Monday March 21, 1977

What a wonderful weekend. But in no mood to discuss it this morning. Thoroughly tired out.

Cheered somewhat by the fact that our beloved government may be resigning this week. Mr 'Callagas' may be packing his bags and shifting his belongings from Downing Street at this very moment. Is Margaret Thatcher's moment of truth upon us already? You just wait and see. Callabum has only been in office for ten or eleven months.

Go to Boots and collect a packet of photographs that have been waiting for me since April. Yes, pictures of Lynn's 18th (birthday) at the Yorkshire Rose.

Walkabout, starring Jenny Agutter.

Bathe and eat tomato sandwiches in front of the television. Watch a Jenny Agutter film about a nubile schoolgirl abandoned in the Outback with a solitary Aborigine. It quite put me off my food.

The Queen was on the BBC news. 'Go it, Old Girl!' Oh, and Peter Sellers is ill in hospital. He was only married (again) last month. He was similarly taken ill shortly after marring Miss (Britt) Ekland too - a coincidence? Over indulgence perhaps?

Yes, the more I think about the weekend the more I come to realise that life isn't all violence, politics, boredom and Margaret Thatcher, Thatcher, Thatcher as it is so often portrayed on 'Panorama'. Life is bliss. Life is a great joy.

Retired to bed at 12.05am. Read 'The World of Mr Mulliner' by Wodehouse.

Do you like this red ink yet?

-==-

Sunday March 20, 1977

Whilst Martyn and Tony were presumably playing scrabble in a steamed up, dimly lit vehicle with two scantily clad maidens last night I took the opportunity of placing myself at the back of the tent, furthest away from the entrance and on an upward incline. Thus, my nights comfort was assured.

To be honest, the lads had no time to play scrabble in the time they were bidding their fond farewells to the ladies. Whilst waiting I smoked one cigarette and drank half a bottle of chilled beer, which puts their time of absence from the tent at approximately four minutes because you know I don't mess around with bottles of ale.

Back to this morning anyway: Me and Martyn were awake by 8am and our chatter brought Tony from his slumbers ten minutes later. Spam sandwiches for breakfast with Linda and Ruth. Our morning repast was somewhat marred by the sight of the bespectacled ogre from the neighbouring tent with a Joan Armatrading phobia. He cannot have been much older than public school leaving age. His tent was quivering (with fear?) as I consumed my sandwich and swilled Coca Cola. Only public schoolboys can frown like that. You know how I mean, that Winston Churchill look.

James Hunt: race of champions.

To Brands Hatch at 12.30. £4 entrance fee - each. Blimey, the five of us must have paid James Hunt's wages for the day. Mr Hunt won the Race of Champions, as we fully expected him to. The day was warm and the sun shone brightly. Warm enough in fact to sit on the grass and eat more Spam sandwiches moistened this time with cottage cheese.

Tony, Martyn, Ruth, Linda and me. 

Racing good. Linda hilarious. Tony impersonating Peter Cooke and Marty Feldman rolled into one. Marvellous day. Then went on to Linda's father's place in Slough and had chicken and chips in his caravan with his common-law wife and Linda's common-law brother.

We visited every village in Kent, Buckinghamshire, Berkshire and Derbyshire. Saw Windsor on the horizon. Whipsnade, Cliveden House, High Wycombe all came in our path. Hit that nasty big road at Watford at 10pm and thus began our journey north. We stuffed ourselves with sweets in the car  and collapsed in hysterics into the motorway cafe at Leicester again.

Tony, over his brew, said Ruth's hair looked quite nice when in fact it looked exactly the opposite and when she said she felt like a wet lettuce I answered: "Well, why don't you get one, then?" Wet with laughing. Home at 1.30am. House in darkness and silence. To bed. Camping is all very well but one night is quite enough for me. It takes a David Livingstone to last out any longer I'm sure.

-=-

Saturday March 19, 1977

To Brands Hatch, Saturday and Sunday, Perfect weekend.  Tony, Martyn and the girls, Miss Linda White ('White, not Shite') and Mrs Ruth _____ collected me at about 11am.

