Easter Day. Raining at first, but brighter later. Woke up with an incredible hangover. Have I died in my sleep? Feel really grotty at first. A run up the garden to the (Kell Head) pub and a dip in the bathroom followed by eggs, bacon, sausages, fried bread &c &c rejuvenated me greatly and by half past eleven I was quite ready for anything. The rain proves no deterrent and the whole party sets off in a convoy for St Bees. Yes, the seaside. A quick dash in the drizzle on the 'front' by most of the party was enough but for the more adventurous the call of the pub proved irresistible.
Have a few drinks with Uncle Harry who tells me that once (during the war) he worked down the pit. Yes, a miner no less. I didn't know that. Mum sat in the car, closeted with JPH, and was thoroughly enjoying it by the look on her face. How long is it since we had a baby with us at the seaside? Must have been when Susan was in nappies. The rain was pounding in St Bees and following a Cabinet meeting in the pub comes the announcement that the party will adjourn to the Nethertown HQ. However, on our return to H's caravan the sun broke from behind a cloud and cascaded down upon us. We danced in a frenzied mob on the Nethertown beach and hurled pebbles at one another. Cameras came out too. Baby was pushed up and down in his pram and some of the boys found solace in crab murdering. Papa stood gazing out to see, in dark spectacles, like Fidel Castro. Isn't it strange how salty sea air works up a thirst in young men?
Back to the Kell Head for a couple of hours. Plenty of Elvis Presley and egg mayonnaise sandwiches too. All quite pissed we were - again. Then back to the Nethertown encampment. Blimey, it's up and down like a yoyo isn't it? See Lord Grade's 'Jesus of Nazareth' on Uncle H's minute tv set and prepare ... yes, you've guessed it ...to return to a certain pub presided over by a certain fat barmaid. The Kell Head again. For some reason, probably because of the fact that it's Easter Sunday, a sobering influence hangs over the lounge of the above mentioned tavern. Uncle Harry isn't three sheets in the wind. All very distressing, eh? At 10.30, when I'm just about to settle down and start some serious drinking 'Big Jean' drops a bombshell upon us. "I'm closing on time tonight, Ducks", she calmly announces. Mum especially looked horribly pained and I had to offer assistance to John who came over all faint. Big, horrible Fat Jean has no right to do such a thing. Don't patrons have rights? Are we to be walked upon as though we're in the Soviet Union? No, No, No. But yes. Back to the caravan for a French-cut (pyjama) party with Dave and Pete. Didn't really feel like drinking at all and sat watching the light ale running away.
-==-
20120514
Saturday April 9, 1977
One of those horrible mornings when one wishes one had remained in ones bedroom. A nice sunny day true enough, but the chaos and pandemonium and general escalation of activity due to our forthcoming departure north for Easter took away the elation and joy.
I sat reading the morning papers amid the panic of suitcase packing. Princess Anne is the main topic in the press. Will the Queen's grandchild be Master or Miss Phillips, or will the Cap'n be forced into accepting an earldom, marquesate, or even a dukedom? I've read in the papers that no precedent exists for a monarch to bestow a title upon a grandchild by-passing the parents. But in fact the granddaughters of King Edward VII (daughters of the Princess Royal, Duchess of Fife) were created Princesses in 1905. Here's the citation coming up: "King Edward VII was pleased to declare on Nov 9, 1905 that his daughter, HRH The Princess Louise, Duchess of Fife should bear the title Princess Royal, and that her daughters should bear the title of Princess with the qualification of Highness, and should rank immediately after all members of the Royal Family bearing the style of Royal Highness." Why not make Anne Princess Royal and create all her children Princes or Princesses as indeed the offspring of Charles, Andrew and Edward will be? This would solve all the petty problems of peerages, honourables and such like.
To Cumbria at 1.30 or so stopping at the Anchor Inn at Skipton (sic) on the way. Mum, Dad, Lynn, Dave, Sue, Peter, John, Maria, JPH, and me. Ten of us. Get to Uncle H's before 5. He's pissed out of his mind and cooking a diabolical meal for us. We all eat grinning all over our faces. The Yorkshire puddings were like nothing on earth. All go to the Kell Head pub which is in the middle on nowhere. (2 miles from Egremont and St Bees), where all except Mum, Dad and Harry are to pass the next couple of nights. By 7.30 we're all in the bar. The baby hates the place and he cried and screamed until midnight. I don't think the little fellow appreciated the juke-box the sound of which vibrated on his bedroom floor. We all sat there until about 2am. The 'landlady' - call her what you will - is affectionately known as 'Big Jean' Sherwen. Never a more repulsive woman could you wish to lay eyes on. A horror indeed. All pissed up and singing. Dave, Pete and I in a caravan in the garden. Dave wears 'French cut' pyjamas - what he does in the privacy of his bedroom is no concern of mine, but I cannot help marveling at them. Die laughing in fact.
