Tthursday January 2, 1975

Have a rotten nights sleep and get up feeling a bit bog-eyed at 20 to 8.
Busy day at the YP with the New Years Honours List. Charlie Chaplin, PG Wodehouse and Gary Sobers are new knights, and the revolting deaf MP Jack Ashley is a CH. Chaplin is 85, and Wodehouse is 93. Mr Wodehouse may be a genius of the pen, but his politics aren't really what they should be. He made certain hideous broadcasts from Berlin in 1941 which upset everyone a good deal. As for Sir Charlie Chaplin, I'm not a fan of his at all. I do smile occasionally at his silent movies, but that hardly makes him 'knight worthy'.

Mum is 40 today, but like Jack Benny she says she's not going to get any older than 39. She does right too. Dad is 41 today. We bought Mum a series of black underwear, and Dad another new shirt. John and I have tea alone whilst Mum and Dad discuss buying a new car with one of Daddy's PC friends. Lynn and Dave are in Scarborough for the day. Lynn may be in love for the first time. (I think it's the first time anyway, but I wouldn't know about that).

Sit looking at the bedraggled Christmas tree and make up my mind to remove it from the lounge tomorrow - a sad occasion indeed.

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Wednesday January 1, 1975

Michael Rhodes, 19 years, 8 months and 26 days. Here I am again, everyone. No doubt you're all sick of me, but you'll have a long wait if you think I'm going to pack it in just for your sakes.

The party was a tremendous success. At about 8.30pm last night John, Christine B, Chris and self went to the Hare where we were joined by the mob. Lynn and David, and even Martyn and Alison attended. In keeping with tradition we all went to the Commercial to see the New Year safely in. Mum and Dad are entertaining Ernest* & Edith Blackwell** in the crowded ale house at Esholt, and we draw the conclusion that far more people are out spending money on ale than at the same time last year.

Back to Pine Tops at 12.15 after hearing from Denny that Adrian is 'too poorly' to come. This is the first New Year in three years that Miss Akroyd hasn't attended. Uncle Harry came at about 2am and was stoned as usual. He says he now wants to join the Ulster police. Uncle H in Northern Ireland! That's all they need!

I stood on CB's toe whilst dancing and she lost the nail. Blood pouring everywhere. Not a pretty sight I might add. I felt unusually knackered all night, and Dave Lawson kept saying I looked 'lethargic', which seemed to give him a good deal of pleasure. A spot of bother came when Carol and Christine W attempted both to bed down in my precious sleeping place. David B (yes, I've reverted to the old style) had to step in and take them home at 6am. I went to bed shortly after.

Up at 1pm and sit in front of the TV for eleven hours. Had a good, peaceful time though. Lynn and Dave are going to Scarborough tomorrow. Lucky Devils!


*Ernest Blackwell (born May 16, 1907)
** Edith Hannah Blackwell (born Sept 11, 1909)

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Tuesday December 31, 1974

My half-day. Come home at 12.30 where everyone is rushing around preparing for the party tonight. Our famous parties grow more and more popular each year and we'll have to hold it in a marquee before very long. I clear all the rubbish out of the garage which has been piled there since Christmas. John helps me to burn it.

Mum is upset by Auntie Hilda, who informs her by way of the telephone, that the Gadsbys will not be patronising our Hogmany orgy this year. Mrs Gadsby really is the limit.
A sad day for this volume today. This is my final entry upon these pages, and in a few short minutes the book will be closed forever. What can I possibly say to put a fitting end to it? I know, I'll give a list of events which I think have been the most important of the year.

January: Vic Feather is raised to the peerage.

February: The Rt Hon Edward Heath resigns as Prime Minister; the Rt Hon Harold Wilson becomes PM (March 4)

March: Ian Ball attempts to kidnap Princess Anne, March 20; Lynn is 16 (March 6)

April: I am 19 April 5

May: Meet Judith Beevers (May 3)

June: Death of the Duke of Gloucester (June 10); John and I visit John and Sheila in Windsor

July: Finish with Judith Beevers (July 21)

August: Princess Anne, 24; Queen Mother, 74.

September: Lynn starts going out with Dave Baker; John is 18, Sept 25

October: General Election, Oct 10. Start going out with Lynne Mather

November: Finish with Lynne Mather

December: Santa Claus comes Dec 25.

