Thursday July 26, 1979

_. Maria's 21st birthday today. We didn't see her. I think John was taking her out for dinner.

Didn't get into the YP until 9:30 and tempers there were frayed. For £45 a week I think I have every right to pinch the occasional hour here and there. Sarah, seeing my depression, gave comforting words. Lynn just needs time, she says. Delia has given me a photo of the two of us at Ivory Towers last September. Sarah says one of Delia's legendary luncheon parties is imminent.

David B came to help Dad and Jim welding on the car. Constantly welding. It baffles me.

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Monday April 16, 1979

_. Bank Holiday in England, Ireland & Wales.

Incredibly warm day. I had to go into the YP too. Roads are dead, deserted and once again I have the distinct impression that I am the only bugger working this Bank Holiday Monday. Just Carol J & me in the office, which was lifeless. More noise to be heard in the crypt of St George's Chapel, Windsor, I suspect. Did a deal with Carol letting her go home at 2pm, but I took a two hour lunch break from 1pm, and came back to work at 3 for an hour.

At lunchtime I was joined at 1pm by Sue, Pete & darling Ally and we found ourselves in Whitelocks because both Len's Bar and the Ostlers were closed. Gulped back lager and beef and red cabbage sandwiches. They collected me at 4 after my feeble one hour back at the YP, and they tell me that some unfortunate devil has drowned in the weir at Kirkstall Abbey. Damned Bank Holiday swimmers - they just cannot be trusted.

Tonight: with Sue, Pete and Ally to the Commercial. She [Ally] is now very cynical about marriage ___________.

On at 9:30 to the Prachee Indian Restaurant at White Cross. I had prawn Madras curry, &c. All quite drunk and outspoken. A waiter attempted to rob me, but I didn't let him get away with it.

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Thursday April 12, 1979

_. Escaped from the YP at 3:30 and in Guiseley I obtained a lift home from Papa, who came to meet me.

John, Maria and JPH are home for Easter. Maria had a 'scan' yesterday ~ whatever that might mean, and the doctors say she is not expecting a multiple birth. Her due date is August 2.

Watched 'The Song of Bernadette' ~ an ancient religious epic, and then devoured a hot curry. Decided to go out with John tonight, but Maria and Sue said they wanted to come too, so that's that. Chippy will have a seizure if a woman appears in the Shoulder on the boys night out.

Out at 8:30 to the Shoulder with John, Maria, Sue and Janet Simon. Pete N is in with Chippy, Neil and Dave W, but they left minutes later ~ Pete being incredibly childish. Refusing to socialise simply because it is Thursday.

We had fish and chips at Harry Ramsden's because Maria has a fixation. She told me that the baby, if a boy, may be Charles.

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Thursday February 22, 1979

_.  The Duchess of Kent is not pregnant - Fred [Manby] has this information directly from York House, her London home. Her cancellation of various public engagements is due to ill health. Happy 46th birthday, your Royal Highness all the same.

A funny night. Peter and I went to the Shoulder, as usual, at 8 o'clock. Chippy was working at the asylum until 9:30 and so we sat about drinking our traditional ale and waited.  Unfortunately, he never materialised, and Peter became quite agitated, and drove desperately around in search of him, from the Shoulder to the asylum, and even to his home. Mrs Ash said he'd left work at 9:30. Peter was like a petrified sheep. _______________ .

I'm a bit fed up of Oakwood Hall. It's far nicer to accompany a young lady to the place instead of relying on a pack of pissed -up whores to take a shine to one when one actually walks through the door half canned, bleary of eye and obviously on the 'pick up'.

Honestly, the older I get the harder it is to chat up the talent. This is because the talent is growing younger and younger. Blimey, most of them nowadays never even saw the 1950s.

Anyway it was to Oakwood Hall with Peter until 2am. Met and danced with another Sarah. She was horribly drunk and had no recollection of seeing me at Oakwood on February 8. Not pissed-up myself.

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Wednesday January 10, 1979

For two nights now I've dreamt about death. Not my death, but the death of unfortuate beings very close to me. I find it disturbing. I'm not going to explain here. Putting the details on paper would be sickening and tempting fate, and all that. It's probably all due to the vast amounts of Scottish cheese I've taken to devouring every night.

Thick snow today. I attempted to shovel it from the drive at 7:45am but didn't get very far.