-==-
 |
| Princess Louise, Duchess of Fife |
To Cumbria at 1.30 or so stopping at the Anchor Inn at Skipton (sic) on the way. Mum, Dad, Lynn, Dave, Sue, Peter, John, Maria, JPH, and me. Ten of us. Get to Uncle H's before 5. He's pissed out of his mind and cooking a diabolical meal for us. We all eat grinning all over our faces. The Yorkshire puddings were like nothing on earth. All go to the Kell Head pub which is in the middle on nowhere. (2 miles from Egremont and St Bees), where all except Mum, Dad and Harry are to pass the next couple of nights. By 7.30 we're all in the bar. The baby hates the place and he cried and screamed until midnight. I don't think the little fellow appreciated the juke-box the sound of which vibrated on his bedroom floor. We all sat there until about 2am. The 'landlady' - call her what you will - is affectionately known as 'Big Jean' Sherwen. Never a more repulsive woman could you wish to lay eyes on. A horror indeed. All pissed up and singing. Dave, Pete and I in a caravan in the garden. Dave wears 'French cut' pyjamas - what he does in the privacy of his bedroom is no concern of mine, but I cannot help marveling at them. Die laughing in fact.
-==-
20120417
Friday Apirl 8, 1977
Good Friday. Helen Malin, 23. Out of bed at 10.30 this morning. The sun is shining down merrily too. Why not go out for a walk, Michael, and feel all that warmth on your little legs? Yes, I will. I go down into Guiseley and purchase a birthday card for dearest Judith. I then sauntered round to Bedside Manor to deliver up my greetings card in person with strict instructions for her not to open it yet. In fact, I'd slipped a letter in with it and had to partially write it in the telephone box on Fieldhead Road and partly on the footpath outside Guiseley School.
Judith entertains me to coffee but looks ill because she has fallen foul of her dentist earlier this week, and her wisdom teeth had been extracted on my birthday, of all days.
Old photographs and her cat were the principal subjects discussed at great length.
I went home for a non-existent lunch with Mama, who is in a foul mood. (Dad is still on his back under the car all covered in motor oil). Mum's mood worsens and the combined effects of her miserable face and the film 'South Pacific' didn't do much for morale. But at 5 o'clock, as if by magic, the film was interrupted by a news flash and a smiling Richard Baker announces that Princess Anne is expecting a baby in November. Joyous news indeed. For such an announcement to come on Helen Malin's birthday is fate indeed. I believe we have a bet on Princess Anne's maternity dates. Fancy. The Queen a grandmama! Good Old Captain Phillips. I was beginning to doubt his masculinity somewhat. Three cheers for them all.
John and Maria come up at 6.30 for ten minutes. John's car is also knackered. Even as I write this I can hear Mama blowing her mind over her fish pie in the kitchen.
Devouring my (fish) pie I decided to remain in front of the television tonight and not to venture out to the pub, as tradition demands. Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you. My decision has nothing to do with Princess Anne's good news either. I am not clad in my Union Jack underpants and clutching my postcard of Anne and Mark's wedding. My decision was due to the BBC. Yes, a tv series about slavery that's brought the USA to a stand still - called 'Roots'. The household is in great holiday furore. Not a morsel of food or drink in the place because you know what mother's are like when it comes to leaving grub kicking around in the fridge for more than 24 hours with no one in the house to eat it? Dust is flying from suitcases, windjammers, thermos flasks, cotton nappies, &c.
Mum discusses stopping at a pub for lunch tomorrow. "What about the baby?" I ask. "Oh, we're bona fide friends". Eh? "Well", continued mother yawning "JPH has small bona fides". Too much for me is all that.
By 11 we're watching a film starring Twiggy - Mama and Papa having retired to bed. Princess Grace and Bing Crosby are on the other channel in that smashing epic they usually put on at Christmas - 'High Society'. What this film has in common with the birth or death of Jesus Christ I simply don't know.
-=-
Judith entertains me to coffee but looks ill because she has fallen foul of her dentist earlier this week, and her wisdom teeth had been extracted on my birthday, of all days.
Old photographs and her cat were the principal subjects discussed at great length.
I went home for a non-existent lunch with Mama, who is in a foul mood. (Dad is still on his back under the car all covered in motor oil). Mum's mood worsens and the combined effects of her miserable face and the film 'South Pacific' didn't do much for morale. But at 5 o'clock, as if by magic, the film was interrupted by a news flash and a smiling Richard Baker announces that Princess Anne is expecting a baby in November. Joyous news indeed. For such an announcement to come on Helen Malin's birthday is fate indeed. I believe we have a bet on Princess Anne's maternity dates. Fancy. The Queen a grandmama! Good Old Captain Phillips. I was beginning to doubt his masculinity somewhat. Three cheers for them all.
 |
| High Society |
John and Maria come up at 6.30 for ten minutes. John's car is also knackered. Even as I write this I can hear Mama blowing her mind over her fish pie in the kitchen.
Devouring my (fish) pie I decided to remain in front of the television tonight and not to venture out to the pub, as tradition demands. Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you. My decision has nothing to do with Princess Anne's good news either. I am not clad in my Union Jack underpants and clutching my postcard of Anne and Mark's wedding. My decision was due to the BBC. Yes, a tv series about slavery that's brought the USA to a stand still - called 'Roots'. The household is in great holiday furore. Not a morsel of food or drink in the place because you know what mother's are like when it comes to leaving grub kicking around in the fridge for more than 24 hours with no one in the house to eat it? Dust is flying from suitcases, windjammers, thermos flasks, cotton nappies, &c.
Mum discusses stopping at a pub for lunch tomorrow. "What about the baby?" I ask. "Oh, we're bona fide friends". Eh? "Well", continued mother yawning "JPH has small bona fides". Too much for me is all that.
By 11 we're watching a film starring Twiggy - Mama and Papa having retired to bed. Princess Grace and Bing Crosby are on the other channel in that smashing epic they usually put on at Christmas - 'High Society'. What this film has in common with the birth or death of Jesus Christ I simply don't know.