Mary had a little pig,
She put it in a bucket,
But every time she took it out,
the Bulldog tried to put it back

Mary had a little lamb,
She also had a duck,
She put them on the matlepiece,
to see if they'd fall off

Mary had a little Pig,
She couldn't stop it grunting,
she stood it up against the sty,
and kicked its little head in

So, the year is nearly over. A new diary becomes operative from midnight. Hope you've enjoyed reading it. Obviously, I'm a boring writer and I cannot expect you to have devoured every sentence with rellish. I can understand you skipping a couple of months here and there. You're only human after all. Well, I'm going now. If you want to read about the party see the book headed '1975' in which a full and proper account of tonight's goings on will be preserved for posterity. God Bless you all, and a happy and prosperous New Year, which ever one it is next. After all, you could be a little chap from the 22nd century who has stumbled upon this diary. Wishing you a Happy New Year for 1975 would be a bit pointless, wouldn't it?

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Monday December 30, 1974

A remarkable story was splashed across the pages of yesterday's Sunday People about the marital goings on of the Duke of Argyll's brother, Lord Colin Campbell. Evidently, Lady Colin, the duke's sister-in-law, was a "young man" until her 19th year, when he/she underwent a sex-change operation. Whatever next?

Prepare myself for a quiet Monday evening, which is to be quite different tonight. Andy rings us at about 8. He collects John and I and we go to the Hare. Have several drinks at the local before moving on to the Station on Henshaw Lane. Linda and Carol are having a quiet drink inside, and are surprised to see us. I'm on lager again all night, and drink too much. Not too much as far as intoxication is concerned, but too much in a pig-like style, verging on gluttony. Have fish and chips and then come home to see 'The 39 Steps' - the ancient film. Ah well, 1974 is almost over and done with. I do so dislike having to move into a new year.

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Sunday December 29, 1974

1st after Christmas. Wake up in a lousy state at noon. Still fully clad in jeans and cardigan, but all in knots. Am still drunk at 12. After a bath with the window wide open and a large cooked breakfast I disappeared back to bed until 4.30. Came downstairs to be faced by a bowl of Mum's trifle which had gone off. Nearly decided to call it a day and return to bed, but chose to stay to entertain Dave and Lynn, who are discussing tonight's rave at the Gadsby mansion.

They all go at about 6 and I sit about listening to the radio. Once again the fateful December 29 is upon us. The fifth anniversary of the death of Uncle Albert. Not wishing to be too morbid I'd like to say a few words about him. At the age of 14 I had led a completely sheltered life of happiness and domestic bliss. For those 14 years death had been an unknown monster. Like other children, I never expected this ugly __to raise its sombre face in my direction. But, on December 29, 1969, my little world was shattered by the death Uncle Albert, my beloved relative and friend. This event marked a point of some significance. Nobody before or since has died leaving me so upset. In short, he's the only person I ever been close to and lost. That is why I keep this day in horror next to my heart. I realise that before my life is done, many such dates will be of horrid significance to me.

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Saturday December 28, 1974

Death of Mary II, 1694. Feeling quite well, which is unusual for Saturday mornings. Lynn and I sit listening to the radio until 8.0am. This John Stonehouse case is a right bloody fiasco. It makes one wonder just how many other vice-ridden, corrupt sods flock each day to the Palace of Westminster to help govern this nation of ours. It's a nasty embarrassment for 'Uncle' Harold and his so-called Labour party.

Work until 3.30 when I decide to pack up and go. I was only half an hour early - no catastrophe.
John, Sheila and cousin Valerie came after tea, and John and I only had a few minutes with them before departing for Horsforth. The Ratcliffe party commences in the evening and is a tremendous success. The clan meet in the Fleece, a nice little ale house which we rarely visit throughout the drinking year. See June. We don't speak. Miss Bottomley fails to excite my emotions like she did once upon a time.

The party is underway by 10.30 and goes on until 11 the following morning. I can't remember much about the occasion at all, though I do recall a certain enjoyable experience with Christine Braithwaite. I gradually drank myself into a state of semi-consciousness & Denny was the only one who came to my aid. We walked all over Horsforth together and I felt much better afterwards. Home with Lynn, David, Christine Dibb and Denny at 4am.

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Friday December 27, 1974

Unusual day. Wake up at 10.30 feeling void of all life and health, but do not lay around to dwell on my condition. Downstairs David is preparing breakfast and poor Sandy is in a pile on the lounge carpet with Tosca looking on.

I devour an unwanted breakfast and John attempts to remove the remnants of this early mornings fiasco with a tin of beans and toast from his person. Leave the Lawson residence at about 12 o'clock and David comes back for a drink. Sit in front of the TV all afternoon not taking much notice of the goings on and contemplating the Christine/Philip break-up. She rings later on and confirms it. He came to see her this morning and begged her to reconsider, but she refused. Naturally, the poor girl's upset, but the bulk of my sympathy goes to poor Philip. He's a different character to Christine. I think she can be hard, whilst he's almost child-like in his affection for her. He'll be shattered by this well and truly.

