Monday August 8, 1977

Her Majesty The Queen goes to Ulster this week. The bravery of this Most Gracious Lady knows no bounds. (Excuse this pen and because of it, the handwriting). Thoughts of her personal safety are cast aside and she will walk in the land - her Kingdom no less - in which many evil people seek to see her destroyed. ________.











-=-

Saturday June 11, 1977

Thunder, lightning, rain, hail - the bloody lot is brought down upon us. They do say that only people of lower intelligence allow the weather to depress them but today cannot have any other effect.

Princess Alice.

It was out of bed quite early to view the Trooping the Colour on tv. The crowds in the Mall look to have been static since Tuesday's jubilee and even the rain could not dampen the singing and the cheers of loyalty. Saw the RAF fly-past at 1pm. Princess Alice, Countess of Athlone was on the balcony. When Martyn came up at 1.30 we worked it out that the princess will be the oldest ever living member of the British royal family on July 15.

John comes up in his work gear this afternoon and within minutes he's changed into some of my clothes and we go - the three of us - to the Station on Henshaw Lane. He says Maria is entertaining Carole and Peter (Fogarty). I could have fallen through the bloody chair. John assumed that she had told me the full details of her 'other' arrangements and he showed surprise that Carole was out with me last night because Friday is Fogarty night. So too is Saturday and no doubt every other night except Thursday. I bet she was out with him until 11.30 last night then out with me until 2! God. I suppose I have nothing to be mad about. She hasn't lied, but I have been deceived. It's only a matter of weeks since she sat and laughed and said she did not believe in 'two timing' and believed in being utterly faithful. This little revelation just goes to show what shit she hurls at Tony - and he believes everything she says. John says Carole is the biggest liar he has ever met and he's always held this opinion.

Martyn stays to tea and we don't go out until 9.45 and watched tv with Susan and Peter until this disgustingly late hour. The four of us went to the Malt Shovel in Menston and then back home for more television - three of them with Chinese food and me with fish and chips.

Wednesday June 8, 1977

Jubilee over and back to work. In keeping with tradition the first day back to work after the bank holiday is one reminiscent of a tropical heatwave. Someone up there must have it in for us, I fear.

The newspapers are full of jubilee articles. It is estimated that a million people were on the streets of London for yesterday's pageant. The Queen, if she's not doing so already, must be jumping for joy.

Carole phoned. She can't find any company taking parties to the Trooping of the Colour on Saturday. Thwarted yet again for the second year running. We're going to Oakwood Hall tomorrow for our weekly meeting. I suggested we might meet on Friday instead but she soon put a stop to that idea. Who will the lucky man be that night, I wonder? You can't tell me she leads a life of innocence from one Thursday to the next. Mind you, what else can I expect? Not much. Besides, I thought it was always the idea that I had a lady with interests other than myself? Carole's possessiveness during our last liaison virtually deadened the whole affair so now I should rejoice in the fact that she's far from besotted.

Tuesday June 7, 1977

A tremendous historic day. I had a restless night and alighted from my bed just after nine this morning. Took a seat near the television and remained in that position all day.

No words can adequately describe the pageant of the procession through London to St Paul's Cathedral by the Queen and the Duke in the State coach - not used since her coronation 24 years ago this month. The Queen was dressed in pink and looked amazing. In the cathedral, and later at the Guildhall, she seemed to be overcome with emotion and appeared 'lost' amidst it all - very unusual because I have never seen her show emotion at all. The crowds in the Mall were wondrous and the balcony scenes- in pouring rain - were magnificent. The Peter Lazenbys and Willie Hamiltons of this world have lost.

Balcony scene: June 7 1977

John and Maria called in this afternoon to see if someone could babysit for JPH tonight. They're going out with Molly and Jim tonight. (John says Jim won £40 on the horses yesterday). ______. Mum and Dad went down to Silverdale Drive at 7.15. Neither in boisterous mood.