To the YP with Jim, Jenny and Alec (Muriel's brother), and Donald Best. The discussion in the car was Princess Margaret and the saintly Lord Snowdon. They all disagreed when I said Snowdon was the first to stray. Evidently, it's still the fashion to abuse the poor, defenceless woman.

Kenneth More: nauseating

Sarah and Carol went off to a literary luncheon at the university to see the actor Kenneth More, and James Burke, the tv personality. Both nauseating, in my opinion.

Just me and Kathleen all day. It's just not done to talk about sex, play cards, or laugh raucously in Kathleen's presence, and so I hid behind a filing cabinet with a great heap of photographs.

Dad has announced that he wants to read Kipling. Has he said this before? Probably at the end of 1978? I suggested that he reads Crossman's journals instead - but the shear size of the volume puts him off. Besides, he has an

James Burke

aversion to the intellectual, middle-class type of Labour MP of which Richard Crossman and 'Woy' Jenkins are prime examples.

Sue and Pete went down to the Shoulder of Mutton to make a final farewell party for Gus and Frank, but only Chippy materialized ~ with his 'girlfriend'. They came home at 10:30 covered in snow. I don't suppose Gus will get much of that in the Golan Heights. To bed at midnight.




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Tuesday January 9, 1979

Slight snow. Boring at the YP. We played cards all lunchtime. I'm becoming quite fanatical about poker. I do have an addictive personality. It was Dave Lawson who said that greyhound racing would be my downfall.

To the library in town with Sarah. Took out the Crossman Diaries 1964-68 which should see me nicely into autumn.

Poor Sarah wanted a volume on rugby league, but the whole of Leeds City Library was ransacked without success. Ray Fletcher will see her right.

On the subject of books I have just finished reading "Handful of Dust" by Evelyn Waugh. Quite the most entertaining volume I've read in years, but sad and frustrating.

Went to Delia's with S(arah) this evening. Delia gave me red wine and spoke about the possibility of decorating the exterior of Leeds Town Hall with garlands of gladioli, &c. She is insane. She is a marvellous friend is Delia Collis with the mind of a teenager. She cooked pork fillet in prunes which was delicious. Sarah and I ate chocolates afterwards and enjoyed a few hands of rummy. The dog, Sophie, resembles a long-haired caramel seal.

At 6:30 we left for Leeds and met Marilyn (Wheeler) at the ABC cinema. Saw Christopher Reeve, Marlon Brando and others in 'Superman'. It started well but was weak. Did a good deal of laughing, but in inappropriate places. It's Sarah's opinion that the advertisements are very often better produced and far more entertaining than the epic on screen. Marlon Brando was paid £200,000 a minute for his brief appearance, I believe.

The journey home was tedious. Marilyn is no conversationalist. She sat there like a dummy. Sarah sat smoking like a chimney, similarly uncommunicative. Pissed up football hooligans were on the upper deck of the bus. Much use of the word 'fuck'.

Home at 11:45. Had cheese on toast. To bed at 12:53am.

-=-

Monday December 4, 1978

This afternoon the National Union of Journalists voted to strike, and according to John MacMurray it may mean a virtual shut~down (of the Yorkshire Post) until the New Year. The editors will not last long working alone. A sad day indeed. However, we in the library will carry on undaunted.

Sarah is off with a cold which is no surprise because she looked washed out all last week. No personal phone calls today - but I did send a quick note to Christine on the prospect of our seeing each other on Thursday.

Carol J saw Jacq on Saturday night at the Regent in Chapel Allerton. ___________________.


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Monday August 28, 1978

Late Summer Bank Holiday (UK, except Scotland)

To the YP on this August Bank Holiday Monday. Just Sarah and I in the office with absolutely nothing to do. Sarah always shows her face on public holidays. She says she refuses to celebrate with the masses and prefers to take her time off at her own discretion.

-=-

Thursday August 24, 1978

St Bartholemew

Nightmare of a day. At about 8 this morning I sprained my ankle, or perhaps twisted it, down in Guiseley whilst going for my bus. I tripped on a crooked pavement and fell through the door of Rhodeses Newsagents shop and landed on a revolving Christmas card display, showering shoppers with cellophane, glitter covered robins, and grotesque Santa Clauses.

Wracked with pain for the rest of the day I staggered about the office to the moronic amusement of my colleagues. What with my arse, and now this.

Jacq dissolved when I told her. She came and collected me with a wheelchair and pushed me across to the Central for a quick anaesthetic. She cried with laughter. The swelling worsened in the afternoon and I had to resort to asking Papa to pick me up at the bus stop to ferry me home.

