Wednesday December 8, 1976

Christmas lunch at the Yorkshire Post. Sarah, Eileen, Carol and I represented the library at this meal leaving Kathleen seething amongst her torn news cuttings. In fact she was in an abominable mood all day. Over to the Central at 1 o'clock and spend half an hour with Anthony Ronald Brotherwood, Esq. He looks completely knackered and shagged out. I leave him in the knowledge that he is going home to spend the afternoon in bed. Lucky swine.

I see in the Press that Gerald John Ward, the Berkshire landowning relative of Freda Dudley Ward, is divorcing his 31 year-old wife, Rosalind Elizabeth. It just so happens that the Prince of Wales - if gossip columns are to be believed - is a very close friend of Mrs Ward, a niece of Lord Beauchamp. Is it not a coincidence that Freda Dudley Ward, Gerald's cousin, was mistress to King Edward VIII for many years prior to his meeting with Mrs Simpson? What would the reaction be today if the Prince of Wales announced his intention to marry a woman with a husband already living? Would the events of 1936 set a precedent and would the prince be compelled to renounce his rights to the throne? I'm not too sure. Anyway, why should I dedicate a whole page of my journal to Mrs Ward? She'll undoubtedly pass into obscurity long before you, dear reader, discover this priceless masterpiece.

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Monday November 15, 1976

Not an unpleasant day at the YP but nothing of particular interest to say. The Sunday Mirror yesterday says that the Prince of Wales is going to marry Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg, daughter of the Grand Duke. Oh yes? The Queen paid a state visit to Luxembourg last week. And I suppose the state visit of President Giscard d'Estaing in June was to fix up Prince Andrew with Mlle. Giscard? And how about the state visit to the USA in July? No doubt Julie Nixon Eisenhower and Prince Michael of Kent are secretly betrothed. The Queen Mother was in France last week. Does President De Gaulle have a bachelor brother?

Lynne rings at 5.35pm and I invite her to come up to Pine Tops after her Spanish lessons are over. Later, a historic occasion indeed. The Royal Variety Performance LIVE on the BBC for the first time. The Queen Mother was there - she must have found time to snatch herself away from the attentions of King Olav of Norway. It was a boring performance only made bearable by Mike Yarwood, fish and chips, and a couple of bottles of ale. Otherwise it was a flop. The poor Queen Mother looked older.

Bed at 11.30 with Frances Donaldson's 'Edward VIII'.

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Monday October 18, 1976

Bogged down at the YP. Bloody newspapers. Leave at 4.30 feeling whacked and nothing for my labours. However, this subject is too miserable to dwell on.

Mum has a letter from the estate agents announcing that a pub - the Bridge Inn at Ingleton actually - is on the market. The usual family conference was convened, not unreminiscent of the Vietnam peace talks held in Paris. Will report in greater detail tomorrow.

Somehow I cannot help thinking that the enagement of the Prince of Wales and Davina Sheffield is imminent. Two weekends in succession at Balmoral must mean something. Will it be a 28th birthday engagement for HRH on November 14? It would all fit very nicely. Engaged next month, leaves the Royal Navy in December, takes up residence at Chevening in the New Year, married in March, April or May, Silver Jubilee in June. Or is it more complicated than that?

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Sunday September 19, 1976

14th after Trinity. No news from Maria. The poor little baby must be tired of waiting. It is nine or ten days late now. Will he/she come on John's 20th birthday next Saturday? Wouldn't it be great? [All say 'yes, Michael'].

All day painting my bedroom. That is 12 noon until 8.30. Dark green walls, pale green door, window, and radiator, &c. It looks smashing.

Watch John Cleese in 'Fawlty Towers' and then Richard Attenborough in '10 Rillington Place' - a film about John Christie and Timothy Evans. Good film but a ghastly story really. Lynn was frightened to death.

Sleep on a camp bed in the lounge for the fifth night in succession. Reading 'The Beatles' until after 1.30.

The Sunday papers are full of Davina Sheffield again. The future Queen returned to London from the outer Hebrides this afternoon and was met by a mob of 200 press photographers. Her future Majesty then bolted into a public convenience and remained concealed for 30 minutes until a young policeman managed to procure her escape. Everyone seems hell bent on marrying the prince & Miss Sheffield.