-=-
20120323
Thursday April 7, 1977
Last day at the office before the commencement of the Easter holiday. Can't say I'm not looking forward to it. Haven't had a break since Christmas.
Tempted to go down to the Hare but decide against it. Must conserve a few bob for the gathering in Cumbria. Looking forward to seeing Uncle Harry again.
Rang Dave L at 8. He's going to the Hare with a couple of friends from Bradford tonight and mentions seeing Chris R and John & Maria earlier in the week. Why hasn't he been to see me? I'm jealous.
Watch TV until midnight with Mama. Dad and Dave B are under the car outside. It's having its MOT on the morrow and they're desperate to ensure it gets through. I couldn't do it myself. Cars are the curse of the 20th century. Will they still be around in the next century? The Arabs will own all the natural resources by then, and so I doubt it. Don't talk to me about North Sea Oil either. That's the biggest swindle since the Common Market. Besides, Scotland will be independent by 1990, and so that will be out.
-=-
 |
| Dad: his car's MOT. |
Rang Dave L at 8. He's going to the Hare with a couple of friends from Bradford tonight and mentions seeing Chris R and John & Maria earlier in the week. Why hasn't he been to see me? I'm jealous.
Watch TV until midnight with Mama. Dad and Dave B are under the car outside. It's having its MOT on the morrow and they're desperate to ensure it gets through. I couldn't do it myself. Cars are the curse of the 20th century. Will they still be around in the next century? The Arabs will own all the natural resources by then, and so I doubt it. Don't talk to me about North Sea Oil either. That's the biggest swindle since the Common Market. Besides, Scotland will be independent by 1990, and so that will be out.
-=-
20120320
Wednesday April 6, 1977
Lynn took her driving test and passed at the first attempt. The only member of the family to do it in one go. Papa, John and Mama are all second timers. Blimey, Good Old Lynn! Just Sue and me left to get out on the open road.
It's pay day today for some obscure reason. Usually we get paid on a Thusday. Is the Queen the only person allowed to dish out money on Maundy Thursday?
Home at 5.30 to a joyous tea. Lynn was virtually hysterical at her success. Euphoric - that's a good adjective too.
Tony rings at 6. To the Hare and Hounds with him and Martyn. Not the usual Hare and Hounds. One in Bradford (Heaton?). Martyn and I got a bit pissed, and then on to dear Oakwood Hall with a sober Tony at the wheel. Picked up a couple of silly girls who proceeded to lock themselves out of their car and then tell us they're married. Twats. I hate women like that. Home at 1.30 because Tony was nearly asleep.
-=-
 |
| Lynn: virtually hysterical. |
It's pay day today for some obscure reason. Usually we get paid on a Thusday. Is the Queen the only person allowed to dish out money on Maundy Thursday?
Home at 5.30 to a joyous tea. Lynn was virtually hysterical at her success. Euphoric - that's a good adjective too.
 |
| Tony: sober at the wheel. |
-=-
20120319
Tuesday April 5, 1977
My birthday today. The usual type really. Up at 7.15 and devour kippers and drink tea. Get £4 from Mum and a £3 postal order from Lynn. Sue gave me £5 on Saturday.
To the YP in best jeans and jacket. Have a session this lunchtime with Dave B at the Ostlers. Had three or four pints and was quite pissed. They're frantic in the library trying to find King George VI's first private secretary when he succeeded to the throne in 1936. It was Sir Alan Lascelles, of course.
Carole rings to wish me 'Happy Birthday' for yesterday. When I tell her it's actually today she retorts "Oh, no it isn't!". OK, Carole pet, you win.
Birthday cards from Denise, Judith, Dave L, Marita & MM, &c. Dave G rings to profess congratulations and so does Auntie Mabel. (Mum, Dad, John, Maria and JPH go off to Auntie Mabel's for tea).
I eat at home with Lynn, Dave and Sue. Lynn goes off on a driving lesson and Sue, Pete and I go out for a drink. To the Hare, then the Black Bull, then back to the Hare. Quite a good night. Had fish and chips too.
Retire to my chambers at 12.27am. Goodnight One and All!
How many more years have I got? (The way things are going I can't see me having a Silver Jubilee ......my Silver Jubilee that is).
-==-
 |
| Will I see my Jubilee? |
Carole rings to wish me 'Happy Birthday' for yesterday. When I tell her it's actually today she retorts "Oh, no it isn't!". OK, Carole pet, you win.
Birthday cards from Denise, Judith, Dave L, Marita & MM, &c. Dave G rings to profess congratulations and so does Auntie Mabel. (Mum, Dad, John, Maria and JPH go off to Auntie Mabel's for tea).
I eat at home with Lynn, Dave and Sue. Lynn goes off on a driving lesson and Sue, Pete and I go out for a drink. To the Hare, then the Black Bull, then back to the Hare. Quite a good night. Had fish and chips too.
Retire to my chambers at 12.27am. Goodnight One and All!
How many more years have I got? (The way things are going I can't see me having a Silver Jubilee ......my Silver Jubilee that is).
-==-
Monday April 4, 1977
Thoroughly ordinary sort of day. Just routine at the YP and usual at home. No telephone calls or great news other than the astounding information that the Duke of Beaufort is 77 years old today!
Piss off Michael. You don't half talk a load of shit at times.