Linda is hilariously funny and we did nothing but howl with laughter all the way to Kent. Tony and Martyn sat up front leaving me with the two ladies in the rear of the vehicle.

Ruth.

We only stopped for two breaks. Once at the familiar motorway services at Leicester and the other at the Tower of London so that the girls could relieve themselves.

We got to a camp site about 2 miles from Brands Hatch by 5pm. The tent was erected by 6. By 7.30 we were in the nice village pub. We all got on like a house on fire. Like one, happy family. All pissed. Linda recited 'I know a woman with a punt cut square, not a square cutted punt, but a punt cut square'. Martyn tried to follow this, after three Southern Comforts and eight pints and began 'I know an old Cunt'.

We went on to a disco all horribly canned. The place was more like a youth club. The five of us did a spot of formation dancing. And to think we only met on Thursday! Linda is a great girl. Back to the camp site we had such a laugh with a camera and a lamp. Linda playing at Florence Nightingale and me hopping round the tents like Quasimodo. We had the Joan Armatrading tape at full volume in the tent. A rat bag in the neighbouring tent moaned that we had 'insisted' on keeping her awake for 'most of the night' and yet it's only 12.30.

Heatwave and Boogie Nights

Miss Joan Armatrading singing Love and Affection


-=-

Friday March 18, 1977

Went to Christine's  at 1pm to view her scars. They're not as bad as I imagined them to be and she is unperturbed about the whole incident.

Paddy Braithwaite gets her to tell the tale of the reaction of the policeman to her 'Starsky & Hutch' roll over a car covered in whipped cream and glace cherries. Hilarious.

CB goes off to prepare to go out and Paddy tells me he is the only person alive with no pituitary gland. It's something at the bottom of your brain and as far as I know it controls every gland.

He drives CB and I to Otley where we go straight to the Black Bull. Met Peter N with his father, Jim. At 2.30 -3pm we went to the Bowling Green for more. Met Rick Rider, Mick Lynch, &c. Left a 4pm feeling slightly intoxicated. Christine was starving and so we went up to Harry Ramsden's for 'one of each'. We then bid each other farewell until 8.

Home for tea with a banging headache and a present for mother (it's Mother's Day on Sunday). Eat and slept until 6.30. Out with Tony and Martyn to the Hare. Joined by an exhausted CB who looks really rough tonight (no offence) and by Chris R and Peter M. We all went to the Rose & Crown (except CB). I drank ginger beer and Coca Cola. Felt dreadfully tired and put this down to the combined effects of last night and this afternoon. By 11.30 I'm at home watching a Yul Brynner film. What will the female contingent be like tomorrow?

-==-

Thursday March 17, 1977

St Patrick's Day. Drastic evening out. Well it was for Michael Rhodes. I worked evenings and met Tony and Martyn at 11.30pm outside the YP.  Martyn looked dead and slept peacefully in the front seat.

Martyn: like the Cheshire Cat.

To Il Trovatore for Tony's birthday drink. Whilst I'm at the bar ordering some drinks for the three of us they both have a dance with a couple of young ladies and desert me completely, leaving me helpless with a Coca Cola and a half of Guinness. I found some solace in the company of Denise, Naomi and Carol (that's Fat Carol who works in the Hare on Sunday nights). _______.The girls left at 12. Martyn came over for their drinks and eventually I'm introduced, but I've forgotten their names. Tony told them about our Brands Hatch trip and unbelievably they say they want to join us. Tony and Martyn were like the Cheshire Cat - Tony especially. Buggers. Spent about £5 and got pissed. Home at 2.30am.






-=-

Wednesday March 16, 1977

Christine B, 21. Tony B, 30. Brands Hatch trip is settled.  Sarah is to work on Sunday and I'm working tomorrow instead.

My grandfather, John Wilson, would have been 87 today.

Ring Tony at 7pm and say happy birthday. He suggests we go to the Il Trovatore tomorrow for a few birthday drinks. He and Martyn will collect me from the YP at 11.30pm or so. Not a bad idea.

Newspapers and TV are critical about the Viv Nicholson play last night. I spoke to Derek Naylor today and to Fred Willis and both said how true to life the play is. Both have interviewed her over the years.

