Thursday June 23, 1977

The diaries of John Evelyn have been sold for a tremendous (I keep using that word) sum at Christie's or Sotheby's yesterday. Are you considering put these volumes under the hammer? You might as well.

The 'flying pickets': Grunwick Dispute

A hot day but the Yorkshire Post prevents my becoming involved in it or participating in any of its pleasures. Kathleen was infuriating.

Home at 5 for sandwiches on the lawn with Mama and Papa. Tony rang at 7.30 from deepest Hertfordshire - or wherever Bishop Thingy is. He is back among us tomorrow. It was good to hear him.

Martyn is playing golf somewhere and nothing was heard from him all night.

On the news saw the 'flying pickets' in the Grunwick Dispute. (Please refer to your history books, particularly the Dictionary of National Biography and the illustrious paragraph on Sir Arthur Scargill, KG, NUM, , &c). Someone at home asked what Mr Rees, our beloved Home Secretary, is doing about all the bother and Lynn quipped: "Oh Mrs Rees doesn't like Merlyn watching all this violence on the television and so she hasn't told him about it." Brilliant. No doubt silly Meryln goes to bed when Childrens' Hour finishes. Roll on Margaret Thatcher.

To bed at 11.30 after another squabble with Mama about my financial situation.

-=-

Tuesday May 31, 1977

CB: completely flattened

A horrible, sad day. Christine rang at about 10 and said she wouldn't probably be able to attend my Silver Jubilee party. She sounded so strange, and her voice was full of sadness. I asked why, and she told me her father had died yesterday evening. I was thoroughly lost for words and shocked. She cried a bit and I think I blurted something about going to see her straight from the YP and then put the phone down.

I last saw poor Mr Braithwaite on April 29 and to think I will never see him again leaves me cold. Death is a wicked thing. In CB's shoes I'd just fall to pieces.

Left work at 4.30. Marita picked me up on Wellington Street. I told her the news and questioned her as to whether it's quite right calling in on somebody so soon after a tragedy. She thinks it can well be a comfort and so I'm encouraged. Christine is ashen faced and quiet. She hasn't quite grasped what has happened yet. Mrs B was sat smoking and did not stop talking. In fact both of them were constantly chattering about irrelevant topics and only when a lull in the conversation occurred it became obvious that they're acutely distraught. Christine's eyes were full of tears. The poor things are completely flattened. God knows what they'll do. Mr B was always the life and soul of the party -  & even I, who barely knew him, thought of him as a kind, warm and tremendous character.

CB brought me home at 5.30 and the whole family offered some sympathy and comfort.

Although the evening was sunny and bright I felt cold & miserable.

I rang Carole at lunchtime but only her obnoxious boss was in. Said I'd ring back but never got round to it.

Tony rang at 8 to say he's finally received communication from Denise in Australia. _____________.

Just watched TV until midnight and thought constantly of poor Christine and her mother. Even Lynn, who'd been working at the Hare, reports that they've all heard the news. To bed with Anne Boleyn by Marie Louise Bruce.

-==-

Monday May 30, 1977

Cloudy, but warm. A hectic day at the YP. Spent most of the day finding pics of all descendants of King George V and Queen Mary for Jack Stancomb's contribution to the Jubilee supplement. The chaos created by the Jubilee is quite amazing. The general public are going berserk and all think of little else at the moment.

Her Majesty at Covent Garden.

Don't get home until 5.45. Tony and Linda have finished - for good. Oh, not again! I have only just posted her birthday card too.  They'll have made up by the weekend. Or will they?

Rang Dave in Stockport. He'll be over on Friday evening. He's going to ring me on Thursday.

Saw the Queen, and many members of the royal family, on TV, at the Silver Jubilee Gala at the Royal Opera House Covent Garden. At midnight when she left in her large Rolls Royce the streets of London were packed with thousands of people waiting to catch a glimpse of Her Majesty. Jubilee fever. People are going insane with patriotism. The crowd was singing the National Anthem louder than I've heard it before. The Queen is perfection. Truly a legend. If this momentum grows with the years until the Golden Jubilee God knows what will happen.

-==-

Sunday May 29, 1977

Whit Sunday. Tony and I had another heart to heart chat until dawn on the usual subject - women. 'Is it better to love, or to be loved?' and 'is it better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all?' were the age-old questions posed, &c. He says he's given up with _______.I do not believe him. No sooner will she be back from __________.Horribly sad really.

