Friday March 10, 1978

Felt fatigued after the excesses of Oakwood Hall. It was a bright, sunny day with the birds chuntering away happily in the trees.

At lunchtime Eileen and I went to the library to get a couple of books by P.G. Wodehouse and Dumas's 'The Man in the Iron Mask'. If it takes me as long to read as 'The Count of Monte Cristo' I'll be here until July. However, Michael, with fortitude it will be done.

Christine phoned this afternoon to say her car stinks like an Indian restaurant and that I've splattered the interior with curry and raw onions. Oh God. We are going to Willie's 21st on Thursday. That should be something of a brawl.

I have received a letter from Carole. I am going to leave it pressed between these pages for you to look at. What do you think of it? I'm slightly confused by it, but no doubt in time the contents will sink in. I am not going to reply until the whole thing has been studied carefully.

Tonight I did absolutely nothing. In fact, I felt exhausted. 'The Man in the Iron Mask' was untouched. Saw a Susan Hayward film. It's interesting to note that all the cast of this 1962 film are now dead. Miss Hayward bit the dust in 1975, Peter Finch in 1976, Charles Chaplin in 1977, Margaret Rutherford in 1972, Richard Wattis in 1976 (?), and Enrico Caruso in 1927.

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Sunday March 27, 1977

Passion Sunday. I like the sound of that.  Wake up to snow and hail. Do nothing whatsoever other than eat lunch and lounge around with a crumby Sunday newspaper. To be honest with you, I don't feel greatly informative today so don't expect anything astounding.

Did you know Mr Healey is presenting his Budget on Tuesday? Yes, and I bet he makes it a good one because of Labour's precarious position at the moment. Not discussing politics anyway.

Rang Dave G in Stockport at 7pm. He and Glenn are definitely coming on Saturday for my official birthday celebrations.

The Tenerife crash, 1977.

Work 5pm-12 midnight. Nothing spectacular here either. The world's worst ever aviation accident has taken place in the Canary Islands. 7,000,000 people dead, or something. Otherwise, nothing at all. Ursula never stops talking. I bet her jaws ache.

Crikey, it's Mrs Hilda Gadsby's 41st birthday tomorrow. She is of course the wife of Norman Anthony Gadsby, prospective Liberal councillor for the Borough of Pudsey.

Home by taxi in the snow at 12. Bed with P.G. Wodehouse. Goodnight.

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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.

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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?

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Tuesday December 21, 1976

I'm not in the mood for this at all. I'd sooner be a department store detective with a large round face and horn-rimmed spectacles, with pores which open readily when agitated. [Courtesy of P.G. Wodehouse, Sir].

Good God I've just looked at the date at the head of the page. Isn't it supposed to be the shortest day of the year or something? Is June 21 the longest day? Funny how a brilliant mind can just seize up and wither.

Blimey, did you know, or were you aware of the fact that the chiefs of the clan Hay derive their name [Latinised as Haia, and later rendered into English as Hay and into Gaelic as Garadh] from an original 'Haie' or stockade on the castle motte-hill at La Haye in the Cotentin peninsula of Normandy? Their arms argent three escutcheon gules have always been the same as those borne in the Middle Ages by the ancient Norman family of La Haye, seigneurs of the Le Mesnil-Geldouin [now Le Guislain] La Haye-Hue [also called La Haye-Comtesse or La Haye-Bellefond], La Haye-Belouze, Villebandon and Beaucondray, whose fiefs border on the Soules, near St Lo. The first chief of the Scottish Hays, William de la Haye, Butler of Scotland under MALCOLM the MAIDEN, was a nephew of Ranulf de Soules, Lord Liddesdale, and also Butler of Scotland, whose family became hereditary butlers of Scotland but were fortfeited for plotting to seize the throne itself during the wars of independence. William de la Haye, Butler of Scotland under Malcolm IV anmd WILLIAM the LION, was among the nobles of the Scottish court from circa 1160, was a hostage for the Treaty of Falaise, 1174, and ambassador to England for the King of Scots in 1199.... Zzzz

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Tuesday September 28, 1976

The news in brief: Maria was taken into Hyde Terrace Hospital at lunchtime and I fully expect to be an uncle before Friday or it, the baby, will have my wrath to contend with.

Miss Lynn Rhodes and Mr David Baker have been deeply in love now for exactly two years and a celebration to mark the event was held accordingly.

Lynne rang from Thornton-le-Dale at 8.30 and I say I'll meet her at the airport at 9am tomorrow. The line was bad, at her end anyway, and she doesn't hear a word I say.

Lucy Lindsay-Hogg was in some of the papers over the weekend. Will she be Countess of Snowdon one day? You never can tell.