Reclined in the bath later. Found solace with Lady Chatterley at about 10:30. Dave B accused me harming my own ankle on purpose to avoid working at Lawn Road.

-=-

Sunday August 13, 1978

13th after Trinity

The sun shone down upon us this morning. I was out of bed by 10am cooking breakfast for Jacq and myself.

Afterwards Susan worked wonders with Mum's hair and they both retreated into the garden. At 11:30 Jacq and I walked down to the Commercial. She told me it's our first date 'alone' ~ with just the two of us ~ since I came back from San Antonio. She says she was getting quite a complex about it.

We sat outside at the pub drinking Stella Artois and had beef sandwiches. Jacq says she wants to be a housewife and rear about 10 kids. Evidently, Derek is keen to be a grandfather. __________.

Our solitude was interrupted by Sarah and Delia who came down at about 1 o'clock. Whilst Sarah was inside getting the drinks Delia informed us that Sarah finished with John Mac last night because he's such a boring, dull person. In front of Jacq she went on to say that I'm more Sarah's type and says I stand a good chance. Jacq almost choked on her lager and blackcurrant. Sarah and Delia went over to gaze at the church for half an hour & then shot off leaving me with a note to pass on to dear Mama.

At 2 we returned home taking a short cut across the fields. Poor Jacq wasn't dressed for the hike. We sat with Mum in the garden and devoured more sandwiches until 4:30 when we went into Leeds together.

I was at the YP for 5:30. The evening was completely dead. At 10 I met Jacq again and we had a drink at the Central. Supping shandy listening to the pulsating music. Home in a taxi at midnight. My driver told me his dream is to have a milk round. Mum had left me a dinner on a plate. I didn't get to bed until 1:09am.

-=-

Monday July 24, 1978

The YP landed on me with a resounding crash. The whole thing is simply too horrific to discuss. Well, it was like this. I was minding my own business in the fashion that I usually mind my own business in, and quite by chance I found myself on Wellington Street, a grubby, protrusion smelling of alcohol, abutting the famous City Square. Then it happened. Yes, a large, grey, slime~covered building leapt out in my path and before I could struggle or make a dash for it I had been totally devoured. It was the Yorkshire Post.





Ode to the Yorkshire Post

I believe you are a newspaper,
Keith's Mum seems to think so anyway,

Myself I prefer the Daily Mail,
I don't know why.

E. Jarvis Thribb.

-=-

Monday June 19, 1978

I went straight to the office arriving at 8:45 blistered and still covered in a fine layer of sand. The day proved too much for me and at 12 I had to leave the YP and make my way home.

Jacq came to see me at 8, bringing flowers for Mama whose wedding anniversary it is today. Minutes later I was out cold. Oh God! My first night in a bed since Thursday!

-=-

Friday June 9, 1978

Strangely enough I had no hangover when I climbed out of bed at 10:30 or 11 o'clock. Perhaps I warded off this malady due to the fact that I ate a sizeable plate of sandwiches (soaked in blood from my cut finger) washed down with coffee, orange squash, &c.

This morning Mother and Father are covered in dust demolishing the dining room. More decorating. After a small breakfast I left them to it and set out to meet Jacq in Leeds. There for 12:30. I have £3 to see me through to Thursday next week which made my journey seem futile. _____________. Jacq and I passed a serious, reflective afternoon in the Ostlers discussing previous relationships. It was interesting. I was just about in tears on the subject of June and my thwarted passion.

From the pub we went next door to the HMV shop and Jacq snatched up the old Barclaycard and bought the 'Saturday Night Fever' LP and the single 'Hey America' by Mr James Brown.

We walked around Leeds arm in arm. Do you know I am quite proud of my appearance these days. The days when Lynne Mather accused me of 'letting myself go' are now history. Clad in my tight jeans, black pointed boots and baggy Pete Holroyd shirt I llook like some stunning Romeo from the jet-set world.

However, to come down to earth and reality slightly, I worked from 5pm until midnight. Back to the old routine folks, and I quite enjoyed it. Jacq came into the YP at 6:30 and I entertained her with the picture files of the royal family until 9 o'clock when I threw her out. John Mac commented (jokingly) on her presence in the office and pointed out that NATSOPA wouldn't be amused if they knew I was entertaining a strawberry blonde. My response was that the editor has women in his office every day and that Lord Briginshaw can go piss off. (In case you're interested, Lord Briginshaw is a big noise in NATSOPA, reputedly a trade union). I left at midnight leaving the new records in the office.

