Sunday March 5, 1978

 4th Sunday in Lent
Mid Lent
Mothering Sunday

Got a bus from the Bod pub to the bus station and then hitched a lift down Canal Road and was picked up by a Pakistani gentleman. Never again will I criticise our marvellous immigrant population. Bless them all. At the Shoulder of Mutton I got the first bus of the morning and sat with a couple of gin swilling prostitutes, who had obviously had a night similar to mine.

On Hawksworth Lane dearest Edith thought I was up and out for an early morning walk and was stunned to hear I was on my way home. She gave me hot tea and befriended me until they awoke at home.

Had breakfast with Mum at 9:30. Gave her a plant for Mothering Sunday. They all thought I was insane.

Alison, John, Lynn, Sue, Pete & Dave.

At eleven we all ~ Lynn, Dave, Sue, Pete, Alison and John P and me ~ went to the seaside taking in Whitby, Robin Hood's Bay and Scarborough. I was tired but managed to stay active.  I really like Alison and John. Coming home we called at the Royal at Boston Spa for a few drinks. I spent the day snapping away with the camera. The sun shone brightly.

at Scarborough.

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Saturday January 8, 1977

Up at noon. Lynne is bounding around the bedroom with the vitality of a six year-old. What can this be? Well, she has finally been horse riding this morning, and it certainly seems to have done the trick.

We have breakfast of bacon, sausages and eggs accompanied by Karl on the guitar. Later we, that is Lynne Mr & Mrs M and I, go to Filey for the afternoon. What a miserable dead loss that place it is. Murky just isn't the word. Gruesome, yes. A holiday at this so-called resort would undoubtedly maim, or even kill, a person of a weak mental disposition. We spent an hour or more looking for the centre to do some shopping before realising we were 'in it'. 'In it' is quite an appropriate expression, mate.

That night. To the Penthouse in Scarborough [see Aug 10, 1974] which is enjoyable. The clientel isn't what you might call elite, and a Bohemian atmosphere prevails. When I was last there I was too well dressed for the occasion. Lynne was a bit pissed by 2am. She didn't utter a single word on the drive back to Thornton-le-Dale. Have the usual ritual of cheese on toast back at Ty-Onnen. _____.

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Saturday December 27, 1975

A wonderful day. Dave B wakes me at 11.10 with yells of horror. I think he had to dance about on my bed before any signs of life were evident. Mum makes us toast for breakfast and Lynn devours most of it, along with gallons of tea.

I worry about Carole, who may well be still laid indisposed with her 'ailment', and I fear she may be unable to make the arduous venture to the coast.

At 12 o'clock Lynn, Dave and myself arrive at Oakridge Hall where we are entertained by the sight of Lady Phillips hanging out her washing. Carole is boisterous and looking fit and refuses any bodily aid whilst alighting into Mr Baker's automobile.

After a pleasant journey lasting approximately two hours we arrive in Scarborough. A breezy, fresh and highly humorous couple of hours follow, the highlights of which I will attempt to outline: a passionate photographic session on the beach was followed by a disgusting scene in a 'candy floss store' where we watched, in horror, as a filthy salesman attempted to clean out his candy floss machine with an old cloth he'd just used on the toilets. The man had filthy layered paws. A blood curdling incident followed in a hotel where Carole shared a teapot of tea with me and proceeded to fall, head long, down a flight of stairs whilst visiting the ladies loo. After this we moved on to Whitby. To say it is a ghost town would be an understatement. The only person we did see in that quaint harbour town was an aged old lady whom Carole thought might be a witch.

We then ventured homeward looking for fish and chips without much success. We ended up at a pub in Collingham where we ate piles of scampi and swilled cinzano. Home at 11 to watch a Frankenstein epic.

Mum's hurt her foot and think she may have broken a bone or something.

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