Friday September 1, 1978

David B's 'stag night' in Leeds. Jacq came here with me after work and this evening she went with Lynn and her cronies (including Sue of course) to Shipley and the Elma.

Dave and Trevor (his workmate) came here at 8 and we went with Peter N to the Station Hotel, supposedly for a bus. George Waite's car pulled up and out he came with John, Maria and a long~haired Alec McHarrie. ________________. Heavily pregnant Jayne Waite drove us to Jacomelli's in Leeds where things got under way. On to Cinderella Rockerfella's. All quite blurred. I recall attempting to persuade a young lady to call off her wedding set for next Saturday, and to marry me instead. She wasn't particularly attractive either. In fact she was squat and greasy.

Returned to Pool~in~Wharfedale at 2am where Dave, Pete, Trevor and I did hand stands on Pool Bank, and later at Dave's house we drank Audrey's supply of Creme de Menthe, Bailey's Irish Cream, coffee liqueur, and much more. No idea what time we went to bed.

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Thursday September 1, 1977

Michael Robertshaw's stag part. Martyn is 19 today. They picked me up on the lane at 7.40am and he thanked me for the silly birthday card.

Martyn: 19th birthday.

Tonight: Eileen took me to Michael's house at Mirfield where I stayed to tea. His grandmother, widow of a miner, told me she's 86 and a native of Hull.

Out at 7.30pm with about eight of his friends and the orgy of drunkenness spread to Huddersfield and the Amsterdam Bar, which was riotous. Full of transvestites and other bawdy, dangerous types. From here we staggered to a discotheque where everything is a blurred mass. Remember smoking and throwing up in a sub-way. we seemed to have lost more than half the lads in the disco and only Mick, Stephen, Dave (Mick's brother-in-law) and I arrived home together.

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Thursday March 11, 1976

John's 'stag' party in Leeds. Stags are: David Baker, Esq; Martyn Cole, Esq; Christopher Ratcliffe, Esq; Keith Brown, Esq; Peter Mather, Esq; & of course the VIP himself, Mr John Rhodes. Poor Peter N had his ingrowing toe-nail removed yesterday and was unable to attend, but the rest of us had a 'whale of a time'.

David, John and myself went to the bus stop near the Station Hotel at 7 o'clock but no bus arrived for half an hour & so we had a pint in the Station plus one small bottle of whisky. Met Keith on the 33 bus at Rawdon and we travelled into Leeds together. Met Pete M, Chris and Martyn at the Ostlers before moving on to Brahms and Liszt, where a jazz group banged away like fury but sounded quite good really. We then went to the Highlander where I splashed a half pint of lager over a nice looking woman, but nothing came of it. All of us then piled into Cinderella's which was full of 'Hen' parties. We were all paired off with drunken betrothed specimens in frilly nighties and policemens helmets. Just as I was warming up Chris told me that John was unconscious in the Merrion Centre and so it was my lot, being best man,. to accompany the patient home in a taxi, which arrived home at about 1.15am, splashing about in John's vomit. The driver was most amiable about it considering the circumstances and only charged me an extra 50p for the cleansing of the automobile in question. David and Martyn came back to our place by taxi at about 1.45am. Phew! What a night!

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Thursday October 2, 1975

Excitement at work this morning. As ever, I was going through the Court Circular quenching my daily thirst for knowing what Her Majesty has been up to, and to my great surprise I see that the Duchess of Kent is to visit the Yorkshire Post on November 25. I know that over the years I have said horrible, unforgivable things about Yorkshire's own Royal duchess, but I can assure you that I've out-grown this childish phase now. The duchess does a brilliant job, and I must state categorically that the stories I wrote about her were nothing more than figments of my imagination. My vendetta against the House of Kent is over.

To Leeds in a thunderstorm with John at 7.30 and we meet about six lads in a despicable pub called the 'Tam O' Shanter' or something. After winding our way up the Headrow we end up in Cinderella's in something of a dislocated, drunken fashion. Raymond ends up grovelling on the floor, and Dave, the groom-to-be, is with a sizeable wench in a red dress. If his intended looks anything like that object I sincerely feel for him in his last week of freedom. John and I get a taxi from Cinderella's at 2am, and the thing cost £3.30. Split between the two of us it wasn't all that tragic. Slept soundly after devouring a sandwich.

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