-=-

Friday June 2, 1978

Her Blessed Majesty the Queen was crowned a quarter of a century ago this day. Jacq and I and a few close friends celebrated in the correct style. Her Majesty would be ever so proud of us if she only knew just how much we drank to commemorate this day.

Hot. Again I met Jacq at Parker's wine bar for a few beverages at 12. She was horrified today because for the first time she learned the full extent of my lack of finances. She sat reeling on the bar stool with the colour drained from her divine cheeks as I informed her I only earn £32 per week (after Mr Healey's deductions of course). She orders me to resign with immediate effect and seek employment elsewhere. It's not quite as easy as that though, is it?

At 4:30 I made good my escape from the YP.

This evening Mum and Dad gave me a lift to the Station Hotel. Jacq arrived and the two of us went to David L's where we sat with him and Mr & Mrs Lawson until Andy and Nicole arrived at 9 o'clock. From here we went to the Traveller's Rest at Crimple, near Harrogate. A riotous night followed which saw us drinking pints of beer through gaily coloured straws. Isn't it supposed to make you pissed? Haven't been to the Travellers Rest for years.

It was good to be out in David's company again. He seems to get on well with Jacq. He plans to throw his Christmas party slightly early this year ~ in August ~ because when he starts his new job December will be the busiest period. The year wouldn't be the same without a party at Tennyson Street.

We piled in back home at 11:30 to sample wine. Poor Nicole was pissed. Jacq stayed the night. She's working in the morning. We laid on the floor together reading 'The Times'. I explained to her the rudiments of newspaper librarianship. To bed at about 1am.

-=-

Monday April 3, 1978

YP a complete misery and I took a half day. Mum was in a nasty mood all afternoon.

When Jacq and her Mum came at 7:30 it all went incredibly well. Everyone took to Trixie and we all knocked back wine and ales and discussed accents, told jokes and laughed. They both howled with laughter at Lynn, who can tell an amusing tale when called upon to do so. The "Our Michael" bit is bloody funny.

Trixie was wearing the Sate diamonds and got on very well with the family. She is a comedienne especially with her mock Yorkshire dialect mock up.



Jacq smoked six or seven cigarettes all evening. They left at something in the region of 10pm, and then Pete N and I sat up untilsomething in the region of 2am discussing the house with Mummy. He expounded the theory that I could earn £70 a week at Armitage-Shanks simply labouring.

-=-

Wednesday March 15, 1978

Oh bugger the old English handwriting today. I feel absolutely revolting. Nevertheless, I crawled out of bed and attempted to make an effort at the YP, but by 11:30am I was dead. In fact, at that fateful hour I was compelled to enter the lavatories of the Yorkshire Post and did wretchedly vomit forth. It was ghastly. At 12 I 'signed off' for the day and returned homeward. The omnibus bearing my pale corpse to Guiseley was within seconds of inspecting the remainder of the contents of the above mentioned stomach.

At home the situation is cold to say the least. Mama and Papa are still considering closing their respective diplomatic delegations and to me it seems that nothing but an out and out war is inevitable. For the remainder of the day I sat ~ quiet as a mouse ~ armed with a gas mask and copy of the New English Bible. Oh, it's all very sad. But this is what marriage is all about I do suppose.  I expect Mr & Mrs Thatcher (Conservative) often fall out in similar circumstances. Goodnight.

-=-

Wednesday February 22, 1978

The traffic on New Road Side woke me at 6:30. Hungover. Predictable really. Christine's Mum went off to work hailing her goodbyes at me as I lay ~ almost in state ~ on her settee. She looked older. I haven't seen her since Mr Braithwaite died in May.

CB and Honey.

Christine was up and looked just as she did last night. I think she has an 'A' Level in 'How to Drink to Excess Without Suffering the Repercussions'. She buggered about under her car bonnet whilst I was entertained by Honey, the gorgeous doggy. It's a Golden Retriever with a bit of Alsatian thrown in. We laughed when CB told me she wanted to call it 'Spot'.

A cup of coffee and mug of orange juice gave me a boost and at 8 I bid my fond farewells and cleared off on a green bus to the YP. Having a bus stop at the garden gate must be bliss. Or is it?

CB gave me a letter that she intended posting today and I read it on my short, cold journey into Leeds. I roared with laughter and tears trickled down my icy cheeks at her wondrous composition. The girl is the greatest!

