Sunday February 26, 1978

3rd Sunday in Lent.

Edith and Ernest are going to live near their son, Kenneth in Devon. Isn't this awful? My best adoptive grandparents are deserting me for clotted cream, and all that. Mum immediately blanks out the sad details but says: "wouldn't it be nice to buy number 54?" I agree. The Blackwells live in a detached house which must be worth £22,000 and within months (after considerable alteration) could be worth as much as £30,000. Dad, as usual, is pessimistic and sceptical.

Margaret: 'ugly'

Ernest, looking at our Sunday Mirror, says Princess Margaret is 'ugly' and 'looks 60'. Never! Just because the dear thing's gone off to Mustique again (yesterday) with Mr Llewellyn Ernest is following the establishment tradition of 'blackening' her name. She is, and no doubt always will be, a very attractive woman, and her sexual appetite, whether it is for Welsh pop singing gentry or not, should be of no concern to peasants such as us. As long as HRH continues to dish out the honorary degrees, snip the ribbons, and make the speeches then she is fulfilling her intended role.

I did nothing all day but eat and roll around in the lounge. At 9 I went with Mum and Dad to Edith & Ernest's where we watched 'Anne of a Thousand Days' ~ a story very roughly based on Anne's Boleyn's brief association with King Henry VIII. Richard Burton made a very unimpressive monarch.

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Wednesday August 4, 1976

Get a postcard from Lynne M in Wales. It's a place I've never had any desire to visit really. I do suppose it has its nice parts - just like most boring places do if you look hard enough. The Welsh people don't do a lot for me either. Harry Secombe and Richard Burton are supposedly Welsh. The pubs don't open at weekends, or on Monday or Tuesday, or when the month has "R" in it. So, it puts me right off. See Wales, and die. I hope Lynne likes it anyway.

The good old Queen Mother is 76 today. I cannot help thinking about what Edith's opinion is of her. Does the Queen Mother really 'fancy herself' ? I don't know, but I'll tell you this - if anybody deserves to fancy herself it's the Queen Mum. 53 years of service to the Crown as a member of the Royal Family. If the adoration of eight billion people hasn't turned HM's head, then she wouldn't be bloody normal. Goodnight.

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Thursday November 13, 1975

A cold, crisp, typical autumn morn. To Leeds with Jim. I don't know what I'll do when the day dawns when I find myself Jim Rawnsleyless. The man has been like a chauffeur to me for the best part of three years, and the thought of actually driving myself to work or catching a revolting bus is too bad a thing to even be considered. They don't make good servants like him anymore, you know. They are a dying breed and the world will be a less happier place when they are no more.

Finish at 12. Christine B rings. She's working in Leeds until the end of the month and says we'll have to meet one lunchtime for a pub crawl. I let out a burst of hideous, nervous laughter when she says she and Philip are meeting this lunchtime for summit talks. It will be a year since she finished with him on Boxing Day, but if Elizabeth Taylor can tie the knot once more with Richard Burton I fail to see why they cannot. CD said something was afoot, and I now know what she meant. CB also came out with some unkind remarks about her latest attachment. From what I saw of him last night he did not seem all that formidable, and if anything he struck me as being a cheerful, decent chap. She is seeing him for the last time on Saturday, but I can't help thinking she's making a mistake.

I go into the town centre and drift about wondering what to buy for Carole's 18th birthday next week. I espy a locket in a jewellers window and immediately purchase it. John's given me the money to get her 'Atlantic Crossing' the Rod Stewart LP and I have no trouble getting that either.

Home in the bright sun at 2.15. See in the papers that poor Princess Anne is laid up at Oak Grove with influenza. Tomorrow will be her second wedding anniversary and still we wait anxiously for signs that the marriage has been consumated. It's all very well for Mark Phillips to persue his career in the army, but his first duty must be to secure the throne and give the Queen her first grandchild so to take her mind off the Australian constitutional crisis.

I have no lunch and sit doing absolutely nothing at all. (Well,if you must know I've spent nearly two and a half hours filling in this diary properly).

Carole rings at 4.15 and guesses that I've bought her a locket straight away but when I say "Ah, but what sort of locket?" She replies immediately "a silver one". Dead right, she is, and I'll have to buy something else now for a surprise.