POEM
Good Old Duke of Beaufort,
You're Seventy Seven today,
with all that luscious parkland,
You're a C*nt with a capital K
(c) MLR.
No, to be honest, I don't like being vulgar. Besides which I'm a leading fan of all dukes of all age and varying fortune. It's quite a while since I made such a silly entry as this. Yes, indeed.
S H I T
Oh sod it! You've guessed by now I'm doing all this just to waste space. I can't bear to see blank pages in the diary. I bet Evelyn Waugh or Samuel Pepys never did this. Mind you, that's probably why they're famous. Publishers like Michael Joseph or Lord Weidenfeld will be far from enthusiastic by my contribution on this page.
Retire to bed at 12.15am on the morn of my 22nd birthday.
-==-
Piss off Michael. You don't half talk a load of shit at times.
POEM
 |
| Duke of Beaufort. |
Good Old Duke of Beaufort,
You're Seventy Seven today,
with all that luscious parkland,
You're a C*nt with a capital K
(c) MLR.
No, to be honest, I don't like being vulgar. Besides which I'm a leading fan of all dukes of all age and varying fortune. It's quite a while since I made such a silly entry as this. Yes, indeed.
S H I T
Oh sod it! You've guessed by now I'm doing all this just to waste space. I can't bear to see blank pages in the diary. I bet Evelyn Waugh or Samuel Pepys never did this. Mind you, that's probably why they're famous. Publishers like Michael Joseph or Lord Weidenfeld will be far from enthusiastic by my contribution on this page.
Retire to bed at 12.15am on the morn of my 22nd birthday.
-==-
Sunday April 3, 1977
Palm Sunday. Palm Sunday indeed. With Dave G, Glenn, Christine, Lynn and Dave B, Mum & Dad to the Commercial at noon. The locals didn't trot ahead in front of me throwing palms and other objects of flora in my path. Dad wasn't astride a donkey either.
Lynn is like a zombie. Dead to the world. We all - that is everyone on the above list - felt recovered somewhat with the medicinal intake of alcohol. Alas, the drink must have effected my eyes because the ink here has changed to something strongly resembling black currant. Was I drinking vodka and black last night?
CB is in perfect shape. Just like old times. It makes life well worth living. All back to Pine Tops for luncheon. Horrified by the idea of working this evening. It's pouring with rain too and CB looks expectantly at people, fluttering her eye lashes, in an attempt to get a lift to the bus stop. No such bloody luck. We walked into Guiseley in a deluge and waited for what seemed like all eternity for the public transport.
Nothing of interest at the YP. Dead in fact. Ursula is a nice girl. I'm a nice boy. You're a patient reader.
-=-
 |
| with CB: in perfect shape. |
CB is in perfect shape. Just like old times. It makes life well worth living. All back to Pine Tops for luncheon. Horrified by the idea of working this evening. It's pouring with rain too and CB looks expectantly at people, fluttering her eye lashes, in an attempt to get a lift to the bus stop. No such bloody luck. We walked into Guiseley in a deluge and waited for what seemed like all eternity for the public transport.
Nothing of interest at the YP. Dead in fact. Ursula is a nice girl. I'm a nice boy. You're a patient reader.
-=-
Saturday April 2, 1977
Wait all day for Dave G and Glenn. Watched the Grand National on TV at 3.30. Red Rum won for the third time making history. We had a private bet on at home. Sue backed the winner.One of mine fell at the first fence and had to be destroyed.
The lads arrived at about 4 o'clock. They're both in great shape. Tea of haddock flan, then down to the off licence for booze and on to the Hare. John, Maria, Lynn, Dave B, Sue, Pete, Chris R, Miss Dibb, Graham Airey, Andy, Linda, Carol Smith and boyfriend, little Jean, and later Mum and Dad, CB, Judith and Kathryn, &c. All back to Pine Tops. A real piss up. Don't remember much. Do recall wearing sunglasses and annoying people playing John's mouth organ. I almost set myself on fire trying to take a group photograph from the top of the fireplace in the lounge. Freaking out until 5am.
As far as I know only Martyn, Ruth, Judith and Kathryn, Dave G, Dave B, Glenn and I were the only ones remaining at dawn, and others, who have no grave but the sea, may well have been fighting it out until the bitter end. I found refuge in my bed. CB was unconscious on Lynn's bed and subsequently my sister was relegated to sleeping on the bedroom floor. I did the washing up and clearing around before passing out. Yes,I am made of the stuff that made England great. Christopher Columbus, Robert the Bruce, Hereward the Wake - all stout Englishmen who pioneered to achieve the greatest empire since F.W. Woolworth opened all them shops.
-=-
 |
| with CB, Ruth and Dave G. |
As far as I know only Martyn, Ruth, Judith and Kathryn, Dave G, Dave B, Glenn and I were the only ones remaining at dawn, and others, who have no grave but the sea, may well have been fighting it out until the bitter end. I found refuge in my bed. CB was unconscious on Lynn's bed and subsequently my sister was relegated to sleeping on the bedroom floor. I did the washing up and clearing around before passing out. Yes,I am made of the stuff that made England great. Christopher Columbus, Robert the Bruce, Hereward the Wake - all stout Englishmen who pioneered to achieve the greatest empire since F.W. Woolworth opened all them shops.