Tony phoned and I told him that Il Trovatore was completely 'out' tonight due to lack of funds and I was faced with the prospect of a night alone. Lynn is working at the Hare. Sue and Peter are out. So just after 7.30 I took to my bath. Watched television. Yes, the edited highlights of the Jubilee with an excellent commentary by Tom Fleming, and at 11 a Laurence Oliver/Katharine Hepburn epic. To bed at 1am.

The close of a magnificent day of pageant, splendour and occasion. Let's hope that the Queen will be around in another 25 years time because Elizabeth is all that the United Kingdom can ever be.

-==-

Saturday June 4, 1977

Tony and Martyn come this morning to help me put up the Jubilee bunting for the party. A large poster of the Queen in full regalia in the ballroom at Buckingham Palace goes up in a prominent position in the lounge along with Jubilee balloons and a Norman Parkinson portrait too. Very patriotic indeed.

The lads went to Bradford but I stayed at home waiting for Dave and Glen to join us. They arrived at 3.30 and after lunch I took them to Otley where we find an of-licence shop for wine and ale. The three of us spent about £3 each.  We get on famously and Dave is anxious to know when I'm going to Stockport again. The night at the Poco Club was a fabulous evening and it's a shame we don't all meet up more frequently.

Edith & Ernest

Tony, Martyn, Dave, Glen and I went to the Commercial together. Mum, Dad, John, Maria, Sue, Peter, Lynn, Dave B, Dave L, MM, Marita, Sarah, Peter B, Chris, Peter N are in the pub. Not many, and no 'spare' ladies at all. Chris and Pete _________.They're shocked when I say I won't be going to Denise's 21st. I'll be in Stockport on July 9. They took this news very badly. Peter Baker and Sarah had some sort of disagreement in the pub and he took her off home after half an hour or so much to my astonishment. I rang her at 11.30 but she hadn't arrived home and so I presume they must have 'made up' and gone elsewhere.

The throng was joined at home by Edith and Ernest and Mike and Maureen Eccles (the new neighbours). Not many at all really and Lynn says it's the quietest party of all time. I wasn't too pissed and yet I cannot recall much to report. Parties tend to blend together and a six hour spree can be condensed into the space of a few minutes. Glen and I were the last men standing and we were in the dining room listening to Cinzano and drinking the Santana LP 'Abraxas' ...or was it the other way round? I had a couple of cigarettes. That's the minute of my miserable life. It was agonizing watching the dawn break over Tranmere Park and the dreadful racket made by the birds. Oh, my head!

-==-

Monday May 30, 1977

Cloudy, but warm. A hectic day at the YP. Spent most of the day finding pics of all descendants of King George V and Queen Mary for Jack Stancomb's contribution to the Jubilee supplement. The chaos created by the Jubilee is quite amazing. The general public are going berserk and all think of little else at the moment.

Her Majesty at Covent Garden.

Don't get home until 5.45. Tony and Linda have finished - for good. Oh, not again! I have only just posted her birthday card too.  They'll have made up by the weekend. Or will they?

Rang Dave in Stockport. He'll be over on Friday evening. He's going to ring me on Thursday.

Saw the Queen, and many members of the royal family, on TV, at the Silver Jubilee Gala at the Royal Opera House Covent Garden. At midnight when she left in her large Rolls Royce the streets of London were packed with thousands of people waiting to catch a glimpse of Her Majesty. Jubilee fever. People are going insane with patriotism. The crowd was singing the National Anthem louder than I've heard it before. The Queen is perfection. Truly a legend. If this momentum grows with the years until the Golden Jubilee God knows what will happen.

-==-

Monday May 16, 1977

Down the lane with a Spring feeling. For some reason my coiffure is standing on end reminiscent of a good old lavatory brush. Go to my hair stylist and emerge 45 minutes later having waved bye bye to about three quarters of a ton of glossy hair. No doubt the peasants have bagged it up and sold it on the Black Market for   huge sums. If they can do it with King Charles I's miserable, ginger stuff I fail to see why they can't do it with mine.

