Thursday February 9, 1978

Letter from David L suggesting May 19 as a possible date for our raid on Nailsworth. I write to Helen and Graham suggesting this to them. If nothing else, it will give them time to prepare for the ghastly, drunken onslaught.

John Grady phoned at 3 (I'm on half day at home). It was good to hear from him. He suggests I go to Rawtenstall possibly the Monday after next with Chris who is going to Lancashire to visit John and Co and pay a long over due visit to his grandparents. I'll phone Chris tonight and see what he has to say. It's been great hearing from friends.

Christine phoned yesterday afternoon ~ just to make polite conversation. I think that our 'chat' at Naomi's rekindled a good deal of the old flame that burned between us. (Blimey!) But I think Christine and I will always be like one fun loving infused brain. I must write. (Yes, you've guessed that I'm entering this year's journal for the Nobel Prize for Literature). It's only just gone tea time and I've a lot to do yet so can you wait around until later this evening for me to continue? ...................

Lynn.

...............I don't think I should have bothered saving any space for later because tonight just faded out with no spectacular scenes of any kind. All I did was watch TV and read 'El Dorado' by Baroness Orczy. Retired to bed abominably late again because after 'Top of the Pops' Lynn and I retired to the dining room with a bottle of Liebfraumilch to look at photo albums and listen to records. It was so pleasant. Just think, it might be one of the last evenings of this kind. When she's married and raising red faced Bakers in Burley in Wharfedale she'll have no time to sit and think of old times with big brother. Isn't it sad? We have only just escaped from childhood and now she's going off into the big, wide world.

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Wednesday February 8, 1978

First Day in Lent. Ash Wednesday.

I am giving up spending money for Lent. Yes, I intend saving over £100. OK, you don't believe me but I'm going to show you just what willpower I do have.

Lady Jane Spencer.

Quite an ordinary sort of day. In 'The Times' engagements section I see that Lady Sarah Spencer's sister, Lady Jane, is to marry Robert Fellowes, assistant private secretary to the Queen. I passed this info on to Fred, who will do something for the YP 'People' column tomorrow. I bet Nigel Dempster and William Hickey will do something on this tomorrow. Is Lady Sarah going to take the plunge with HRH and make it a double event? This will be the theme.

Feel buggered and slightly dead. Because of this I have changed from red ink to this suitably sombre black. At home this evening I couldn't be bothered to do a single thing. Was tempted by an Alfred Hitchcock film on the BBC, but dozed in the chair like an octogenarian whilst the bulk of the murders were being carried out.

I have received a Valentine's card from WPC Carolle Jones. Yeah, a week early too. I quiver when I think of the recent night we spent in Burley in Wharfedale after Naomi's party. I like WPC Jones very much. She arouses in me some neolithic feelings that lay dormant when she is away back on the beat. Cor, I've never been out with a policewoman before. Penelope Keith's gone a step further and married a detective constable.


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Tuesday February 7, 1978

New Moon 14:54.  Shrove Tuesday.

Duke of Clarence.

Frantic day at the YP. Had an interesting conversation with the cartoonist 'Speed' about Jack the Ripper. He says that the Freemasons did away with the prostitutes to cover up the fact that the Duke of Clarence had married a prostitute - and a Roman Catholic one at that - and that a child had been born of the union. He went on to say that the baby, a daughter, grew up to be the image of her grandmother Queen Alexandra, and like HM was as deaf as a post too.  Very interesting and quite laughable.  I do like old 'Speed'. His theories on many topics are never without large loopholes and are always open to comment.

Jack the Ripper.

'News at Ten' were filming in the office today for something in connection with the activities of the current (Yorkshire) Ripper. One of the victims wrote to Malcolm Barker three and a half years ago complaining about the conditions of foster children in Leeds and now she's on a mortuary slab. Fame for the EP once again.

News: Builders have unearthed Kign Henry VIII's palace of Bridewell in Fleet Street; Lady Sarah Spencer's first christian name happens to be Elizabeth; its's Shrove Tuesday and I had six or seven pancakes for tea. More details later.

News from YTV. Yes, they've rejected my application. I am unaffected by it and suffer no damage to my ego. The loss is purely YTVs.


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Monday February 6, 1978

Accession of Queen Elizabeth II

National Day (New Zealand)

Slings it down with rain all day.Horribly damp. At lunch time I went into town and spent £25 on a pair of boots. First I cashed a cheque for £100 and for the first time in many months I felt like Stavros Niarchos.

I attempted to phone Jacqui but her line was constantly engaged. Ah well, never mind. Work was really dead.

Mrs J is _______________.

Just watched TV tonight. That was after splashing around in the bath and 're assembling' my bedroom from the devastation of 'Our David' at the weekend. The delightful Hilda Ogden on Coronation Street, and a blood thirsty film of the 'Wild West' were the only items of interest. Could not be bothered watching any of the current affairs programs and I ignored the 9 o'clock news. I've had enough of Dr (David) Owen and the affair of the poisoned Jaffas &c.