-=-
Friday April 1, 1977
Up at 9 with great expectations for the Pig & Whistle expedition. Sadly however Judith is a very different person this morning when I telephoned Bedside Manor. "I'm not going, Michael", she says "...and that's final".
So I made do playing at Harry Wheatcroft in the garden until Dad rolls up and shouts from the window something about going shopping with promises of a drink thrown in to bait me. I readily cast aside my shears and hurtle up the garden like Lilian Board. (Sorry, it's something of a dead personalities morning with Harry Wheatcroft and Lilian Board).
Shopping was hell at Morrison's but it was all made worthwhile by a drink in the Clothiers's. Down to collect Mama from Moon's (Mill) and the three of us bugger off to the Commercial for lunch. Roast beef and onion sandwiches and gallons of Stella Artois.
Ron (Lindley) is an absolute scream. He has such a face that says everything without him having to speak a word. His very expression sums up the situation perfectly.
To the Hare & Hounds tonight with Sue and Peter. CB is on top form - a great time we have. Miss Braithwaite appears to be back to her normal self once again. Martyn and Ruth, Chris and Peter M join us and we move on to the Regent in Guiseley at 10.15 until closing time. No juke box, but quite a good place. CB and I laughing all the time. She's not sure about tomorrow night but I'll no doubt be seeing her in the pub even if she cannot come along to the Gang Bang.
All to the Chinese restaurant where I'm robbed of 95p by a greasy chink with dirty finger nails. The food is ghastly. No wonder the average china man dies at 27.
-=-
So I made do playing at Harry Wheatcroft in the garden until Dad rolls up and shouts from the window something about going shopping with promises of a drink thrown in to bait me. I readily cast aside my shears and hurtle up the garden like Lilian Board. (Sorry, it's something of a dead personalities morning with Harry Wheatcroft and Lilian Board).
Shopping was hell at Morrison's but it was all made worthwhile by a drink in the Clothiers's. Down to collect Mama from Moon's (Mill) and the three of us bugger off to the Commercial for lunch. Roast beef and onion sandwiches and gallons of Stella Artois.
 |
| Ron Lindley. |
To the Hare & Hounds tonight with Sue and Peter. CB is on top form - a great time we have. Miss Braithwaite appears to be back to her normal self once again. Martyn and Ruth, Chris and Peter M join us and we move on to the Regent in Guiseley at 10.15 until closing time. No juke box, but quite a good place. CB and I laughing all the time. She's not sure about tomorrow night but I'll no doubt be seeing her in the pub even if she cannot come along to the Gang Bang.
All to the Chinese restaurant where I'm robbed of 95p by a greasy chink with dirty finger nails. The food is ghastly. No wonder the average china man dies at 27.
-=-
20120318
Thursday March 31, 1977
Down to the Hare by bus to meet Judith at 8pm. Alone until 8.45 drinking lager like a fish. Judith comes in followed soon after by Tony, Linda, Martyn and Ruth. I go through money like Vivian Nicholson.
Judith is clad in dungarees. A good night. Pissed as a newt by 10.30 and Judith keeps thrusting cigarettes in my mouth and sighing: "Oh, Michael". Tony, Martyn, and Co, moved on to the Menston Arms at 10, but we didn't want to go and said 'bye bye'.
The lads are becoming serious with Linda and Ruth. Tony whispered to me that he's considering resigning from the Silver Jubilee Lechery Society. Martyn looks as though he's quitting too. I'm glad I enrolled Stuart. I don't want to be the founder and sole member. That would be tedious.
Back to Judith's at 11pm until 1.30. She says one of her aunts, who was a domestic servant at Chatsworth, got herself fucked by someone not unlike the Kaiser.We arrange to meet at the Pig & Whistle at 11.30 tomorrow, but by the end of the evening she is having serious doubts about whether she'll have surfaced by then.
Bed at 2am somewhat damp following a great downpour. Quite sober by now, and deadly serious.
-=-
 |
| Judith. |
The lads are becoming serious with Linda and Ruth. Tony whispered to me that he's considering resigning from the Silver Jubilee Lechery Society. Martyn looks as though he's quitting too. I'm glad I enrolled Stuart. I don't want to be the founder and sole member. That would be tedious.
 |
| Kaiser Bill. |
Bed at 2am somewhat damp following a great downpour. Quite sober by now, and deadly serious.
-=-
Wednesday March 30, 1977
 |
| Princess Marie-Astrid. |
The princess is of course very eligible. Granddaughter of Leopold III, King of the Belgians; daughter of the ruler of Luxembourg, but Roman Catholic. Dr Cobweb, the Archbishop of Canterbury is meeting Pope Paul next month. What will crop up in their discussions? Comment from Mama: "Oh he will marry a princess - it's as plain as the nose on my face."
Work unspectacular. No Sarah. Spoke to Delia on the phone and she reminded me about my birthday tea next week. Yes, 22 years - aarrghh! Who cares anyway? Moses supposedly lived a long and active life and died at the grand old age of 450 or something.
 |
| Ruth: 24 years old |
Nothing on the news. Saw Sir Geoffrey Howe make a reply to Denis Healey's Budget. No phone calls tonight. Tony told me, on the quiet, that Ruth is 24 and has been separated from her husband for 2 years. Blimey, the girl only looks 18. Martyn has yet to be informed of this. Does Ruth know that Martyn is only 18? Age doesn't matter though.
Have a P.G. Wodehouse session after wallowing in the bath. Must write to David of Gloucester.