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Tuesday September 14, 1976

Derek Naylor comes laughing into the office saying the future Queen of England is a "scrubber". Sarah laughs at this whimsy, but I'm far too contemplative. One would think that an experienced journalist [as Derek is] would realise that the things one picks up in the Sunday [news]papers cannot be believed, and the papers are only fit to wrap ones fish and chips in. Derek seems to be eaten away with mock disgust at the tales of Miss Sheffield's sexual escapades with old-Etonian James Beard, brother of the Countess of Normanton. How do we know that this woman will even marry the prince? And perhaps more importantly, even if she and HRH settle down in wedlock by the time comes for her to be crowned Queen Consort will she have anything to be Queen Consort of? One things for sure, the crown jewels will have gone. The Pakistanis want the Koh-I-Noor diamond back, and it's only a matter of time before the Welsh National party demand the return of the Welsh gold used for generations by members of the Royal Family in wedding rings. Davina really ought to give it serious thought.

Lynne rings at 7.30 to enquire after Maria. She is having a boring time in Bradford and mentioned something about an argument with Peter at Thornton-le-Dale over the weekend. [She's] not too happy really. Arrange to meet on Thursday. Tony rings to see if I want to go out with him and Stuart on Thursday. He mentions something about a change of job in Smith's. Seems as though he got it straight away.

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Monday September 13, 1976

Harry takes me to the bus stop at 8.15 and I bid him farewell until we next meet. Sure has been a good weekend. Feel something like how Richard Burton must feel like after he's been on the bottle for three or four days on end. I shall have to go to some sort of hydro to dry out my pickled liver, or kidneys [indeed which ever organs succumb to pickling after the consumption of vast quantities of alcohol].

Ring Lynne at lunchtime but her boss reminds me she's on a course this week in Bradford. Also ring home: still no developments from Maria. My nephew is four days late now.

Back at home: ring Lynne at Auntie Lilian's at 8.30 but she isn't in. Start watching a Dirk Bogarde film and it's midnight before I think of phoning again. Aunt Lil would probably have a coronary at this time of night.

Continue reading 'The Beatles' by Hunter Davies. Feeling shagged out still.

The Davina Mary Sheffield saga gathers momentum. We [Joe public] should read nothing into this until Buckingham Palace issues a denial. They only issue denials to cover up the truth. I approve of her anyway, even if one reader writing in the EP thinks 'Queen Davina' sounds odd.

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Sunday September 12, 1976

13th after Trinity. Awakened at 12.45pm by the survivors of last night's knees-up. Just time to leap into some clothes and it's back to the Commercial once again for a liquid luncheon. The cast of 'Emmerdale Farm' are still in the carpark and Frazer Hines and the YTV wardrobe man are in the bar. Pissed on stella artois. Talk to Lynn and Sam. Sam is certainly taken with Lynn and he keeps telling me so. Marita & MM come in with a girl but stand at the other end of the pub. Marita comes over and asks about Maria. Joined also by Raymond [Bond] again. He and Carol are going to Rhyll next week and Dad proceeds to give them a run down of the bad points of Welsh life and of the of the Welsh peasants. Since Carnarvon in July 1969 father has harboured a massive loathing for the Welsh people and all they stand for. Home at 2.30. I am sick. All that lager proved too much for me.

Sit chatting about family history with Harry, Sam & Dad. Goings on in the family 50 years ago seem like something from a different world now.

The Sunday papers have decided that Davina Sheffield will be the bride of the Prince of Wales. I'm still in the air about this. No point in discussing it until an engagement is announced. After tea of salad, trifle and cakes we all watch the film 'The Go Between' which isn't particularly a good film. The house is full of drink but I just couldn't touch alcohol at all. Unbelievable I know, but true.

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Friday September 10, 1976

A wet and blustery day. Go into town at 1.30 and take my latest film into the chemist for developing. Very exciting.

See in the Daily Mail [and later in the EP] that Prince Charles and Davina Sheffield will probably marry next year - according to their friends. Who needs friends with people like that around? Or even who needs enemies with friends like that? [Keep trying the different friends angle and you'll eventually get it right, Michael.] Mum asks if Davina is 'suitable Queen material'. I say yes.

Go to the Hare with Lynne and Susan in Peter's car [Peter N's that is] after 8 o'clock and meet Christine White and a bearded Stuart, who come in to investigate Maria's forthcoming confinement. They leave shortly afterwards. Lynn and Dave come down with cousin Sam [Rhodes] who I haven't seen since 1970-71 or so. He is alright but somewhat withdrawn. Mum and Dad come in with Harry. Back home in pouring rain at 11.30 or so after seeing Carole and Naomi.