Bed at 12.04am on Wednesday morning. Read Wodehouse's 'Do Butlers Burgle Banks?'

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Monday May 10, 1976

A bright warm day. Boring at work and uneventful. Jeremy Thorpe resigned as Liberal party leader this afternoon, which is no surprise really. After seeing several letters from him to Norman Scott published in this morning's papers it was obvious he had to go. No doubt Cyril Smith will be pushing his way to the front line now.

Meet Carole in Guiseley - quite accidentally of course, and walk with her to Ridgeway where she's going to see Maria. She seemed composed and calm. She was pale and drawn and I made no attempt to act soft with her. She asked me why, on learning of her suicide attempt, I had not sent her a bunch of flowers! I told her quite seriously that circumstances almost made it possible for me to send her a wreath. She called me a 'sod'. I ask her to pass on my regards to Maria, but don't think they'll be conveyed.

Home for tea at 5.30. The news is dominated with Mr Thorpe's resignation. I can't help feeling rather sorry for him. However, the world isn't quite ready for sexually deviant political leaders.

Watch TV all evening and have a bath at 10.15. Finish 'Service with a Smile' by Wodehouse and begin 'Bachelors Anonymous' and retire to bed after midnight.

-==-

Sunday May 9, 1976

3rd after Easter. In contrast with yesterday it is wet, cold and dismal. A typical boring Sunday.

Denise rings at mid-day and says she's going to see the David Bowie film this afternoon and cannot come up to see me.

Do nothing but eat all day. Sometimes I wonder why my apetite is so large. Must be all this sexual activity and generally dissipated way of life. No such bloody luck!

See the D.H. Lawrence film 'Virgin and the Gypsy' which I first saw years ago with David L. A good film, but my memory of it was that it was much more 'dirty'. However, what is 'dirty' at 15 is very often tedius and insignificant at 21. Yes, it's senility creeping up on me.

Ring Chris and he says he took Carole to the Craven Heifer yesterday. He didn't go into great detail but tells me she was more 'cheerful and back to her usual self'. John and Maria went too. No doubt my name was dirt.

Bed at 11.40pm. Read P.G. Wodehouse's 'Service with a Smile'. Very funny indeed.

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Saturday May 8, 1976

A scorching hot day. 80F degrees in London and near that temperature up in the provinces.

Get up late and sit in the garden with P.G. Wodehouse, Mum and Lynn. David B comes up at 1.30 and we all have lunch together. Just as I was about to tuck in the phone rings and it's Carole. She hasn't gone to London because her Uncle Robert is having financial difficulties. She still sounds down in the dumps but I do not arrange to meet her. Back in the deckchair in the garden and an hour later CB drives up to lend me a fiver she promised me yesterday. She's going out with Roger tonight and so I won't be seeing her until next weekend.

Denise rings at 6 o'clock to say Peter is giving her a lift to the Hare at 8.45, and she adds that Chris is taking Carole out tonight! Quick worker. Carole rang Chris at lunchtime and she more or less twisted his arm. God knows how they'll get on together. I'll contact him tomorrow for a full unabridged match report.

Go to the Hare at 9 and Peter comes in with Denise ten minutes later. None of the
crowd in the Hare. Peter goes off with his cronies and at 9.30 just Denise and I are left wondering what to do. Ring for a taxi and go up to Oakwood Hall - £5.50 return. Horror of horrors though for on our arrival they don't let me in because I'm in jeans! We go on to the Cow & Calf for a further quid. £6.50 just to go to the bloody Cow! Disgusting evening. Never have I seen so many dregs of society under one roof. A revolting experience indeed but despite all this Denise and I try to enjoy ourselves. Peter comes in with his cronies but they keep themselves to themselves. Home at 2.30 and Dad arrives at about the same time.

Read P.G. Wodehouse in bed until the book falls from my hands.

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Wednesday March 24, 1976

Sit in bed reading 'Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin' by P.G. Wodehouse and cannot be bothered compiling my diary today, if that's OK with you, mate. However, if you really want filling in on todays events just ring Leeds 32701 and ask for the library and they'll nip up to the archives and take down the old, musty, yellowed file for Jan-Mar 1976 and thumb through the brittle pages until they find March 24. If this doesn't satisfy you can always just pick your nose or read the unexpurgated edition of Princess Margaret's autobiography.

On this latest royal topic (Princess Margaret) I was stunned and surprised yesterday to see a copy of a biography of Princess Margaret on Guiseley Library shelves. 'Noddy' was withdrawn some years ago for being a racist &c, and so I assumed that books about the disgraced princess would have been taken out and burned in the streets. Fortunately, the princess has survived, but my smile fades and I'm saddened to see, on peeping in the volume, that the book hasn't been borrowed since June, 1954.