Judith: great girl.

Do you think I should have contacted Judith after last weekend or is that falling once again into the age old trap? She is a great girl but I am sure neither of us want a relationship and so ringing her for no reason other than to make polite conversation seems a bit pointless.

Mum is embarrassed about Dad's drunken behaviour on Saturday at Pool-in-Wharfedale.

Nothing in the news. Indian general election. If they can have one, why can't we?  I'm just about sick and tired of Jim Callaghan, Wedgwood Benn, Judith Hart, Denis Healey, Eric Varley, Hugh Gaitskell, James Ramsay MacDonald, William Joynson-Hicks, Viscount Goschen, Earl Baldwin of Bewdley, W.H. Smith MP, Nancy Viscountess Astor, Reg Prentice, Barbara Castle, Manny Shinwell, Anthony Crosland, Airey Neave, Mr St John Stevas, Lew Grade, Fortune Duchess of Grafton, the late Louis Armstrong, and many more.

-=-

Tuesday March 15, 1977

Pathetic day. Bloody rain. The Ides of March, whatever that means. I know Julius Caesar bit the dust on this day but if his last March 15 was anything like this one he was well out of it. Old Brutus did him a bloody favour.

Our trip to Brands Hatch seems well and truly doomed. I've brought up the subject in the office seven or eight times and have had no decent response. Kathleen most certainly cannot work Sunday night.Really annoyed. Ursula says she can manage quite well without me.

Go to town and buy birthday cards for Christine and Tony, who celebrate tomorrow. CB's card has a photo of Greta Garbo in the arms of Basil Rathbone, I think, with the inscription: "They don't make 'em like you, anymore". No doubt I'll hear from here before Friday. We're supposed to be going on a booze up to Otley.

Nothing in the news. The Queen is in Tasmania. Mother is baking bread and I'm doing absolutely bugger all. Today is my Uncle Jack's first anniversary in Heaven. Let's hope they have parties up there because I tend to live from one party to the next. CB says she'd prefer to go to Hell because it's warmer and she'd prefer to spend eternity with her old friends. Not a bad idea. Is all this blasphemous? I might as well go all the way and say something disrespectful about the Pope. He is ill with 'flu and I can imagine the scene in the Vatican every time he sneezes - "Bless Me!" Not funny?

Reading Evelyn Waugh's diary. He's so sarcastic.

See a TV play based on the life of Vivian Nicholson, the pools winner, who spent £150,000 in four or five years. Very good. Bed at 11.36pm.

-==-

Monday March 14, 1977

Dinner suits back to Dormie at lunchtime.

See in the papers that the Queen is having a controversial time on her Silver Jubilee visit to the feeble Australians. A maniac smashed her in the face with a banner demanding the dismissal of the governor-general.

Gough Whitlam: silly sod.

Gough Whitlam's rude and sarcastic remarks made in Her Majesty's presence last week cannot have been received with the humour and delight by the royal couple as it was reported. Mr Whitlam is to have his leadership of the Aussie Labour party contested by a colleague. The silly sod has signed his own death warrant.

Other news: Margaret Trudeau has eloped with the Electric Light Orchestra.

Ring Martyn at 8. I'll have to have Sunday off if Brands Hatch is on the cards. Can't see any difficulty here. Martyn talked of his financial difficulties and the Ibiza '77 project. The less said about money the better, but at least I'm not the only man in the boat.

Penelope Eastwood.

Martyn said Christine had her scars on display in the pub last night. By all accounts she looks a right old mess. Blimey, is my mini-Elizabeth Taylor going to require plastic surgery? Tony's birthday on Wednesday as well as CB's. Don't forget cards.

Have a bath. Watch a late film until midnight. Davina Sheffield's uncle has died. She is in Kenya with HRH. Or is the mysterious blond Penelope Eastwood? Or Claire Watson? What about Laura Jo Watkins? Even Georgiana Boothby. Certainly not Lady Jane Wellesley.




-=-

Sunday March 13, 1977

3rd in Lent. Up at 12. To the Commercial with Sue, Peter, Uncle H, Lynn, Dave, Richard & Mandy Baker, Chris Baker, Julie Harris, Alison and John Pinder.