We meet at 8.30 and go to the Hare with John. Maria is at her piano teachers place playing, and so he's quite free and unattached tonight. We buy each other pernod and oranges and have a few lagers too. By 10.30 we are a bit popped up.

Haircut day for Carole on Saturday and she's worried sick by it. I tell her not to be daft. Vidal Sassoon won't make a complete bugger of it.

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Monday August 25, 1975

Holiday in England, N. Ireland & Wales. Back to the office. Ugh. The fact that it's Bank Holiday Monday makes it worse because the thought of everyone staying in bed until noon whilst I struggled across a deserted town was far from pleasant.

See Sarah and Kathleen and they both agree that I'm a tremendous colour. Work until 1pm and then Kathleen lets me go. I get the 55 bus with Sarah and arrive home at about 2 o'clock. The weather is still quite warm, but I don't sit out in it when I arrive home. I've had enough after 2 weeks in Majorca and 2 full weeks lying around in the sun.

Sue is watching a rotten film starring W.C. Fields, which is cronic. I devour beans on toast, and then see a Marx Brothers film 'Duck Soup' which is hilarious in parts.
Groucho should be knighted in the New Year's Honours list. If Charlie Chaplin can be (knighted), I fail to see why Groucho can't.

No much in the news whilst I've been away. Some nutter saw fit to dig up the Headingley cricket pitch in the middle of the Test Match, which seems a bit of a silly thing to do, and the historic event to beat all other historic events is the re-union of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. They're going to re-marry, and at the moment they're carrying on like a pair of 16 year-olds with the first pangs of love!

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Sunday February 16, 1975

1st in Lent. Wake up on Gillian's floor at about 8.30 feeling obnoxiously cold and uncomfortable. Marian is underneath her coat next to me, and the faithful, flimsy scarfe is draped between us - the only link between us. Like an umbilical cord. Up at about 9 and we sit huddled around a gas fire. To my surprise I see that Denby and Co have gone off in the van without me. Filthy sods. My jacket was in the van and I now have no other clothing in which to venture forth on the great, perilous journey home.

Walk into Headingley, about a mile in all, then hitch a lift to Horsforth. Call in at Marian's for breakfast. A nice family - especially the mother who is quite a joker. It begins to snow, and so Mrs Read loans me the use of her son's coat for the second part of my journey. Arrange to see Marian sometime next week.

Home at 11.00. The clan are just getting up, and I join Mum for breakfast. Dad was stoned out of his mind last night at a dinner-dance in Ilkley. Dave B and John had to carry him upstairs and dump him on the bed. He was too drunken even to speak. Mum was quiet at first but laughed herself silly about it later.

Don't go out in the evening. See Richard Burton and Peter O'Toole in 'Becket' on ITV, and stagger to bed at 10.15. Tired and shagged out beyond description.

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Monday December 16, 1974

Reflections on the closure of the relationship of Mr Andrew Graham and Miss Linda Smith: Dave informed me of this fact while preparing the Christmas tree in the garage last night. I was dumbfounded to say the least, because I always expected them to settle down, after a society wedding at the local parish church of course. Andy is a bit cut up, but Miss Smith herself is cool and unmoved. Reasons? Apparently, Linda is overworked at college and can't do with Andy and her school kids at the same time.

Also, the papers hold another, more amusing story about the closure of a love affair. Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia seems to have changed her mind about Richard Burton. The Royal marriage of 1975 is off. It seems to me that Prince Paul has put his foot down. Another factor is that the princess is sick of Richard's drinking habits. 48 million bottles of Scotch a week is a bit much.

The Uncle Harry Mystery is over. He rolled up at 4 this afternoon and collected the car. He didn't say much to Dad, who was the only one in, and cleared off after swigging a cup of coffee. Silly sods, these Rhodeses are at times. Oh, Uncle John and Auntie Sheila are coming to stay after Christmas for one night. Denny was thrilled when I informed her this afternoon by telephonic communication.

The Christmas spirit is more noticeable in me this year, methinks. Need I say what was troubling me last year? Yes, you've guessed. It was HER. Well, no one's getting me down this year and 1974 has been one free of heartbreaking and upsetting consequences.

