Saturday December 2, 1978

Sun rises 07:45 Sun sets 15:55

Mohammedan New Year {1399}

Snow and ice. Out of bed at 10:30 and had eggs and bacon with David and watched the snow cast a shroud over Burley~in~Wharfedale. I must be dreadfully spoiled at home because this house is just too cold for me. Lynn and Dave just don't seem to notice. No doubt they have become used to the cold, freak, indoor conditions.

I helped Dave with a few chores and he brought me home at about 1pm. Lynn went off to Otley Christmas shopping and Dave returned to his DIY escapades. I went to wallow in a hot bath to de~frost my blue extremities. Passed the remainder of the afternoon idling around and doing bugger all.

Out with Christine at 8:15 to the Shoulder, then the New Inn in Yeadon, and finally to the Fox. Sue, Pete, Gus, Chippy and Frank H were in the Fox. Frank says he's going to Crumpet, at Batley, on Dec 15, to celebrate his 21st. Great stuff.

Christine was monopolised by Philip Houldsworth and Garry Walton, and I made her make a hurried departure with me at 11. Slightly foggy. We drove to the Il Trovatore at Ilkley but were refused admission because CB was wearing jeans! This a phenomena. I cannot stand the place anyway. Undaunted, we went on to Oakwood Hall, arriving at 12:15. The place was packed out with Christmas revellers and the whole place was bedecked with artificial Christmas trees, tinsel, and trimmings. It put us in a very festive frame of mind. I became quite pissed but Christine didn't touch alcohol because of the gruesome weather conditions. Home after 2 with bleary eyes and a raging headache. Pernod ~ ugh!

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Tuesday November 14, 1978

Full Moon 20:00 Birthday of the Prince of Wales

Thirtieth Birthday if His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales. Once again the poor guy is being bombarded by the Press and tv on the painful subject of Her future Royal Highness The Princess of Wales. It's quite obvious that the prince is biding his time and if you ask me I believe he has yet to meet the love of his life. Once he finds her I am sure he won't dither for long because the press will soon sniff her out. Come home Davina Sheffield ~ all is forgiven. She was my favourite. Poor old Wales, he must be totally sick of this idle nattering and speculation.

At the YP Kathleen remarked that I was being quiet and subdued. Why is this depression hanging so heavily over my over~worked brain? ___________________. Jacq phoned at 11. We are meeting at the Ostler's tomorrow.

Sue gave me an invitation from Naomi's friend Jill to attend her 21st (birthday party) at the Elmer next Monday night. I believe Jill is the large, well~made buxom maiden, with the big, pink, flaccid spectacles. (Ah, you thought I was going to say thighs, didn't you?)

Which lucky lady will have the honour of acting as my escort? Christine is an obvious candidate, but sadly she knows nothing of my plans as yet. Things could prove awkward, for instance, if she's down to work at the Fox (and Hounds) or is committed to a previous engagement with one of the many fellows would could be called rivals if it wasn't for the fact that Michael Rhodes has no rivals. The Philip Birdgarden's of this world grovel in the mud and slime at the foot of the colossus of my column. However, in the event of Christine making the wrong decision I could always see if Sarah will come along. She'd like the Elmer I'm sure, and I do believe Mondays are quite free (entry).

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Thursday November 2, 1978

To town with Sarah at lunchtime. To Boots - we took a couple of negatives of photos of Lynn and Dave's engagement in Oct 1977. Really good pics.

Tonight Christine came at 8 and we went to Otley to collect her 30~year~old blond friend, Doreen. She's straight~forward, crude, blunt, in fact just like us.

We went to the Shoulder of Mutton. Saw Pete N who told us he isn't going to Oakwood Hall. We don't let this trouble us. I was well away after only three or four pints. On to the White Cross where Doreen picked up a young, bearded garage proprietor, who really got on my nerves. Then, after seeing Jimmy Macdonald, but only briefly, we went to the wretched Fox & Hounds. Naomi was in, but no darling Carole. Philip 'Birdgarden' Houldsworth and little Gary were chatting up Christine, and at 10:30 Doreen and 'Howard Hughes II' cleared off. Her excuse was that she is too old for Oakwood Hall. She must be mad.

