Sunday December 7, 1975

2nd in Advent. A bloody day. Don't want to write anything.

I went to Carole's for tea and afterwards watched 'Virgin Soldiers' on tv. A good film.

Mrs Phillips (bless her) gave me an old print entitled 'Over the sea, and far away'. I carry it home under my arm at midnight and run the risk of being taken in by Her Majesty's Police Force.

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Saturday December 6, 1975

Woke up feeling quite chirpy really, considering.

Hear on the news that Leeds was razed to the ground by a mysterious 'Great Fire' last night. I suppose it's a blessing really, because at least it will stop the horrible plague, wot's been going on lately. However, in the absence of Christopher Wren, Basil Spence is going to design a lovely new town for us, and so it's all turned out well worth-while in the end.

Also hear on the news that Lynn is going to marry the Prince of Wales. She'll have to embrace the Anglican faith and change her name to Mary or Elizabeth, but it can be done quite cheaply these days. She won't be 'Princess Lynn' but the Queen will authorise her to use the 'HRH'.

Sit with Dave in the lounge while the princess and Carole sleep. Mum and Dad go out somewhere and we sit like loonies waiting for the girls to move. They are up and around after 12 and I'm surprised to see the princess looking so cheery.

Another trip this evening. Meet in the Hare & Hounds at 8.45 and attempt to persuade complete strangers to come along with us on a coach to far-off York. In the end we have 26 or so on a 41 seater coach. It looks bloody empty but we only pay £1.40 each in the end. At York we're in the Cat's Whiskers which is rough and double-rough. Sluts and tarts are in every corner and I've seen better looking brothels. I'm too tired to even laugh and I stand all the time because if I sit down I'll certainly pass out under the table.

We leave at 2am and everyone sleeps on the coach home.

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Friday December 5, 1975

Woke up with a hangover this morning and devoured a whole family-sized tin of peaches for breakfast whilst Lynn looked on aghast.

Down to Leeds with Jim and sit in a heap saying absolutely nothing. I didn't have the strength yo utter a single sylable (I've spelt that last word wrong, but it's a word I can never manage).

I can't go on much longer with this bloody diary. It's becoming something of a bind because I'm always about five days behind and it means all my free time is spent scribing away. I've been doing this for just about three years now and I quite understand if you don't want to go on reading. I must be an awfully boring diarist. Perhaps if Leeds were to be destroyed by a Great Fire or Lynn was to marry the Prince of Wales I'd have something less mundane to record. Unfortunately, both these possible occurrences do seem more than slightly far fetched.

Linda's party tonight. Carole, CD and I go to the Lister's Arms on the bus. We meet Linda and Andy, who aren't all that talkative, and see little Helen Willis working behind the bar. All the mob arrive and we go to the social event of Ilkley's calendar.

It's a bit of a flop really. I behaved in a bit of a semi-pornographic fashion with Christine White. Andy and I ended up yelling abuse at each other, and I crammed a handful of freshly cut lemon slices into his yapping mouth. Lynn was unconscious, and John threw up all over my suit (he was wearing it). We came home in a mini-bus at 1.30 and I vomited half an hour later. Carole stayed with the girls in their boudoir. Poor Dave and Peter had to suffer on the floor in the lounge.

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Thursday December 4, 1975

Today marks the start of a hectic social spree which won't end until Sunday morning. The thought is positively daunting, but we are all young and healthy and should manage to come through it all right.

Meet CB at the Ostlers at lunchtime. She says that Philip is taking her to a restaurant in Tingley on Saturday and then they are going to Cinderella's. She wants him back now, nearly a year since they finished. God only knows what the end will be as far as Christine and Philip are concerned.

Home at 5.30 and leap into the bath immediately. Carole arrives for tea at 6.15 and Dave arrives soon after. Mum manages to get Carole to devour a sandwich or two - a rare thing indeed. She ought to get the George Cross or something for that.

Dave drives us down to Bradford at 7.15 and we meet Martyn and his cronies near the coach. Drive to Leeds and get in the Hofbrauhaus by 8pm. The four of us get a table together and fall straight into the spirit of the thing. The jugs of lager were 70p a time - but the glasses were bigger than one and a half pints. Even Carole and Lynn drank them! Lynn and David managed to get a waitress the sack after they reported her for over-charging. She came crawling round the table with tears streaming down her face, begging forgiveness, but we went on drinking undaunted by her constant grovelling. I somehow managed to spill a full glass of beer over an innocent by-stander, but bought him one by way of compensation. I didn't actually become intoxicated but could have done so if the place had stayed open for a further half hour. Carole remained sober, as did Lynn and Dave. We left at about 11 and came back to Bradford on the coach. Dave then brought Lynn, Carole, Martyn and me back up home.