At the office Sarah and Eileen pulled my leg all morning about my stay at Horsforth. Mind you, to them I suppose it appeared more than it actually was. I left at 2:00 because I was in no fit state to do any work. My eye balls were hanging over the sides of my sockets.


Found my way home in the mist and fog and spent the remainder of the day in confinement at the fireside. For each second that I managed to keep my eyelids from caving in I thought I deserved a Duke of Edinburgh Award, preferably of the gold variety. Sadly, however, my courage went unrecognised. It's typical of the age in which we live that good British 'graft' is taken for granted.

-=-

Friday February 17, 1978

Sarah.

Hangover all morning. Sarah and I went to the Highlander for a few drinks at lunchtime and it helps to clear my head nicely. We arrived back at the YP at 2:30 to a frosty reception from Kathleen. It's always the same when we leave Carol alone. She always pulls Kathleen to one side in order to blacken our characters, and K falls for it every time. Sarah went home at 4 half pissed. She and John Mac are hitting it off. She tells me she's never been out with anyone quite so calm as John. _______.

No call from Jimmy Mac this evening and so 'Operation Drop' is abandoned. I loathe that pub anyway.

Lynn phoned me at work to tell me Mum and Dad have gone to Ambleside for the weekend and won't be home until Sunday night.

At home Sue is getting ready to go out and is drinking cherry wine by the half pint. By 8 o'clock she'd sunk the whole bottle. It's good to see I'm not the only piss artist in the family. By 'going out' time David is not back from Gloucester and so I went to the Fox & Hounds with Sue and Pete. Joined by Pete M, Chris, Martyn and Tony. My boots were received with the usual wisecracks. At 10:30 I went with Sue and Pete for some food and came home. It was cold tonight. I was compelled to drink whisky.

-=-

Friday February 10, 1978

Mike Holman's party at the Wellesley. Sarah, John MacM and I went from the YP at 6, but first I must say something about the catastrophic day.

At breakfast I decided to go by train to the vast metropolis that is Leeds. On the train I discovered, with horror, that my jeans had split open and that I was revealing all and everything to the Ilkley/Leeds inter city travellers. The woman in the seat opposite me certainly got her 37p worth. It was a good thing I had an old pair of pants at the office to change into. My arrival at the YP was received with some hilarity. Kathleen's eyes shone with delight at my predicament.

Finding my pre-war trousers incompatible with the 1978 way of life I went at lunchtime to Schofield's where I purchased a new zip fastener, a needle and cotton. Sarah did the seamstress bit after Kathleen's departure and by 5:30 I was once again clad in my faithful jeans. Good old Sarah.

Anyway, back to Mike Holman's party. The first two or three hours were somewhat dull. The booze flowed like the Danube, River Trent and Lake Windermere merged into one. Sarah and John Mac were soon pink and giggly on gin and we endured Edna Mason's dramatic entry which would have brought colour to Shakespeare's cheeks. However, things cheered up with the arrival of Tom Greenwell's assistant leader writer who is insane. He had us rolling uncontrollably in heaps on the floor. All the man could talk about was the Republic of Upper Volta and rabbit breeding.

Ursula, Wendy and others poured in and of course John Cameron, who said I'd make a nice lad once I reach puberty. Very amusing is Mr Cameron. At some unearthly hour we returned to the YP and drank in the editor's office from crates of warm, bottled beer. The little men from the Wire Room were amusing and told me things about Edna Mason that cannot appear here. Chris Oakley made a good speech for Mike and we consumed more beer before Wendy grabbed me and brought me home to Guiseley. It must have been 2:00am.

-=-

Tuesday January 17, 1978

I went out to work at my usual hour and woke up eight hours later on my own doorstep with my hair ruffled and my clothing in a state of disarray  carrying in one hand a bloody axe (dripping blood all over the pathway) and bearing in the other blood stained hand the head of Miss Kathleen Rainford, a former librarian.

I must have flipped my lid behind a filing cabinet, or something. The police were on the scene within minutes and Assistant Chief Constable Ron Buttock, CID (Crime) formally charged me with unlawfully removing a librarian's head during library hours.

My five minute appearance at Otley Magistrates Court was one of a historic nature. The Lord Chancellor (defending) wept openly as Donald Best, JP, presiding magistrate, found me guilty on eight counts of head removing in office hours. Bail was refused and although reporting restrictions were not lifted, Mrs Doris Watkins skirt was.

Goodnight.

-=-