Wednesday September 12, 1979

_. Mama got me out of bed at 10 because I had instructed her to do so. After toast and marmalade I took up an axe, a saw and a spade and headed for the garden where I executed a boring, dominating willow tree [not of the weeping variety]. I received quite a few blisters for my labours and was sweating like an Olympic marathon runner. The root was a bugger and refused to give in, but neither did I, and the human element won. We humans are much more intelligent than trees..... Or are we?
Do trees blow one another to pieces in Ireland? Do grown up trees batter their saplings until they are unrecognisable? Do trees drop atomic bombs on Japan? But on the other hand did the horse chestnut tree paint 'The Last Supper' or did a Scots pine invent the electric light?

Dave L phoned again. He asks me to get him a ticket for Marita to see Dame Edna in Leeds on November 27. It's going to cost me £3 on Thursday but I do suppose Dave will cough up with the money when I see him next. I haven't seen Marita for months.

To the YP at 4:30. Kathleen had been on her own all afternoon because Carol J and Sarah were at a YP Literary luncheon. Little Gilberto from Chile is a good lad really. Kathleen insists on calling him 'Al' for some reason. His name is Gilberto. Wendy disappeared at nine for a liaison with her boyfriend and I got the bus home at 10.

Took to my bed at 11:30 and could not decide what to read.  Blimey, it was windy outside.

-=-

Wednesday August 22, 1979

_. Slept until lunchtime which is annoying. The day has passed me by. Out in the garden with Papa. He wants to move a large conifer tree from the front to the back. The offending tree is about 8ft tall and I fear for its future. My researches show that coniferous bushes are hardy, with close-knit roots. So, roll on transplant time.

To the YP at 4:30 and hear from Kathleen about of Chilean work-mate. He goes by the name of Alfredo [sic] Hernandez. ___________.

Home at 12 in a taxi driven by a poor misguided soul who tomorrow is packing everything in, quitting our shores, and removing himself to a far flung and obscure corner of the Empire called New Zealand. Blimey, I thought we had stopped doing such hideous exoduses back in the 1960s. I'd sooner emigrate to Saturn or Washington New Town. He [the taxi driver] no doubt thinks that the streets of Wellington are paved with gold.  Ate, and then bed at 1am.

-=-

Friday August 17, 1979

_. Stayed in bed until 11. Poor Ally had to get up to go to Bradford. It's the YP tonight for me.

At 12 I went with Mum and Dad to the wine shop on Easterly Road, Leeds, where they bought £12 worth of concentrates for home winemaking. The Christmas brewing is about to commence. From here we went to the Fox & Hounds at Horsforth for some lunch. The landlord asks: 'will some old beef sandwiches do?'  Er, no they won't. On instead to the White Cross for scampi and chips. Disastrous here too. The scampi came out frozen. Mum's plate was powdered with ice. The scampi no doubt freshly netted in the Arctic circle.

Then on to Morrison's and at 3:30 I left for the YP. I saw Wendy for the first time in ages. Left at 10. Got a bus back to Guiseley. Andrew, Ally's brother, stays the night with us because his parents are at a party on Westgate. A nice, quiet boy. He slept on my bedroom floor in a sleeping bag.

-=-

Tuesday April 17, 1979

_. Last night, it's all very vague. Ally and I really joked about our so-called romance. She said Lynn is taking it all quite seriously and whenever they are alone together Lynn feeds her potted anecdotes from my distant childhood. Oh dear.

YP was dull and uninteresting. I didn't arrive at the office until after ten because I failed to respond to both my alarm clocks (yes, two of them). Kathleen seldom complains about my diabolical time keeping, but I don't like to get in too late in case the Ayatollah Khomeini should happen to be in the throes of a guided tour of the building with the Lord Lieutenant and dear old Sir Kenneth Parkinson.

David B phoned after lunch to say we are going to Salvo's after work, and he collected me at 5:30 and we met Lynn, Ally, Sue & Peter at the New Inn in Headingley. On to Salvo's at 6:30 for pizzas and el vino. We all enjoyed a couple of bawdy hours, The food was incredibly good and the only sadness was poor Ally having to return to Hampshire. Before she left I took her phone numbers so that I can contact her when I am in Bournemouth next week.