-==-
20120316
Tuesday March 29, 1977
No comment on the Budget. Better day than yesterday. No more snow, but still very cold.
Saw Judith in Guiseley at 5pm and walked her home. We're going to the Hare on Thursday night. I only hope Kathryn won't join us. She's a sweet old thing, but Judith must be sick and tired of her constant presence.
Judith says she hates and despises children and would never want any of her own. Weird. Children, in my opinion, are supreme. The only horrific aspect in having offspring must surely be watching them grow into moronic adults. I certainly feel moronic as I approach my 22nd birthday. My zest for life is ebbing. That vitality gone. I even have lines under my eyes. No grey hair though.
I must write to Dave L in Gloucester. I feel a bit guilty about what happened when we last met. We barely spoke a word to each other all weekend for some obscure reason.
Evening: Wrote to Stuart in 'Gay Paree'. Send him membership of our Silver Jubilee Lechery Club.
See a programme about one Hannah Hauxwell, a perfectly ordinary Yorkshire woman who everyone is making a tremendous fuss of down in London, Lady Wilson included. Even the Duchess of Gloucester spoke about her.
Sit with Susan who is knitting a pink jumper for Peter. It takes all sorts to make a world, doesn't it?
-=-
 |
| J|udith: hates children. |
Judith says she hates and despises children and would never want any of her own. Weird. Children, in my opinion, are supreme. The only horrific aspect in having offspring must surely be watching them grow into moronic adults. I certainly feel moronic as I approach my 22nd birthday. My zest for life is ebbing. That vitality gone. I even have lines under my eyes. No grey hair though.
I must write to Dave L in Gloucester. I feel a bit guilty about what happened when we last met. We barely spoke a word to each other all weekend for some obscure reason.
Evening: Wrote to Stuart in 'Gay Paree'. Send him membership of our Silver Jubilee Lechery Club.
 |
| Hauxwell: ordinary |
Sit with Susan who is knitting a pink jumper for Peter. It takes all sorts to make a world, doesn't it?
-=-
Monday March 28, 1977
More snow, hail and blizzards. I progress across Leeds resembling something similar to a yeti. (He is, of course, the nasty Abominable Snowman).
Work was uneventful, as usual. Only Sarah, Eileen, and self. I rang Lynn about her driving test. (Cancelled because of the weather conditions). She says the experience is not unlike waiting to be executed by firing squad only to discover they're run out of bullets. I can well imagine. However, in my case the ammunition was plentiful.
Tonight at home. Auntie Mabel rang Mama to enquire about Lynn's test. Not wishing to be depressed by the BBC news I soaked in the bath for half an hour. Later saw a good film about the mafia - a black comedy - but the title escapes me.
Bed at 11.30. Did you know that Queen Elizabeth II is descended from a 19th century prime minister? Yes, in 1783 and 1807 he accepted the office from King George III. Who was he? I'll give you a clue. They named a vase after him. Another clue: he had the same name as a brand of cement. Yes, that's right you've guessed correctly. Signing off at 11.45pm precisely.
-=-
 |
| Yeti. |
Tonight at home. Auntie Mabel rang Mama to enquire about Lynn's test. Not wishing to be depressed by the BBC news I soaked in the bath for half an hour. Later saw a good film about the mafia - a black comedy - but the title escapes me.
 |
| Portland Vase. |
-=-
20120313
Sunday March 27, 1977
Passion Sunday. I like the sound of that. Wake up to snow and hail. Do nothing whatsoever other than eat lunch and lounge around with a crumby Sunday newspaper. To be honest with you, I don't feel greatly informative today so don't expect anything astounding.
Did you know Mr Healey is presenting his Budget on Tuesday? Yes, and I bet he makes it a good one because of Labour's precarious position at the moment. Not discussing politics anyway.
Rang Dave G in Stockport at 7pm. He and Glenn are definitely coming on Saturday for my official birthday celebrations.
Work 5pm-12 midnight. Nothing spectacular here either. The world's worst ever aviation accident has taken place in the Canary Islands. 7,000,000 people dead, or something. Otherwise, nothing at all. Ursula never stops talking. I bet her jaws ache.
Crikey, it's Mrs Hilda Gadsby's 41st birthday tomorrow. She is of course the wife of Norman Anthony Gadsby, prospective Liberal councillor for the Borough of Pudsey.
Home by taxi in the snow at 12. Bed with P.G. Wodehouse. Goodnight.
-==-
Did you know Mr Healey is presenting his Budget on Tuesday? Yes, and I bet he makes it a good one because of Labour's precarious position at the moment. Not discussing politics anyway.
Rang Dave G in Stockport at 7pm. He and Glenn are definitely coming on Saturday for my official birthday celebrations.
 |
| The Tenerife crash, 1977. |
Crikey, it's Mrs Hilda Gadsby's 41st birthday tomorrow. She is of course the wife of Norman Anthony Gadsby, prospective Liberal councillor for the Borough of Pudsey.
Home by taxi in the snow at 12. Bed with P.G. Wodehouse. Goodnight.
-==-
Saturday March 26, 1977
Tony comes up at 1am with the Dave B birthday photos and those from last weekend. Really good.
Rang Judith and she rekindled the age old idea of picnicing at Bolton Abbey. Tony is in agreement. The two of us nip to Bradford and lark around for a bit before returning to Judith's. She's clad in tight jeans, wearing red braces and her hair is in pigtails. Killer.