Give Lynne a pile of old copies of 'Private Eye' and a packet of tea for Mrs Mather as repayment for all the supplies I consumed last weekend. She goes off in a rainstorm at midnight for Thornton-le-Dale and the rest of us have a drink [a serious one]. Bed at 3.30am.... intoxicated.

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Monday August 2, 1976

Bank Holiday in Scotland & Irish Republic. A thoroughly miserable day at work. _____.

See two articles about the Prince of Wales and Davina Sheffield in the Sunday papers. One of them told of an incident in Devon a few days ago when the prince and Davina went down to a beach with a crate of beer accompanied only by one detective. The other was concerning an event which is alleged to have taken place on the same occasion. The prince had changed into bathing gear in a changing room and Davina went up later to change, using the mens room by mistake, and was caught in a naked state by one of the local clotted cream manufacturers who received a right eye-full. It will be a nice tale to tell if the couple ever marry.

Home at 5.15 and have a good argument over tea with Lynn, Dad and Mum. They argued that it was wrong that immigrants can get away with not wearing crash helmets because of their religion. My argument is that ones religious beliefs are more important than a ridiculous law that's been cooked up in Westminster one rainy afternoon just to pass the time. The same applies to the wearing of car seat belts. If a chap wants to risk his own life then why can't they let him get on with it? The sooner Roy Jenkins goes the better.

Mum handed in her notice this morning. Moon's Mill will certainly miss her because she's a brilliant worker and so efficient. Nothing can make her change her mind once it is made up. Prospective grandmothers shouldn't have to go to work anyway.

I was rendered speechless when, after taking my bath, I went downstairs to find Mum & Dad watching the Olympic Games on TV. When I exclaimed: "I thought they had finished yesterday?" Dad responded: "Oh yes, but now they're showing the hilights."
Oh My God. I quickly departed back to my room to read Burke's Peerage until the 9 o'clock news. Later watch Faye Dunaway and Kirk Douglas in a film until after 11, and then watch that last hour of 'Billy the Kid'. I'm addicted to the TV at the moment. The book by Trollope just does nothing for me.

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Monday April 19, 1976

Wake up at about 11.30 with Carole and Jackie. Feel horrible and revolting with hangover. I was the last person up drinking and the birds were chiruping like hell at 6.30am when I finally submitted to the call of the bedroom.

Jackie gets a lift into Bradford to start work at 12.30 and Carole and I walk home. Yes, we walked all the way to Guiseley along the Rodley canal which brought us out near Esholt Sewage Works on Hollins Hill. Did nothing but argue all the way home and she kept referring to the way in which I treated her last night. She dislikes the way I 'carry on' with other women and says that I don't 'give a damn' for her. I put her straight saying it is obvious that she thinks more of me than I do of her and that she is obsessed with the idea of us having a permanent relationship whatever the cost. My feelings, or lack of them, mean nothing to her & she professes her undying love for me when I've never once offered anything in return. This situation cannot go on. I tell her I enjoy her company but insist that I do not love her and this depresses her. The whole situation makes me sick.

She comes up at 8.50 and we all see 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' - not a good film, and I'm itching to see a programme on ITV about George III narated by the Prince of Wales. Bed at 12.30 and sleep like a log.

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Monday March 1, 1976

St David's Day. Quite a busy day at work without Kathleen or Carol J. Arrange with Sarah for Mum to visit Delia tonight to discuss floral arrangements for the wedding.

See in 'The Times' that Georgiana Russell, an old girlfriend of the Prince of Wales is joining the ranks of the betrothed. The prince really should start thinking about finding a wife because all the elegible young ladies are falling. The likes of Rosie Clifton and Lady Henrietta FitzRoy and many more. Jane Wellesley won't do at all, and Angela Nevill is just about the only dish on the hot-plate.

Home at 5. Dad shows me a report from his accountant about the Henry Jenkins pub. He's been advised to offer £30,000 for it. They're going over tomorrow to sort things out and I wish them all the luck.

Go to the Yorkshire Rose with Mum & Dad and they book Lynn's party for Saturday for definate. We then go up to West End Lane to Sarah's and Mum does some arranging with Delia whilst Lucy the dog mauls me and Dad. Leave at about 8.30 - 9 o'clock.

Back at home Carole rings. We arrange to meet for tea at our place tomorrow. I see a clapped out old film on the BBC and watch the late night news before going off to bed at about midnight.