Picked Linda W up at 12 and went to the Commercial. It seems to be on again with Miss White. Tony and Linda have had more than the usual amount of turbulence in their two month relationship.

Nora: metabolic upheaval

Back to Pine Tops where Mama is in a foul mood. She moans about me 'using' her and says that no Sunday lunch will be put out for me again if I stay out all night on a Saturday. So, it's goodbye to Sunday lunches then. She knows damn well of my whereabouts and at 8.30 yesterday evening she was quite amiable about my arrangements. Weird, bad tempered old bird. She was also rude to Tony and Linda and told me afterwards that she could not be sociable with my friends on  a Sunday lunchtime. A rude and ridiculous thing to say. Is perhaps poor Mum undergoing some metabolic upheaval. She is 42.

The Yorkshire Post was up to its usual standard this evening. John Cameron brought Tony and Linda to see me at 9 o'clock and I showed them round the library. Tony looked at the photos of Lady Ancram - whom he knew as Jane Howard when he lived near Arundel all those years ago.

Left at 11.30 with a subdued taxi driver who expounded no tremendous new theory to me.

-==-

Sunday May 22, 1977

Sunday after Ascension. A pity about last night because I liked the girls. But half a bottle of Scotch inside Tony finished off the relationship with a certain sordid flourish. It's unlike Tony because he isn't usually rude like that. he made endless apoligies about it afterwards pacing up and down the flat with his hair standing on end saying: "silly, silly boy".

I sat in a chair by the open window watching the sunrise but fell into bed wearing socks and shirt at about 5am waking seven hours later.

A brilliant, hot, sunny day. After a bit of cleaning round Tony and I got to the Rose and Crown for one final Sunday lunch drink. Then it was back to a deserted Pine Tops for coffee, a bath and slices of cheese on toast. There was no sign of any of the family when I left for the YP at 4.45pm.

Tony: pacing around with hair standing on end

Poor Tony _______.When he drove me home from Ilkley this afternoon I just sat and laughed at him. We laughed about Carole playing hard to get. Who would have believed any of it?

Nothing of interest at the YP. Telephoned Mama who says she spent the day at John & Maria's. Left at 11 with my eyes feeling like lead.

The taxi driver seemed to have an interest in the English language, particularly slang, and demonstrated his interest by the use of several words of a very coarse nature in some of his sentences. He was also a keen follower of the pop scene taking a particular interest in the charming songs performed by the Stylistics.

-==-

Wednesday May 11, 1977

Don't hear a bloody thing until Mum and Dad come in for lunch at 1.45pm. Sat yawning over a cup of tea and then opened my mail. Two bloody letters. One from Helen Malin which points out I owe her £1 and not vice versa. Oh shit. I said that the royal baby would be born in the spring or summer of '77 and if it arrived any later I would pay up. What a horrific thought. The other is a letter from Kathryn. It is perfection itself and I settle down to reply and before I know where I am it's 4 o'clock and time to go to the dreaded YP.

Diary: red ink works wonders

Charged down the lane and got at bus. At the office for 5. I made enquiries about coaches for Saturday returning Sunday. Peter Mather amazes me __________.

Work was busy and tiresome. Ursula is very nice to work with. I do believe I experienced an erotic dream about her the other night. Of all people. I must be daft or something. How do you like my change of handwriting? Mrs Monkman, who left number 60 yesterday, gave me the pen. I do believe her brother sent it to her from Japan. One would have thought that the Japs would have caught onto the biro by now. I still think this nice red hue works wonders. Blue ink became so depressing.

The taxi driver tonight was no leading authority in any field. If he was he didn't bring it into the conversation.

-=-

Monday May 9, 1977

Horrible, hectic, hell of a day. Just Sarah, Eileen and I and it's jut too busy. To make matters worse Dave Bruce insulted me by saying I look three months pregnant. But I'm a man. It's obviously the combination of gallons of lager and jeans with a 30 inch waist.

Carole phoned at 3-ish. Arrange to go out on Thursday. She tells me she phoned Denise this morning and ________. Somehow I don't think outsiders should become involved because no outside aid can be given. They both know how things stand.

I phoned Dave G and said I'd be over on Saturday - just who with I don't know. Rang Chris tonight and he says he'll phone back tomorrow. I don't think he or Pete M want to go, and Martyn has a golf tournament and so I may be going freelance. Sod them anyway.