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Tuesday March 23, 1976

Go to Guiseley Library and enroll once more. I don't think I've been near a library in two years. How I have let my education slip. Why, at one time I could reel off the main achievements of Gladstone's first, second and third ministries, but now I cannot even tell you his christian name. Oh, go on then, it's William Ewart. His foreign policy was always weak, if my memory serves me correctly, and Ireland tended to get him down, but what his achievement were remain blanked from my mind.

Blimey, the sight of all those familiar, ancient library book shelves brought a lump to my throat. Memories of adolescence come flooding back. The days of Anne Greep and Lynn in hysterics; me with grazed knees and only a shadow of the handsome bastard I am in this year of Grace; and many more reflections upon which further deliberation would render this publication unsatisfactory for family reading. I take out a couple of P.G. Wodehouse novels and also collected some for Mum. She likes a good book at bedtime too.

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Friday March 21, 1975

Lounge in bed until the glorious hour of 10.30. Shear, unadulterated luxury. Bliss indeed. However, it isn't all idleness today. It's work at 5pm - so don't think for one single minute that laziness reigns here at Pine Tops. The first day of Spring - I certainly would not have realised this on my own initiative. Mum conveyed this news to me whilst I hung longingly over my chicken soup and pork cutlets. In fact, it looks about as much like Spring as I look like the Aga Khan. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, I haven't been all that lazy this morning. I ironed two pairs of trousers and listened to endless LPs and chatted to Miss Braithwaite via the telephone. So all in all I've done a decent days work.

Mess about with P.G Wodehouse and 'The Luck of the Bodkins' after lunch and prepare in general for my visit to the YP. Luckily, it's not going to be a miserable homecoming at 12. I'm meeting Denny outside Wikis at 12.15.

Quite a busy evening. I did manage to snatch a whisky in the Wellesley with Kathleen and Peter Chapman. Nothing startling in the news, and attempt to leave at 12 o'clock. The rain is pounding outside and my taxi is 25 minutes bloody late. I end up sharing one with a female reporter. Arrived at Wikis at some unearthly hour. Denny, thank God, had the sense to go straight in. Uneventful night. Helen is with Graham Pease. John brings Denny and me home - she intends staying the night. Discover Dave on the camp bed - the poor sod came off his brother's bike on the way over - so I camped down on the sofa, and Denny gets my bed.

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Tuesday March 18, 1975

Quite a day of excitement really. That treasured relic of the Parliamentary system, namely Uncle Harold, announced today that the Labour government is in favour of our nation remaining a member of the Common Market. I can't really see why he made such a fuss about it in the first place. The one good thing which the late Mr Heath did was to obtain our membership of the E.E.C. and at the time I thought it was most childish of Uncle Harold to say he'd bring us out. Anyway, the so-called referendum will decide categorically what we're going to do - but if both Conservative and Labour parties think we should stay in, I fail to grasp why we have been consulted at all. I'm intending ignoring the referendum when it comes. Futile things like this should be of no concern to the general public at all. It's a bloody disgrace really.

Snowed again today. Weird weather. Went for a jog around Leeds at lunchtime. Consumed a couple of sandwiches in Park Square and made several useless attempts to lay hands on a copy of 'Private Eye'.

The editor ran around the library in a flap this morning shouting 'Sheila Viscountess Devonport' in a hurried voice at irregular intervals. No news cuttings were to be found on the dear, noble lady, but I did lay hands on a photo, dated 1952. 'Devonport. Sheila Viscountess D-E-V-O-N-P-O-R-T. Lady S-H-E-I-L-A Devonport. She's a viscountess. A peeress. L-A-D-Y S-H-E-I-L-A-D-E-V-O-N-P-O-R-T'. OK, we get the message. We enquire exactly what's happened to the peeress to cause such a panic. He says she's been kidnapped by the Black Panther, and leaves the library laughing hideously. Clearly not a devotee of the aristocracy. We later discover that she's only been forced out of her home in the early hours of the morning, and that no harm has befallen her at all. No doubt you're overjoyed on hearing this.

The Duchess of Kent was in Leeds today on university business.

See a Cary Grant and Doris Day film on BBC2 and stagger to bed at about 11 with P.G. Wodehouse, after listening to Uncle Harold talking a load of old rubbish on the late night news. It's really terrible the way he's trying to hoodwink everyone over this referendum nonsense.