Lynn and Dave didn't want to come back to Pine Tops and see Mum but I insisted and both of them seemed subdued. Lynn said she was tired, but I still think something is queer. ____________. Drank coffee and sent Ally off south at 9 o'clock. Poor Alison. ______________________________.

-=-

Thursday February 1, 1979

_. Pay day, but most it isn't mine. K_____ is a frustrated old cow. She was dressed entirely in pink today and resembled a neurotic piglet.

Carol J and I went over to the Central at 5:30 [early doors] to the 'Welcome back to the YP all you sciving Lefty NUJ Reds' party. I had seen Jacq at lunchtime and she also put in an appearance tonight with a work mate from Dacre, Son and Hartley.

Carol and I were in high spirits and attacked the buffet upstairs - fooling around with the cheese sandwiches in dry bread rolls.

The usual journalistic mob was out in force. The highlight was Bob Cockroft's piano playing excellence. His repertoire included such rousing tunes as 'Jerusalem' and 'Abide with Me' . He was doing requests and I asked for Your Tiny Hand is Frozen [Che Gelida Manina] from La Boheme, but he said he couldn't play in German. I am still trying to work that one out.

At 8 I left this merry throng to join Pete N and Chippy at Highroyds. My bus journey was blurred by alcohol, and so was the remainder of the evening. From the asylum we went to the Shoulder where we met three buck-toothed neo-fascist females, who joined us at Oakwood Hall. Quite a laugh, but by midnight I was struck down by a hangover.  Sad. Home at 2:15am in a snowdrift, but Chippy's car glided through it like a knife through hot butter.

-=-

Wednesday January 17, 1979

Deep snow this morning. Got in Jim Rawnsley's car at 8:10 & we didn't get to the YP until after 10. Two bloody hours just to go 10 feeble miles. I do believe I have walked home from the centre of Leeds in a similar length of time.

Little Jennie is improving and becoming more tolerable, but it may be because I've resigned myself to the fact.

I failed to mention that David G returned to Stockport on Monday by the 9:30 coach from Leeds.

At the YP: the NUJ are returning to work on Monday and the prospects are not thrilling. Our card playing afternoons in the cathedral~like atmosphere of what was a busy newsroom are sadly, numbered. Kathleen is aware of our latest craze and Sarah thinks our beloved boss is saving up her accusations until a suitable day of reckoning can be chosen. _________.

Malcolm Barker: rocketed in my estimation.

Malcolm Barker has rocketed in my estimation since the beginning oh hostilities with the NUJ. No longer will I regard him as an ale swilling hyper-thyroid editor full of his own importance. Malcolm is indeed a saint, and I for one am 100 per cent behind him. Three cheers and all that. Indeed, we chatter away now like old pals. He's no longer the terrifying boss of my youth.



Home at 5pm. Snow has given way to pouring rain. Eat moussaka, heavily laden with garlic. Poor Susan complained about the after-effects all night.  One thing's for certain, Count Dracula won't be taking her for his gruesome band this dark evening.

Alison Dixon is coming up on Friday, but it's all a big secret from Lynn & Dave. It will be great to see her again. Mum, who spoke to her today, says she sounded cheerful. Retired to bed at 11:37pm. Early eh?

-=-

Friday December 8, 1978

Not too hung~over, but all the same  took my weekly dose of Eno's on my arrival at the barren, deserted office.

Malcolm was working flat out to get the EP on the street. I gave him a few items of interest from the Daily Telegraph and he snatched them up eagerly and called me a "grand lad". Am I perhaps a creep, or just nice and helpful? Peter Lazenby wouldn't approve of my assisting here.  Sarah is still off.

At 2 Eileen and I went to Len's for a couple of lagers. At 3 I began my Christmas shopping in torrents of rain and in 90 minutes I purchased five presents and spent £20. Easily done.

Golda Meir: eagle?

Home and dry for 5:30. Devoured a pile of cheese sandwiches. Saw on the news that Golda Meir has died. I believe she is the eagle which escaped from London Zoo in 1966 or thereabouts. (Am I mad?)