Tony rang and says he got really pissed yesterday afternoon. ________________.It's like a bloody Greek tragedy. On the subject of Greek tragedies - what about the return of Carole?  Every day I ask the same questions, none of which can be answered satisfactorily. Am I to go to my grave loveless and alone just because I cannot forget a horrible incident a year ago which I was more or less responsible for? I'm not interested in any other female and she seems to feel the same way about me. Should I forget May 1976 forever? Will it be on my conscience until the end of time?

-=-

Sunday May 1, 1977

3rd after Easter. Wet day. Not going to say much because it was such a normal, uninteresting day. The Silver Jubilee is looming. The poor Queen is going to be exhausted by autumn. Bless the Old Girl.

Naomi: dragged me in

Saw part of the 'Edward VII' series on tv and then Mama gave me a lift into Guiseley in torrential rain. I was stood at the bus stop for ten minutes when Naomi drove up, threw open her car door and dragged me inside. Very hospitable of her. Miss K. Moorhouse was a fellow passenger. They were on their way to Denise's for dinner. Eventually got a bus at Rawdon at 5.20pm. Work was up to it's usual mundaneness. Can anything be 'up to it's usual mundaneness?' or have I invented the word?

Taxi home at midnight. My driver was a silent one this time. Not a reptile expert or connoisseur of Rococo architecture as they usually are. The journey home was one of inward thought and general reflection. Poured with rain all the way.

Ate boiled eggs and sat looking at one of the lower class Sunday papers. Queen Victoria awaited my attention in my boudoir but my eyes ached and I had no intention of taking her up tonight.

Isn't it remarkable how some days I fill a page with minute, incredibly tiny handwriting and on other more lazy occasions I can scribe away like something not dissimilar to a moron?

King George V had silly handwriting, you know.

-==-

Tuesday April 26, 1977

The great battle with Kathleen never took place. She came in at 9 o'clock and did a Neville Chamberlain on me. In other words she appeased me and for a few minutes I was astounded. "Before you have chance to say no and refuse me" she said "I'm not going to ask you to work Friday nights". That's my little problem solved.

Carol: like Princess Alexandra of Kent

Sarah demanded some action on Carol's behaviour but Kathleen pointed out that the editor and other great officers of state would be on C's side. Allies as it were. Carol came in the office and paraded about as though she was Princess Alexandra of Kent. Sickening it all was, and Sarah looked piteously dejected when we left this evening. We talked of resigning.

At tea time I asked Susan whether Miss Phillips and Mr Fogarty were becoming engaged today. She says that they entered into a matrimonial agreement on Saturday. Minutes later Tony rang and he mentioned Carole. He rang her today and she told him she 'wasn't really bothered' about being engaged and it had been Peter (Fogarty) who had pushed all the way. Does the girl realise just what she is doing? I never intended leading her on but she is now actually engaged to a poor soul with whom she feels nothing but indifference. Martyn has said she is doing all this to spite me and my reaction was that it was a far fetched suggestion but now I'm not too sure. Lynn plays hell about Carole when I tell her of the conversation and she says Carole's attitude is 'immature'.

It pissed down all morning and blinded us with bright sun in the afternoon. I think I'm very tired. My eyes ache and I feel unpleasant too. I don't think I can put up with the strain much longer.

I just sat in front of the television and watched another play. The nine o'clock news boring as usual with the same old story about the 'stricken oil rig'. One oil rig is very much like another. Pleasant sort of person aren't I? Retired to bed at 11 after a bath. Sat with Queen Victoria and the Princess Royal, or Crown Princess of Prussia, or the Empress Frederick or whatever you call her.

-=-

Saturday April 23, 1977

St George's Day. Up at 11 and after ten minutes or so a panic-stricken Sarah rang to say Kathleen will shortly be ringing to put a new scheme to me about working Friday nights in future following another "Mrs J Incident" yesterday afternoon when she apparently spent her working hours in a Bacchanalian orgy in the editor's office. Kathleen is now intending to work no night shifts because these disgraceful incidents only ever occur when she isn't in the office.

Kathleen rang at 11.30 but Mum told her I was out. Good old Mum who never tells lies. She did it quite convincingly too. If she insists on pushing this Friday night lark I shall go.