Well, March is upon us once more and I would never have imagined that this month could hold so many events of historic consequence.

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Wednesday December 17, 1975

A bit of a Royal day in Leeds today. Sarah, Eileen, Carol and I went up to the Queen's Hotel to see the arrival of the Prince of Wales at 12.20 this afternoon. It was a biting cold day and everyone in the crowd looked perished.

The prince dashed out of his Rolls Royce and fled up the red carpeted steps of the hotel with some speed and those in the crowd who were not perhaps on form may well have missed seeing him altogether. Sarah says he looks tiny and thin - something of a puny prince. He's about 5ft 8ins I think, which is quite average really.

I had to laugh at The Times this morning. An article concerninhg the love letters between Sir John French, commander-in-chief of the Army in the 1914-18 war, and his mistress, was topped with the headline 'FRENCH LETTERS SCANDAL'. Makes it sound like some court case involving a Durex swindle. I laughed for hours.


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Thursday December 11, 1975

Uneventful day. Do not see Carole and stay at home in front of the tv all night. Laugh with Dad at this London hostage business. If they are still being held at Christmas I can see Sir Robert Mark, the Metropoltian Police Commissioner, dressed as Santa Claus, lowering a sack full of presents down the chimney of the Balcombe Street flat!

See 'Top of the Pops' and a programme about Prince Charles being invested as a companion Water Rat. Mike Yarwood, Ronnie Corbett and all the usual bunch were taking the mickey, but HRH came over marvellously as usual. The whole nation now regards as some sort of 'Boy Wonder' and the papers are full of 'when he is King he will do this' and 'when he is King he will do that...' &c. The Sunday Trash said last week that the dear Queen will abdicate in ten years time. I cannot believe that she'd do such a thing. She is strong enough to go on for 25 years yet and I'm certain that she'll be Queen until the day she dies - communist revolutions and uprisings set aside. It is an ancient tradition, I fear, for the media to idolise the heir and cast the dear old monarch into the shadows.

See Spike Milligan at 9 o'clock on BBC2. He is a genius beyond his years. No one seems to appreciate his talents and I fear his genius won't be fully recognised until after he's gone.

Climb into the bath at 9.30 and go to bed shortly afterwards.

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Saturday December 6, 1975

Woke up feeling quite chirpy really, considering.

Hear on the news that Leeds was razed to the ground by a mysterious 'Great Fire' last night. I suppose it's a blessing really, because at least it will stop the horrible plague, wot's been going on lately. However, in the absence of Christopher Wren, Basil Spence is going to design a lovely new town for us, and so it's all turned out well worth-while in the end.

Also hear on the news that Lynn is going to marry the Prince of Wales. She'll have to embrace the Anglican faith and change her name to Mary or Elizabeth, but it can be done quite cheaply these days. She won't be 'Princess Lynn' but the Queen will authorise her to use the 'HRH'.

Sit with Dave in the lounge while the princess and Carole sleep. Mum and Dad go out somewhere and we sit like loonies waiting for the girls to move. They are up and around after 12 and I'm surprised to see the princess looking so cheery.

Another trip this evening. Meet in the Hare & Hounds at 8.45 and attempt to persuade complete strangers to come along with us on a coach to far-off York. In the end we have 26 or so on a 41 seater coach. It looks bloody empty but we only pay £1.40 each in the end. At York we're in the Cat's Whiskers which is rough and double-rough. Sluts and tarts are in every corner and I've seen better looking brothels. I'm too tired to even laugh and I stand all the time because if I sit down I'll certainly pass out under the table.

We leave at 2am and everyone sleeps on the coach home.

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Monday November 24, 1975

Top people were prowling around the office this afternoon making sure that all is in readiness for tomorrow's royal visit. They've put new carpet in the lift, and all our desks have been polished for the first time since the Prince of Wales visited in 1970.

Royal visits certainly give the chiefs galloping Ooojahs. All the things they've been putting off for years are done, as if by magic, overnight.

Kathleen, who won't curtsey, has bought a brand new wardrobe especially for it and I've noticed quite a few abnormally decently dressed reporters crawling around the office.

Tuesday November 18, 1975

Another bright, wintry day. Almost like January or February really.

