Wednesday February 14, 1979

_. Valentine's Day.

I have a glowing red nose, dribbling over all and everything. More snow over night and it was a three and a half hour journey from Guiseley to Leeds. We [Jim R and I] left home just after 8, and I didn't enter the YP until 11:25am. Spend the day sniffling and coughing, generally out of breath and feeling abominable.

Reginald Maudling died early today from hepatitis. He was renowned for excessive drinking so no doubt the endless flood of booze hastened his departure. He fell from favour over his part in the John Poulson Affair and only last month he was mentioned in the scandal surrounding Sir Eric Miller. Maudling isn't going to be missed by many in his party.

Home in better time, but the snow is hurtling down again.

Today is Valentine's Day and I didn't get one bloody card. Mind you, I didn't expect one because I am out of favour with the majority of my female acquaintances. Carole is enraptured by Mick Lynch, and Jacq won't send me one because I failed to send her a Christmas card, or indeed a birthday card earlier this month. As for Christine, she appears to have severed diplomatic relations since Christmas. I've written twice recently and both epistles have been ignored by the tenant of Glenview Hall. Don't worry. I don't think it's serious. Only slightly disconcerting. CB is much taken up with Doreen at the moment.

Ate a large meal at 5:30 and then went into paroxysms of sneezing. Am I perhaps on my way to join Reggie Maudling on his journey to eternal peace and tranquillity?

David of Stockport phoned at 9 and was in good spirits joking about Martyn. Retired to bed at 10:17pm with several paracetemols.


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Tuesday February 14, 1978

Moon's first quarter 22:11   St Valentine

Seasons Greetings

When All the World is young, lad
And all the trees are green,
with every goose a swan, lad
And every lass a Queen,
They hey for boot and horse, lad
Around the world way,
Young blood must have it's course, lad
and every dog his day.

This poem was inserted in my diary 5 years ago this day. Is it Kingsley? I like it. It could be by Karl Marx for all I know.

I did extremely well this Valentine's Day. I have checked previous years: 1977 ~ none; 1976 ~ 2; 1975 ~ none; 1974 ~ not recorded; 1973 ~ one from June Bottomley. How did I do in 1978? Well, 2 cards, and one passionate letter arrived in today's post. One card is postmarked Pulborough, West Sussex (no doubt from Jacq) and the other card is from Carole and postmarked Leeds. The letter is from Carole too.

It reads:


                                           Monday 13th Feb, 1978
                                           To Michael ~ How do you say goodbye?
                                           Don't Tell me not to cry.
                                          The warmth of your smile,
                                           The passion of your kiss,
                                           Is with me all the while,
                                           Is it to end like this?
                                           Please don't go my love
                                           You said you'd always stay,
                                           You gave me the greatest love of my life,
                                           Oh how can you walk away?
                                           I'd give my life to see you again
                                           That love in your eyes for me
                                           Love from Carole
                                                   xxxx
                                                    xxx
                                                     xx

Bloody Hell, she makes Lord Byron sound like Stan Ogden in one swoop of the pen. Hell, I didn't even send her a card. I shall have to get writing, and quickly. Do I get more points due to the fact that she's engaged to another?

I am pleased with today. I've just heard a piece of music called 'Romance' by Charles Widor which I find haunting and beautiful. I shall have to buy it and get it out of my system.

Wrote to David L and Christine.My letter to CB was one of complaint at not receiving a Valentine's card. Jacq and Carole will be dealt with ~ correspondence wise ~ tomorrow.

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Monday February 13, 1978

A nasty, disappointing day. At the YP I find that Eileen is the only occupant of the Library ~ so that's an end to the Rawtenstall venture. Sarah is off with a stomach upset and Mrs ______ has 'the flu', or so we are informed by her horribly snobby mother. If this is the case the next time I have a cold I'm going to phone in and tell them I'm having an abortion.

I phoned Chris and told him I couldn't make it and he was good about it. He may not even go himself because of the weather.

At lunchtime I purchased three Valentine's cards and despatched them to Christine, Jacqui, and WPC Carolle Jones. I thought of sending one to Carole but decided against it. Fogarty would only make her life more of a Hell than it already is. It's a great pity that we cannot be friendly and nice to each other.

