a good idea really because I sometimes miss having a full weekend off.

Home in time to see th Right Honourable William Hamilton answering irrate viewers on 'Nationwide'. The filthy little swine really doesn't deserve to live, and he didn't have a leg to stand on when one Tory MP read the Parliamentary Oath to him. How can Mr Hamilton be so hypocritical as to swear before God to protect Queen Elizabeth? Uncle Harold really ought to get rid of him. They might as well expel him from Parliament whilst they're doing John Stonehouse and kill two birds with one stone.

Ring Chris to see if any developments have arisen about the holiday. None so far. Also ring Marita to let her know I haven't forgotten her. She'll be 20 on Friday. Poor Devil.

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Sunday January 19, 1975

Sleep till 1pm. Marita woke me at the Lord knows what time with the radio. She's the only person I know who listens to 'The Archers'. Somebody must listen in somewhere otherwise the series would have been given the push decades ago.

Christine and I read eighty pages of 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' by C.S. Lewis. I persuaded Denny to read it in September and I managed to get Christine to buy a copy whilst shopping yesterday. I must ring Denny and get my copy back - she took it to glance at and that was the last I saw of it.

Steak for lunch. Cooked by me of course. Lazy afternoon reading through a book on astrology - it's quite canny how people take after their star signs. Mine was especially flattering. Leave at 7. Hysterical journey into Sheffield, but I feel sick on the coach coming back to Leeds. MM and Marita were discussing going to Worcester in a couple of weeks, but I am dubious. David cannot manage to house four of us surely? But still, MM will do the arranging I expect.

Christine and I go straight to the Hare & Hounds, leaving Marita in Rawdon. She refuses to inhabit places of fun and enjoyment when MM is away. Astounded in the Hare to hear that Chris is going to work in Windsor - at Barclays Bank therein. Not a permanent move however, only from June to Christmas. We'll all be at a loose end without him.

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Saturday January 18, 1975

Wake up just after 10am. Christine says that Marita and I were talking in our sleep. People always say I yell and carry on like a madman in my sleep. Some Psycological reason I suppose.

Spend five and a half ruddy hours in a Sheffield Shopping Centre! Nearly went round the bend watching MM and Marita trying on shoes and buying the nicest lettuces in the market, and spending hour after hour in dark, body odour-smelling, music filled boutiques trying on velvet jackets you'll know they'll never buy. Oh, and Marita wants only lightweight shoes because she's going to Yugoslavia in September and it's always hot there isn't it? Christine and I nearly passed out.

We arrived home after 6. Christine and I are knackered to the core, but MM & Marita look quite normal. Salad for tea. Wear MM's duffle coat when we go to the pub - don't drink much and get back for about 11. Christine and I die laughing over a Monty Python book - a bottle of Martini helped too. The night was probably a bit more romantic as far as Christine and I are concerned. MM got up at 2am wearing Marita's nightie! God! How we laughed.

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Friday January 17, 1975

Meet Marita in Park Row at 5.15. We go to Smiths in the Railway Station where we route around in the glossy magazines and rude paperbacks until Christine arrives. I buy 'Confessions of a Private Soldier', a nasty, dirty little thing by Timothy Lea. Quite cheeky though. Leave Leeds by train and we laugh all the way to Sheffield. MM meets us on the platform, and when he and Marita are together they certainly are very close. Wedding bells will be ringing in a few years time, that's for certain.

The flat is just one room with all the necessities therein. Smells very musty and the atmosphere is positively damp. The four of us are far too shagged out to consider going to the boozer for a few pints - so we sit gathered around the electric fire eating cheese and biscuits and listening to Elton John's Greatest Hits on the record player. Bed time is a farce. MM and Marita have the single bed - all this sex before marriage 'I don't know what the world's coming to' &c. Christine and I share a camp bed...Comfortable it all is too. Not actually having bodily contact you understand - but reaping the benefits from the closeness which warmed us both in the cold flat.

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Thursday January 16, 1975

YP all day. Prepare for tomorrow's venture into the depths of Sheffield where no man has dared set foot before. Ring Marita and ensure I have all the correct times, &c.

Tuesday January 14, 1975

As you can see, I have purchased a bottle of ink and can now scribe here in the correct form. I consider it a disgrace to write my journal in rubbishy biro. Future generations don't want to see before them a page written with an instrument of the 20th century far more horrific than the atom bomb and John Stonehouse, MP.