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Wednesday December 3, 1975

The weather was a bit improved today. Basil, the postman, had to admit the the sunrise was one of the best he's ever seen.

I propelled myself in a Leeds direction by train this morning. Jim Rawnsley must have died or something because I haven't laid eyes on him since Friday. Not to worry. He was old anyway.

I met Douglas, from next door, at the station and remind him of our boozing date at 1 o'clock. He says he'll come, but doesn't look all that certain.

Meet Dave outside the Ostlers at 1 o'clock and he says that Douglas isn't coming. After one drink we decide to go round the shops and look for Lynn's present. Dave kept drifting towards windows full of engagement rings, and I kept having to bring the poor lad back to his senses. However, when the day eventually dawns when he and Lynn want to make fools of themselves at the altar I certainly won't haul him away from the ring shops because he will make a good brother-in-law. Do I hear wedding bells? (I know you're all bloody sick of me throwing in that cliche, so why don't any of you have the guts to admit it?)

At home tonight I busy myself industriously. Press trousers by the score and take up the hem (of a pair of trousers). Carole rang at least three times (bless her) and I am disturbed to hear that her brother has hit her and given her a bruising. The swine will feel the full weight of my fist in his throat if he does so much as raise his fist in her direction again. These 16 year-old adolescents want watching good and proper.

I sit down and watch the 10 o'clock news on ITV which is appallingly done (or is it apallingly?) It was badly done anyway. It may sound snobbish and 'Olde Worlde' but it takes a lot to beat the good old BBC. I could read the news better than Reginald Bosanquet and Sandy Gall put together, and in saying that I'm insulting myself really. John Snagge would turn in his grave if he were dead.


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Tuesday December 2, 1975

I have received a brochure from Swans, the holiday people, and the trips for next summer look quite reasonable really.

When I mentioned to Maria the other day that we ought to go on holiday together she glanced over at Carole and said something about ________ being too moral for her liking. What the Hell does she expect? When I go on holiday I do not put sex at the top of my list of priorities, and besides, how can she say that about ______? Very childish of her.

A wet and cold day again. Get a letter from David L asking if I am actually going down to Worcester before Xmas. I think not because I cannot leave Carole, and somehow I don't see her fitting in at the college. Don't get me wrong. I'd love her to go, but I have to make a decision one way or the other.

I saw a Rhodeses coach in Guiseley today and felt like laying down in its path so that my death would be on the pathetic driver's conscience for the remainder of his days. I do intend getting my revenge at a later date. Oh, Sweet Vengeance! I could go on and quote large chunks from Baroness Orczy's 'I Will Repay' but I won't bother.

I don't want to write any more tonight because I am in a lazy mood and at this time of the year a lad has every right to be bloody lazy and idle. Who cares anyway? You wouldn't spend all night filling in a useless diary so why the Hell should I?

Goodnight, dears.

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Monday December 1, 1975

A gloomy, horrible day. Nothing but wind and rain, and even snow on and off. Work uneventful. Didn't go out at lunchtime and came home up the lane at 5.30 in a downpour. The fact that we are now in December didn't do much by way of glitter and joy on this day. In only hope that in the next 24 days we'll see an improvement in everyones spirits.

Mum thinks that ________ is round the bend. ______________________________________.
Little Dave B is ok because he is so robust.

Carole rang me at lunchtime and I was surprised when she agreed we shouldn't go out until Thursday. She usually goes berserk if I try to do her out her regular Wednesday evening liaison. She did however develop a wilting voice towards the end of the conversation when she said she'd kill herself if she has to wait until Thursdsay. It's frightening to know I am so relied upon.

Heard on the news that Lord Snowdon should have been on the plane with Graham Hill when it crashed. He changed his mind at the last minute having decided he had taken enough photographs - a decision that saved his life. Sarah says she thinks Princess Margaret would have liked her husband to have been done away with. The press may make out that Tony and the princess lead an unsteady married life, but I'd never take Sarah's view.

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Sunday November 30, 1975

Advent Sunday. St Andrew's Day. Wake up feeling quite normal considering the amount of alcohol I consumed at the Minstrel's Gallery.

