20121011

Wednesday October 12, 1977

Dad was on Radio Leeds at 7.45 this morning (live) and throughout the Empire many millions of his followers sat grouped around tiny wireless sets to listen to his words of wisdom. I suppose you could liken him to Neville Chamberlain really.

PC 1656.
I went to Leeds with him and was in the office by 7.20. Bloody hell it was still dark. Mind you, I suppose that is how my forefathers started the working day.

I phoned Mum before lunch and she played a tape recording of dear Papa's speech down the receiver to me. He sounded quite good.

Did nothing but watch television this evening. Saw Penelope Keith and Richard Briers in Part II of 'The Norman Conquests'. Miss Keith ought to be made a Dame at the earliest opportunity because she's of the Edith Evans ilk without a doubt.

Dame Penelope?
To bed after 11 with 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. Dumas is excellent and I think I will have to tackle 'The Three Musketeers' series next. It seems quite ridiculous, doesn't it?

I must keep an eye on The Times and indeed the dear YP for signs of my brilliant letter. I do hope it will be published because they will be among the first organs to complain when Master/Miss Phillips is romping around on Her Majesty's knee without even a humble 'Honourable' prefixed before his/her name.

(By the way - I'm willing to bet you anything that the infant royal baby will be MALE. The last occasion in that august family when the first-born child was a daughter occurred on April 21, 1926, and that child is now the Queen).

-=-

Tuesday October 11, 1977

I wrote to the Times and the YP on the matter of Princess Anne's baby and it's title, or rather lack of it, when it comes into the world. I suggest doing what King Edward VII did in 1905 (see Diary, Saturday April 9, 1977). No doubt Mr Rees-Mogg and John Edwards will cast my mail sneeringly into the waste paper baskets of their respective offices. At least it cannot be said that I have neglected the plight of what can only be referred to, at this stage, as Master or Miss Phillips.

Edith & Ernest
Edith and Ernest came over at some frightfully early hour to 'sample' the wine. Lynn and Sue departed to bed quite early leaving Mum, Dad and I with them. I haven't laughed quite so much for at least 24 hours. Ernest told us, at great length, of how his great-uncle, Edwin Fletcher, founded the Provident Clothing Company. Edith cried with laughter throughout and it proved so infectious that we all followed suit. Do not ask what is so funny about Edwin Fletcher and the Provident Clothing Co, because I doubt whether I can enlighten you one bit. Ernest also told this tale to one of his arch-snobby neighbours further down the lane (whose husband is currently involved with the above mentioned company) and she retorted: "Oh, so your must be related to the Waddiloves". Ernest turned purple and demanded to know just where the Waddilove family come into the tale, but the neighbour changed the subject to the latest Princess Margaret story.

The two Es departed at 12 like Cinderellas (pissed ones) and Mum and I had a furious row which resembled 'Vimy Ridge' proportions. I adjourned, nay retreated, to my room with 'The Count of Monte Cristo'.

-=-

20121008

Monday October 10, 1977

Margaret Thatcher: party conference in Ibiza?
The valiant Margaret Thatcher is loading her guns in readiness for the Tory conference which opens at Brighton tomorrow. Why do they insist upon holding these stupid gatherings in hideous 19th century watering places? Surely, if little me can can manage a fortnight in Ibiza then the great bulwark of the Conservative party machine can surely do the same? I can understand the feeble Liberal party holding its annual circus on English soil because they are rather dull, aren't they?

The Duchess of Kent left hospital yesterday looking well and smiling. It was the duke's 42nd birthday. They are such a loving, close couple and the children all seem so nice. The 'Princess Margaret sort' are all very well, but our monarchy would not survive if all members of the Royal Family were like her.

Saw television which was quite dead. Also kept on with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' which has drifted from the original theme somewhat but I refuse to be defeated.

Phoned Tony. He said he's been 'let down' at the weekend and that he'd not taken Toni (confusion) for dinner at all. "We had a party at the flat instead" he said.  ________________.Heard from Martyn. He started work at Samuel's today.

-=-


Sunday October 9, 1977

18th after Trinity. Awakened at 9am by the Australian girl who says the room stinks and nominates Jacqui and I for a Nobel Prize for tolerating it the night long. It was very stale. We ate more cheese and continued with the record player and before long we were the sole occupants of the flat. God only knows where the others went. Jacqui passed a frustrating hour searching for the vacuum cleaner - not dissimilar to the quest for the Holy Grail. The offending object turned up in a distant cupboard.