Slade, the pop group came in state to the YP today. A scruffy bunch they are too. Dave Hill is minute, just about reached up to my knees. Sarah and I bumped into them at the top of the staircase on the 2nd floor. They went down by the stairs and we went in the lift. Don Powell, the drummer, was giving everyone filthy looks and to sum up I'd say they fancied themselves.

Home for tea at 6 o'clock. Mum and Dad are out and Lynn makes tea. Quite pleasant it is too. A letter awaits me from David, Thane of Worcester. He's not going to MMs at the weekend which is a big let down. He also had news of MM thinking about leaving poly! Strange tale indeed from my far-off friend.

Christine rang me at the YP. She's arranged everything with Marita and they're meeting in Leeds at 6pm on Friday. We're all getting the train at 6.45 or something like that.

I'm getting excited now. It's only 346 days to Christmas. Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle All the Way! Despatch a reply to David. He had me in stitches about blackmailing me with certain pictures he's got of ____, drawn by me, and passed on to him without thinking of the consequences. Mum and Dad are in Askern I think.

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Monday January 13, 1975

At the YP all day. Sarah is strangely subdued and almost sharp with us. Probably because Kathleen is off, and the heavy mantle of responsibility weighs too heavily on her slender shoulders. Sarcastic sod, aren't I?

Whilst waiting for the bus this evening I did comprehend an amusing sight. Christopher Monckton, the heir to that glorious viscountcy, marching down the central reservation of the dual carriageway on Wellington Street, rotating his umbrella at a fantastic speed, as though something sinister and unnatural possessed his very soul. I smiled all the way home.

Heard on the news briefly this morning that the IRA planned to kidnap the Prince of Wales several months ago but then changed plans without any explanation. It's an impossibility. The security surrounding the prince is so tight that even his own grandmother would be unable to nab him.

A man rang me today and asked me if the ventriloquist Arthur Worsley is the father of the Duchess of Kent. Can you imagine it? Arthur Worsley and his dummy - parents of the Duchess of Kent? I pretended to be unsure on this one, and went away sniggering to look in Burke's Peerage. He, the befuddled member of the public, seemed quite surprised when I informed him that HRH's father was Sir William Worsley, 4th Baronet. What a laugh.

What can have happened to Marita? Hang on folks whilst I go ring her. All will be revealed herein. Now then, where shall I begin? MM moved into his own residence before the weekend, and so the letter I posted today will have gone to the wrong house. Marita is going down by train next Friday evening and wants to know if Christine and I are going down with her. Super idea it seems to me.

Mum and Dad go to Esholt and the girls go to bed. Strange having no visitors for a change. Dave and Peter are almost permanent fixtures these days.

See TV all evening. Retire at 11.50 after writing to MM again, for the second time today. My first letter went to Horndean Rd which he vacated last week. My chat with Marita was the first one since the New Year.

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Thursday December 26, 1974

Boxing Day. Holiday in England, Ireland & Wales. Christine finished with Philip at Dave's Christmas party. I am bereft of all comment on the situation. My capacity to deal with the English language is shown to be completely useless when I give it news of such a sizeable calamity as this to cope with. She handed the (engagement) ring back and he went off heart-broken into the wind and rain of the night.

The party itself was super. Dave playing the perfect host as usual, and all went well. Everyone came, and I received my first opportunity to form an opinion of Adrian, espoused of Miss Akroyd.

MM and Marita were sat heaped in a corner all evening - not at all the enthusiastic couple. I became more than just merry. Exactly, I was pissed up beyond the level of safety. Danced with Christine for much of the time. She kept saying how relieved she was to have ended it all with Philip. As though a great cloud had been raised from above her. Carol Smith's little scouse of a boyfriend kept threatening to kill the other male party goers when they attemmpted to dance with his darling. God! Just who does he think SHE is?

Sandy and I made beans on toast at about 4am. John managed to coat himself with more than a liberal layering of baked beans, which set concrete hard by 10am.

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Sunday December 22, 1974

4th in Advent. Repulsive weather for the time of year. Brilliant sun shines down upon us, and if somebody was to tell me we are in the middle of August I would take the information without a query. Mr Baker collects Lynn at the early hour of 1pm and rushes her off her feet to the wilds of Otley Chevin. Peter pays court to Susan and then drags her back to his place for tea.