Out to the Shoulder of Mutton with Sue & Pete at 8 and are joined by the mob. Johnny is home from college and he is taking us to a party in Headingley tomorrow night  ~ a 'Vicars & Tarts' arrangement. I spent very little but enjoyed it all the same. In fact I was slightly pissed.

Pennies from Heaven ...

At 10 we went to the White Cross and then back to _____West's house opposite the old police station. (He was the lad who thumped me, Dave Lawson and Andrew Dean, after the Fieldhead School prize giving day in Dec 1971). However, Christmas is the season for forgiving. Besides, he bought me a whisky. They played cards and I watched 'Pennies from Heaven' and completed a crossword. Later I read an interesting article on carp fishing in an angling volume which educated me greatly. Home at 1 o'clock and to bed.

-=-

Wednesday December 6, 1978

On safari with Deborah ...

I fear my father suffers from chronic indigestion. You'd be surprised by some of the noises which cry out in the night and at times awaken me with sweat on my brow imagining I'm out on safari in Kenya with Deborah Kerr. Highly peculiar, trumpeting noises can be heard at all times of the day and night and people from miles around gather at our gate with cassette tape recorders and cameras to catch a specimen sample of Daddy's spectacular performances. He is to flatulence what Kathleen Ferrier was to opera.

Warmer today and no bloody fog. Jenny Rawnsley made a record at school yesterday afternoon and so Jim now has orders to purchase a "music centre". I don't like this description of a record player. It sounds to me as though he's going to put in a take~over bid for EMI  or the Rank Organisation. Poor, eccentric James. He could so easily have stepped from the pages of a Jane Austen novel. (I think Jane's "Five Go Off in a Caravan" is her masterpiece ~ Ed.)

Left the YP at 2pm due to the lack of work due to the strike. Malcolm Barker and I are now firm friends. He stood with me this morning showing me the EP copy as though I am the EP news editor or even ~ dare I say it ~ Helen Atha. Blimey I am becoming big~headed and fanciful.

Home at 3. Just ate and watched TV tonight.  "Edward and Mrs Simpson" was good. Cynthia Harris plays the duchess as a power~mad, selfish, calculating hag. Peggy Ashcroft is good as Queen Mary, and the girl who plays the young Duchess of York bears a remarkable likeness to her.

To bed at 12:40 after watching an interview with Woody Allen on the BBC. He really is the funniest man in the world, and so ugly too. I could listen to him for hours. Sat in bed with nothing to read. However, I won't let it get me down.

The mystery King of England in yesterday's competition was born today.

-=-

Tuesday December 5, 1978

Fog again.  I didn't get to work until 9.05am but who cares? No NUJ members were working and we found Malcolm Barker attempting to bring out a newspaper quite alone.

I saw in the Daily Telegraph death announcements that Sir David Salt, Bt, has died. When he was in his fifties in 1975 he married an old woman in her 70s. Also spotted that Lord Harewood's aunt, Viscountess Boyne, has died aged 75. Malcolm was thrilled by these items of news and snatched them up it fill the pages of the pathetic EP.

At 3pm with all the routine work finished I left the office and attempted to get but a bus but none were forthcoming, so I caught a train at 3:45.

Silly Old Jim

Read Kenneth Harris's interview with the Prime Minister in the Observer (Sunday).  Silly Old Jim (Callaghan) says he's going to go on looking after us until he's in his eighties. The beloved leader fails to see why politicians give up and retire at sixty when they are the peak of their brilliance. I agree, Jim. Churchill was almost 150 when they finally shot him, and Mr Gladstone was 463.

I am going to give you ten guesses as to which British monarch was born on December 6. (Yes, I know that's tomorrow). Come on! Who am I? I was styled "Dei Gratia Rex Angliae et Franciae et Dominus Hiberniae" and was born at Windsor on Dec 6, 1421. Crowned at Westminster on Nov 6, 1429, and crowned King of France at Notre Dame, Dec 17, 1431. I married April 22, 1445, Margaret of Anjou, daughter of Rene, Duke of Anjou, titular King of Sicily, Naples and Jerusalem (descended from the Count of Anjou, brother of Charles V). I was deposed after the second Battle of St Albans, March 4, 1461, and re~instated Oct 9, 1470, from when I reigned until taken prisoner in April 1471; I died in the Tower of London shortly after the Battle of Tewkesbury, May 4, 1471, it is supposed by violence, and was buried at Windsor. Who am I? For the answer refer to the block capitals above Dec 9.