Jacqui.
The day was hot and sunny and we set out for a walk down the actual Muswell hill to see Jacqui's mum. We discovered her brother, Pete, in a state of great hangover-isation (he'd been to a party) but no sign of her mum. From there we walked to a weird pub for a couple of drinks. Jacqui didn't know the Queen's birthplace was in Piccadilly. Back to the flat at 2 and took my leave of the piano-playing flatmate. Got a bus and then a tube to Victoria and at 3 I left for Leeds. Jacqui was in hysterics because a woman climbed onto the coach with a massive, obscene looking Alsatian dog, which proceeded to park itself next to me. We were howling at each other through the window. I read, or at least attempted to read, 'The Count of Monte Cristo' but found myself asleep for most of the journey. Ate sandwiches at Leicester. This gave me indigestion. Landed at Chateau Pine Tops at about 8pm.

All in all, an exquisite weekend - or party, or day, or whatever you call it. Saw TV with the family and retired early with, yes, you've guessed it, the Count.

-=-

Saturday October 8, 1977

Foggy, wet and damp. Party at 102, Grosvenor Road, Muswell Hill, London N10. I got a coach from Leeds at 12.30 and read 'The Count of Monte Cristo' until my eyes ached. We were in the centre of London before I deposited the book in my luggage. The coach driver, making his first venture to the capital, was lost, and we circled Buckingham Palace five or six times before one of my fellow passengers enlightened him as to the whereabouts of Victoria. All very trying it was.

Met Jacqui at about 5.30 and, in pouring rain, we went by bus to Muswell Hill, which seemed just as far from London as did Leeds. It was miles!

George Davis: drinking with his relations.
Jacqui shares a marvellous flat with a couple of other birds - one a sexy Australian. We ate and listened to records until the first party guests arrived at about 9 o'clock. Lononders frowned at the suggestion that we should first go to the pub until closing time. Weird lot. All the men wear one ear-ring, and several claimed to be related to George Davis, the bank robber of Headingley wicket sabotage fame. Didn't know whether to believe them or not. Most people (were) quite pissed, but gallons of wine didn't do much for me at all. The party was good. I thoroughly enjoyed it. My northern accent amused endless people and I brought hours of amusement to scores of Londoners who had never actually met a Yorkshire man before. I remember drinking Pernod and chatting to a Greek.

Jacqui and I get on very well. We were the last survivors at about 4am.

-=-

Friday October 7, 1977

Phoned Tony to say I'm not going out tonight. I have been to the library and laid hands on a copy of 'The Count of Monte Cristo' by Dumas which held my attention to the extent that I could not bring myself to drop it for an evening and go stand in a pub. _____________. It cannot be helped. I'm sick and tired of people at the moment. At the library I also took out a Wodehouse novel. I have yet to finish the Waugh novels. Having finished 'Decline and Fall' I'm not quite as impressed with a second volume called 'Black Magic' or something. Aren't I reverting to my old intellectual ways? Going to see 'Twelfth Night' with Sarah on November 10, and on Nov 22 it's back to the Leeds Playhouse - also with Sarah. I suppose you can say she has a lot to do with it.

Watched a play on TV with Lynn and David and had a Pernod and a few beers. Retired to bed with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' at about 12-ish. London here I come, tomorrow.

P.S. I've just glanced over what I've entered today and have decided that it looks pathetic and ridiculous that I, at twenty-two and a half, I should be reading 'The Count of Monte Cristo' - may I add, reading it for the very first time too. Can it be put down to my secondary education perhaps? I did read two or three chapters of 'Wuthering Heights' when I was 16. Does that put me higher in your estimation?

-=-

20121002

Thursday October 6, 1977

Squash with Sarah. I don't ache quite as much as I did last week, but still feel as though it isn't for me. I despise physical exercise and all that goes with it. The sweaty changing rooms, the showers, rowdy young men who can only talk about football. It just isn't Michael Rhodes. But, as I told Tony on the phone on Tuesday,  Sarah and I play squash quite simply for sexual reasons. Yes, the game is over by 7.30 and it gives us three or four hours afterwards to indulge in more normal activities in the lounges of pubs _______.
Sarah: discussed relationships

From the Leisure Centre we went to the Commercial where we sat in a corner and discussed our relationships. She talked about Lynne Mather, and looked me straight in the eye and said: "you had me worried there because I thought you were going to go off and marry her." She told me she could never marry because it would be a crime to inflict herself on some poor man. I said she was talking rot, but she stuck to her guns, adding how "sweet" it was of me to be so nice and understanding. ________.

