Monday October 24, 1977

United Nations Day. The hospital says she (Carole) is just the same but I think they are keeping the bad news from all except her family. I don't think Fogarty is allowed to go. Feeling horribly depressed at the YP today I phoned Christine, who didn't know about Carole's illness. She wants to go out for a drink tonight and I readily agree.

Christine came at 8 and we went to to the Shoulder of Mutton, the White Cross, the Hare & Hounds and finally the Fox & Hounds. I was quite pissed after lager, Pernod, cider, Stella Artois, but I needed it, I really did.

Christine was horror struck at the way nobody sticks together these days, the old crowd. She did her utmost to make me laugh. One funny story concerned her most recent boyfriend. He had his arm tattooed with the immortal words 'I Love Christine' and the very next day she told him she wanted no more to do with him! I really liked that. Her attitude is that he can go have a skin graft, or alternatively he can go out and find another Christine.

Christine looked nice too. A new £120 coat and handbag. Her hair nicer than it's been for ages. She isn't as silly about drink as in days of old. In fact she insisted on tipping her drink into my glass each time I complained about 'still' feeling sober. She came back for a glass of wine but had to get off by 11 to see her Mum.

Christine's coming out on Friday night. We always go into hysterics when discussing _______.He is the rallying point, the focal point in fact of my sarcasm, or anything nasty and rude which needs to be bandied about. It must have something to do with his face.

I watched Patrick Moore on the TV with my eyes all bleary and Mum made me a bacon sandwich (I must have looked under nourished) which I don't remember eating. In bed at 12.

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Friday April 1, 1977

Up at 9 with great expectations for the Pig & Whistle expedition. Sadly however Judith is a very different person this morning when I telephoned Bedside Manor. "I'm not going, Michael", she says "...and that's final".

So I made do playing at Harry Wheatcroft in the garden until Dad rolls up and shouts from the window something about going shopping with promises of a drink thrown in to bait me. I readily cast aside my shears and hurtle up the garden like Lilian Board. (Sorry, it's something of a dead personalities morning with Harry Wheatcroft and Lilian Board).

Shopping was hell at Morrison's but it was all made worthwhile by a drink in the Clothiers's. Down to collect Mama from Moon's (Mill) and the three of us bugger off to the Commercial for lunch. Roast beef and onion sandwiches and gallons of Stella Artois.

Ron Lindley.

Ron (Lindley) is an absolute scream. He has such a face that says everything without him having to speak a word. His very expression sums up the situation perfectly.

To the Hare & Hounds tonight with Sue and Peter. CB is on top form - a great time we have. Miss Braithwaite appears to be back to her normal self once again. Martyn and Ruth, Chris and Peter M join us and we move on to the Regent in Guiseley at 10.15 until closing time. No juke box, but quite a good place. CB and I laughing all the time. She's not sure about tomorrow night but I'll no doubt be seeing her in the pub even if she cannot come along to the Gang Bang.

All to the Chinese restaurant where I'm robbed of 95p by a greasy chink with dirty finger nails. The food is ghastly. No wonder the average china man dies at 27.

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