John Pinder and Alison Dixon.

Uncle H tells the pathetic tale of how, in a Tadcaster pub, he tried to tell his father that he was dying. The old sod wouldn't hear of it and refused to believe he was going until he actually went.

Back to Pine Tops. Lynn was pissed up again. Drinking brandy and smoking cigars. She says ________.Good lunch. Wine heavy.

Alison and John leave with Uncle H and I for Leeds at 5 and I'm working by 5.30. I like Alison immensely. Just Ursula and I.  Got a taxi home at 11. The driver smelled like a pig. What can have befallen the taxi driving snake expert?

The family had been to John & Maria's for drinks and cake. First wedding anniversary and all that. Has it been a long or short year? I can't quite make up my mind.

Oh, no Lynne M last night. She must have been out with her Hussar playmate.

Retired to my chambers at 12 after scrambled eggs on toast and watching the tail end of a Joan Fontaine epic. Isn't Joan the sister of Olivia de Havilland?

-=-

Saturday March 12, 1977

Uncle H arrived at the crack of dawn. JPH is with us until this afternoon. (He slept the night in Mama and Papa's room).

Telephone rings: a woman asks me to accept a call and then I hear CB, who says: "you'll never guess where I am." "Where are you", I ask. She says: "St James's Hospital." Yes, she fell flat on her face in the Hare car park last night and smashed her beautiful face on the tarmac. Laugh. She's is bed, or ward 21.

with Tony.

Dave B horribly ill all day - he blames the food last night.

'Priscilla', 'Gregory' and Nora.

with Mum.

Collect dinner suits from Dormie Dress Hire in Leeds. Martyn, Tony and I prowled around Leeds and Tony insulted a female on the mens' toiletries counter at Schofield's. She deserved it. These people who go to work with the attitude that the customer is always wrong need a lesson teaching them.

Went to Tony's at 3 and I slept in a a chair. He was watching a rugby match. Stay to tea and clad ourselves in evening garb.

Tony, Sue Martindale, Martyn, Gayle, Judith and I to Rawdon. Mixed reaction at our mode of dress. The party was a great success. Spend the night calling Judith 'Priscilla' and she called me 'Gregory'. Spent a couple of quid each and got a bit tipsy, but not quite like the other party goers who all look pissed. Maria is wearing fox furs (plus fox head). Chris is there and Dave L. The bar closes at 11pm and the family plus boyfriends and girlfriends go on to the Baker residence, Farthingstone, Old Pool Bank. Audrey Baker resembles the actress Shelley Winters.

Back to Pine Tops very late and don't walk Judith home until 6.30am. Birds singing, &c. And me in full evening dress and a stolen shawl. Yes, quite mad.

-=-

Friday March 11, 1977

CB's 21st party. It's a happy birthday also today to Lady Falkender's best friend.

CB: pot fulls of pernod.

Up at 9. Yes, it's my day off too. Leapt into the bath and then prepared for my visit to Pudsey. Susan contributes a few bob to my Auntie Mabel Flower Appeal. To Auntie Mabel's for lunch. On the way I bump into Uncle Peter and Auntie Jean who are out shopping. Chat for a few minutes. Stay with Auntie M until 4pm.

CB's 21st (birthday) party at the Hare. Only spent 67p. Everyone got incredibly pissed up. Remember Marion Read? Maura Tobin? (see diary for Jan or Feb '75). Howled with Marion. She's quite mad. CB drank pot fulls of pernod all night (the pot is in fact a Silver Jubilee Commemorative mug).  At one point I was having to hold her up and we danced round the crowded room. We even kissed. She kept saying 'I didn't know I had so many friends'. David L came but was quiet. I chatted with MM. Tried to seduce Marita. Fondled the future Mrs Christine Airey. Judith said 'yes' to tomorrow night. Good.

-=-

Thursday March 10, 1977

Half dead all day after the excesses of last night. Buggered is the word.

News: Gough Whitlam said some ill mannered things about the Queen at a banquet in her honour. What can we expect from the Aussies? Culture? Manners? Prince Edward is a teenager. President Carter has been making strange phone calls to lots of weird people in America.

