Monday May 1, 1978

Bank Holiday (UK) St Philip and St James

Pissed down all day. Jacq, Mum and I had a few May Day cocktails and then at 1pm the two of (Jacq + self) went to the Commercial for a few drinks.

Carol (Shires) got married on Saturday, and we saw Anne (Shires) who is over for the wedding from the USA. Jacq and I discussed love and marriage. She told me the most infuriating thing about me is that she can never tell, or even make a guess, at what I'm thinking . It made me laugh. We were quite frank with each other.

At 3 we must have been slightly drunk because we came back through Esholt Woods and went up the tunnel that runs through the hillside where we played when we were children. Then we walked bare foot in the rain to John's at Silverdale. The place was deserted.

Back home for din dins and later out with Sue and Pete to the Shoulder of Mutton, Cow & Calf, the Malt Shovel (Burley). Chippy, Gus and Dave Wainwright were behaving a little childishly (probably more noticeable because I was more sober than usual). Jacq moaned about our financial situation. Fish and chips finished off the evening.

A couple of hours television. Retired at about 1:30. Jacq slept in the ladies room with my loving sisters.

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Sunday April 30, 1978

5th Sunday after Easter

Rogation Sunday

A wet and windy day. Jacq came after luncheon in the monsoon that ravaged and intimidated the locality today. Mum and Dad were visiting Mexborough. Sue and Pete were playing squash at Shipley, and of course Lynn & Dave were at Burley ~ and so just the two of us at home.

We watched a film starring Robert Donat followed by one starring George Cole. I fell into a coma while Jacq watched the BBC drama 'Lorna Doone'.

Lynn and Dave returned for tea and the four of us had salad (minus the mayonnaise) which made me shed tears for the millions of desperate rabbits who, every day, have to devour tons of ghastly lettuce without the benefit of that all-smothering liquid commonly called salad cream. No bloody wonder our furry, buck teethed friends pack up and die after six or seven miserable years.

Tonight we watched the first in a series on the Plantagenet kings which began with King Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. I enjoyed it, if nobody else did. Later on BBC2 saw a documentary on Jessica Mitford, Lord Redesdale's rebel daughter, which was excellent. Her sisters are Unity (deceased playmate of Hitler), Nancy (the authoress), Deborah (Duchess of Devonshire) and an obscure Pamela.

Bed at 1am - ish. Read a bit of Pepys.

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Saturday April 29, 1978

Moon's last quarter 22:02

Sun rises 05:37 Sun sets 20:30

Slept until 12:15pm and then did very little other than swim around in the bath listening to the record player. Dad spent the day hacking in the shrubbery and Mum attempted to persuade me to join him but I resisted.

At about 5:30 - 6 o'clock I walked down to Guiseley and attempted to get a bus to Leeds but failed. I met the small, young YP photographer who'd been to the Guiseley Town football match, and we went for a train which didn't come until 6:30. I collected Jacq at 7.

A couple of Jacq's colleagues from Dacres took us to the Lawnswood Arms where the Dacre, Son and Hartley dinner/dance was under way. We drank, ate and danced until 1am.

Pleasurable it all was. Jacq was wearing the pink number she wore at Pete (Sate's) 21st. One thing's for sure ~ Jacq is very popular with the menfolk. They flock to her like bluebottles in a public convenience, and just stare, open mouthed. Her Cockney accent is a leading hypnotic power. I certainly had the feeling that 2,000 over-sexed estate agents would like to see me beneath the wheels of a West Yorkshire bus.

I got a lift home and sat with Mum, Dad, Sue and Peter arguing about politics ... again. Nason is now a bloody communist.

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Friday April 28, 1978

Met Jacq at the Ostlers at lunchtime and had a couple of pints of shandy. _____. Once again I am just about destitute. A £5 note graces my pocket with no signs of any more booty getting therein before the next pay day. However, Jacq does have £5 of mine towards my 'Shirt Fund'. We'll see how it goes, anyway.

I worked until 5, got the train home, and then set out again for Leeds at 6:30 to meet Jacq! So stupid leaving Leeds in the first place.

We met at 7:30 and went to the Odeon to see 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind' which is an exquisite film. Sarah and John Mac saw it on Wednesday and Sarah was so impressed she slept through the whole showing. I'd say it's one of the best films I've ever seen. Jacq was weeping. The film proved just too much for her.

Close Encounters ....

At 11 we were thrust out into the bustling streets of Leeds to discover no public transport of any kind. Hundreds of thousands of bingo playing OAPs were openly throwing themselves beneath the wheels of passing vehicles in the chaos and horror that followed.

