Tuesday February 20, 1979

_. Kathleen is mad. Her very existence entirely justifies the presence in our society of acid bath murderers, insane axe-men and left-wing schizophrenic rapists. ___________________.

Yesterday I met Jacq at lunctime and paid her the customary £5. John phoned tonight. Maria isn't having the baby until August, and so he is delaying bringing her down for the confinement. I don't like the idea of them being up there in that barbaric land. _____________.

Susan cut my hair tonight. No trace of a perm now, and I feel quite smart. It's a sort of Duke of Windsor-John Snagge-Kenneth Kendall-Reggie Maudling-Ian Ogilvy-Roger Moore-King Farouk coiffeur. I've even got a side parting. Mum doesn't like it but says I look like John.


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Wednesday February 14, 1979

_. Valentine's Day.

I have a glowing red nose, dribbling over all and everything. More snow over night and it was a three and a half hour journey from Guiseley to Leeds. We [Jim R and I] left home just after 8, and I didn't enter the YP until 11:25am. Spend the day sniffling and coughing, generally out of breath and feeling abominable.

Reginald Maudling died early today from hepatitis. He was renowned for excessive drinking so no doubt the endless flood of booze hastened his departure. He fell from favour over his part in the John Poulson Affair and only last month he was mentioned in the scandal surrounding Sir Eric Miller. Maudling isn't going to be missed by many in his party.

Home in better time, but the snow is hurtling down again.

Today is Valentine's Day and I didn't get one bloody card. Mind you, I didn't expect one because I am out of favour with the majority of my female acquaintances. Carole is enraptured by Mick Lynch, and Jacq won't send me one because I failed to send her a Christmas card, or indeed a birthday card earlier this month. As for Christine, she appears to have severed diplomatic relations since Christmas. I've written twice recently and both epistles have been ignored by the tenant of Glenview Hall. Don't worry. I don't think it's serious. Only slightly disconcerting. CB is much taken up with Doreen at the moment.

Ate a large meal at 5:30 and then went into paroxysms of sneezing. Am I perhaps on my way to join Reggie Maudling on his journey to eternal peace and tranquillity?

David of Stockport phoned at 9 and was in good spirits joking about Martyn. Retired to bed at 10:17pm with several paracetemols.


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Wednesday February 19, 1975

Beautiful day. A crisp morning with the sun as big as a football following us all the way to Leeds. One would hardly believe it's 93,000,000 miles away, or something equally fantastic.
Margaret Thatcher picked her shadow Cabinet yesterday. Willie Whitelaw is the deputy leader, and the repulsive Sir Geoffrey Howe is 'Chancellor'. Peter Walker and Geoffrey Rippon have received the boot, as it were, and the prodigal Reggie Maudling's been forgiven all his sin sand receives the Foreign and Commonwealth job. Definately a right wing leap for the Tories but I can't say that I disagree. The country needs a good old Churchillian party.

Go to town with Eileen at lunchtime and spend £1 on absolutely nothing. Must be a sign of the times. I can recall the days when I got one shilling and six pence a week, and on Friday I still had change in my pocket.

Prince Andrew is having another quiet birthday today. The Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh are of course out in the Bahamas; the Prince of Wales, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, and Earl Mountbatten are in Nepal for the coronation of the King; Princess Margaret is on holiday in the sun, and Lord Snowdon is working in Australia. No one to help him celebrate. I bet they've had a job finding counsellors of state. The Hon Gerald Lascelles and the late Lady Patricia Ramsay will be acting in this capacity no doubt.

To the Hare with John, Naomi and Gillian. The latter young lady certainly knows how to keep hold of someone. Just because I got carried away with her in Peter's van last Friday she thinks I ought to be infatuated for life. Not on her Nellie. Chris, Laura and (Jane's) Helen joined us. Boring really.

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Wednesday February 20, 1974

The General Election..........Harold Wilson..........Edward Heath..........Jeremy Thorpe..........General Election..........Roy Jenkins..........Rising Prices..........Nationalisation..........Wilson..........Inflation..........Anthony Wedgwood Poulson..........WG Pottinger..........Edward Heath..........Rising Prices..........Cyril Smith..........Liberals..........Opinion Polls..........Even More Liberals..........the Miners..........Fuel Crisis..........Watergate..........Henry Kissinger..........John Poulson..........Edward Heath..........Ludovic Kennedy.................................................................Marilym Monro........................................................................................................................................Maudling..................................................................

Saturday February 2, 1974

Susan gives me a shake at 7.30 and I have a greasy crumpet for breakfast. Laugh at the thought of it because 'Greasy Crumpet' is Chris's description of Miss Helen Taylor. Get the usual train in Guiseley. See in the YP that Reginald Maudling, a former Home Secretary, was injured by a letter bomb last night. Also, Ronald Biggs, one of the 'Great Train Robbers' has been arrested in Rio. The bugger's been on the run since 1965.

Finish at 12. Rush into Leeds and get a pair of shoes for £7.99 - not bad really. See 'Dr Who' on tv after fighting my way up the lane in driving downpours. Have a bath and John and I get the 8.0 o'clock bus to the Emmotts. Poor Ivy isn't in her usual corner, and I continue to worry even after Martin V-B assures me that the old girl is not dead. MM and David come in, but we leave 10 minutes later. Chris, we learn, discovered his wallet under a seat at the Black Bull and he and his father proceeded to carry on drinking until 2.0am. I never thought he'd see that again.

At 10.0 Chris and Linda and Christine and me go in Pete's car to Meanwood - 'The Cat's Whiskers' no less. John and Andy go with Keith and Helen. Not particularly over the moon with it - the disco that is. Too large and poorly planned. The service isn't too good either. Anyway, John and Andy arrive safely and we remain until 2.0am. Helen and myself danced in 'the cage' - and so did the others later on, but we set the initiative.

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