Monday October 20, 1975

No work today. Glad really because I never feel up to it when I've been travelling the day before. Evidently Sue and John threw a small party last night in honour of Carole and Maria. After champagne and God knows what, they retired to the numerous vacant beds upstairs. John and Maria were in his bed, Carole was in mine, and Sue and Peter were in her bedroom.

Lynn, David, CD, and Martyn Cole were of course visiting Alison in Southampton, and Mum and Dad were spending the night with Uncle Harry at Ravenglass, his new place of refuge. Poor Harry took up employment three weeks ago as a chauffeur and general dogs body for a wealthy man and his housekeeper at Cockermouth. After a tour of northern Scotland, on a staple diet of marmite sandwiches, H got a bit aggressive and resigned, leaving the old gentleman and his lady stranded miles from anywhere! Harry is not the most patient of men, and to picture him in a chauffeurs uniform is too ludicrous for words.

I didn't get up until 11am and after taking a bath I had luncheon with Mummy and Daddy, Sue and John and we discussed the pub business once again. Poor Mum didn't complain this time about being let down, but she so much would have liked the Station. Breweries just don't seem interested in them at all, so I imagine they'll have to buy a free house.

Carole rang me this afternoon and told me I sounded 'different'. As far as I know I don't think I've changed much in four days, but who knows.

Go down to her place at 8pm with John. Sit for half an hour with Carole, who looks divine, Mrs P and Peter, the elder of her two brothers. They discuss sex before marriage and fire questions at me to see if I can be embarrassed. To embarrass Mr Michael Rhodes is just about an impossibility.

We dashed over to the Hare for a few hours and came back to her place at 10.30 to see a film about Lucrezia Borgia (1949). It was quite good really, and I stayed until 12.30.

Walking to White Cross Dad saw us whilst driving around in his cop car and he ferried me home.

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Sunday October 19, 1975

21st after Trinity. Last day in Hayes for Pete and me. Clamber out of bed at a suitable hour and plunge into a hot bath. Ten minutes later I'm to be found stuffing my suitcase full of all my wordly goods, and half an hour later we're stood in the arrivals lounge at Heathrow Airport. Don't worry, I'm not doing a bunk or anything like that, but poor Pete so much wanted to see London Airport before returning to the stagnation of Bramhope, and we couldn't find it in ourselves to deny him this little pleasure.

Two hours at Heathrow watching Jumbo jets flitting about was quite sufficient for me, and we then, the three of us, moved on to London's Victoria bus station. Depositing our cases, we went on yet another tour, taking in the National Gallery, Charing Cross Restaurant, the Banqueting House at Whitehall and Buckingham Palace again. The Royal Standard isn't up, and I hazard a guess that SHE is out for tea this afternoon.

Bid farewell to Chris at 5.30 and head home on a little coach to Leeds. I read 'Mandingo' all the way home and keep dropping off to sleep, much to the amusement of Pete.

At home I hear Mum and Dad have passed an embarrassing weekend at Ravenglass with Uncle Harry, and am told by them that the Station in Ilkley is not going to fall to the Rhodes clan for tenancy. Bastard Charrington is more appropriate.

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Saturday October 18, 1975

To Windsor with the lads today. Of course I didn't go see John & Sheila. I thought of calling in but decided it would be an embarrassment to them. After all, if no one is staying with them after they told me I couldn't stay because of lack of room, they'd be in a sticky position.

We have a great day. They are both thrilled with the castle, especially Chris who thought the state apartments were incredible. I mentioned to Peter that some of the carving in St George's Chapel and in some of the rooms of the state apartments was the work of Grinling Gibbons 1648-1720, and he excitedly sought information on him. He drifted from bookshop to bookshop for most of the afternoon trying to find suitable literature on him, but failed to do so. However, by the time we'd finished we knew everything there is to know about the Rotterdam-born sculptor and carver who came to England and was 'spotted' by John Evelyn, the diarist, in 1671 and was introduced to Charles II, Wren and others. Trinity College, Cambridge, the royal palaces, Burghley House and St Paul's Cathedral all have bits and peices done by him, and the bronze statues of Charles II and James II are attributed to him, but they may have been done by his 'school'. Gibbons was paid for them anyway. How's that, all from memory?

We have steak again for our evening meal at the London Grill in Windsor, and after having taken a look at Eton and had a swan-tormenting session on the Thames we make our way to Windsor & Eton Railway Station and get a train to Hayes.

At the Arlington we sit for what seems like days in the bar drinking, and a wedding reception in an adjoining room kept us wide awake.

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Friday October 17, 1975

We rise from our slumbers at some unearthly hour and head towards the pulsating capital of these Islands (is it called London, or something like that?) After several train rides and a tube adventure we find ourselves at Earls Court. I cannot fail to be completely taken in by that massive structure. The crowds, the people and the atmosphere in general is completely unique, but the only fault in all this is that the magical atmosphere doesn't stay all that long with me. Chris and Peter can wander around looking at the same things over and over again, but I look at everything the once and then call it a day. Three hours in Earls Court is two hours too long for me. I did what most peasants did. I stood wide-eyed in front of the Rolls Royce stand, and pretended not to notice the flashy, American trash. Chris was delighted just to look at clapped out old Vauxhalls and Fords.

