Friday January 7, 1977

Lynne collects me at 8pm and we nip down to the Hare for a quickie. Chat with Simon and his lady friend and of course the intrepid Judith. She is down in the dumps about something. I fear I have let her down over the 'Pink Panther' project? Just as we're leaving the pub Dave L comes in. He's going on later to see MM and Marita and then going to 'the dogs' [racing]. To the Damn Yankee in Harrogate for a pizza. Very good as usual.

Damn Yankee, Harrogate.

Lynne is in good spirits with a new haircut and a handbag and new shoes. On to a pub in a remote spot near  Harrogate before setting out to Thornton-le-Dale. Arrive at midnight. The Mathers still have the Christmas tree up and other Xmas regalia. I am appalled at this and tell Lynne of the hideous bad luck brought down on the households and members of families who fail to remove these frivolities by Epiphany. She pales at my sombre lecture and promises to do something about it. Bed at 1am in Pete's room. He's at the Ratcliffe residence until Sunday. Didn't see Mrs M[ather] tonight. She worries me really. It depresses her so much dwelling out in the wilds of North Yorkshire.
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Wednesday January 5, 1977

Peter Fearon approached me again today about my joining the ranks of the journalist brigade. Kathleen overheard the conversation and reminded me of my non existent future at the Yorkshire Post. I'd probably make a good reporter but I never do anything about it. Kathleen went upstairs to the personnel department to get an application form for me but came back saying Mr Austin-Clarke is hardly my closest friend. Malcolm Barker is wanting a junior male reporter and K suggests that I compile a letter to him saying the usual thing that grovelling serfs like me are supposed to say to editors of well-established newspapers. I must do this for peace of mind.

Rang David G in Stockport tonight to say I'm going to see him on January 15. We have to get the holiday sorted by then or we'll be knackered. I will get on to Pete M so that we can go over in the van.

Retire to bed at 11 with 'Claudius the God', by Robert Graves, a continuation of 'I, Claudius'. A bit heavy going at first but I may well be sat here with it clasped between my knees [the book] at 2am.

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