To other things: Mrs Thatcher's been making an impact at Harrogate where a Young Conservative thing is going on. She has an eleven per cent lead over the government according to an opinion poll (Ha Ha) but it seems that Callabum is determined to hang on until the Spring of 1979.

Peter Townsend was interviewed on TV tonight where he discussed Princess Margaret for the first time. He seems remarkable for a 63 year-old. Would things, one wonders, have worked out less sordid for the Princess had she married the Group Captain in 1955? Her love life since has definitely been one ghastly misfortune after another. Indeed, in a month's time the Snowdons will have been separated for 2 years and entitled to divorce. Snowdon wants to marry Mrs Lucy Lindsay-Hogg, reputedly his mistress. We shall have to wait and see.

To bed with Baroness Orczy at 12. Fell asleep with the bedroom light burning brightly.

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Monday February 14, 1977

Valentine's Day again. Blimey, it comes round quickly doesn't it? Why it only seems like yesterday since that special delivery van from the Post Office brought 48 million Valentine's Day greeting cards to my door along with bunches of floral tributes and various other sundry gifts. And what did I get this year? Bugger all. Yes, not a sausage. Who would have ever thought that the day would dawn when Michael Rhodes could climb out of bed on Valentine's morn to discover no mail whatsoever? I wouldn't have. Nevertheless, life must go on.

Emerge from my slimy den at 1 o'clock. Pathetic isn't it? The BBC doesn't mention anything about the plight of the foreign secretary until 2pm. He's in a critical condition and it doesn't look as though he's going to get his money's worth from any Valentine's greetings he's despatched.

Maria and baby come up at 2.30 and stay to tea. John coming here straight from work with Mama. The baby is really incredible these days, smiling at everyone. It's hilarious to hear him laugh when he's 'roughed up' a bit. Dad spends all afternoon just bouncing him about.

Sir Robin Day.

Tony rings. See Robin Day on 'Panorama' make mincemeat of Joe Haines, former press secretary to Sir Harold Wilson. It's obvious to one and all that Mr Haines is a bloody liar. Dad goes hairless about these so-called political animals who cash in by writing books when the ink on their resignation letters is still wet. Can't blame them really, though some of the things they come out with is quite preposterous. Watch 'Up Pompei' with Frankie Howerd. Saw the film with Dave Lawson five or six years ago. That reminds me, if I don't write to David this week I'll be unfit to call myself a friend of his because I've made no contact at all since the beginning of January. Bloody disgraceful, eh? Bed at 11.30.

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Saturday February 14, 1976

Valentine's Day. Get up at 11.30 and give Carole her Valentine's card in person. Mine hasn't arrived and she's worried about the whereabouts of it. It arrives in the afternoon. I also received a card from Christine, which is a birthday card for a one-year old and it has me in stitches. Get no others, but it's two better than last year at least which proved Valentinecardless.

Mum and Dad go out after lunch and John messes about with his car whilst Maria, Lynn and Sue go bridesmaid dress purchasing. Mrs Macdonald has taken it upon herself to decide what everybody is wearing at the forthcoming wedding.

Down to the Hare tonight after collecting Carole from Oakridge Castle. Mrs Phillips is a bit ratty about Carole not going home last night but at least she's speaking which is a gigantic step towards re-establishing diplomatic relations.

After the Hare Carole, Christine B and Chris and I go to Bingley and then up to Oakwood Hall which is a laugh. I get rather pissed. The four of us pile back to Pine Tops for coffee and a riotous session follows in the lounge where CB takes a fancy to Mum's new sheepskin rug. Mama is roused and shouts down saying "it sounds like a fairground". Not another word was spoken.

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Friday February 14, 1975

St Valentine's Day. Farcical day, or perhaps I should say farcical evening.

Didn't get any Valentine's cards. John got two. Lynn had a massive thing from Dave, and so did Sue from Peter. My magnetic charm must be fading. Am I losing my sex appeal at 19 and a half?

Went to the Wellesley with Maura at lunchtime. She obviously fancies Dave still, and I suppose a reunion will take place shortly. The fool sends her telegrams,roses, and boxes of chocolates, &c.