Home by 2 o'clock. Mum is flat out in bed with her back. She's in agony. Dr Jacques comes but he's more interested in my bloody cheeseburger.

Sue: reading about lice ..

Sue is revising for her hair dressing examination and is reading all about lice and other residents of the hairy regions.

Tony comes up at 3 and we go to Bradford and to (WH) Smith's. I hand over £568.28 to Michelle and I'm sure I've never held so much in my hands (that's money, you perverted fool). Accompany Tony to the Co-op where he attempts to rid himself of some of his wares and then it's back to Smith's where we meet Martyn at 4.45. M bought a new pair of shoes and I bought a large poster of the Queen, in Imperial state crown in the Throne Room at Buckingham Palace.

Martyn and Tony are playing golf at Ben Rhydding this evening. I don't want to go. Saw Spike Milligan on TV and Monty python repeats.

Mummy emerged from bed for a few hours but complained of constant pain. The doc has advised her to buy an orthopaedic bed at the earliest opportunity. Ate fish and chips and retired after 12.

-=-

Wednesday May 4, 1977

A nice morning for a change. The birds actually lowered themselves to give us a tune and the rain managed to hold off until I was safely encased in the Jim-mobile. No Sarah today. Auntie Delia informed me that the poor girl is suffering from dizzy spells and such like. I like Auntie tremendously and we are still promising one another tea or an evening meal but she is always bogged down with (flower arranging) classes.

YP was dead. Worked through lunch and went home at my usual time - 4.30. Horrible meal this evening. Mother is still behaving positively rude and childishly, which encourages me to a certain extent. Her attitude won't get her anywhere at all.

Queen: speech to the Lords & Commons

On the 6 o'clock news saw the Queen and the Royal Family in Westminster Hall receiving the thanks of the Lords and Commons for 25 dedicated years, &c. HM made a controversial statement about devolution saying she had been crowned Queen of England, Scotland and Northern Ireland and intended remaining so. The Scottish Nationalists are aggravated by it but I think it was a tremendous thing for her to say it. At least one person in the land wants to keep the United Kingdom intact.

To be quite honest I'm getting cheesed off with the complete lack of patriotism at the moment. Dear mother is a leading advocate and her attitude about a Silver Jubilee party astounds me. How she had the bloody nerve to pay me £2.50 for her share in Robert Lacey's 'Majesty' God only knows! About as patriotic as Willie Hamilton's left buttock she is. I could become quite violent on the subject if I tried hard enough. I expect that all the flag waving and cheering will take place on June 7 and then everyone will forget about it. It's about time the Queen used her influence to rally nationalism.

Out with Judith to the Hare and back to her place until almost 3am.Discuss purchasing the Sun. How much would it take to make a box for it?

-==-

Sunday May 1, 1977

3rd after Easter. Wet day. Not going to say much because it was such a normal, uninteresting day. The Silver Jubilee is looming. The poor Queen is going to be exhausted by autumn. Bless the Old Girl.

Naomi: dragged me in

Saw part of the 'Edward VII' series on tv and then Mama gave me a lift into Guiseley in torrential rain. I was stood at the bus stop for ten minutes when Naomi drove up, threw open her car door and dragged me inside. Very hospitable of her. Miss K. Moorhouse was a fellow passenger. They were on their way to Denise's for dinner. Eventually got a bus at Rawdon at 5.20pm. Work was up to it's usual mundaneness. Can anything be 'up to it's usual mundaneness?' or have I invented the word?

Taxi home at midnight. My driver was a silent one this time. Not a reptile expert or connoisseur of Rococo architecture as they usually are. The journey home was one of inward thought and general reflection. Poured with rain all the way.

Ate boiled eggs and sat looking at one of the lower class Sunday papers. Queen Victoria awaited my attention in my boudoir but my eyes ached and I had no intention of taking her up tonight.

Isn't it remarkable how some days I fill a page with minute, incredibly tiny handwriting and on other more lazy occasions I can scribe away like something not dissimilar to a moron?

King George V had silly handwriting, you know.