Arrange to go to the Hare at 8.15. Dave's collecting me, and Christine is making her own way down. It's a quiet night really. John, David, Sandy, Christine and myself go to the Hare, then to the Queen's at Apperley. See Judith B's car on the drive, but she's not in the pub in question. Find a fish and chip shop open in Horsforth and we sit about troughing like greedy pigs. Home and tucked up in bed for 12.

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Thursday December 26, 1974

Boxing Day. Holiday in England, Ireland & Wales. Christine finished with Philip at Dave's Christmas party. I am bereft of all comment on the situation. My capacity to deal with the English language is shown to be completely useless when I give it news of such a sizeable calamity as this to cope with. She handed the (engagement) ring back and he went off heart-broken into the wind and rain of the night.

The party itself was super. Dave playing the perfect host as usual, and all went well. Everyone came, and I received my first opportunity to form an opinion of Adrian, espoused of Miss Akroyd.

MM and Marita were sat heaped in a corner all evening - not at all the enthusiastic couple. I became more than just merry. Exactly, I was pissed up beyond the level of safety. Danced with Christine for much of the time. She kept saying how relieved she was to have ended it all with Philip. As though a great cloud had been raised from above her. Carol Smith's little scouse of a boyfriend kept threatening to kill the other male party goers when they attemmpted to dance with his darling. God! Just who does he think SHE is?

Sandy and I made beans on toast at about 4am. John managed to coat himself with more than a liberal layering of baked beans, which set concrete hard by 10am.

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Wednesday December 25, 1974

Christmas Day. Up at a decent time with no hangover, upset stomach or minor bruising in the area of the buttocks, like the situation I was in at last years festive peak. After the ritual handing over of millions of presents we all settle down in the lounge in preparation for lunch. It was better than the last one, and Mum really deserves a medal for all she's done today. Delicious.

David Baker, Esquire, calls after lunch to give Lynn her presents. We sit laughing for hours.
The Queen seemed rather abrupt in her usual Commonwealth broadcast, and we saw none of the usual family tit-bits like Prince Edward pushing a corgi off the back of a Land Rover, or Princess Margaret in cabaret at Braemar Womens' Institute annual prize giving. Still, we are grateful for the few words we did receive.
To Auntie Eleanor's at 7 with the family plus Mr Nason and Mr Baker. ________.Home at 2am. Dave looked like thunder from about 11.30 onwards. The poor boy doesn't understand the Wilson type of humour at all.

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Tuesday December 24, 1974

Christmas Eve. YP till 12 before the festivities begin. At 12 I go outside to meet John who is coming into Leeds for the booze-up in the Central Station pub. He comes up to the library and waits while we open our presents and knock back a glass of cinzano bianco.

The Central is packed out - unbelieveable. Sarah, John and I spend most of the time at the bar. Peter Lazenby and few of his 'Roundhead' Sealed Knot friends go almost hysterical when I tell them that Sarah is descended from Bridget, daughter of Oliver Cromwell, and General Henry Ireton. Praise upon praise was lavished upon her. However, they didn't go so far as to buy her a drink. Sarah, John and I left Leeds by bus at about 3 o'clock. The massive crowd in the Central prevented us from being rendered incapable with ales and spirits, but we weren't all that sober. Devour a few layers of chocolates while travelling home.

At home Mum is prepared for Christmas. Have tea - the first meal of the day for me, before going out on the town to the Hare at 8.30. We stay until 11.30 and nobody seems really enchanted with festive cheer. Come home with Lynn and Dave Baker and sit about merry-making until the early hours.

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Monday December 23, 1974

YP all day. Nearly Christmas once more. Doesn't seem ten minutes since the last one really.

Go with John, Mum and Dad to see cousin Dorothy at the White Horse in Burley-in-Wharfedale. She is not really like any of the Wilsons I know. My calculations show she's the daughter of my grandfather's elder brother, Edward Wilson. Mum says he was a typical local character whose vocabulary consisted of little other than swear words and uncouth language. 'The salt of the earth' as Dad would say. We have a few drinks at Burley before coming home for supper. On arriving home I call in on the Blackwells with a bottle of rum which Mum bought for them. They keep me for ages talking about the weather of yesteryear. Evidently, 1933 and 1947 were the worst Christmases they have known.

Pork sandwiches for supper with Lynn, Sue, Peter and Dave. See a cronic ghost story before coming to bed after 12.

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