Chris collected us at nearly 8pm and a vast multitude collected in the Hare. Gillian thingy or whatever she calls herself flung herself at me in the Hare and stuck to me all night, drinking about a quids work of vodka & lime in the process. Thrown together in the darkness near the end of Peter's van she quite naturally sought to reduce my resistence. I was in something of a quandry at about 11. Everyone said they were going to Wikis, but I realised Maura and Marian would be there. Wouldn't like to be confronted with Marian and Gillian in the beer swilling haven of our local night spot. Back to Gillian's pad with Peter M and Carol S. Stay until after 1am.
John came home at about 5.30am and didn't have a key. Woke to find him on the top of a ladder tapping on my window. Laughed myself to sleep.

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Thursday February 14, 1974

Valentine's Day. This general election is making me sick. The tv can do nothing other than show Harold Wilson attacking Robin Day. The Prime Minister is spending his time walking round the Tory strongholds, bare-headed in the rain, making amiable noises to innocent shop assistants, and patting the heads of Tory babies. And where is it all getting us I ask? Jeremy Thorpe is the only decent politician left - it's a shame he doesn't stand a snowball in Hell's chance of forming a government.

A very exciting afternoon. At 1 o'clock I made my way into the Headrow in order to purchase my sandwiches from Malcolms Confectioners & Co. The shop was more than laden with gentlefolk, who were themselves pursuing the daily task of purchasing sustainance. This gathered multitude formed an orderly queue - out onto the sunlit Headrow like a peninsula or reproving finger. My person was near the end of this line, and in my idleness my eyes gazed in mild approval at the Victorian structure, commonly called the Town Hall, whilst at the same time my stomach insisted on reminding me that the ancient, noble Leeds buildings could not restore peace to the empty cavern in the hollow of my belly. My hunger was appeased by the touch of gentle female hands on the back of my neck turning my thoughts to other forms of sustainance. Yes, it was dear Sue Crosby. Such an eccentric she is! We fled like petrified sheep to the Central pub where we encountered Peter Lazenby, who still seems enamoured of dear Sue. Consumed 2 pints and a pleasant, much needed corned beef sandwich. Sue and I nearly crawled back up Wellington Street............to......work.....


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Wednesday February 14, 1973

St Valentine's Day. Awoke at 7.45. The lane looked like something pictured on a Christmas card. Perfectly picturesque. Nothing looks nicer than a beautiful snow scene. Waiting for me downstairs was the Valentine's card from June - I recognised the writing on the envelope.
A pleasant walk to the bus stop through crisp snow. Got to school at 9. Chris had not forgotten Louise's card after all - he had spent 75p on one. June arrived at 9.30. My card to her had not been delivered. She looked awfully upset. I had to explain that it would probably be a late delivery. She cheered up. At 10 Chris and I went for an interview with Mr Gaunt - he arranged for two interviews at Lewis's and Debenham's for a week on Saturday.
At lunchtime Pee Wee, Willy, June, Janet and myself went for a play in the snow - it was fantastic but very cold. June sure is a good shot with a snowball, and Janet Roots is a devil, she got everywhere and resembled a snowman.
Louise, Chid, Irene and myself had a discussion on religion during the afternoon. Chid said our sole purpose in life is to reproduce. He would say that. He added that we humans are only well educated animals. Louise and I, Christians, got really narked. Irene abstained.
At 4.15 Michael Stott, Janet, Linda, June and I went out into the snow once again. What a laugh. It's been a really wonderful day. June, the weather, everything! Since last month things have become much more enjoyable. I feel a poem coming on:

When all the world is young, lad
And all the trees are green
with every goose a swan, lad
And every lass a Queen
Then hey for boot and horse, lad
Around the world away
Young blood must have its course, lad
and every dog his day

Quiet evening at home. Bath. Bed at 11.20. June and I are going to the Emmotts tomorrow. Linda might be dropping out leaving us alone. It's probably part of the Bottomley/West scheme. Of course I will need to borrow the usual £1 until Saturday night again - no difficulties with this at all now. I am much too tired to write any more. I have outlined the day thoroughly enough.
Good night all!