-=-

Saturday October 14, 1978

Sun rises 07:22 Sun sets 18:10

Up at 7 o'clock and to work. Yes my first Saturday at the YP for about 4 years. Jacq and I had black coffee and toast. Got a bus at 8. In Leeds before 9. Not too busy at the YP but I had about ten phone calls on the subject of the steam train the 'Sir Nigel Gresley', which is taking hundreds of boring people on a jaunt round Yorkshire today. Why can't these bloody people just stay at home and watch 'Grandstand' or perhaps go down to their local and get thoroughly pissed instead of pestering poor, under~paid library workers?

The Times says Cardinal (Basil) Hume stands a very good chance of being elected Pope at tomorrow's conclave. It would be so great to have an Englishman at the helm in the Vatican, but I can't see them electing anyone but an Italian until at least the next century.

At 1:30 I met Jacq and we walked around town and had a few drinks in the Ostlers. Shouldn't take booze on an afternoon really.

At tea time John, Maria and JPH arrived. Scotland is clearly doing them some good.

Tonight Jacq, Sue, Pete, Mum, Dad, John, Maria, Lynn & Dave, and I went to the White Horse at Burley~in~Wharfedale to see Mum's cousin Dorothy, the landlady, who tells us she's leaving in June next year, if not before. Mum and Dad went off to meet Jim & Margaret at the Riversdale, and we had a crawl, going to the Queen's Arms and Malt Shovel. Afterwards we all had fish and chips at Lynn & Dave's. Our first all night session at Lawn Road. Jacq and I slept on the lounge floor.

-=-

Tuesday September 12, 1978

Sunny day. Busy at the YP. Howled with laughter this morning when Michael Brown, the Religious affairs correspondent, phoned me from Huddersfield to tell me he thinks the new Pope (John Paul I) looks very much like Peter Sellers. A preposterous remark, or so I thought, but on inspecting the photo files I see the resemblance is remarkable.

I can see that before very long I'm going to become quite sick of our grinning, circus-like performer of a pontiff.

Other news: The Queen Mother is to become the next Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports. She'll become the first woman to hold the office, an ancient one, whch dates back to the time of King Harold. Previous Lord Wardens include Churchill and Sir Robert Menzies. Just what the job entails escapes me. I'm sure it will be nothing strenuous.

A photo of Lynn and Dave appeared in the EP. I'm going to miss Lynn, you know. Just look at the photo and that brilliant, glowing smile.

I met Jacq at lunchtime and we ate like horses in the park instead of our usual damp luncheon at the Ostlers. She says she may be 'buggering off' from Leeds. _________________.

Dave G and I met later near the Polytechnic and went for a drink at the Fenton, where the National Front and homosexual intellectuals gather to discuss tactics. He's having a riot in Leeds and last night ended up in the Original Oak with a sun~tanned lady just back from a holiday in Ibiza.

-=-

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.

-=-

Thursday December 29, 1977

_.I have applied for a job in the reference library at YTV. Yes, I put a letter together and sealed the envelope and have every intention of leaving the YP if I'm accepted. Four years is long enough in a dead end job. It's about time I joined the 'rat race' and earned lots of money. In 15 years time when I'm an OBE and making regular appearances on the Morecambe & Wise Show I bet the management at the YP will be kicking themselves.

Eric Sykes in Charley's Aunt.

Saw Eric Sykes in 'Charley's Aunt' which was good. Dom Melville, QC, came to see me. Do I have a cat in Hell's chance of obtaining damages from my assailant? Dom says he will do everything in his power to find out but bringing an assault case against the bounder (Kirk) may mean that I too could also be bound over to keep the Queen's peace. Me! And all I did was to fall over and bleed quietly! No chance. Anyway, I do have qualms about dragging it through the courts. I don't fancy being dragged in chains before Donald Best, JP, and neither do I relish the thought of reading my name in the pages of my dear newspaper. If Dom can simply frighten the yob to death I shall be eternally happy. Dom says he will go see Kirk on Sunday night, and so he'll be quaking for New Year.