My recollections now grow quite faint. I do remember accidentally dropping a half pint of lager down a debutante's cleavage, and Christine later said I sat in a pint of cider that was on the dance floor.

Evidently, at about 1:30 I bought a hot curry from the man in the van outside Oakwood Hall. I cried all the way through it. Oozing snot. I almost said hot as 'Dante's Inferno' but a few years ago somebody told me that Dante's Inferno has nothing whatsoever to do with fire or heat. I'm in the dark on this really.

At home I pelted Christine with 2lb of onions and forced elderflower champagne down her throat.

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Tuesday February 21, 1978

Christine phoned to see if I fancied going out tonight. How could I refuse? She told me that Philip H is seeing another girl behind her back, which will be the death knell to this affair. Unlucky in love is something of an understatement where Christine is concerned.

A cold, icy, deadly evening. I went down the lane to the Fox at 8:30, where she's already at the bar with a half of cider. These are always jolly occasions and this one was no exception. Carole came in with Fogarty! They may no longer be betrothed but they look and act much the same as they have always done to me. Christine laughed a good deal. We both affirmed our dislike of Mr Fogarty. The man's a moron.

The Fox and Hounds resembled a funeral parlour and we seemed to be the only beggars enjoying ourselves. Mind you, it is a Tuesday and a damp one at that. From the F(ox) we walked to the Hare. CB didn't like me putting my arms around her and we had an embarrassing tussle in the mist. By the time we got to the Hare we were yards apart.

In the tap room (where the only sign of life existed) we met  Rick Marshall, Willie and his senile girlfriend. R says he's going straight now after last months assault case. Basically he's a decent lad but he's transformed into a snarling monster with alcohol. We talked about Bob Marley, sex and booze. Christine poured half a pint of cider over Willie during a heated part of the discussion.

Judith, looking like a 'Moll' from a Wild West saloon, informed me of her new status at the pub. She's going off to Benidorm at the weekend with the _______little manager. Personally I think _________.

Outside Christine and I were faced with the horror of a hitch-hike home. It was absolutely freezing and so we nipped into the park at White Cross and fooled around on the swings. We were almost at Yeadon before we got a lift, but how thankful we were. I phoned Mum from Christine's and proceeded to stay the night. I sat, wrapped in a sleeping bag, reading about the Universe and planets in relation to their distance from the Sun, until 1:30am.

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Monday January 30, 1978

Jacqui phoned to make certain I am visiting her next weekend. Of course I am. I rang Dave G to let him know that the holiday is booked and he gave a sigh of relief. It was all worrying. No doubt the Rt Hon Merlyn Rees, MP, worries in this fashion every morning. One day it's the fire brigade, and the next day it's the police.

I phoned CB. She and Philip H patched things up on Sunday. God, she was pissed!

Naomi.

Coming home from town I bumped into Naomi (not exactly 'bumped' because she was at the steering wheel of a vehicle whilst I was on foot). She told me that Carole was in tears on Saturday afternoon and that they both (she and Fogarty) telephoned apologising for their silly behaviour. I hadn't been aware of all this. Naomi saw Carole this afternoon, who said that Peter F is an ass. My apologies to Carole are now very necessary. I ruined her afternoon, but at the same time I'm resentful of Fogarty's attitude. He should not be allowed to get away with it.

Laughed with Naomi about the marvellous food and the visit to the Wharfedale Gate. She's had everyone moaning about the choice of pub, and demanding explanations as to why we had to endure Saturday night therein. Yes, that was my fault.

Tonight. Read the Lord Peter Wimsey book and actually finished it. Can't say I'm all that impressed by Miss Sayers. I have read quite a few of her books and each one has left me cold. Rather boring, long-winded and lacking in that 'hold' which novels of this type should inflict. Dame Agatha (Christie) does it to well.

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