Tuesday May 31, 1977

CB: completely flattened

A horrible, sad day. Christine rang at about 10 and said she wouldn't probably be able to attend my Silver Jubilee party. She sounded so strange, and her voice was full of sadness. I asked why, and she told me her father had died yesterday evening. I was thoroughly lost for words and shocked. She cried a bit and I think I blurted something about going to see her straight from the YP and then put the phone down.

I last saw poor Mr Braithwaite on April 29 and to think I will never see him again leaves me cold. Death is a wicked thing. In CB's shoes I'd just fall to pieces.

Left work at 4.30. Marita picked me up on Wellington Street. I told her the news and questioned her as to whether it's quite right calling in on somebody so soon after a tragedy. She thinks it can well be a comfort and so I'm encouraged. Christine is ashen faced and quiet. She hasn't quite grasped what has happened yet. Mrs B was sat smoking and did not stop talking. In fact both of them were constantly chattering about irrelevant topics and only when a lull in the conversation occurred it became obvious that they're acutely distraught. Christine's eyes were full of tears. The poor things are completely flattened. God knows what they'll do. Mr B was always the life and soul of the party -  & even I, who barely knew him, thought of him as a kind, warm and tremendous character.

CB brought me home at 5.30 and the whole family offered some sympathy and comfort.

Although the evening was sunny and bright I felt cold & miserable.

I rang Carole at lunchtime but only her obnoxious boss was in. Said I'd ring back but never got round to it.

Tony rang at 8 to say he's finally received communication from Denise in Australia. _____________.

Just watched TV until midnight and thought constantly of poor Christine and her mother. Even Lynn, who'd been working at the Hare, reports that they've all heard the news. To bed with Anne Boleyn by Marie Louise Bruce.

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Friday April 29, 1977

CB, on the phone, wakes me at 10.45. The beautiful thing wants to know if I fancy a session at the Black Bull this afternoon but I tell her about the Official Receiver and how he simply wouldn't like me to go. We compromised and said we'd go see Maria and JPH instead.

Played the record player full belt and took a bath and before I knew it it was lunchtime. Cheese on toast with Mama and Papa. Went down to Maria's with great, gaping holes in my shoes. Like a bloody tramp.

Christine: the beautiful thing

Christine came after ten minutes and we gossipped. Yes, no other expression can be given to what we were doing. Not one of our acquaintances escaped the vile insinuations of three idle, coffee swilling peasants upon this dark, unholy afternoon. I saw a look on CB's divine face as I bounced JPH upon my knee, a look I've never seen her show before. I cannot describe it but it spoke a million words.

Paddy Braithwaite brought me home at 5.30. Christine is incredible. I will always feel exactly the same way about her but I do realise nothing will ever come if it and any deeper relationship would only lead to disaster.

Compelled this evening to go out with my peep-toed shoes and felt guilty about it until Martyn showed me the soles (or lack of them) on his feeble footwear.

Tony and I had a quick one in the Hare and collected Martyn and went to the Bod again. Packed out it was and with a profusion of our colonial friends and relations. Met a couple of ladies - one from Halifax. Peter M, Chris and Steve Hudson came in. They're taking Lynne to Manchester tomorrow because she's flying to Ibiza. Denise is going too and they're making a night of it. Peter says he's not _____________.Why? On the way back from Halifax (after taking Mary home) I told Tony that Peter told me last year that the only reason why he (Tony) associates with me is because I am a friend of Denise and he wants to be near her. We laughed. Tony sees Denise sometimes a couple of times a week. I haven't seen her more than a handful of times since last summer.

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Friday March 18, 1977

Went to Christine's  at 1pm to view her scars. They're not as bad as I imagined them to be and she is unperturbed about the whole incident.

Paddy Braithwaite gets her to tell the tale of the reaction of the policeman to her 'Starsky & Hutch' roll over a car covered in whipped cream and glace cherries. Hilarious.

CB goes off to prepare to go out and Paddy tells me he is the only person alive with no pituitary gland. It's something at the bottom of your brain and as far as I know it controls every gland.

He drives CB and I to Otley where we go straight to the Black Bull. Met Peter N with his father, Jim. At 2.30 -3pm we went to the Bowling Green for more. Met Rick Rider, Mick Lynch, &c. Left a 4pm feeling slightly intoxicated. Christine was starving and so we went up to Harry Ramsden's for 'one of each'. We then bid each other farewell until 8.

Home for tea with a banging headache and a present for mother (it's Mother's Day on Sunday). Eat and slept until 6.30. Out with Tony and Martyn to the Hare. Joined by an exhausted CB who looks really rough tonight (no offence) and by Chris R and Peter M. We all went to the Rose & Crown (except CB). I drank ginger beer and Coca Cola. Felt dreadfully tired and put this down to the combined effects of last night and this afternoon. By 11.30 I'm at home watching a Yul Brynner film. What will the female contingent be like tomorrow?

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Friday June 13, 1975

A change in thw weather which can only be expected when I take a day off work. Up at 9am and have a coffee and play the stereo at full volume for about an hour. No one else in the house to complain so I might as well make the most of it.

I meet Christine outside the Hare and Hounds at 11.30 and after consuming one drink in that saintly shrine, we move on to Otley where the pubs are open all day because of the market (as I've already explained see 10/6/75). In Otley until 4. I'm on special strength lager and after four hours of the stuff I quite naturally feel sloshed. Christine is drinking vodka and lime, then port, &c, so she doesn't get quite as pissed as the author (i.e. the author of this journal). She helps me to a bus and we head for home - Christine brandishing half a pound of minced beef. Why? I do not know. I'm almost sick on the bus, but that more than liberal dash of self-control prevents me from doing so. At home Mum cooks us a beautiful meal and keeps giving me strange 'have you been drinking?' type of looks. After tea, 6 o'clockish, we go to CB's where her Dad has just got back from hospital. She puts on my favourite dress (not MY favourite, you understand. I mean the dress of HERS which I think suits her the most). To the Hare and Hounds, the Black Bull (again) and Wikis. All nicely intoxicated but hating the idea of getting up at 5 o'clock to go to London. Bed at 3am with the prospect of two hours sleep ahead of me.

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Friday February 21, 1975

Cold day at work. The conversion men having moved in have stopped all the heating in the place, and the sound of many knees knocking together simultaneously with the unnerving chatter of teeth and dentures has created a worrying atmosphere. However, the cold has given one and all the impetus to run round the office, and we completed all the filing in record time.

To the Hare & Hounds with Naomi, Christine and Chris, not forgetting John, that is after a chase round Horsforth and a quick one in the Fleece. Went to Christine's to pick her up and sat with her Mum & Dad for 10 minutes. A nice couple, with the Braithwaite humour stamped all over them.

The gang move on to Wikis as usual, and I pass a pleasant but uneventful evening. Marian is nowehere to be seen, and Gillian is flaunting one of her spare gentleman friends. Home at 2.30 in the usual style and after taking the two C's back to Horsforth. Sleep soundly.

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