We saw Annie (Lindley) who said I was paralysed on Saturday. We also had a few words with American Carol (Shires) who told me she is going to marry in May. She looked painfully thin and ill, but was friendly and enquired after the whole family. We came back home for coffee (or was it tea?) at 10.30 and saw David's engagement party photographs. Sarah sat and screamed with laughter at them.

The Duchess of Kent suffered a miscarriage - as expected and is to remain in hospital until early next week. What a damn shame. So the three royal Silver Jubilee babies are reduced to two. Ah well.

-=-

20120928

Wednesday October 5, 1977

To work today with Jim and Jennie Rawnsley. I could almost see Jim shivering in terror as his eight year-old daughter commanded him to 'overtake the bright yellow car in front. It might be Miss Higginbottom, my history teacher'. ______.
Duchess: abortion.

The Duchess of Kent crisis continues. The Archbishop of Canterbury is now involved and keeps making short visits to the hospital, no doubt to persuade the religious duchess that it would not be wrong to under go some sort of procedure  to terminate her pregnancy. We know what the opinions the duchess has on the subject of abortion and I can understand the torment she must be going through. However, the life of the mother is far more important to that of an unborn child. All you Roman Catholics can now rip out this page and eat it.

Norman Conquests.
Just watched TV tonight. Saw an Alan Ayckbourn play 'The Norman Conquests' starring Penelope Keith and Richard Briers which is first class - for a change. The quality of television plays is usually disgustingly low and I was delighted to se something well done. I think Penelope Keith is marvellous and cannot understand where she's been hiding for the past 20 years. Isn't it strange how these actress, and not particularly young ones, suddenly emerge from obscurity overnight?


Tuesday October 4, 1977

Sarah and I passed lunchtime together. We went to the Art Library and she took out three or four books on pottery and potting for her 'O' level evening class before going on to Malcolm's (sandwich shop) where we inadvertently robbed the assistant of the price of two egg mayonnaise sandwiches.

Back at the YP we phoned the (Leeds) Playhouse and booked to see 'Twelfth Night' by a man called Shakespeare on November 10.

The remainder of the day went by quite blissfully and nothing much more happened, except for perhaps two things. Christine phoned to say she's asked Philip Knowles to take her back, and that she expects a reply within the next few days. I expressed my surprise and hope that all will be well in the end. Poor Philip. I talked her out of this idea over the last Christmas season. Will he be dropped again?

Duchess of Kent.
The other thing. The Duchess of Kent is probably going to lose the baby she was expecting in February. The duke, who flew out to Iran yesterday, came rushing home today and took his wife to the King Edward VII Hospital, where no doubt her pregnancy will cease in the next few days. I've said all along that 44 is a bit on the old side for such a venture. All the remaining pregnant royal ladies will be quaking in their maternity smocks tonight. Poor, poor duchess.

Rang Tony tonight just to mention Muswell Hill, and just as I thought he has a prior engagement. He says he's taking Toni to some joint for dinner and a dance afterwards. ________.





-=-

Monday October 3, 1977

Sarah.
At work. Sarah was gorgeous. We kept talking about Saturday and she tested me on my memory of certain incidents from the evening.She was glum when I told her I couldn't remember a thing. But a lovely glint came into her eyes when I said I could recall the 'Rachmaninov interlude', which goes down as one of the most romantic incidents in my tiny life - so far. I was cooled somewhat when she said John Macmurray is back from Lithuania and that she had been to the theatre with him last night. Never have I wished anything unfortunate to befall a fellow human being as much as I did today on the poor, smiling Yorkshire Post journalist who is nothing but civility and kindness to me. As the words came from Sarah's lips I was transported to Bulgaria (or wherever he's been) and felt a growing anger that the authorities of that delightfully repressed nation had not incarcerated Macmurray in a rat infested cell, forgotten and shut away for at least 20 years. Or at least long enough for me to get my hands on Sarah. But, one cannot blame Mr Macmurray. It's Sarah fault for associating with a 24 year-old undergraduate of Scottish descent. When I seize power I'll ban English women associating with young men with surnames beginning with 'Mac'.