Watched a ghost story and went, laughing, to bed.

-=-

Wednesday October 26, 1977

I was up at 7.30 today but decided to go straight back to bed. Phoned Sarah at 8.30 to inform her of my absence then retired to bed until after 10. I am just miserable, penniless and depressed and nothing on earth could have persuaded me to go into the YP today. I'm not often to be found in this state, but today was the exception.

Dad didn't go to work until 2pm and so we spent a couple of hours in the garden where I pruned most of the rose bushes whilst he foraged happily in the undergrowth.

My thoughts were of Carole throughout the day and I was virtually in a trance. Mum asked me to turn the cooker on and I accidentally turned the wrong nob and set fire to her best tea pot and burned her Formica work surface. I was on another planet.

Didn't see the point in phoning Chapel Allerton. They aren't doing anything until tomorrow and they are all busy people. I'll send some flowers on Friday or perhaps I'll hand them in at the hospital.

-=-

Tuesday October 11, 1977

I wrote to the Times and the YP on the matter of Princess Anne's baby and it's title, or rather lack of it, when it comes into the world. I suggest doing what King Edward VII did in 1905 (see Diary, Saturday April 9, 1977). No doubt Mr Rees-Mogg and John Edwards will cast my mail sneeringly into the waste paper baskets of their respective offices. At least it cannot be said that I have neglected the plight of what can only be referred to, at this stage, as Master or Miss Phillips.

Edith & Ernest

Edith and Ernest came over at some frightfully early hour to 'sample' the wine. Lynn and Sue departed to bed quite early leaving Mum, Dad and I with them. I haven't laughed quite so much for at least 24 hours. Ernest told us, at great length, of how his great-uncle, Edwin Fletcher, founded the Provident Clothing Company. Edith cried with laughter throughout and it proved so infectious that we all followed suit. Do not ask what is so funny about Edwin Fletcher and the Provident Clothing Co, because I doubt whether I can enlighten you one bit. Ernest also told this tale to one of his arch-snobby neighbours further down the lane (whose husband is currently involved with the above mentioned company) and she retorted: "Oh, so your must be related to the Waddiloves". Ernest turned purple and demanded to know just where the Waddilove family come into the tale, but the neighbour changed the subject to the latest Princess Margaret story.

The two Es departed at 12 like Cinderellas (pissed ones) and Mum and I had a furious row which resembled 'Vimy Ridge' proportions. I adjourned, nay retreated, to my room with 'The Count of Monte Cristo'.

-=-

Wednesday May 4, 1977

A nice morning for a change. The birds actually lowered themselves to give us a tune and the rain managed to hold off until I was safely encased in the Jim-mobile. No Sarah today. Auntie Delia informed me that the poor girl is suffering from dizzy spells and such like. I like Auntie tremendously and we are still promising one another tea or an evening meal but she is always bogged down with (flower arranging) classes.

YP was dead. Worked through lunch and went home at my usual time - 4.30. Horrible meal this evening. Mother is still behaving positively rude and childishly, which encourages me to a certain extent. Her attitude won't get her anywhere at all.

Queen: speech to the Lords & Commons

On the 6 o'clock news saw the Queen and the Royal Family in Westminster Hall receiving the thanks of the Lords and Commons for 25 dedicated years, &c. HM made a controversial statement about devolution saying she had been crowned Queen of England, Scotland and Northern Ireland and intended remaining so. The Scottish Nationalists are aggravated by it but I think it was a tremendous thing for her to say it. At least one person in the land wants to keep the United Kingdom intact.

To be quite honest I'm getting cheesed off with the complete lack of patriotism at the moment. Dear mother is a leading advocate and her attitude about a Silver Jubilee party astounds me. How she had the bloody nerve to pay me £2.50 for her share in Robert Lacey's 'Majesty' God only knows! About as patriotic as Willie Hamilton's left buttock she is. I could become quite violent on the subject if I tried hard enough. I expect that all the flag waving and cheering will take place on June 7 and then everyone will forget about it. It's about time the Queen used her influence to rally nationalism.