-==-

Thursday April 14, 1977

A usual sort of day. Collected my weekly pennies at lunchtime. When I say pennies I'm not being silly either. Bugger all at work. Boring and uninteresting in fact. I feel quite normal which is strange considering the excesses of last night.

The Queen, by Annigoni

See in the paper that a programme on the Queen's Silver Jubilee visit to the Commonwealth is to be broadcast by the BBC tonight  and I realise that a horrible decision is going to have to be made. Yes, can a true royalist actually go out to the pub in the knowledge that Her Sovereign Majesty is to be seen, in all her glory, on the telly? What a dilema I am faced with. Yesterday I made a promise to go out with Martyn and Tony tonight and would it be right for me to go back on my word and break this contract?  What would her Majesty's wishes be if it fell my lot to be so honoured by her presence at this agonising moment of indecision? On my knees before my tiny yet masterly portrait of HM by Annigoni I ask for some divine solution to my heart searching problem. As if from the heavens above a pealing voice fills the room saying: "Go forth my son and take refreshment with thy friends". So, I did. Can't say I was thrilled by it though. I suffered all the evening from pangs of remorse and horror at whether I'd made the right decision. My lager lost that pleasant bouquet. The comfort of the Hare and Hounds took on the aura of Tyburn gaol, and the gathering therein looked dull and lifeless.

Judith and Kathryn sat drinking wine. How many different ways can a man spell Kathryn? Or more importantly which one adorns itself to the person of Miss K. Young? Katherine? Katharine? Catherine? Kathryn?

We go on to the Crown at Yeadon which is rotten. Who the hell told me it was a great pub? See Philip Knowles, and then espy CB. She says she'll call me. We go for fish and chips. Tony goes on ________.

Playing at ventriloquists and dummies.

No comment.


Back to the Hare where Miss Young sits upon my knee and we play at ventriloquists and dummies. She recites the alphabet in a strangled dummy voice whilst I drain a pint of that lifeless lager.




-==-

Friday Apirl 8, 1977

Good Friday. Helen Malin, 23. Out of bed at 10.30 this morning. The sun is shining down merrily too. Why not go out for a walk, Michael, and feel all that warmth on your little legs? Yes, I will. I go down into Guiseley and purchase a birthday card for dearest Judith. I then sauntered round to Bedside Manor to deliver up my greetings card in person with strict instructions for her not to open it yet. In fact, I'd slipped a letter in with it and had to partially write it in the telephone box on Fieldhead Road and partly on the footpath outside Guiseley School.

Judith entertains me to coffee but looks ill because she has fallen foul of her dentist earlier this week, and her wisdom teeth had been extracted on my birthday, of all days.

Old photographs and her cat were the principal subjects discussed at great length.

I went home for a non-existent lunch with Mama, who is in a foul mood. (Dad is still on his back under the car all covered in motor oil). Mum's mood worsens and the combined effects of her miserable face and the film 'South Pacific' didn't do much for morale. But at 5 o'clock, as if by magic, the film was interrupted by a news flash and a smiling Richard Baker announces that Princess Anne is expecting a baby in November. Joyous news indeed. For such an announcement to come on Helen Malin's birthday is fate indeed. I believe we have a bet on Princess Anne's maternity dates. Fancy. The Queen a grandmama! Good Old Captain Phillips. I was beginning to doubt his masculinity somewhat. Three cheers for them all.

High Society

John and Maria come up at 6.30 for ten minutes. John's car is also knackered. Even as I write this I can hear Mama blowing her mind over her fish pie in the kitchen.

Devouring my (fish) pie I decided to remain in front of the television tonight and not to venture out to the pub, as tradition demands. Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you. My decision has nothing to do with Princess Anne's good news either. I am not clad in my Union Jack underpants and clutching my postcard of Anne and Mark's wedding. My decision was due to the BBC. Yes, a tv series about slavery that's brought the USA to a stand still - called 'Roots'. The household is in great holiday furore. Not a morsel of food or drink in the place because you know what mother's are like when it comes to leaving grub kicking around in the fridge for more than 24 hours with no one in the house to eat it? Dust is flying from suitcases, windjammers, thermos flasks, cotton nappies, &c.

