Monday September 11, 1978

Auntie Eleanor is 51 today, and my cousin Marlene is 33.

Took Dave G to Leeds and he went off in search of the K block at the Polytechnic where he starts a week's catering course dealing with special diets.

Back to the YP and down to earth after the high of the wedding. Mum and Dad came to the office this afternoon with a proof of Lynn & Dave from the photographer Bryan Waite. I handed it over to Fred Willis, who says he'll get it in tomorrow's EP.

Dad says he took some floral displays to the Yorkshire Bank in Guiseley this afternoon. Just how creepy can you possibly get? Just imagine the manager, 'Tammy Wynette' Osborne, dancing among his bank notes with garlands of orchids and gladioli festooned everywhere. Nauseating.

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Monday April 10, 1978

SNOW! Yes, bad weather maybe, but it didn't wipe the smile off my face, and do you want to know for why? Well, it's very simple. _____________. However, this pearly, sexually arousing grin of mine died on my poor lips when, at the YP, I managed to phone the Yorkshire Bank. They, the filthy bankers, have refused to give me a loan, and no reason is to be given. No doubt it's Barclaycard who have tipped them off about my eccentric monthly payment history. It seems I am to be forever branded a debtor. Indeed, the very mention of my name in financial circles immediately wipes billions of shares off the Stock Exchange. I'm not going to let it worry me, anyway.



The reception I had at home was nothing short of violent. Mummy gave me the usual lecture. At one time she likened me to ______. Tempers were frayed beyond all comfort. Mummy took on the character of several ogres all rolled into one. Adolf Hitler and Mussolini together would have quaked and dissolved in a mess of urine on the floor had they had to endure Mama's tongue lashing. Oh, it was foul. And all because I have been refused a bank loan!

I have, in retrospect, decided that Mum's Wilson pride must have taken a severe kicking by this latest embarrassment. The Rhodes family care little about whether bank managers bestow money on them or not, but to upset a Wilson so is like smashing an eighteen ton weight on a sensitive area of a male's anatomy. Have I made myself quite clear?

The Princess Margaret nonsense has quietened down slightly. The whole brouhaha has been monstrous.

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Monday March 7, 1977

Went to Rawdon to see revolting Hough about my teeth, but he had no knowledge of my appointment. Stupid eohippus. Not wishing to waste my journey I went to see Marita, who was sat in front of the TV. She startled me by saying she was going to dancing lessons tonight and rocked me to my very foundations even more by saying MM is virtually a qualified dancing teacher. Latin American and all that!  Blimey, he's kept that quiet.

A typical day in French Revolution Paris.

Returned to Guiseley by 6 and passed a thoroughly ordinary evening at home. Well, not quite as ordinary as I would have liked it to be. Mum, Dad and Lynn became somewhat aggravated - heated - call it what you will, when I announced I was intending visiting Mr 'Tammy Wynette' Osborne, manager of the Yorkshire Bank, to obtain a loan. I was immediately declared to be on the path to ruination. Mum seemed to be beside herself with passion invoking the name of Uncle ______ as an example of how I might end up, They were successful in talking me out of seeking a bank loan for the time being, but for a while the scene was somewhat reminiscent of a typical day in French Revolution Paris.

Saw Clint Eastwood in 'A Few Dollars More' and had a hot bath at bewitching hour. Read until 1.30.



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