Carole rings me from Maria's to say they are going to church this afternoon and 'do you mind if I don't see you until teatime?' I say I'll just about survive (God knows how) and return to the lounge to discuss food with Lynn and Dave. We are all on the verge of starvation and the aroma of Mum's cooking doesn't help much.

Marlene, Frank and the children come round at 2 for lunch and because of the large numbers involved we have to have two sittings in the dining room. I am on second sitting with John, Lynn, Sue, Dave and Pete.

I spend the afternoon playing a chess-like game with Frank. Really cosy it was too,and made such a change from the usual Sunday afternoon activities. Frank was clad in pink socks, orange and green checked trousers, a white shirt with black men all over it, a lime green and blue striped tank top, and a repulsive vomit coloured tie. However, I do suppose that one goes through a phase like this when one hits 30. Funny really.

The Harwoods go at 5.30 and John and I are summoned to the Macdonald residence. Mr & Mrs Mac are keeping vigil around grandfather's hospital bed but hope is fading fast. They look at his possible passing quite objectively though. I suppose to Roman Catholics death is like going on holiday.

After an hour at the Macdonald stately pile I leave, for health reasons, with Carole in the direction of home. We watch television, and that's about it really. Nothing thrilling or outrageous. Just the days events as seen through the eyes of a raving lunatic called Michael Rhodes.

NEWS: Graham Hill, the racing driver, was killed in a plane crash last night. Now I'll just go upstairs and lay down.

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Saturday November 29, 1975

To Bradford with Carole and Maria at 2pm. Maria goes off to buy presents and Carole and I go looking for a ring for me. We see one in Samuels after an hour or so. She buys it for me. £26! Bless her. I never thought she'd pay so much, and it only goes to show that I underestimate her feelings for me. The ring is gold with a tiny diamond on one corner - beautiful.

Ring Brummels and they say we can't go in as a coach party. We therefor cancel our venue and go for the Cat's Whiskers instead. They have no objection to us going. I ring Christine W in York and tell her to go to the Cat's Whiskers instead of Brummels. Phew! What a lark. But the worst is yet to come. You just wait and see.

We readied ourselves and dashed around the house in a mad panic. Sue and Lynn were wearing new creations. At 7.30 Dad drove John, Maria, Carole and me down to the Hare. People started arriving and by 8.30 we had gathered some 31 people.Chris and Gillian came, and the couple from next door, and many people too numerous to mention. At 9 o'clock I go outside and wait for the coach and my heart sinks when it gets to twenty past that fateful hour and it is still nowhere to be seen. Half the crowd follow me to the telephone in the tap room and look on in horror as I'm told that no coach whatsoever will be coming tonight. I tried to get mad with the creep on the other end of the line but was rendered speechless by the shock of it. Peter Nason called him a 'bastard' and Gillian Upton called him a few other things, but it was all in vain. 31 people all dressed up with nowhere to go. A scramble was made for the door and those who were able went home for cars. By 11 o'clock two thirds of the original 31 people were in the Minstrel's Gallery in Ilkley. We stayed until 2am and I cheered up somewhat after the shock of being let down by Rhodeses Coaches Ltd.

CB was pissed out of her mind.

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Friday November 28, 1975

Don't want to write much. To the Cow & Calf with Peter M, CB and Carole. We all got on quite well considering how the girls hate one another.

Peter wants his head looking at for chasing after CB. She makes it obvious that she wants nothing to do with him, and Carole feels sorry for the poor lad. However, I shouldn't interfere with the 'goings on' of other peoples 'romances'.

Drink pernod and realise I must be mad because of what I'll be spending tomorrow.

Ross McWhirter, the Guinness Book of Records chap, was murdered by the IRA last night. Margaret Thatcher, a mate of his, is now shouting for the re-introduction of capital punishment. It is a sad state of affairs when a political leader is only moved to action when a personal acquaintance is done away with. What about all these innocent people dining out in London restaurants? Why should it take Ross McWhirter's death to get our MPs to leap into action?

Roy Jenkins still insists that death for terrorists is no deterrent and that the police force is the main force of attack. Fool that he is.

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Thursday November 27, 1975

A wet, nasty day all round. Sarah and Carol J are in London on a day trip, and they are worried about being blown to pieces by the IRA. Before they left I advised the following: keep out of restaurants, cinemas, big famous stores like Harrods and Fortnum & Mason's, museums, art galleries, the Tower of London, Madame Tusaud's and the Planetarium; and that probably the safest thing they can do is go sit in the middle of St James's Park having heavily lagged their under garments with at least eight sand bags, and just hope for the best.