Mum discusses stopping at a pub for lunch tomorrow. "What about the baby?" I ask. "Oh, we're bona fide friends". Eh?  "Well", continued mother yawning "JPH has small bona fides". Too much for me is all that.

By 11 we're watching a film starring Twiggy - Mama and Papa having retired to bed. Princess Grace and Bing Crosby are on the other channel in that smashing epic they usually put on at Christmas - 'High Society'. What this film has in common with the birth or death of Jesus Christ I simply don't know.

-=-

Monday March 28, 1977

More snow, hail and blizzards. I progress across Leeds resembling something similar to a yeti. (He is, of course, the nasty Abominable Snowman).

Yeti.

Work was uneventful, as usual.  Only Sarah, Eileen, and self. I rang Lynn about her driving test. (Cancelled because of the weather conditions). She says the experience is not unlike waiting to be executed by firing squad only to discover they're run out of bullets. I can well imagine. However, in my case the ammunition was plentiful.

Tonight at home. Auntie Mabel rang Mama to enquire about Lynn's test. Not wishing to be depressed by the BBC news I soaked in the bath for half an hour. Later saw a good film about the mafia - a black comedy - but the title escapes me.

Portland Vase.

Bed at 11.30. Did you know that Queen Elizabeth II is descended from a 19th century prime minister? Yes, in 1783 and 1807 he accepted the office from King George III. Who was he? I'll give you a clue. They named a vase after him. Another clue: he had the same name as a brand of cement. Yes, that's right you've guessed correctly. Signing off at 11.45pm precisely.








-=-

Wednesday March 23, 1977

Callaghan: reptile.

Our reptile of a Prime Minister has pulled a fast one over on the feeble little party the name of which I cannot seem to recall. Yes, the Tory vote of 'no confidence' in Her Majesty's government failed and the reptile scraped through with a majority of 20 or so. No doubt you know more about it than I do because it will be history by the time you come to read this. I bet your 'A' Level tutor has dictated Mrs Thatcher's speech to you recently. You know, the one referring to Jim (Callaghan) as 'Jim of all parties, and master of none'.

But to get down to the really important things: Spring is certainly in the air, folks. Indeed, as I walked down the lane today I made every attempt to ignore the fog, drizzle and biting wind and instead my eyes searched the hedgerows in vain for signs of those pretty Spring floral offerings - namely daffodils. None to be seen. Not a bud on a tree. The youngest sheep I've laid eyes on qualifies for a telegram from Her Majesty the Queen congratulating it on it's longevity. The word 'lamb' is about as relevant in today's society as 'dodo', 'democracy' and 'statesman'.

Tony is in Worksop. What a revolting place to be on a Wednesday night. Spoke to Barry via telephonic communication. He says he's working 'too hard'. Cannot contact Martyn because some unhelpful person or persons have seen fit to conceal our telephone number book in a place unknown. I can only just recall Mr Brotherwood's number (Ilkley 3173), but Martyn's evades me. I think it begins with a 3 and has a 9 in it somewhere.

Sheep: Telegram from Her Majesty?

Motherdear has spent the day in bed. A bad, irritating cough and aching bones. Probably influenza. She doesn't look too bad tonight but ought not to struggle into work for a few days.

Back to the subject of sheep. How long do they live if allowed to grow old gracefully? I ask this because the one I spied this morning was aged. When was the last time you saw next week's lamb cutlets in a wheelchair? I'm not mad either. Oh no.






-=-

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?

-==-

Tuesday March 15, 1977

Pathetic day. Bloody rain. The Ides of March, whatever that means. I know Julius Caesar bit the dust on this day but if his last March 15 was anything like this one he was well out of it. Old Brutus did him a bloody favour.

