Monday February 27, 1978

Hello people. Another bright, Spring like day with singing sparrows and all the usual band waggon.

Carole phoned me at the YP to say she's in Ward 11 of the (Leeds General) Infirmary. I'd forgotten she was going in this morning. At 2:30 I went to see her. She isn't remotely ill-looking and chats away in her famous style. She says she loathes __________. She wasn't wearing an engagement ring but I saw it concealed under the pillow of her bed! When I left she escorted me to the Town Hall (Yep, they even let her out into the streets).

Marita saw me on Wellington St and brought me to Guiseley. She's having something done with her car at Senior Smith's.

Steel: foul smelling.

John made a fleeting call this evening. He and Maria are going to Michelle's party on Saturday. ______.

Susie cut my hair tonight. She's done a great job and once again I look almost semi-Punk. It looks good, I can tell you.

Edith and Ernest didn't get the cottage in Devon but are definitely going to go south this year. Sad, eh?

Dad's been strange tonight. He looks pale. He's terribly out of shape. Fat and out of breath. Quiet too.

Saw the obnoxious David Steel MP on BBC1. He really is a sly, foul smelling being.

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Wednesday May 18, 1977

A good Spring day combined, sadly, with diarrhoea. A sad sentence to have to compile, but very true.

Marita brought me as far as Rawdon in her mini and when I told her I'd been out with Carole on Thursday she went into raptures saying how perfect we are together and that I haven't looked as happy since May '76.

Tonight Tony and I went out and said that I - for twelve months - had given the appearance of being thoroughly bored by the company and that my face always held a look of far-off expectation. Is all this a big publicity campaign paid for by Carole?

Tony came up at 8.30 and we bumped into Pete Lazenby on Park Road and out of courtesy we accompanied him to Guiseley Working Mens' Club. Nice, cheap lager, but oh the people. Honestly, I'm no snob and no one likes good honest people more than me but the sight of the people therein is ghastly. As though they're hating every minute - just waiting for the sirens to go off summoning then back to the factory floor.

Stone Trough

On to the Stone Trough until 10.30. A completely dead place. Even the juke plays at a whisper. Later Tony comes back home for a cup of tea and egg mayonnaise sandwiches. We discus phases one, two and three and I insist that they were started by the Heath government in 1973.

Janet Land is visiting Lynn.



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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.






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