Retired to bed at 12:00 with Baroness Orczy. Blimey, Silver Jubilee Year ended officially today. Her Majesty's been on the throne for 26 years. God Bless Her! Meanwhile: on the slopes of an Austrian mountain the Prince of Wales is paying court to Lady Sarah Spencer, 22 year-old daughter of Earl Spencer. I'd better leave it at this because my comments will only destroy my reputation as the world's leading authority on royal affairs.

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Sunday February 5, 1978

7th Sunday before Easter

Jacqui and I got up at 9, 10 or 11. Oh, I was in such a state. Felt ghastly. Did the cleaning up and created an avalanche of soap suds in the kitchen.

Jacq felt incredibly hungover, but we had planned to go out on Hampstead Heath with Trixie at 12:30. Chrissy took hours getting ready and we didn't get to Trixie's until after 1:00pm. The bloody pubs close at 2 and so we scrapped the idea of going on the Heath and instead we went to the Victoria Stakes pub opposite Trixie's flat. Jacq went into the ladies loos and was violently sick. Chrissy was very pale too. Trixie and I drank the normal capacity though.

Chrissy, Jacq & Trixie.

Trixie: her FiatX19.

It was a nice sunny day and so I took photographs of the party around Trixie's new Fiat X19. Never have I seen such a voluptuous automobile. I want one, please.

Jacqui recovered slightly in the sunshine and is completely recovered at her mother's where we had a good lunch. Steak pudding followed by strawberry slush. Afterwards, I felt completely exhausted and before long I was hurtling along the underground from Finsbury Park to Victoria with my best girl by my side. I was hurried onto a damp, noisy coach and driven out of London at 6:00pm. Coaches are always the same, full of bronchial, asthmatic old men and West Indian doctors smoking Capstan full-strength cigarettes. Ghastly. Slept for most of the journey but had the usual break at Leicester.

Home for 11. Spent a pleasant hour with Mum and Dad.

-=-

Saturday February 4, 1978

Sun rises 7:35 sun sets 16:55 Independence Commemoration Day (Sri Lanka)

Keep a diary and one day it may keep you. How true these words are. Anyway, here goes.  A filthy, wet day. Jacqui, Chrissy and I went to Muswell Hill and spent a fortune on wine, cheese and french bread. Over £20 I think. We intended going to see the Arsenal play Aston Villa but the rain deterred us. Instead, the two us went to the Minstrel Boy pub for a few drinks.

Chrissy is going to join a kibbutz as soon as they'll have her, and so Jacqui is coming north within a few months. She says she'll stay at a Leeds Youth hostel until a flat can be found. I think she's remarkably brave about it all. You wouldn't see me dossing down like a refugee.

Back at the flat: we dressed in tramps gear and cracked open a bottle of wine and waited for the first party arrivals. A few came after 9, but it's 'dead' for most of the night. Cheryl came with a new boyfriend, Steve. Joy, who goes to Holland for three months from tomorrow, Shirley, Jake, Trixie (a killer). &c, &c. Jacq was off socialising for most of the night with her male work mates. Trixie, Cheryl and Steve stayed until the end, and we were all drunk, dancing to Glenn Miller. Trixie noted that Steve was being over familiar with me considering we are of the same sex. We laughed a good deal.


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Friday February 3, 1978

Out of bed at the crack of dawn and head for the deep south. It was a freezing cold day and I couldn't be bothered to get out of the coach at Leicester and instead I endured the boring conversation of a guy who went to school with one of the Gordon Giltrap Band. Big bloody deal. Arrived at Victoria at 1:00 and met Jacqui. She has a shorter hair cut.

Jacqui.

We had a few drinks in Victoria and then went to St Catherine's House. A ghastly task. Seven million John Wilsons were born  in the Yorkshire area in March, 1853. A daunting experience, and after an hour I was thoroughly defeated. It must be bliss to have a surname like Jacq's. Discovered very little but found that a John Wilson had married a Bella Fawbert in the North Bierley area in 1874. Her death in March, 1926 says she's Rella.

We went on to the flat where I demolished half a loaf with ease. Chrissy was in but Jan was at the doctors. The poor thing picked up Red flu in Austria last week.

At 7:30 Jacq's Mum's, Trixie, and brother, Peter, came round and we went for a drink to a pub called the John Baird. Trixie knocks back pints like no tomorrow. However, she's remarkably flash and 'Vogue-like' with Christian Dior shoes and posh hair. Pete has grown a beard. Trixie jokes and says he's quiet because he's in love with a bird called Alice. Poor bugger.

From the (John) Baird we went to a Greek restaurant and noshed our heads off - all at Trixie's expense. Pete went off to work at 10 and the three of us went to the Clissold until closing time.

Jacq passed her driving test yesterday - her 23rd birthday - and she drove us back to the flat in Trixie's mini which is to be exchanged tomorrow for a Fiat X19, whatever that may be.

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