Our trip to Brands Hatch seems well and truly doomed. I've brought up the subject in the office seven or eight times and have had no decent response. Kathleen most certainly cannot work Sunday night.Really annoyed. Ursula says she can manage quite well without me.

Go to town and buy birthday cards for Christine and Tony, who celebrate tomorrow. CB's card has a photo of Greta Garbo in the arms of Basil Rathbone, I think, with the inscription: "They don't make 'em like you, anymore". No doubt I'll hear from here before Friday. We're supposed to be going on a booze up to Otley.

Nothing in the news. The Queen is in Tasmania. Mother is baking bread and I'm doing absolutely bugger all. Today is my Uncle Jack's first anniversary in Heaven. Let's hope they have parties up there because I tend to live from one party to the next. CB says she'd prefer to go to Hell because it's warmer and she'd prefer to spend eternity with her old friends. Not a bad idea. Is all this blasphemous? I might as well go all the way and say something disrespectful about the Pope. He is ill with 'flu and I can imagine the scene in the Vatican every time he sneezes - "Bless Me!" Not funny?

Reading Evelyn Waugh's diary. He's so sarcastic.

See a TV play based on the life of Vivian Nicholson, the pools winner, who spent £150,000 in four or five years. Very good. Bed at 11.36pm.

-==-

Monday March 14, 1977

Dinner suits back to Dormie at lunchtime.

See in the papers that the Queen is having a controversial time on her Silver Jubilee visit to the feeble Australians. A maniac smashed her in the face with a banner demanding the dismissal of the governor-general.

Gough Whitlam: silly sod.

Gough Whitlam's rude and sarcastic remarks made in Her Majesty's presence last week cannot have been received with the humour and delight by the royal couple as it was reported. Mr Whitlam is to have his leadership of the Aussie Labour party contested by a colleague. The silly sod has signed his own death warrant.

Other news: Margaret Trudeau has eloped with the Electric Light Orchestra.

Ring Martyn at 8. I'll have to have Sunday off if Brands Hatch is on the cards. Can't see any difficulty here. Martyn talked of his financial difficulties and the Ibiza '77 project. The less said about money the better, but at least I'm not the only man in the boat.

Penelope Eastwood.

Martyn said Christine had her scars on display in the pub last night. By all accounts she looks a right old mess. Blimey, is my mini-Elizabeth Taylor going to require plastic surgery? Tony's birthday on Wednesday as well as CB's. Don't forget cards.

Have a bath. Watch a late film until midnight. Davina Sheffield's uncle has died. She is in Kenya with HRH. Or is the mysterious blond Penelope Eastwood? Or Claire Watson? What about Laura Jo Watkins? Even Georgiana Boothby. Certainly not Lady Jane Wellesley.




-=-

Tuesday March 8, 1977

David's 21st and Auntie Mabel's 58th. I phoned Auntie M at Marlene's and she seemed quite cheerful. It's her first (birthday) without Uncle Jack and it must be weird.

David: 21st birthday.

Not a particularly good day.Went to the EMI shop and bought 'Songs In the Key of Life' by Stevie Wonder on behalf of Mum for dear David___________.

I received a jolt over breakfast when Lynn informed me that my ex-consort, Miss Mather, will be attending David's party. Nothing to worry about I suppose. Made an effort to ring Tony but he didn't answer. I think he may be out with Martyn and  the Il Trovatore ladies (see Friday's entry).

The Queen made a slip today at the state opening of the Australian parliament. HM referring to her Silver Jubilee celebrations as 'the twenty fifth reign of my year' instead of 'the twenty fifth year of my reign'. Not a big mistake but it gets world-wide notice because she's usually word perfect.

No more tonight. It's becoming a drag having to sit into the early hours of the morning copiously filling in all the useless information.








-==-

Tuesday February 22, 1977

Pancake Day, or whatever you want to call it. Pissing down with rain all day but I'm not put off wandering into town to collect the record 'Body Heat' by James Brown. Got a bit wet even after taking precautions with an umberella. The soaking was worth it for this soul masterpiece.

Link to Body Heat by Mr James Brown

David Owen.