Out with Judith to the Hare and back to her place until almost 3am.Discuss purchasing the Sun. How much would it take to make a box for it?

-==-

Thursday February 3, 1977

Busy day at the YP again. At lunchtime I went to Schofield's to claim Mama's repaired coffee perculator which I carry off without having to pay anything. Look in Austick's and run my fingers through 'Majesty' by Robert Lacey. I shall have to buy it.

Ring Lynne. She's getting a cold, pneumonia, or something. I feel bored and utterly flattened. I fancy having a passionate, close, sexy romance with a lusty bombshell. Lynne just isn't up to it. Where will it all end?

Jim Callaghan: Scottish referendum

To Yeadon cinema with Lynne to see 'The Omen' (Yes, I've seen it before). It is good. Lee Remick especially. She goes off to Roundhay at 11pm in a gust of wind, hail and conglomoration of other elements.

Sit with a Scotch in front of the TV watching one of President Carter's fireside chats to the Universe from his White House parlour. Greasy little man. Never trust a president with gold fillings and Mohair pullovers that's what I say.

Quake in my socks at the late night news with Miss (Angela) Rippon. Evidently, Scotland, Wales and other bits of the UK are going to have one of those referendums in November to decide whether they want to get out of the Empire or not. We under-privileged English do not have a say in the matter. The tartan maniacs and mean leek-growing sods can pull out on us at any time but we English do not have the right to say whether we want  them to go or not.  Jim Callaghan really is the bloody limit. We should have a referendum asking the simple question: "Don't you think it's about time the Labour Government resigned? Answer 'Definately' or 'Yes'.

-==-

Friday January 28, 1977

Meet Miss Denise Akroyd outside the YP at 1pm and we go over to the Central and meet Marita who buys us both a pint of lager in honour of her twenty second birthday tomorrow. D and I sit until 2.30 and discuss a few controversial topics including Mr_________.She makes it all sound like Wuthering Heights. A good girl. We plan to have an orgy at her place on February 11.

Back to the YP. Ring Lynne and connect her to Stephanie Ferguson so she can enquire about the Burley-in-Wharfedale residence. Lynne is cheesed off buggering about between Thornton-le-Dale & Roundhay. Quite understandable I think.

Meanwhile: 8 o'clock,  the two of us head to the (Horsforth) Leisure Centre where we attempt to watch the squash finals. Sarah and Peter (Baker) are in foul moods, and after battling though dinner of yet another chicken leg and frozen peas I'd had just about enough. Sarah sobbing all over the dinner table didn't do much to improve the atmosphere. Lynne and I cleared off as soon as it was decently possible to Oakwood Hall, where another 'mortuary atmosphere' prevailed. Peter & Dave Lazenby, Miss Akroyd and Michelle are romping around to old Showaddywaddy singles, &c. Need I say more?

-==-

Monday January 17, 1977

Did you realise that the author of this diary was - or is - an out and out coward? Just nod your head if this notion has crossed your mind at some stage or other in the past four years. Good.

At work today I was in a terrible state. At death's door. Runny nose, sore throat, wet eyes, sneezing bouts, the bloody lot, and on top of all this I wanted to ring Lynne to tell her that I do not want to go out with her anymore. Awful eh? I even took a couple of 10p pieces and nipped down to a public phone downstairs (at the YP) but when Lynne answered I just dried up and made polite conversation. At 12.30 Sarah gave me the dispensation to go home - the sweet thing - and by 2.30pm I was tucked up in my bed with something hot. Slept until 6.30 and then went down and ate a plate full of stew.

Hotel Pacific, San Antonio, Ibiza.

 I contacted Denise today. We cannot get in at the Hotel March (in San Antonio) with Club 18-30, but she's reserved seven places at the Hotel Pacific. Later tonight I rang Chris and Dave G, and then Glenn rang me. Chris mentions the Riviera but tomorrow I'll get him fully on our side. Tony rings to say he has a lousy cold. Lynne came at 8.30 and stayed until about 10. She can be very sweet and nice but I think _____.I have a fear about finishing with anyone after the 'Miss Phillips incident'. Don't I get myself into some messes? -==-