To Batley Variety Club with Tony and Martyn. Madeline Bell sang. Absolutely brilliant. Why she hasn't been more of a success I will never know. Blue Mink, the group with whom she was the singer, were good in their day but she's a star in her own right. She has a good sense of humour too. I only spent 60p or so. Yes, it was one of my first attempts to 'pull in' as Denis Healey would say.

Tony says I've become subdued over the past couple of weeks. Why? He tells me that Carole and Fogarty are not contemplating an engagement. _____propaganda machine must be failing, eh? It's Tony's birthday next Wednesday and he's taking Martyn and Carole to Batley. I'd like to go but with £3 left it's impossible. Besides, with Miss P attending I'd only spoil things.

Thank God no work tomorrow. I feel as though I've been slaving away non stop for weeks on end. Should I perhaps change my job? I do need the cash desperately  but I'd miss the mob at the YP and the dear old news cuttings.

-=-

Wednesday March 9, 1977

Christine Dibb and Graham Airey got engaged. It was a good party - better than I expected. Went with Tony, Martyn and Gayle (Martyn's distant cousin of Oakwood Hall fame). Teamed up with CB and we danced together. I could see Mr ____________seething. Why does Mr _______always accuse other males of stealing his so-called women when everyone knows all along that they were not his women in the first place? CB was fabulous anyway.

Christine & Graham.

Laughed with Lynn about Mr _____ and _____gossiping. In fact Mrs ______was far from pleasant this evening. Bitchy really. Carole came in minus a toe nail and spent most of the evening with Tony. I ate nothing and drank much. Pissed up really.

Peter M told me that dear Lynne is now the regular escort of an officer of the Queen's Dragoon Guards or the Green Howards. Peter says the new specimen is worse than me.

Tony talks about a trip to Brands Hatch a week on Saturday. So far me, Naomi and Martyn are going. Camping for just the one night. Is Brands Hatch in Kent?

Sue and Peter were quaint and  John stayed in the bar avoiding ________lampooning. I mislaid my jacket but CB retrieved it for me. Home at 12, 1 or 2. I don't know. Take your pick. Sit in bed feeling pissed. Still reading Evelyn Waugh (diaries). Really bogged eyed. Pathetic really. It was all for a good cause anyway. Will the engagement last?

-=-

Tuesday March 8, 1977

David's 21st and Auntie Mabel's 58th. I phoned Auntie M at Marlene's and she seemed quite cheerful. It's her first (birthday) without Uncle Jack and it must be weird.

David: 21st birthday.

Not a particularly good day.Went to the EMI shop and bought 'Songs In the Key of Life' by Stevie Wonder on behalf of Mum for dear David___________.

I received a jolt over breakfast when Lynn informed me that my ex-consort, Miss Mather, will be attending David's party. Nothing to worry about I suppose. Made an effort to ring Tony but he didn't answer. I think he may be out with Martyn and  the Il Trovatore ladies (see Friday's entry).

The Queen made a slip today at the state opening of the Australian parliament. HM referring to her Silver Jubilee celebrations as 'the twenty fifth reign of my year' instead of 'the twenty fifth year of my reign'. Not a big mistake but it gets world-wide notice because she's usually word perfect.

No more tonight. It's becoming a drag having to sit into the early hours of the morning copiously filling in all the useless information.








-==-

Monday March 7, 1977

Went to Rawdon to see revolting Hough about my teeth, but he had no knowledge of my appointment. Stupid eohippus. Not wishing to waste my journey I went to see Marita, who was sat in front of the TV. She startled me by saying she was going to dancing lessons tonight and rocked me to my very foundations even more by saying MM is virtually a qualified dancing teacher. Latin American and all that!  Blimey, he's kept that quiet.

A typical day in French Revolution Paris.