I rang Sarah but only Delia was in. She had me in stitches about the Harrogate Flower Show disaster. The marquee collapsed and hundreds of pounds worth of damage was caused. Queer sense of humour don't you think?

Chat with Lynn about relationships. _______.

New Knights of the Garter are the Earl of Cromer and Lord Elworthy. No one sensational like Tommy Docherty or George Best ever get it.

Peter.

Peter M came at lunchtime. He announced that Chris isn't socialising today because of forthcoming examinations and so he came to pester me for a change. We went to see Tony in Ilkley and decided to go out in a foursome tonight - Linda included.

Back for tea at 5.30. John and Maria were just leaving for their country retreat on Ridgeway and Mum and Dad head off to Wath for dinner. Susan and Peter go to Flashman's. They return with tales of wonderment but  I cannot see anything taking the place of dear Wikis.

Pete arrived at 8 and Tony and Linda half an hour later. To the Bod in Bradford. A very good pub. Packed out with females. Laughed with Linda until my sides ached. Peter M and I were more than a little pissed. He came back home and had coffee and played the record player at full belt. The others were still out. Lynn and Dave went to see the new Barbra Streisand film.

Pete said he'd enjoyed himself for the first time in ages. _______.

-==

Thursday April 21, 1977

Felt buggered all day. Like an old age pensioner in fact. Weak and wilting I fear.

Union Jacks flutter on the tops of masts in Leeds as indeed they are fluttering throughout the nation in honour of Her Majesty's 51st birthday. The sight of that red, white and blue surge quickened my pace somewhat but knackered I was all the same.

Martyn: 

Nothing worth mentioning about the YP other than pay day, and the least said about that pathetic subject the better.

Home for tea with just Mum and Dad. Tony called in to see if I'm going out tonight and I let him know the sad news. He too is short of cash but he's not letting it stand in his way. With that he's off back to Ilkley leaving me with my bacon pizza and chicken leg.

Martyn phoned to confirm tomorrow nights rendezvous with Emu and Gayle. He said Emu is quite nice and a good laugh which is a tremendous improvement on his last bulletin. He adds that he saw her earlier in the week and now approves of her fully after taking a sly peep down the front of her dress. We also talked about the holiday - 10 weeks away!

Saw 'Top of the Pops'. Retired to bed in the region of 11 and continued reading. Just heard Georgie Fame's new record on the old wireless and have taken a tremendous shin to it. 'Daylight' it's called, but it's far from daylight now and I'm going to bed. Oh bed, faithful old bed.

-=-

Wednesday April 20, 1977

Obtained a signed copy of 'Majesty' by Robert Lacey this afternoon. Lacey was at a YP Literary Lunch with Harold Macmillan and others and Carol managed to lay hold of a copy for me. 'To Michael In This Her Majesty's Jubilee Year' it says. Read about 80 pages before embarking for the Hare & Hounds tonight and really enjoyed it. Of course I recognised many of the quotations because I've read virtually everything on the Royal House of Windsor and I am a leading authority on Her Majesty (Yes, he's showing off again).

Peter N drove me to the pub and we had a couple of drinks together. Judith was in with Kathyrn Ann Young (I have confirmed the spelling) and a Highroyds Hospital psychiatrist is making them laugh hysterically. Peter left after after a couple of lagers and Judith and Kathryn joined me at the bar. Guinness, Pernod, Tequila, &c. I even knocked a pernod and orange clean off the bar. Heart-broken I was. John came in with Jimmy Macdonald and Fogarty. _______. Back to Judith's until 1am. I was a bit pissed.

Home to bed with 'Majesty' and read as far as King Edward VIII and his brief reign. Yes, even in a state of intoxication I can open a volume of a serious nature and pass a pleasant half hour. You are indeed looking at the diary of brilliant scholar, can't pass exams, but brilliant all the same.

-=-

Tuesday April 19, 1977

Got to work and felt particularly violent towards the moronic inhabitants of the crumbling building of my employ. Matt Shelley for one moved to the top of my assassinations list. Blimey, just because he's got no legs he thinks he can get away with bloody murder. Well, I for one don't have one ounce of pity or sorrow for him. Being pushed around all day eh! OK Big Matt I must say that reduces me to tears. If you want to go messing around with fast cars you must suffer the consequences. Piss off, old man!