After what seemed like hours at Earls Court the three of us go to the Tower of London by tube. Neither Chris or Pete had seen the jewels, and so it makes my fifth visit worthwhile! A guided tour around the tower by an endearing old Yeoman of the Guard ended in the chapel of St Peter Ad Vincula, where Anne Boleyn and all the rest are entombed. The jewels are still as beautiful and the Imperial State Crown takes the breath away from all who see it.

After 'doing the tower' we go over to the Tiger Bar where we have a few drinks until 8pm. We go for a meal at the fairly new Tower Hotel, where Peter nearly rendered himself unconscious on a low-hanging light fitting. Chris tripped and fell off the causeway on the way out and slid down a bank and ended up flat on his back underneath a Mercedes-Benz! This caused for some kind of celebration and so we returned to the Tiger Bar. Leave by train for Hayes at about 10.30.


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Thursday October 16, 1975

Up at the crack of dawn and make a few final touches in readiness for my venture south. Complete darkness awaits me outside at 6.45am as I set out, suitcase in hand, down Hawksworth Lane. I travel by 55 bus to Leeds where a slight drizzle awaits me. Meet Peter near Schofield's and he too is armed with a suitcase very similar to mine.

Our journey down is one of little excitement. After combing through the Daily Telegraph and the Sun we eat fruit gums. At Leicester we have a coffee in one of those filthy, giagantic mortuarys. Hardly a decept cup.

In London's Victoria Coach Station for just after 1pm and I'm frozen silly. Tow arm up whilst we're waiting for Chris we attempt to find a coffee bar or something, but somehow end up with my already ice-cold hand wrapped around an equally ice-cold pint of lager. It was whilst we were sat in this position that Chris found us.

Depositing our cases out of the way we proceed to do a quick tour of the famous bits of London close to Victoria. Buckingham Palace is our first port of call and I see with great pride that Her Majesty is in residence. The beautiful autumn day, and the foliage in the park made it a sight to behold indeed. Pete hadn't seen the palace before, so it wasn't a wasted journey. 10, Downing Street was also on the agenda, but as usual it looked deadly quiet. The PM was no doubt having his afternoon nap upstairs with Mary. The old story about Nero fiddling whilst Rome burned could easily adapted to Mr Wilson and his afternoon bedroom activities.

Back to Hayes and the Arlington Hotel for 8pm. We wash and change and go out for a drink. Back for 11, and we sit about laughing and watching Chris's TV until after 12. He certainly is lucky having a place like that. He will be too spoiled to ever re-adapt himself to ordinary home life when the time comes.

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Wednesday October 15, 1975

Now that Carole is well again we make the most of it.__________. (Large deletion). Sorry about the mess.

I was in a terrible rage this evening. After arranging to meet Carole at 8.20 I rang John & Sheila to determine the arrangements for my venture south tomorrow. I spoke to Sheila, and to my horror, she said they couldn't put me up this time. I was mad, but didn't tell her so. They've had my letter for a week and haven't had the decency to reply to it. Mum says it's really bad of them and she, for one, won't visit them in Windsor again. I rang Peter to tell him the bad news but he just said we'd have to go on with our plans all the same, except I'd have to stay with Chris too.

Went down the lane at 8 but no bus came until 8.45. I was hopping mad by the time I reached the Hare. Nothing seems to have gone right tonight. However, Carole soothed me somewhat and I cheered up in next to no time.

Saying goodbye to Carole was a bit sad and she kept saying she was going to cry. I came home and stuffed everything into a suitcase. Mum gave me £5 from the Nora Rhodes Trust, and by 12.30 all was ready. Have to be up by 6am. Ugh!

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Tuesday October 14, 1975

Yet another day at the office. Kathleen is back at work after nursing her sick family all last week.

Very little in the news and the papers are quite boring.

This morning I bought two tickets for Thursday's London trip. Pete will give me his £5.60 on Wednesday, so I'll be moderately wealthy before the weekend is upon us. Still no word from John & Sheila, but the postal system isn't what it might be, and so they won't be in recepit of my damn letter until the New Year!

On the subject of not hearing anything we have yet to hear from Bass Charrington about the Station pub at Ilkley. If we don't get a pub this time I think poor Mum will go into seclusion. Anyone would think that they (Mum and Dad that is) have something wrong with them because the way they have been refused is really too bad.

Go to Carole's after she rang me to say she'd made a spectacular recovery! John hurries me down the lane in the car and I find her looking absolutely ravishing. The three of us go to the Hare & Hounds and we find it in the midst of being decorated. John leaves us to it after one drink, and we sit in a corner - arm in arm.

Carole is beautiful and sexy. Lynne Mather comes a close second.

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