Returned to Guiseley by 6 and passed a thoroughly ordinary evening at home. Well, not quite as ordinary as I would have liked it to be. Mum, Dad and Lynn became somewhat aggravated - heated - call it what you will, when I announced I was intending visiting Mr 'Tammy Wynette' Osborne, manager of the Yorkshire Bank, to obtain a loan. I was immediately declared to be on the path to ruination. Mum seemed to be beside herself with passion invoking the name of Uncle ______ as an example of how I might end up, They were successful in talking me out of seeking a bank loan for the time being, but for a while the scene was somewhat reminiscent of a typical day in French Revolution Paris.

Saw Clint Eastwood in 'A Few Dollars More' and had a hot bath at bewitching hour. Read until 1.30.



-=-

Sunday March 6, 1977

2nd in Lent. Lynne's birthday. Oh God I've just called my sister by a strange name. It's her bloody birthday too. I am sorry. She's just been in my bedroom looking quite ravishing showing me the presents she's bought David for his 21st.  I bought her a bottle of French perfume which she seems to like. Her boss comes round at 10.30 with a bouquet making overtures of affection to her in the kitchen. ________.

Lynn: 19th birthday.

The Prince of Wales has gone off to Kenya shooting the wildlife. Good for him. This gives a good two fingers to these thoroughly boring conservationists, environmentalists, &c.

John, Maria and JPH come up at 2. Baby is making a bit more noise and says "Da Da" and then "Da Da Da" when provoked. Eat turkey, pate, ham - and sup glass after glass of Cinzano. The mean contingent keep reminding me that I have to go to work in a couple of hours and I sit sombrely contemplating the clock. Chris Baker and his girlfriend Julie Harris drop in for half an hour or so.

The YP tonight was absolutely dead. Just Ursula and I. No news. No catastrophe has struck East Ardsley or anything like that. Reading the paper I see that the Prince of Wales is not shooting crocodiles. He is in fact taking photographs of them with Claire Watson, and maybe Miss Sheffield.

Hon Claire Watson: shooting crocodiles.

Home by taxi at 12.30 with a little driver who is a leading authority on snake bites.












-==-

Saturday March 5, 1977

By the time I had climbed out of bed, bathed and shaved it was one o'clock. Quarrel with Lynn about money. She says I am a damn fool and I end up agreeing with her. I have only £2.30 to last me until Thursday and £1.30 of that will disappear on Monday when I visit the dentist. This leaves me with 80p to enjoy myself at Christine & Graham's engagement party. I also need about 90p in bus fares! Shit. Ah well, if I start worrying about financial matters life won't be worth living & so I won't mention this again.

After lunch the sun was still shining brightly and I decided to take a stroll. With hands thrust deeply in my pockets I marched down the lane at a speed not unlike James Hunt in a Grand Prix. Pass the Hare and by 4pm I'm in Burley-in-Wharfedale. By 5 I was crawling through the doors of WH Smith in Ilkley to a warm greeting from the sultry, bespectacled shop assistant whom I fear fancies me. She is a 6th former. Mr Brotherwood entertains me to tea of sausage and mash. he finds it hard to believe I've walked the whole of the eight or nine miles from Guiseley. I passed out in a chair whilst attempting to focus on a Robert Mitchum epic.

with Christine: ruby studded turnip?

Martyn comes and we end up back at the Hare. CB is in and once again she is broken hearted and screaming for vengeance or revenge or whatever they call it when ones pride has received a sharp blow in the genitals. To the Rose and Crown. Boring. CB is incredibly attractive.


 Tony gives me his flat key and then disappears to Il Trovatore with Martyn. CB and I go back to the flat and sit drinking Southern Comfort and Scotch and listening to a Billy Paul LP. She says it's disgusting how she comes running back to me every time one of her relationships is floundering. What are pals for? We laugh and chat. She says she wants nothing but a turnip for her birthday which I'll do my utmost to obtain. I suppose if I were the Shah of Persia I'd give her a solid gold one (turnip) studded with rubies, &c. But I'm not the Shah of Persia.  The lads are ringing the doorbell at 10.30 and our  tete-a-tete comes to an end. Martyn goes home and the three of us squabble. I fail in everything I say because they're both Pisces and I'm a just a cynical Aries who argues for the sake of arguing. 

Mr Billy Paul

-=-

Friday March 4, 1977

RING ILKLEY 3173 TONIGHT!!!