Isn't it strange how I become enraged by certain people? Am I perhaps the murdering kind? No doubt at this very minute a Scotland Yard detective is combing these very pages for evidence. Well, hard luck, Constable. I'm not telling you just who I've killed or under which cabbage patch he or she is buried.

The Prince of Wales dined at Chequers last night and met the Cabinet. Queen Victoria wouldn't have liked that idea at all.

with Carole

Two phone calls at tea time. Auntie Mabel phones to say she met the ancient sister of one of Grandma Wilson's bridesmaids in Pudsey who told her that John Wilson married Levinyer Wood at St Paul's, Richardshaw Lane, and that my great-grandmother Wood had a baby daughter who died, also named Mabel. Good old auntie doing some family research for me.

Martyn rang to say the date with Gayle and 'Emu' is on for Friday. He suggested Manningham Fair but we debate whether the fair will still be there by Friday. Who can we contact to find out? Martyn suggests the Minister for Home AFFAIRS. No doubt my FAIRY godmother will drop in later with the answer.

Martyn thinks I'm insane dating the famous Emu. Even Tony, who falls for anything in knickers, gives great belly laughs when he hears her name mentioned. Do they know something perhaps which I do not? Can one catch horrible, incurable diseases from the emu? Tell me now before it's too late.

At 7.30 I went round to Ridgeway to see John and Maria who are in residence in the absence abroad of Jim and Molly. John is out with George (Waite) and Maria is entertaining Carole - our first meeting since March 9. Why does Carole bring out the imbecile in me? I go incredibly childish, and so too does Maria. The atmosphere is so infectious. We made such a racket laughing and forgot about the baby until John came in and reminded us. It must have been Ridgeway too .... memories of Carole, John, Maria, &c. You know the rest. She didn't mention Fogarty and neither did I. John drove me home at 10.30.

See funny old President Carter on the BBC.

-=-

Sunday April 17, 1977

Low Sunday. Come to think of it, I didn't feel particularly high today. Don't get me wrong, I'm not really 'low' but I have been 'higher' at former times of my existence. For instance, I was very 'high' on New Year's Eve. Oh, belt up, you fool.

John brought the car up (it ceased to function this morning) and he spent all day with Dad and Dave B messing about with it in sub-Spring-like temperatures on the drive. I read 'Your Dear Letter'. Watched a Margaret Rutherford/Alastair Sim epic. Films of this nature are usually about half way through when Dad comes in and rolls on the floor moaning: 'now you know why so many cinemas closed down in the 1950s'. I happen to like old films.

To the YP this evening. Yes, work. Low Sunday really fits now. Nothing of interest at the YP. Get on with Ursula so very well but need not comment on it here.

Saturday's nationals all fell for the Kensington Palace  'deliberate mistake' re the so-called 'Lord Culloden' fiasco. The Times especially went on to comment on what a delightful title it is, and how apt it should come back into circulation in this year, the 230th since the death of the Duke of Monmouth (sic) lost in battle there. Bollocks, if you pardon my expression.

Taxi home at 11.30pm. The driver seemed quite normal. Oh yes, I do get odd cab drivers occasionally. On particularly odd, at the forefront of my mind, considers himself to be the world's greatest living expert on snakes, and advised me how successfully to run away from one if I'm ever suddenly confronted by a venomous creature. Another is a qualified meteorologist. These cabbies trap innocent, sleepy victims, such as I, and proceed to pour out their secret plans for world domination. Oh, yes. I've met the next Adolf Hitler on several occasions en route from Leeds to Guiseley. What is worse some even attempt to be amusing.

-==-

Friday April 15, 1977

Spring morning. Spring afternoon. Spring evening. I have yet to have a Spring night because it's only 7.30pm, but I suppose I will do.

Duchess of Gloucester

It was announced this morning that the Duchess of Gloucester is having a baby in November too. The PA report in the EP stated that the child, if male, would assume his father's second title, Baron Culloden. Balderdash. The barony of Culloden is a courtesy title to be borne by the eldest son of the Duke of Gloucester's eldest son, the Earl of Ulster. The baby will be either Lord or Lady (Christian name) Windsor. It took me about an hour to convince the subs desk that this was so. Evidently it was a Kensington Palace spokesman who announced the crap information. Two Royal babies in Jubilee year eh? I could say the year is going with a bang, but I won't bother.