Busy day at the office. I make sure that the Duchess of Kent's cuttings and pictures are all in order for next Tuesday. She will be coming through the library and I have warned everyone that I intend bowing if the need arises. Rabid socialist Kathleen says she will never curtsey, which to me seems childish, and she amused me by saying I really ought to take down my chart showing the order of succession to the throne. 'It might dishearten her to see it', she said. I am sure that the duchess is well aware of the position held by her husband and children in relation to the Throne.

The Daily Mail makes me sick. The Daily Mail Diary especially deserves my wrath. The Prince of Wales may be a 'self-confessed Romeo' but why should that give licence to the press to open up a 'let's expose Prince Charles's sex-life campaign'. Every day without fail they tell how the prince can be found in the bar at Annabel's, the London disco, with a vodka and lime in one hand and a blond deb(utante) in the other. OK, so he does have sexual urges like the rest of us, but why plague us to death with the details? It's not even as though any of these women will get him in the end. The latest to be named is blond, nubile Claire Leveson, sister of Lady Hopetoun. I'm saying no more but I thought I'd tell you just in case he springs an engagement on us all. I wouldn't like to think the prince had popped the question without my having given you any prior warning.

Carole rings at 5.30 to say she bought the black dress we saw in Miss Selfridge a week last Saturday. It really is nice, and she intends covering her Aphrtodite-like form with it on Thursday. Sue and Pete are coming out with us tomorrow for a few celebratory drinks, and of course Lynn and Dave are joining me for a pernod party on the birthday in question.

Lynn was ________when I showed her the locket I bought Carole. She told me it looked cheap. A cruel, hard piece she can be at times. Do nothing all evening other than watch snatches of a Doris Day epic. Saw the BBC news about three times.

Yet another bomb exploded in London tonight. One can hardly go for a scampi and chips these days without returning home with shell-shock and a leg missing.

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Friday November 14, 1975

Uninteresting day at the YP. Ring Carole at lunchtime and arrange to meet her at the usual hour. Believe it or not, we are leaving the pub early before closing time tonight to see a BBC2 film tribute decdicated to the Prince of Wales, who is 27 today. Carole hates the Royal Family, but wants to watch the programme because I do.

We meet at 8. She is staying with Maria while her Mum & Dad are away again. Neither of us are in a good mood, and tempers on both sides are frayed. At the Hare for 8.15. It is completely flat and dead. Andy, Linda, Stuart, Christine, Keith, Helen, Lynn, Dave, CB, CD, Helen L, Jimmy Mac, Carole and myself, but despite the good turn-out it is too quiet for comfort. Andy laughs at my hairstyle for some reason, and if I'd have had a few more drinks inside me I'd have clogged him one around the ear-hole. Carole and I are on pernod again. Lager is all very well, but it does tend to be like a minor atomic bomb in ones belly.

I am arranging a coach trip to Brummels for Nov 27. Everyone going except Andy and Linda who are going to a wedding.

The (Prince of Wales) programme starts at 10.15. Just me and Carole, Mum and Dad watching it. From start to finish it was a masterpiece. The prince's sense of humour comes through loud and clear and if Spike Milligan is still alive when the prince succeeds to the throne I can forsee the House of Lords coping with the goon-like Earl Milligan, KG. The film showed details of the prince's flying activities and his installation as Grand Master of the Order of the Bath. Carole said she'd enjoyed it, but I think she is just humouring me.

We mess about and laugh with Lynn and Dave, who come in at about 10.45, and the four of us drive round to Maria's for a little social booze. Maria drank too much martini
and my last recollection of her was when she fell onto the floor for the last time, kicking her legs in the air, and letting out hideous giggles. I had over the necessary amount, and so too did Carole. I told her I didn't think I loved her. She was upset. I don't know why I said it. I'm a mixed up fool. Insane probably, but it's not my fault.


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Tuesday November 11, 1975

Foggy day again. The YP was uneventful other than an article in the EP re the Prince of Wales's interview with "Woman's Own" magazine about his love life and aspects of his future position. He says that marriage is out whilst he's in the navy, and that 30 is a nice age to do it, if it's to be done at all. The Daily Mail some time ago published an article about HRH at a London discotheque "wrapped around a blonde (who wishes to remain anonymous)". Who that blonde is is anyone's guess. Diana Dors?