Saw Princess Anne tonight at the International Horse Show from the Empire Pool, Wembley. The cameras didn't focus on her 'bump'. She glared though the TV set with that fierce Windsor scowl. No sign of a Lord Phillips yet.

-=-

Sunday October 2, 1977

17th after Trinity.I received a frosty reception this morning. Mum said my behaviour was reminiscent of Uncle Harry. Dad said he has never seen me as drunk as I was last night. They both set about recalling some of the incidents that took place in the Commercial but I stopped them. I didn't want to hear.

John Pinder, Alison Dixon and Dave B.
Lynn just sat looking at me and grinning and poor Alison dodges out of the way every time I go near her. Evidently I ruined her dress with drink and half drowned her in the process. Poor girl. John (Pinder) and David gave me funny looks too. Blimey, what did I get up to? I can recall very little and shudder to think what passed between Sarah and I.

Lynn, Dave, Alison and John went to Haworth and all that Bronte country for a picnic with the spare trifles and left over pate from last night, and the half consumed bottles of Cinzano. They know how to enjoy themselves, don't they?

I entertained Tony and Martyn. They had a good time at Rawtenstall. Martyn kept saying 'fucking this' and 'fucking that' and dear Mama was only in the kitchen. I registered my displeasure. __________. I didn't mention the Muswell Hill campaign next weekend. They left after half an hour and I re-immersed myself in 'Decline and Fall' by Mr Waugh. The picnic party returned at 5 and Jack Simon came to photograph Lynn and Dave for an engagement portrait. I watched from the window as they frolicked happily on the lawn. Isn't love nice?

Just watched TV tonight. 'Poldark', the Sunday film, and all that. To be honest, I felt horribly tired. Will I live long enough to receive my telegram from the King? If I ever get one from a president I'll tear it to shreds.

-=-

Saturday October 1, 1977

One of the most blank parties I've ever attended took place this evening ... or at least I think it did. Anyway, I'd better begin at the beginning. At what seemed like the crack of dawn I was taken  off against my will, in pouring rain, to Bradford by Alison, John, Lynn and David. (Oh God. I failed to mention that Alison and John (Pinder) arrived late last night from the depths of darkest Hampshire). Oh, how it poured down.

We messed around for a while buying records and flash cubes for tonight, and then after a brief lapse of time we found solace in the nearest pub. From here we found the Bod, which was unbelievable. We were the only inhabitants of what usually is the busiest tavern in West Yorkshire. It was here where we squabbled about surnames. Lynn said that after her marriage she wouldn't mind being 'Lynn Rhodes-Baker'. This made David blow his top for some obscure reason, and banging his glass of ale on the table he yelled: "If you intend keeping that name after we are married you might as well not bother with a party tonight because I'll call the whole thing off". It took ages to calm him down. It was such a silly thing for us all to become argumentative about, but it was David's attitude that fed my niggling. Lynn was very annoyed.
At Esholt: Sarah,Peter,Sue,David,Lynn and John.

Back home by 4pm. I began drinking bilberry wine and continued to do so until Sarah arrived at about 7.45. I was under the impression that we all were indulging in this wondrous wine, but from reports told to me later, I discovered I had been the 'Lone Boozer'. Sarah's arrival I remember well. She looked divine. What happened next though I just don't know. We all went to the Commercial where I spilt lager over everyone and swore in a disgusting manner. Mum and Dad asked me to be a little quieter. My next memory is back at home smashing eggs in the kitchen and breaking my camera. Mum joined in the egg breaking and went to town sticking them down Peter's shirt.

Because of the mess I changed into David's Fred Perry shorts and then became enraptured with Sarah. We seemed to be quite alone in the dining room dancing to Donna Summer and ending with Rachmaninov's 2nd Piano concerto. _______. We kissed, Everyone else just seemed to fade away. God knows what state I was in. Normally it wouldn't concern me but for the presence of Mr & Mrs Henry Baker and family. Sarah stayed very late and I escorted her to her car when she left. I really do fancy her to death you know. It's been in my blood now for a couple of years or more. What about John Macmurray though? I am sure she fancies me - so why are we always pretending nothing exists? Why indeed.