To Ilkley for supplies. Two bottles of wine, bread and cheese, &c. Joined by Kathryn too, of course. Rain at Bolton Abbey, but the four of us eat, drink and make merry. Watch blue tits sweeping down after our bread crumbs.
At 2.45 we pile into the Devonshire Arms. All a little pissed except Kathryn who looks ill. Tony comes over all tired. By 4pm it's just Judith and I remaining - drinking tepid coffee at Bedside Manor. We feel as though we should carry on with the drinking. Is it alcoholism, or just the fact that we're almost 22?
We walked in the rain to Menston to see Fat Carol in her flat near the Hare. My God what squalid quarters. She was romping around in her underwear - her hair standing on end, and a strange girl was in her bed. Judith and I felt very uncomfortable. The whole place stank of vomit and the place is reminisceent of a rat infested cell in the Bastile. Horrible. Judith and I walked to the bus stop with horror etched on our faces.
Tea at 6. In the bath. To the Hare with Peter N in his new Capri. Susan, Lynn, Dave B, Martyn, Ruth, Chris, Peter M, &c. CB was in but she went off with Chris Blades. Stayed until 11. I feel a bit down. Carole and Fogarty are getting engaged at the end of next month. Silly, young fools. Will it last?
-==-
 |
| walking in the rain in Menston. |
To Ilkley for supplies. Two bottles of wine, bread and cheese, &c. Joined by Kathryn too, of course. Rain at Bolton Abbey, but the four of us eat, drink and make merry. Watch blue tits sweeping down after our bread crumbs.
 |
| Judith is tight jeans and braces. |
We walked in the rain to Menston to see Fat Carol in her flat near the Hare. My God what squalid quarters. She was romping around in her underwear - her hair standing on end, and a strange girl was in her bed. Judith and I felt very uncomfortable. The whole place stank of vomit and the place is reminisceent of a rat infested cell in the Bastile. Horrible. Judith and I walked to the bus stop with horror etched on our faces.
Tea at 6. In the bath. To the Hare with Peter N in his new Capri. Susan, Lynn, Dave B, Martyn, Ruth, Chris, Peter M, &c. CB was in but she went off with Chris Blades. Stayed until 11. I feel a bit down. Carole and Fogarty are getting engaged at the end of next month. Silly, young fools. Will it last?
-==-
Friday March 25, 1977
To tea at John & Maria's straight from the YP. John is looking really suave. Really. A fancy hair style. He's also slimmed down.
I took JPH two chocolate bars and fed him with one. The more he's 'roughed up' the more he screams for more. He loves being dangled with both feet on the floor. He'll be walking in next to no time.
Don't get home until 8pm and within minutes I'm heading back down the road with Dave B in the (Triumph) Spitfire to the Hare. Joined by CB, Chris, Pete M, and Lynn of course, and others. Carole is in with Peter Fogarty but she doesn't speak to me. She wasn't very forthcoming with Lynn either. No Martyn or Gayle of course, and Tony is out with Mandy Phillips.
At 10 I went through to the cocktail lounge to see Judith. She's a great girl. Stay until 11. Joined by Lynn and Dave. In my absence from the main lounge CB, Pete and Chris slink off to Oakwood Hall.
Home with Lynn and Dave. Caught the end of a grotty Michael Caine spy film.
Dad comes in and announces he's going to be the community constable for Guiseley with no night shifts or weekend work! Just days 9 to 5. It doesn't quite sink in and we just can't believe it.
-==-
 |
| with JPH. |
Don't get home until 8pm and within minutes I'm heading back down the road with Dave B in the (Triumph) Spitfire to the Hare. Joined by CB, Chris, Pete M, and Lynn of course, and others. Carole is in with Peter Fogarty but she doesn't speak to me. She wasn't very forthcoming with Lynn either. No Martyn or Gayle of course, and Tony is out with Mandy Phillips.
At 10 I went through to the cocktail lounge to see Judith. She's a great girl. Stay until 11. Joined by Lynn and Dave. In my absence from the main lounge CB, Pete and Chris slink off to Oakwood Hall.
Home with Lynn and Dave. Caught the end of a grotty Michael Caine spy film.Dad comes in and announces he's going to be the community constable for Guiseley with no night shifts or weekend work! Just days 9 to 5. It doesn't quite sink in and we just can't believe it.
-==-
20120312
Thursday March 24, 1977
No one at home after tea except sweet little me. After my bath and general sprucing up I rang Tony. He's going out with Linda, Martyn and Ruth. He says he feels quite rotten about dumping me but I respond by saying I'm a good looking lad, over 21, who is quite capable of taking care of myself and able to provide my own amusement. Rightly so. I then rang Martyn. He says he and Gayle will be in the Hare tomorrow. I then used the telephone for the third and final time tonight and rang Judith. I arranged to meet her and Kathryn in the Hare. Left home at 8.10 and marched all the way to Menston. Yes, on foot.
Not a soul to speak to in the Hare until Judith came in at 9pm. I was sitting near the juke box like 11 and a half stone of cabbage. Quite a good night in all and the climax of the evening could have been dubbed with Handel's music for the royal fireworks when Carol (Fat Carol who works at the Hare) emptied the contents of the ice bucket over Judith and squirted half the contents of a soda syphon over her and Kathryn. The scene which followed was reminiscent of Queen Marie Antoinette's procession to the guillotine as Fat Carol was hotly pursued around the pub lounge. Quite hysterical really.