Re yesterday. Isn't it funny that when I said I was pissed and unable to put pen to paper I went on to write a ruddy essay? Oh, and re Sir Frank Marshall: he was once a big noise on (Leeds City) Council - that's about it really. Oh yes, and I saw June on the bus last night and had a terrific chat with her - great kid. It seems I'm spending more time talking about yesterday than discussing the events of today. On with the show anyway:

Christine Dibb.

To the Hare & Hounds with Tony and Martyn which is dull. CB is in minus Richard Marshall and seems her old, cheerful self. We go on to the King's Bar where Miss Dibb is behaving unusually friendly. She must be having her last fling before Wednesday. Chris and Pete M meet up with us but they go at 11. The three of us - quite sober - went back to the flat where I climbed into a pair of Tony's voluminous trousers and headed off in the direction of Il Trovatore. They picked up a couple wenches - Bradfordians I think, and I met up with Andy Dale.


Andy and I have a couple of dances with Naomi's large friend who lives in the gents toilets at the rear of the Hare. He also got his hands on Miss Moorhouse. Had quite a scream. Home with Andy at 2am hotly pursued by Naomi and Karen in N's new automobile. Our two cars rendezvous at the junction half way down the lane and both parties took the piss out of one another. Oh God I'm financially ruined.

-=-

Thursday March 3, 1977

I'm just too pissed to write large amounts tonight. In rough: went to John & Maria's from the YP and was entertained to dinner with sausage and chips in the company of Miss Phillips. She aggravated me immensely. Even after all these months we argue about nothing at all - completely incompatible. Whilst I'm dangling JPH on my alcoholic knee I hear Maria & Carole whispering in the kitchen but can't quite make out just what they are saying. Later, when John and I are entombed in the Yorkshire Rose he tells me that Carole and (Peter) Fogarty are considering becoming engaged. It had to happen really. She wants to be married. I saw it years ago and I supposed it scared the pants off me.

with Carole.

John and I marched down to the Hare (about one and a half miles I'd say) and met Tony and Martyn. Got a bit pissed on Tetley Silver Jubilee Pale Ale (half a pint of this is equivalent to 3 whiskies). John poured some of his ale into my glass. I was well away.

Back at J and M's residence I persuaded Maria to play Beethoven's 'Fur Elise' while the audience sat supping coffee.

Beethoven's Fur Elise

The recital was very much appreciated. Home at 12 just as Mum and Dad return from Auntie Mabel's. I must go over on March 11 with a birthday present. Her first birthday without Uncle Jack will be obnoxious.

Wednesday March 2, 1977

54F in Leeds today. Is bloody summer here already? I'll be 22 before you can say Takeo Miki. Anyway, it was quite a good day all in all.

At lunchtime I met Martyn at Dormie Dress Hire and we're both togged up for evening wear for David B's 21st. The suits are going to cost us £9.50 each to hire, which neither of us can afford, but it will be so worth it for the laughs we'll get and to see the look on the faces of the other guests. Very smart we'll be. I'm not telling anyone at home so as to enhance my spectacular entry into the Aero Club. Tony is getting his gear from Moss Bros. in Bradford.

Sir Frank, later Lord Marshall.

This evening Sarah and I were closeted together in our tiny lift at the YP with that great personage Sir Frank Marshall. By way of conversation I discussed our air conditioning system with him and he told us that his 'members' had enjoyed their visit too. Who or what are his members? Who, or what is Sir Frank Marshall anyway?

I have a couple of quid left over from last night's extravaganza and am sorely tempted to go out tonight for a drink. Let us pray I can withstand the temptation and may God guide me through this sinful evening.

Later that same night: Slip into a coma in an armchair. Tired and shagged out. When did I last go to bed before bewitching hour? You'll be flicking over the pages for the last couple of years to find the answer to that one. No phone calls and feel too lazy to make any. Must write to Judith and get something sorted for March 12.

Had a bath and returned to the TV. A programme glorifying the comedian Tommy Cooper. Must have my hair cropped tomorrow. I can't even afford to do that! Suicide is the only way out.

-=-