Yes, David Owen is the new Foreign Secretary at 38. It sure looks like we're going to be lumbered with (Denis) Healey as chancellor until the next rotten general election, doesn't it? (Why am I asking you? You know the outcome anyway. I suppose David Owen is now Sir David Owen, KG, the former prime minister?) The Foreign Office at thirty eight surely ensures some sort of promotion in the next 20 years and the premiership is only three or four places up the scale. Oh, I'm bored with this topic anyway. Politics is dreadful. Mr Callaghan is a silly old fool, and you know what I think about Margaret Hilda Thatcher. Don't talk to me about devolution either.

Sitting on the bus at 4.30  I remembered I promised John & Maria I'd pay them a visit for tea tonight and so I disembarked in torrential rain in Guiseley and telephoned Papa with the news that I would not be home for a heap of pancakes. Down to J and M's where I sit entertaining the baby whilst Maria did her bit towards making Shrove Tuesday the traditional thingy. JPH is taking notice now and his grin is even wider. Spent a couple of hours going through Maria's mail order catalogue and made a few orders. I played my new James Brown record over and over again attempting to indoctrinate the baby with it. We want him to be a little soul kid. I also held his face very close to the TV when the 6 o'clock news showed the Queen and Prince Philip in New Zealand. He must learn to adore his sovereign from a very early age. His mother however yelled abuse and sang Irish rebel songs at the TV.

-==-

Thursday February 10, 1977

My first full day without Her Majesty Queen Lynne as my consort and help-meet. In many ways a sad day. The Lynnian era is no more, and with it goes all the security, brilliance and power. The days of convenient car rides to the pub and pleasant weekends at Ty-Onnen have automatically ceased. Once again, I am nothing more than a pleasant, roving peasant.

David Baker

Work is unmentionable. Meet Dave B at the Yorkshire Crown at 12.45 after wading through several feet of water on Wellington Street. Boards outside the office (EP ones) proclaimed 'CHARLES AND DAVINA - PALACE STATEMENT' which is fact a denial of any imminent marital alliance. The Buckingham Palace spokesman says 'it's preposterous to suggest any engagement could take place whilst the Queen is out of the country'. She's in Australia, of course. These palace spokesmen are nothing more than paid liars.

To the dentist for a check up. I have to go back next month for a couple of fillings. Nip to Marita's with a box of chocolates for her birthday, which was a couple of weeks ago, and sit for half an hour or so. She said she'd heard on Monday that I'd finished with Lynne. Coo, didn't that get round quickly?

Down to the Hare with Tony and Martyn at 8.30. John is in with a lad called Steve (Hudson?), & Carole, Naomi and Karen Moorhouse are in. Barry (from Smith's at Ilkley), Judith and Kathryn roll up. John says Chris hates Martyn's guts for 'pinching Karen off him'. Howls of laughter. Karen looked like a deckchair actually - all stripes. Killer. We all go the Il Trovatore in Ilkley. Quite a good night but by 1am we'd developed a 'Darby & Joan' complex. Home with Tony and I sit laughing to myself whilst he and Karen look on as if I'm raving mad.

-=-

Sunday February 6, 1977

Septuagesima. The Silver Jubilee of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second. Bells peal and prayers are said for the Sovereign lady in churches throughout the realm. To celebrate the joyous, historic event Mum, Dad, Sue, Peter N and myself  went for lunch to the Birch Inn at Wilsill, near Pateley Bridge. Four or five pints of lager and a sirloin. Peter had a steak too, Mum had fish, Susan a curry and Dad a ploughman's lunch.

Birch Tree Inn, Wilsill

At 2pm we returned homeward and called on John & Maria just in time for JPH's liquid liver lunch. A messy business. He is a beautiful child.

To the YP at 5.30 and have a nightmare of evening. Rang Lynne. She's at Pickering cinema with Karl and Peter. Rang her back at 10pm. She tells me of her weekend cake baking saga and the dog's latest illness, &c. Home feeling miserable.