I took Jacq back to the YWCA and set out on the long road home on foot. On Wellington Street I teamed up with an old boy from Yeadon and we walked along discussing trade unions, Northern Ireland and the French Revolution. In fact we walked for ten miles and only managed to get a lift when we were at Rawdon Crematorium. We were picked up by three lads whom I recognised from various pubs. They were pissed up. The driver couldn't find his gears, and when I commented on this he told me it was a stolen car and he hadn't quite got the hang of it yet. I believed him too. Typical isn't it, that I should go out on a Saturday night with my best girl to the cinema and end up being the brains behind the greatest armed robbery without even trying?

I went to bed with a glass of lager and sat rubbing hand cream all over my feet. Oh, it was bliss.

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Thursday April 27, 1978

Lunch at the Ostlers with Jacq.

To Oakwood Hall tonight with Christine. First we went to the Hare & Hounds for one miserable drink in the company of poor Kathryn Young. No sighting of Judith, but I was told she was 'lurking' behind the bar with her 'young man'.

The night was an amusing one anyway. We laughed at the young boys who were attempting to imitate John Travolta whenever a Bee Gees record was played. "Oh, so you've seen the film too" was Christine's quip on the dance floor.

We didn't drink to excess. I drank cider. The lager was discarded completely. Home at nearly 2:0am. We caused a riot on the lane. Even Jim Rawnsley was awakened by the screams of laughter.

-=-

Wednesday April 26, 1978

I went from the YP by train to Pudsey where I joined Mum and Dad at Auntie Mabel's for tea. She made us a nice salad and afterwards we sat with a few drinks before the television. It's now almost certainly been confirmed that my Uncle Jack (Myers) is suffering from cancer of the pancreas. Sadly, Jackie (Myers) didn't arrive as planned at Auntie's. I haven't laid eyes on Jacqueline since May, 1976.

... You could all employ yourselves doing something beneficial to the community instead of eavesdropping on me. Blimey, I probably died years ago, and none of this drivel will matter when all is said and done.

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Tuesday April 25, 1978

Is this journal becoming increasingly boring? At twenty three I may well have lost my lustre. I only hope that you, dear reader, will bear with me through the morose flow of daily trivia. One must, above all things, take the rough with the smooth.

Anyway, Jacqueline Mary Sate and I did once again meet for light refreshment in the period of our lunchtime. The Ostlers is now a familiar scene on these filthy, soaking afternoons. ________________.

The diaries of Samuel Pepys are keeping me gripped to my chair. King Charles II is now firmly established upon his throne. It's a pleasure to read. Eleven years of Puritanical chaos must have been Hell for all normal, fun-loving souls. I, for one, would have taken a visa and escaped to Majorca until Mr Cromwell snuffed it.

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Monday April 24, 1978

Up to Rawdon to see old Hough (dentist). As usual I need a couple of teeth filling and have to go back on May 4.

Sarah took me to Rawdon in Delia's car, which was good of her. I'm supposed to be going to tea with them both next week. Whether I shall or not depends on the movements of Mr W.A. Collis, because I'm never entertained there when he's lodging at home. He hates me.

Jacq started work today at Dacre, Son & Hartley. I phoned her tonight to see how things went. She says OK. The money is ghastly after London but that's the way things are. It's Dacre's dinner dance on Saturday and I'm accompanying Jacq. More expense!

We are going for a quick drink on Wednesday lunchtime, not before. She is attempting to manage my financial affairs. I have every intention of achieving solvency by August or September.

Sandy Denny, the singer, is dead.



Christine phoned. Goodnight.

-=-

Sunday April 23, 1978

Full Moon 05:11 4th Sunday after Easter St George (England)

I was awakened at 9:30 by Alison who was waking John (in another bed in the room) in order to get him to work on time. That poor boy seems to do little else. Graham Dixon, Alison's brother, was also in a third bed in the room, and was introduced to me for the first time. Shaking hands with somebody in bed doesn't seem quite right somehow. He is quite scarred after a recent car accident.

A really beautiful day. Open top car weather, shirt sleeves, and all that. Alison took Jacq and I on a pub crawl of the area and we knocked back Pernod in a way that brought the beaches of Ibiza to the forefront of my pickled mind. The pubs included the Cart & Horses at Kings Worthy, the Plough at Itchen Abbas, the Bush at Ovington, the Globe at Alresford, &c. Most of the inns appear to be packed with over fed stockbrokers, retired field marshals and accompanying ladies.


Hurtling through Hampshire with Alison.

Back at Alison's I met Mr & Mrs Dixon for the first time. Very amiable folk. We contemplated staying until tonight but on phoning Victoria we are told we cannot exchange our tickets unless we go there in person, which defeats the object. So at 3:30 we spent £7 for the two of us to go from Winchester to London Waterloo by train. It took just an hour. We larked about on the Embankment and in Parliament Square which took us to 6pm and home time. I took a picture of Jacq dancing next to a statue of Jan Christian Smuts - it should be quite good. It looked as if the old boy was tap dancing too.