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Thursday October 17, 1974

See in the EP that Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia is having an affair with Richard Burton, the notorious profligate and actor. The princess is a first cousin of the Kents, being a niece of Princess Marina, Duchess of Kent; and thus is a second cousin of the Prince of Wales, Duke of Edinburgh, &c. A remarkable coincidence arises from this romance which the Press doesn't seem to have caught on to. It is that the Burtons are, or where before Liz (Taylor) got her divorce, good friends of President Tito of Yugoslavia. Putting two and two together Tito, in one of his discussions with Burton, could have intimated that on his retirement he was considering restoring the monarchy. Does he intend to place Princess Elizabeth on the throne and make Burton the Prince Consort of Yugoslavia? It is not impossible. The twice-wed princess took Burton to lunch with Princess Alexandra at the weekend.

Don't feel too well today. My throat, chest, nose and other numerous parts are quite poorly and exhausted. Could do with a few days off really. At lunchtime I get more Windsor photos and copies of those taken at John's 18th birthday party - £3.70 they rushed me.

Amused by an article in 'Private Eye' which says that since Princess Anne married her 'stable lad' many people have traced the decline of our country's status from that shameful occasion. It also states, in its infinite wisdom, that since the princess was made a GCVO in August, she is 'Princess Anne, Dame Anne Phillips' and not 'Princess Anne, Mrs Mark Phillips'.

Ring Denny who isn't very informative, and speak to Marita who is visiting her. See 'Top of the Pops' then ring Lynne. Spend half an hour on the phone and poor Mummy was quite desolate at the thought of the coming phone bill. Have bath and see tv all evening. My voice feels like it's on the verge of collapse. Goodnight everyone.

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Sunday December 30, 1973

1st after Christmas. Wake up at 7.30 and find myself on top of the bed feeling cold. Without much hesitation I climb into the bed where I sleep until 12.30. Feeling quite rough when I finally get up. The weather is cold, sharp, and sunny. Peter Mather laughs when he sees me staggering towards the bathroom. It isn't until my face is in cold water and I come round that I remember, with horror, that Christine W finished with John last night. The bust up will probably not be permanent. Andy and Linda S are back together again.

Denny, Pete, John and I clear up the mess with Chris whilst Andy watches tv. We then watch one of the Whicker in America series about plastic surgery.

John and me get a bus into Guiseley. Home for just after 1.30. Have a nice lunch. Then see the tv. 'Antony and Cleopatra' starring Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor - described as the 'most expensive flop ever' but I think it's quite good.

Bed at about midnight after having a few drinks with the family. Still no word from Sue Riley or the baby.

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Wednesday December 19, 1973

Saw June at the Benton Park Christmas dance. She didn't say much and seemed disinterested in anything I do or say. Love sick, that's my trouble. June looked lovely. Generally, the whole thing (the dance) fell through. People trying to be things which they aren't. David didn't say much. MM had been for a haircut.  

Lynn went to the Emmotts for the first time - and little Janet Roots managed to get a sherry out of me. John and I were wearing identical jumpers, and all the lower 6th girls had the usual fight on the topical question "who's gonna _____Mig Rhodes first". I now know why Pamela Barlow rang. She's a bloody sex maniac. Talk about throwing yourself at someone! Laura attended in her usual capacity as "Tart of the Year 1973". Ah well, if Liz Taylor and Richard Burton can get back together then June and I still have a chance. God, the thought of it makes my life a lot warmer. She's the only one to give me a purpose to live for. 

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Monday December 10, 1973

Abdication of King Edward VIII, 1936. Miss Went is away for two days and a relaxed atmosphere prevails at the YP. Little Janice is far too domineering in her attitude to me - I'll put her in her rightful place before very long.

Praise be to God in Heaven! It's happened. The Burtons are back together again. Poor Liz was wheeled out of hospital by a jubilant Richard, and the couple flew to Rome to spend Christmas with Sophia Loren. This really does go to show that true love always finds a way. Liz said she'd separated from Richard because 'we love each other too much'. Eh?

Poor Mark Phillips is in bed and not with Princess Anne it seems. The poor boy has gastro-entiritis. Must be all that South American food he's been getting. Poor chap.

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