The three of us then passed on to the Chinese take-away in Guiseley where Judith treated me to a gastronomic delight. Afterwards on to Bedside Manor (26, Fieldhead Road) for coffee until nearly 2am. Kathryn and I debated whether Queen Elizabeth I died a virgin. She died 374 years ago today. Judith was flat on the floor in a coma as this indelicate chatter went on. It's an awkward point. How would one go about asking God's anointed if she fancied a bit of hanky panky? Those who valued their heads would have avoided such banter, we decide. Home to bed feeling absolutely buggered.
-=-
 |
| with Judith. |
 |
| Virgin Queen? |
The three of us then passed on to the Chinese take-away in Guiseley where Judith treated me to a gastronomic delight. Afterwards on to Bedside Manor (26, Fieldhead Road) for coffee until nearly 2am. Kathryn and I debated whether Queen Elizabeth I died a virgin. She died 374 years ago today. Judith was flat on the floor in a coma as this indelicate chatter went on. It's an awkward point. How would one go about asking God's anointed if she fancied a bit of hanky panky? Those who valued their heads would have avoided such banter, we decide. Home to bed feeling absolutely buggered.
-=-
Wednesday March 23, 1977
 |
| Callaghan: reptile. |
But to get down to the really important things: Spring is certainly in the air, folks. Indeed, as I walked down the lane today I made every attempt to ignore the fog, drizzle and biting wind and instead my eyes searched the hedgerows in vain for signs of those pretty Spring floral offerings - namely daffodils. None to be seen. Not a bud on a tree. The youngest sheep I've laid eyes on qualifies for a telegram from Her Majesty the Queen congratulating it on it's longevity. The word 'lamb' is about as relevant in today's society as 'dodo', 'democracy' and 'statesman'.
Tony is in Worksop. What a revolting place to be on a Wednesday night. Spoke to Barry via telephonic communication. He says he's working 'too hard'. Cannot contact Martyn because some unhelpful person or persons have seen fit to conceal our telephone number book in a place unknown. I can only just recall Mr Brotherwood's number (Ilkley 3173), but Martyn's evades me. I think it begins with a 3 and has a 9 in it somewhere.
 |
| Sheep: Telegram from Her Majesty? |
Back to the subject of sheep. How long do they live if allowed to grow old gracefully? I ask this because the one I spied this morning was aged. When was the last time you saw next week's lamb cutlets in a wheelchair? I'm not mad either. Oh no.
-=-
20120311
Tuesday March 22, 1977
Not discussing work other than to say we've been having some bother with Carol.
A good cartoon in the Daily Mail this morning on the subject of Margaret Thatcher, the Prime Minister and Mrs Indira Gandhi. Tomorrow we will know for certain whether we're in for a general election or not.
I don't fancy the idea of a woman PM but anything will be better than Callaghan. Even a gorilla will do. A right-wing gorilla though.
Spoke to Delia Collis this afternoon on the phone. She has invited me to tea on an date yet unknown but in the near future. Should be a laugh.
To the dentist at 5pm. I need a couple of fillings. No appointment until September. I can think of nothing worse than dentists. They should all be herded together and shipped to the Maldives, or perhaps the Outer Hebrides. On reflection it's probably a silly idea, but I'm not here merely to be sensible. Blimey, I'm not standing for parliament.
Chris Monckton is departing from the YP to become a PRO with the Conservative party. Should suit him well. One day I bet he's a Tory whip - in more ways than one. On the subject of the peerage, a duke saw fit to make an exit from his mortal role yesterday. Namely the Duke of Portland who was 84. Strangely enough the successor to this title is only a slip of a lad himself. In fact he's 88.
11:30pm. Nothing much more to report. The BBC is, at this very moment, going on and on about the revolting government. It angers me more and more. James Callaghan is no politician. How he has the cheek to crawl round the Liberal party at this stage is quite amazing. No, obscene is the word. Even Dad says it's disgusting. The shoddy way this country is governed! If I was an MP I'd admit defeat when it it staring me right in the face.
To bed with P.G. Wodehouse. An amusing book. No telephone calls tonight. Must ring the lads tomorrow.
-=-
 |
| Margaret Thatcher: I don't fancy the idea of a woman PM |
I don't fancy the idea of a woman PM but anything will be better than Callaghan. Even a gorilla will do. A right-wing gorilla though.
Spoke to Delia Collis this afternoon on the phone. She has invited me to tea on an date yet unknown but in the near future. Should be a laugh.
 |
| Chris Monckton: future Tory whip? |
Chris Monckton is departing from the YP to become a PRO with the Conservative party. Should suit him well. One day I bet he's a Tory whip - in more ways than one. On the subject of the peerage, a duke saw fit to make an exit from his mortal role yesterday. Namely the Duke of Portland who was 84. Strangely enough the successor to this title is only a slip of a lad himself. In fact he's 88.
11:30pm. Nothing much more to report. The BBC is, at this very moment, going on and on about the revolting government. It angers me more and more. James Callaghan is no politician. How he has the cheek to crawl round the Liberal party at this stage is quite amazing. No, obscene is the word. Even Dad says it's disgusting. The shoddy way this country is governed! If I was an MP I'd admit defeat when it it staring me right in the face.
To bed with P.G. Wodehouse. An amusing book. No telephone calls tonight. Must ring the lads tomorrow.
-=-
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