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Tuesday February 13, 1973

Awoke at 7.45 to blinding snow banging against my bedroom window. However, the sun came out at about 8.30 - a beautiful contrast with the thick, white carpet shrouding the area. The sky was china blue. Groves gave one of his usual lectures. I have forgotten on what subject, but it was something barely worth mentioning. In the common room I attempted to play "Big Six" on the record player. It's been banned by the BBC, and Judge Dread has now released "Big Seven" - even dirtier. Irene, self-styled guardian of the 6th form morals, found it most distasteful.
June arrived at 9.50. During the 1st lesson I attempted to discover June's address, which was fixed at 72 Featherbank Lane, Horsforth. We spent the first 2 lessons together and at 11.10 we walked out in the crisp, cold snow. June went without her coat. I was shivering inside my "budgie" jacket. I deposited £1.60 at the Post Office. However, my main intention on journeying out was to buy June a Valentine's card. I had not accounted for her accompanying me on the excursion. I escorted her back to school only to leave once again for Rawdon quite alone. I found a nice card costing 25p - very classy. On arriving back I told her that the woman at the Post Office had given me the wrong change - I could tell she knew otherwise. For lunch I shared a can of soup with Cowie. June also purchased a salmon sandwich and French bun for me - which I duly consumed. Some of the 6th form lads envy me being with June. Chid says he's amazed what June sees in me.
Dave really has caught the card bug - everyone are gambling like mad fiends and he certainly has caught the disease. He delayed buying his lunch until 1.35.
June and I sat at the same table all afternoon - our eyes kept meeting. Chris and Louise have been fighting again. Chris has forgotten to buy Louise a Valentine's card... heads will roll tomorrow.
A mass clean-up campaign began in the 6th form today. Mr Elliott (the headmaster) is paying us a Royal visit at morning break tomorrow. We all suspect he's doing this for ulterior motives - i.e. it's Valentine's Day and he fancies his chances with some of the girls.
Mrs Lane came across for History today. They all dissolved in fits of laughter when I told them that Churchill had resigned on the day that I was born. She said he's been able to stand up to Hitler but I was just the limit.
June and I went to Rawdon Library at 4.30 - emerging 10 minutes later for our dreaded buses.
Arrived home at 5.15 and spent a quiet evening in front of the telly. Snow carried on all evening.The gas men went on strike as soon as this weather arrived. The Daily Mail predicts that many old age pensioners will die from cold this winter due to the ignorance of the trade unions. The gas men are murderers. They will pay for this before God. Vic Feather has a lot on his conscience.

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Monday February 12, 1973

The filthiest day of the year. Awoke at 7.50 leaving for school on the 8.33 bus. I had to walk down the lane which is open to God's elements. I arrived at the bus stop having experienced them all. I was soaked to the very skin. Arrived at school at 8.55. We received another lecture from Groves concerning the legitimate case of IOUs in the common-room servery. Evidently, Irene is tightening up following her coup d'etat last week. June arrived at 9.35 and we discussed yesterdays events. What had happened to Ivy missing from the Emmotts last night? June suspects she is dead. The weather was a contrast of rain, snow, sun, hail, frost, and driving wind - my optimistic view of a possible mild winter may be proved to be quite wrong after all. June has changed since Friday. She's much more serious and the way she looks at me is different. Her eyes devour me altogether. I feel so inadequate and immature. But I have a lot to be happy for.
Princess Anne is now reported to be aboard a battleship on the Black Sea, the guest of a fat, bombastic Commie! God, what will Heath do next to get on the right side of the Reds? He'll be packing the poor Queen off to Moscow next! The poor princess is having to converse with one of the pigs who killed in cold blood the Tsar in 1917, and his innocent wife and children, who were the cousins of our very own Mountbatten family - the Tsarina being a great-aunt of the Duke of Edinburgh. Just because President Nixon of the USA and the so called ex-earl Sir Alec Douglas-Home, MP, can go off making amiable noises in Peking I see no earthly reason why an innocent young princess should be placed up the creek with a fat commie saying nice things to HRH when everyone knows he doesn't mean it! Obviously, our dear Press are full of things about improvements in Anglo-Russian affairs - how positively naive!
June and I walked just the two of us down to the bus stop again. All we seem to do is walk backwards and forwards to ruddy bus stops - and they always come when you least want them to (the buses).
A quiet evening at home. John and I listening to the Diana Ross LP. Retired at 10.45 to bed. Mum and Dad are finally going out with the Smiths on Thursday. Also on Thursday Susan is throwing a rave-up for some of her contemporaries - it is usually my night out, but in the name of romance I would rather go out on Wednesday (Valentine's Day). I will ask June tomorrow.

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