Work until 5pm and find myself in a traffic jam on Kirkstall Road for thirty minutes. It was too hot and people were dropping like flies on the omnibus. Home at 6. Dad is doing his bit 'giving blood' in Guiseley. A hideous thought which brings to mind the likes of Count Dracula and that ghoulish lot. Surely, if we're given eight or ten pints of the stuff I think it must mean we need every drop for ourselves - selfish maybe but that sort of thing just isn't for me.

Later: yes, it was a Spring night. Went to the Hare with Sue & Peter expecting to get up to our usual activities but instead met up with Dave L and a group of his friends from deepest Gloucester. The four of us go to Woodhouse Moor fair and have a great time.It is revolting that David is no longer resident in these parts. It was just like old times on the waltzer, cyclone, the toffee apples, candy floss. Back to the Hare & Hounds at 10.30. Dave and friends left at 11 and Martyn and I waited for Tony to arrive. With Chris & Pete M the 3 of us go to Oakwood Hall. Not much doing at all. Completely uninteresting and dead. The place is full of unattractive prostitutes - but no, because most of the girls here are quite willing to do it for free. Home by 1.30. Everyone got on my nerves. The trip to Oakwood ruined the whole evening. Christ. Have I mentioned that Peter M is to be Andy Graham's best man? Dave L quipped that he is on the short list to be one of the ushers.

-==-

Tuesday April 12, 1977

Dreadful day back at the YP. My eye-balls ached all day long and it took Lord Home-type will power to keep them open throughout the whole tiresome charade. Yes, I am feeling rotten.

Uncle Harry and JPH

Argue with Mum about Uncle Harry. I will not accept that he is alcoholic. Drunkard maybe (if there's a difference) but not a alcoholic. Mum hits the roof and says I should not defend him because it's my type who encourages him to be what he is, but I refuse to stand down and say she's making mountains out of Ilkley Moor. He may neglect himself and be a trifle squalid, but it goes too far to give him such a label. We became quite heated and violent about the whole issue. Regrettable really. Good Old Mum - she means well and has Harry's best interests at heart but why does everything have to be so melodramatic and serious?

Martyn

Out with Tony and Martyn to the Hare, Half Moon and Fox & Hounds. They've been to Scotland with Linda and Ruth. Martyn says he's ____________________. I find boasting about sex grotesquely childish. Tony didn't say much.  He's still ________________.Home at 10.30 thinking I'm being made fun of.  Arranged with Martyn to go out with him and Gayle - me escorting Emu, or whatever her name is. They were amazed I'd consider such a thing.






-==-

Monday April 11, 1977

Bank Holiday in England, Ireland and Wales. Last night  was ghastly. Feathers abounded and my poor lungs almost gave way to it all. Gasping and wheezing my way through a Bank Holiday is hardly what you'd call enjoyment, but I suppose it's better than being at the Yorkshire Post.

The morn is warm and sunny and the birds are singing gaily. In fact I accidentally kicked a sparrow off it's feet thinking it was a stone. What's wrong with the bird-life in Cumbria? Our feathered friends in Yorkshire wouldn't let you do such a thing.

Breakfast again consisted of eggs, sausages and the lot. Have a laugh with Maria about her half-cast Irish accent. She has a good sense of humour for sure, and the weight is falling off her. A slip of a girl in fact.

A photographic session outside the accursed Kell Head (pub) and then whilst I'm inspecting the urinals John, Sue, Peter and the baby disappear down a lane on some sort of nature trail. I gave chase and after 10 minutes I found them hiding in a field in the hope that I'd walk merrily past and fade away over the horizon. They had even gone to the trouble of lifting John (baby version) in his pram over a five barred gate and into a derelict barn to perfect the dastardly scheme. Swines that they are.

The party arrives from Uncle H's abode and Mum pays her bill. She was still fuming about last night's snub. Lynn laughed and said that Susan resorted to smoking in bed to calm the violence of her temper over the 10.30 closing horror. The offending cigarettes were borrowed from Mrs Maria Rhodes.

Hurriedly pack and within half an hour we're back on the road to St Bees - in somewhat more clement circumstances than yesterday. I take off shoes and roll up trousers and hurtle myself in the direction of the sea. Maria likens my prancing over the sands to that of a frisky stallion. A photographic session followed as the clan gathered 'neath a concrete barrier in the weak sunshine. Memorable it was.