At 4.30 I'm leaving the office, minding my own business, when I clapped eyes on the 35 bus. "Ah" I thought "instead of waiting for the 33, I'll go on this one". So I did, and stumbled upon the shapely form of Miss Marita Fountain, who immediately began extracting inmformation about Andy and Linda's engagement. She says that Denise saw Linda, Andy and Christine White in the Stone Trough the other night. I learn that Mr & Mrs White have been entertaining Stuart's Mum & Dad. Xmas engagement?
________________________.Whilst this interesting conversation is developing with Marita I detect several freak jerks coming from the bus turbines. Within minutes we are standing on the kerb in thick fog, cursing the pile of red painted metal that was once a great instrument of public transport. We are joined by Philip Knowles, who never changes. The three of us use our initiative and walk towards Horsforth in order to get the next bus. Our plan fails and at the crematorium we are confronted with a problem. A full bus with only space for one more soul. After searching our hearts Philip and I decide to sacrifice ourselves for Marita's sake. She disappeared over the horizon on a warm, bright, cheery bus full of people singing together and praising the Lord that they are fortunate enough to have been endowed with a seat by the gracious permission of the West Yorkshire Road Car Co.

Philip and I were lucky to get a later bus and I was home in the darkness of night.

News: see that Australia is having difficulties. The Governor-General has sacked the Prime Minister and appointed the opposition leader in his place. Rampaging mobs of Aussie agitators now roam at will through Sydney.

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Tuesday October 28, 1975

Lynn wakes me from my slumbers at 7am. The day is a beautiful one. It is in Guiseley anyway, but things soon change when travelling to work with Jim. Passing through Horsforth we become shrouded in fog, which grows steadily more dense as we go into Leeds. The temperature falls too, and one would think Guiseley is on the French Riviera or somewhere equally tropical. (Yes, I am aware that France isn't tropical, but my description isn't meant to be taken literally).

At 4.30 I failed to get a bus home and so I walked to the West Yorkshire bus station and got the 5 o'clock 33. At Guiseley I find myself walking up home in the dark for the first time this year. I do not object to coming home in darkness, but I detest have to eat breakfast and contemplate a days work when the moon is shining and it's black as Hell at 7am.

Over tea Mum and Dad tell me about the Craven Heifer. They thought it was a bit scruffy upstairs______.They did like it though, and are optimistic about the bank financing them with the necessary cash. If they do get it we won't be moving in until February next year, so we shall have yet another Christmas at good old Pine Tops. All this waiting around and speculating about the future isn't doing me any good. I'll be a nervous wreck before I'm 21.

I rang Carole at a Menston phone box at 6.30 and we chatted for ten minutes or so. She didn't have much to say other than the fact she's bought four packs of potato crisps to eat whilst she watches a James Bond film on TV tonight.

John and Maria arrived home safely this afternoon, but as yet I haven't seen either of them. After having a coffee with Mum and Dad they went to her place where they remain unrtil this very minute. I'll report on how things went in Shrewsbury tomorrow.

Items of news: I'm saying nothing about General Franco or Juan Carlos. That matter will drag on for years yet. And the Prince of Wales's car accident in Norfolk did not injure anyone seriously, you'll be pleased to hear. HRH seems prone to road accidents.


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Tuesday October 7, 1975

A crisp, autumnal day. Cooler than yesterday but the sun seemed a good deal brighter. To Leeds with Jim Rawnsley, who takes up a new appointment next week. It is rumoured that he'll be earning £12,000 per year - and he tells me he can hardly afford a new pair of shoes!

Nothing spectacular in the news. The Prince of Wales is to become a naval captain in January. He'll have command of his own ship and operate in the North Sea. Prince Philip was a captain in the RN, and so too was George VI, George V and a score of other monarchs. The "Sailor King" is a title held above all others I think. We might have a revolution if the day ever dawns when the heir to the throne is a wing commander or brigadier in the army.

I rang Carole this afternoon and she said she felt ill again. The poor creature will never see 20 if she continues at this rate. However, she says she'll come out with me tomorrow night if it's the last thing she does. I shall have to go down to Menston to see if she's quite fit before hand.

Today I wrote to John and Sheila asking about whether I can go down and stay with them a week on Thursday. Peter M is going down to Hayes (Middx) to stay with Christopher for a few days, and so we might as well go together. Windsor is such a fantastic place too, and it's over a year since I was there. Going down on the 16th will also enable us to visit the Motor Show at Earls Court. I hope that John will find no fault in my going on those dates. He always seems to enjoy my going, and by writing as opposed to phoning I think it doesn't put him on the spot. He will have time to consider my letter, whereas ringing him would have had to produce an immediate response. I also wrote to Chris informing him of my intended state visit._______.

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