Jacq dancing with Jan Christian Smuts

A long coach journey. We were an hour late in Leeds. Jacq only just made it to the hostel on time and I was certain I wouldn't get a bus home. Daddy was phoned and he and Mama collected me at 11:30. Back for supper and a hot bath. By 1am I was in bed with Samuel Pepys.


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Saturday April 22, 1978

Sun rises 5:51 Sun sets 20:08

First Day of Passover (Pesach)

Up at 7am to the sound of Trixie frying breakfast and singing in her kitchen. Obviously, she suffers none of the 'morning after' effects. Peter S actually came home late last night (supposedly a rare thing for Mr Sate) and was forced to sleep on the chaise lounge, or whatever you call those French sofas with a roll at one end and no back.

After a dash round the bathroom Jacq and I went out for the 8 o'clock bus to Finsbury Park where we found the tube to Victoria. At 9:15 we got a coach to Wallingford in Oxfordshire, a 2 hour journey.

Jacq and I amused ourselves on the back seat, much to the horror of a family of hikers, who stared at us in disbelief. Some of the countryside though which we passed was stunningly beautiful. The money is thickly spread around in Oxfordshire, if you ask me.

At Wallingford we were collected by Mr George Oakes, father of the bride. The house, though being very ordinary, possessed an astounding photograph collection of members of the royal family - and all SIGNED! One photo on top of the television was a signed portrait of the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh. Others were spread around the sitting room from the Queen Mother, Princess Margaret, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, Princess Alexandra, &c. It transpires that Mr Oakes was for ten years, 1966-76, secretary to the Queen's Flight.





Jacq was upstairs with Gina (the bride) and I sat drinking gin and tonic with a strange lady who is married to a relation of somebody. Brilliant sunshine erupts at 2:30, when Gina (Miss Georgina Margaret Oakes) is married to Flight Lieutenant Hugh Monroe Dawson. The ceremony was a Methodist one and I found it quite the most sincere solemnization I have yet experienced. Afterwards, at RAF Benson, we boozed and noshed. I was alone and wandering about like a lost sheep for some time because Jacq, in her capacity as bridesmaid, was for most of the time tied up with the photographer and other necessary annoyances. I was befriended by a humorous old boy, whom Jacq later labelled ACDC. He seems to have taken a shine to me.






At 7-ish we went back to the Oakes residence travelling there with Auntie Nancy and Uncle Percy. More gin and jokes followed and finally we took our leave at 10:30.

To the Green Tree pub in Wallingford where we waited for Alison's arrival.She bombed up in a sports car at about midnight and by 1am we were back in Winchester and at the Berni Inn where we met John P.

Meeting John at the Berni almost got the poor bugger dismissed because the manager's wife took offence when he served us with a drink at that time in the morning. John did chuck £3 in the till and poured the manager a brandy but all the same she took exception to this. It was an embarrassment all round.

Alison, John, Jacq and I returned to Ally's house at Martyr Worthy. John, who has worked a long shift, almost passed out with exhaustion, and at sometime after 3am we all retired.

Alison's house, though large and attractive, is not the Versailles of Lynn's tales. I fear the Rhodes imagination has run amok in this direction.

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Friday April 21, 1978

Birthday of Queen Elizabeth II

Lynn got me out of bed at 6:30 and I devoured a few slices of toast and read the Daily Mail. The Queen is 52 today. She's in the paper this morning holding her grandson, Peter, in a Snowdon portrait.

Got the 7:52 train to Leeds and met Jacq at the bus station on Wellington Street. She's wearing a hat and reading Erich Segal's follow up to 'Love Story'. It looks like sentimental slush to me.



Left for London at 8:30 and got to Victoria at 1pm. We had a few drinks at the Albert, a pub done out in Victorian style, and then afterwards walked down the Embankment towards Waterloo Bridge. For a while we queued at the entrance at the Commons for a look at the yelling and bawling mob, but after half an hour it began to drizzle and we made our escape.



To Trixie's at Muswell Hill for 5:30 where we had a massive meal of pork roll and avocado pear, &c. Trixie was in good shape and so pleased to see Jacq. Peter S is thinner. He went out with his friend Nick, and the three of us went to the BBC Social Club at the Alexandra Palace. Quite a drunken affair it was too, especially after Trixie won a bottle of Teacher's whisky in a raffle. I was drinking lager with Scotch chasers. Ugh. Yes, I did it again.____________.

Trixie drove us back to the flat pissed, driving at approx 2 MPH with windscreen wipers going like hell, but at least she stuck to the correct side of the road. On arrival home poor Trixie vomited in her palatial loo.

Bundled into Peter's bed.

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