Fish and chips back at Uncle Harry's and at 3pm we're on the trek homeward. Me, Mum, Dad, John, Maria and baby in one car, and the others with Peter. Stopped off at the Anchor Inn again but otherwise it was straight home. The usual Bank Holiday traffic jams but that can only be expected. On a starving rampage on my arrival home. The Cumbrian sea air must have brought it on because I just could not stop eating. Beans on toast, cheese, jam, buns, cream crackers, &c. You name it, pal, I ate it tonight.

-==-

Sunday April 3, 1977

Palm Sunday. Palm Sunday indeed. With Dave G, Glenn, Christine, Lynn and Dave B, Mum & Dad to the Commercial at noon. The locals didn't trot ahead in front of me throwing palms and other objects of flora in my path. Dad wasn't astride a donkey either.

with CB: in perfect shape.

Lynn is like a zombie. Dead to the world. We all - that is everyone on the above list - felt recovered somewhat with the medicinal intake of alcohol. Alas, the drink must have effected my eyes because the ink here has changed to something strongly resembling black currant. Was I drinking vodka and black last night?

CB is in perfect shape. Just like old times. It makes life well worth living. All back to Pine Tops for luncheon. Horrified by the idea of working this evening. It's pouring with rain too and CB looks expectantly at people, fluttering her eye lashes, in an attempt to get a lift to the bus stop. No such bloody luck. We walked into Guiseley in a deluge and waited for what seemed like all eternity for the public transport.

Nothing of interest at the YP. Dead in fact. Ursula is a nice girl. I'm a nice boy. You're a patient reader.




-=-

Sunday March 27, 1977

Passion Sunday. I like the sound of that.  Wake up to snow and hail. Do nothing whatsoever other than eat lunch and lounge around with a crumby Sunday newspaper. To be honest with you, I don't feel greatly informative today so don't expect anything astounding.

Did you know Mr Healey is presenting his Budget on Tuesday? Yes, and I bet he makes it a good one because of Labour's precarious position at the moment. Not discussing politics anyway.

Rang Dave G in Stockport at 7pm. He and Glenn are definitely coming on Saturday for my official birthday celebrations.

The Tenerife crash, 1977.

Work 5pm-12 midnight. Nothing spectacular here either. The world's worst ever aviation accident has taken place in the Canary Islands. 7,000,000 people dead, or something. Otherwise, nothing at all. Ursula never stops talking. I bet her jaws ache.

Crikey, it's Mrs Hilda Gadsby's 41st birthday tomorrow. She is of course the wife of Norman Anthony Gadsby, prospective Liberal councillor for the Borough of Pudsey.

Home by taxi in the snow at 12. Bed with P.G. Wodehouse. Goodnight.

-==-

Tuesday March 22, 1977

Not discussing work other than to say we've been having some bother with Carol.

Margaret Thatcher: I don't fancy the idea of a woman PM

A good cartoon in the Daily Mail this morning on the subject of Margaret Thatcher, the Prime Minister and Mrs Indira Gandhi. Tomorrow we will know for certain whether we're in for a general election or not.

I don't fancy the idea of a woman PM but anything will be better than Callaghan. Even a gorilla will do. A right-wing gorilla though.

Spoke to Delia Collis this afternoon on the phone. She has invited me to tea on an date yet unknown but in the near future. Should be a laugh.

Chris Monckton: future Tory whip?

To the dentist at 5pm. I need a couple of fillings. No appointment until September. I can think of nothing worse than dentists. They should all be herded together and shipped to the Maldives, or perhaps the Outer Hebrides. On reflection it's probably a silly idea, but I'm not here merely to be sensible. Blimey, I'm not standing for parliament.

Chris Monckton is departing from the YP to become a PRO with the Conservative party. Should suit him well. One day I bet he's a Tory whip - in more ways than one. On the subject of the peerage, a duke saw fit to make an exit from his mortal role yesterday. Namely the Duke of Portland who was 84. Strangely enough the successor to this title is only a slip of a lad himself. In fact he's 88.

11:30pm. Nothing much more to report. The BBC is, at this very moment, going on and on about the revolting government. It angers me more and more. James Callaghan is no politician. How he has the cheek to crawl round the Liberal party at this stage is quite amazing. No, obscene is the word. Even Dad says it's disgusting. The shoddy way this country is governed! If I was an MP I'd admit defeat when it it staring me right in the face.

To bed with P.G. Wodehouse. An amusing book. No telephone calls tonight. Must ring the lads tomorrow.

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