Mummy and Daddy are also restless this afternoon and they disappear too. This mass migration to other spheres leaves John and myself quite alone. See the TV. 'Captain Horatio Hornblower' a Gregory Peck film, then we listen to my Monty Python LP.

After a long bath with the backing of the Sold Gold 60 programme on the radio I ring Marita for a report on the weekend activities of the 'Jet Set'. They too have indulged in quiet activities this weekend, and she's near to hysterics when I tell her of yesterdays antics with the two Davids in Bradford. She loved the bit about the old lady in British Home Stores complaining to the staff about us handling the frilly knickers.

John and I see the play 'Crown Matrimonial', starring Greer Garson as Queen Mary, matriarch of the Royal House of Windsor, a bold and dedicated woman whom the present Queen closely resembles. The play was brilliant and the portrayal of all the characters was perfect.

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Thursday December 19, 1974

A more congenial day. Left the office with Sarah at 12 and we did a bit of shopping in town before going our separate ways. Funny girl is our Sarah. A perfect Angel but temperamental beyond human understanding.

I got myself a Monty Python LP, the one I heard in Worcester, and bought Dad's Xmas present - a Perry Como LP. Really should have stayed in Leeds to buy all my presents but couldn't be bothered at all. 

Nipped onto a bus and was home in time to see the final part of 'The Forsyte Saga'. I was quite emotional when Soames passed away at the end. Sat choked in a heap besides the lit Christmas tree.

David called for me at about 8.10 after queueing for a tank full of petrol before the 10p price increase at midnight. To the Stone Trough for one drink. MM, Marita and Denny were awaiting our arrival. Moved on to the school (Benton Park) at 8.30 where the lovely Christine Braithwaite joined us. What a bloody scorcher she is - and a good deal more mature than when I last saw her. Denny goes off with Martin Vere-Bujnowski all night and she barely said a full sentence to me._______.A good deal of kissing went on underneath the mistletoe. Kicked out at 11.30 and moved on to Denny's - that is David and me -where we laughed over supper until 1.30. Home in the car.

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Sunday December 8, 1974

2nd in Advent. A quick day, and it seemed to grow dark very suddenly before the afternoon had even begun. See a rotten 1939 film on TV and listen to the usual radio programmes in the bath.

John goes out with the Denby Twins in their van and ends up at the Cow & Calf until 12. I get a 55 bus which brings back memories of my love affair with Miss Bottomley, and go to the Emmotts where I'm joined by Denny and Marita. Marita has changed her image again - and is no longer endowed with a head of curls. Nevertheless she looks quite stunning. We sit about looking bored and talking about the events of 1974. Marita says I don't look my usual self, and says I need a good romance to cheer me up. That's all I need! Denny says that Adrian is a hypercondriac and a failure. They're going for a meal tomorrow but she says I can take his place because he's in London and 'with a bit of luck won't be back in time', unquote. She also amused me by saying he is a surveyor, but doesn't think 'he could survey a rice pudding'. Back to Marita's where I inspect my landscape framed on her bedroom wall. A great honour for me indeed. Home and about 11 and have supper with Auntie Hilda and Uncle Tony, Jill and Diane. Jill is becoming_______.

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Monday November 4, 1974

See in the morning editions that the new Royal baby is to be called Alexander Patrick Gregers Richard, and not William like that old hag in the Daily Express prophesised. I must admit that I was more than surprised at the choice of names. I can understand Richard and Patrick which complement the baby's father and the earldom of Uslter, but not Alexander which is rarely used as a first Christian name for royal babies.

Sarah and I are on tip toes with excitement about tomorrow's party & are quite determined to become intoxicated. Eileen is back after almost two weeks absence. Home at 6 and spend half an hour on the phone with Marita. She isn't at all surprised at my break from Lynne and seems positively jubilant. She says she realised something was afoot when I asked my so-called girlfriend to sit on the floor in the Hare & Hounds on Friday. MM was positively horrified by this gesture and says something must have come over me to drag me from the usual high standard track of morals and etiquette, regarded for many years as a phenomenon in the area.