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Monday March 17, 1975

St Patrick's Day. Snowed today. Bloody weather. The Yorkshire Post today carries an article of some hilarity. Namely, the gathering at Ampleforth Abbey of a merry band of gents - the Knights of the Order of St John of Jerusalem. You're thinking that nothing amusing could possibly be drawn from this article, aren't you? Well, you're very wrong indeed. Oh, indeed, yes. Because staring up from the picture around which the story is based, is the very familiar face of our old pal, Chris Monckton, a knight of the venerable order. Along with his dad, Major-General Viscount Monckton of Brenchley, and 48 million other upper class religious freaks, he is partaking of 'three days of prayer and meditation in preparation for Easter'. I'm not going to say any more on the subject. Instead I'll just titter away to myself.

In keeping with the traditional Monday evening see the tv. Then sit around in bed with 'The Luck of the Bodkins' by P.G. Wodehouse, which I obtained from the library on Thursday or Friday. Can't quite remember which day it was.

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Saturday February 15, 1975

Go with John to Otley and mess around for an hour. Come home with 'The Laughing Policeman' a really revolting record, and a box of chocolates for Motherdear. A bright sunny day, but chilly and cold.

Hear on the radio that PG Wodehouse is no longer with us. Knighted only a month ago. His death brings a 70 year career as a writer to a close. 'Lord Emsworth and Others' is the only thing I've read of his.

Chris Denby and Teale give me a lift to the Highlander in Leeds at 8. Neither of them have past a driving test, and there we were in a large Bedford van rocketing through Leeds. Meet Marian at 8.30. Really a nice girl. Not particularly good looking, but her eyes are beautifully hypnotic. Gorgeous hair too.
Back to Gillian Barker's near the university for the party. Drink gallons but feel no adverse effects. Marian is such an intellectual conversationalist. You feel as if you should always be on your guard when talking to her. She rivets the hypnotised victim to the spot and keeps throwing up morsels of geniously planned chatter. Quite unlike any other girl I've taken out.

Have no idea what time the party falls through, but Marian and I bed down on the floor in the largest room, with no warmth other than a beautiful scarfe which we share.


Laughing Policeman by Charles Jolly/Penrose

Tthursday January 2, 1975

Have a rotten nights sleep and get up feeling a bit bog-eyed at 20 to 8.
Busy day at the YP with the New Years Honours List. Charlie Chaplin, PG Wodehouse and Gary Sobers are new knights, and the revolting deaf MP Jack Ashley is a CH. Chaplin is 85, and Wodehouse is 93. Mr Wodehouse may be a genius of the pen, but his politics aren't really what they should be. He made certain hideous broadcasts from Berlin in 1941 which upset everyone a good deal. As for Sir Charlie Chaplin, I'm not a fan of his at all. I do smile occasionally at his silent movies, but that hardly makes him 'knight worthy'.

Mum is 40 today, but like Jack Benny she says she's not going to get any older than 39. She does right too. Dad is 41 today. We bought Mum a series of black underwear, and Dad another new shirt. John and I have tea alone whilst Mum and Dad discuss buying a new car with one of Daddy's PC friends. Lynn and Dave are in Scarborough for the day. Lynn may be in love for the first time. (I think it's the first time anyway, but I wouldn't know about that).

Sit looking at the bedraggled Christmas tree and make up my mind to remove it from the lounge tomorrow - a sad occasion indeed.

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Sunday November 3, 1974

21st after Trinity. Wake at 11.30 and lay in bed with the radio on until after 12. Nice lunch again, followed by a hideous Danny Kaye film on TV which put the dampeners on everything.John goes with Mum and Dad to Bradford to collect his car which somebody's been trying to fix since before Adam was a lad. Lynn sits in her room doing her college homework and Alison and I sit in the dining room catching quick bursts of recitals of Lynn's essays from upstairs. (Yes folks, I do have a sister who talks to herself). A good afternoon, but uneventful.

Decide to go out quite alone tonight and never intend going out with Lynne again. The infatuation is over at last after 27 days. Just before John and I go to the Hare, Lynne rings from Harrogate and says she may be going to the Hare with her friend (in her car) at about 9 o'clock. I say little and make it quite obvious that I don't care what she does with herself. Dave Baker brings Lynn and Carol, and Chris comes very late as usual. Ray brings a college friend called John and so too comes Laura with that big-headed swine, Martin. All back to Pine Tops for coffee.

Carol was behaving most oddly tonight and never made any attempt to communicate with poor John. Bed after reading 'Lord Emsworth & Others'. (PS - Lynne went at 10.30 and said goodbye as if she was a bishop leaving a village fete after performing the opening ceremony. What else can one possibly say?)

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