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Saturday November 2, 1974

Birth of Edward V, 1470.

Lovely morning at the YP. At 12 Sarah and I go for the bus and she more than hints that I should join her in the Queen's at Horsforth for the afternoon. I readily agree, but then to my dismay I discover that I've got a mere 29p on my person and 20 of those pence are required for my bus fare. I am compelled to decline this perfect invitation and stand back to see my Angel mount her bus and disappear into the drizzle of a wet afternoon.

Don't rellish the thought of escorting Lynne tonight. At 6.30 we decided that she couldn't come because Peter wasn't coming out, but dear Christopher persuaded him to do so and we arranged to meet in the Hare at 8.30 - Lynne included. Dave Lawson, full of pneumonia, and clad in a tartan scarfe arrives for John and I at 8.15 and we are soon at the Hare. Marita and MM are already inside. All the mob come, including Lynn and Dave and Martyn and Alison. Drink Guinness and then Campari and tell Marita that I intend to finish with Lynne and she comments that Lynne is too serious to make any progress with a raving, idiotic comic like myself. All move on to the Red Lion in Burley-in-Wharfedale at 9.30 and then to the Cow & Calf at Ilkley, where I haven't been since before Christmas last year. Dave didn't come because of his cold, and MM and Marita went to see Denny, who has been absent from the crowd since I started this ridiculous relationship with Lynne. Lynn and Dave and the other 2 went home. Pleasant do at the Cow & Calf - most of us got drunk, or at least fairly fresh (except Peter , who has a position to keep, and ___, who thinks he has a position to keep). Home after 1am in time to see poor Dave B leave after sitting at home with Lynn since 11 o'clock.

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Sunday October 27, 1974

Have a rotten nights sleep and keep waking up with an unquenchable thirst to tend to. Wake up for the last time at 9.20. Go to make a cup of tea and see that the kitchen clock says 10.20.

On taking Mum her tea she reveals to me that the clocks were put back one hour last night. I hate them messing about with the time. Why can't they leave it alone? Sit in bed supping tea and thinking about my different relationships with girls down the years. Lynne is the first serious one since June, though I did think a lot about Judith B in a certain way. Most men wouldn't find Lynne attractive. She's certainly no Diana Dors - the big breasted type are all very nice but I'm not the type to go out of my way to lay my hands on a pair. Lynne is sophistication itself and all that it entails. She dresses with a style verging on the perfect and it would be fantastic if we only had transport of our own to do our own things. The major pitfall of the ultimate result of our passion is the prospect of ________.Have a bath after a tremendous lunch and then listen to the top 20. Peter and Sue argue about what film to go see at Yeadon - they eventually pick 'The Dove'.

Dave arrives for Lynn and Martyn for Alison. Quite crowded we are by 7.30. At 8 John takes me to Bramhope in order to collect Lynne. (By the way, Marita rang this afternoon and we talked for half an hour about the Whitethighs engagement and ___new hairstyle. We dissolve into fits of hysterical laughter). The shock of the whole weekend came when, half way through a pint, John announced that he and Carol had finished! We were all dumbfounded. Never did I expect such a shock. Marita and Denny were with us, and Chris also came after 9. The girls were in fighting form, and Lynne got on quite well with Marita., though_______.

Chris and Lynne came back for coffee and all the others followed on including Dave, Martyn and Peter, &c. Still shocked by John's announcement I retire to bed after 12.

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Tuesday October 22, 1974

When we were in Windsor, Denny confided in me that 'the gang' would begin to dissolve within a couple of months of our return. That was said in mid-September, and now I do believe her prophecy is coming true. No longer can 'the gang' be seen each weekend in the Hare & Hounds, and gone is the familiar chink of beer glasses, rising above the drunken laughter in the smoke-filled grotto at Wikis. Phyllis Whitethighs is deeply in love with a 'shady' character from York; John is involved (as you are aware) with Carol; then Andy is with Linda; Chris is in a deep financial mess at the moment and won't probably be back on his 'drinking' feet until the New Year. Poor Marita loves MM and refuses to associate with any of us; and Denny hates the idea of me going out with Lynne and doesn't want to associate with me at the moment. So it's all coming true. The happy family is no more. It may re-assemble when we all tire of our lovers but until that day comes the Hare & Hounds will never be the same again.

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