-=-

Friday September 30, 1977

Martyn.
Baby John's first birthday. John called in at lunchtime to collect the presents. The house on Silverdale Drive is up for sale and John has every intention of purchasing two broken down old cottages and a couple of acres of land at Stranraer (north of the border). He's packing in his job too - in these days under a Labour government and with seven billion unemployed. I'm afraid I'm sceptical about the whole business _______.

I phoned Martyn this evening after first attempting to contact Tony, who wasn't in. I haven't heard from Tony all week, which is unusual. Lynn had a brief conversation with him and told him she was engaged. He had already been informed of this via Chris R last week. He doesn't know whether he'll make it to the engagement party either because he and Tony are probably going with Chris to Rossendale. __________.

I informed Martyn of my intention to stay at home this evening, by my fireside, quietly reading 'Decline and Fall'. This I did.

-=-

Thursday September 29, 1977

To Sarah's after work and on to the Leisure Centre at Horsforth at 6.30 for my first ever game of squash. I really looked the part in David B's Fred Perry shorts and shirt, and I could see just how much Sarah was taken by my legs. Woman usually are, you know. We bashed about for about forty minutes and I really quite enjoyed the 'incident'. I didn't do too badly, either. Naturally, I didn't win, but Sarah had every confidence in my eager and forthright attitude. I fancy her.

From here we went with Marilyn (Wheeler) to the Damn Yankee and then to the Regent at Chapel Allerton. The food was good and M told hilarious tales of _________ prostitution activities. _____ By all accounts is 'no good in bed'. We laughed a good deal.

The Regent was hideous. So many people, and so overpowering. A friend of Marilyn's bought me two drinks and wouldn't let me get him one in return. He's going to China next week forever and I'll never be able to repay his kindness. I understand now why _______ inhabits this joint. If a strange man is prepared to buy me drinks, just what are they doing for ______? Eh? Know what I mean? Wink, wink.

Sarah brought me home and I wanted to drag her in the back of the car and show her a thing or two, but for some reason I just said 'good night' and watched her drive off.  ________.

-=-

20120923

Wednesday September 28, 1977

Lynn and Dave became engaged. He presented her with a ring at about 7.30 and then took her off to Flashman's for a feast. Before this, however, we put away three or four bottles of that champagne substitute which tastes even better than the real thing.

Rt Hon David Steel: cause of nausea.
Lynn looked sublimely happy and I am sure it was a great relief to poor David, who just wants to settle down without any hullabaloo. Mum, Dad and I put away a few lagers after Lynn & Dave had left and then opened the Pernod. They returned at about midnight and we continued with the celebration session. Lynn especially was somewhat pissed and confided in her fiance to feelings of nausea. I was in a similar position too, but it was not all down to alcohol. David Steel and the Liberal party conference on the BBC was the cause of my intermittent vomiting, which completely flattened the whole occasion.

I took quite a few photographs of the happy couple, and so too did David. He now refers to me as 'Our Kid' and I'm sure he'd really like me for a brother. His own brothers are very sober, serious young men.







-=-

Tuesday September 27, 1977

Not a particularly wild, passionate or even remotely exciting day. I sorted out Lynn and David's engagement announcement with the fat lady on the reception desk and if all goes to plan - which no doubt it will not - the historic announcement will appear on page 32 of the Yorkshire Evening Post tomorrow evening.

'Mr D.A. Baker
Miss L. Rhodes

The engagement is announced between David Andrew, second son of Mr & Mrs H.T. Baker, of Farthingstone, Old Pool Bank, Pool-in-Wharfedale, and Lynn, elder daughter of Mr & Mrs L. Rhodes, of Pine Tops, Hawksworth Lane, Guiseley, near Leeds.'

Evelyn Waugh.
Otherwise, it was all quiet on the Western Front. Continued reading 'Margaret: Princess who appears quite a lot in the Daily Express gossip column' by Willi Frischbender. Nothing new in it at all. Mum, who is also reading it, keeps saying: 'Thank God we didn't buy it'.

'Decline and Fall' by Evelyn Waugh gets better. What a remarkable mind that man had. The character of Paul Pennyfeather is excellent and everyone who reads the book will be drawn immediately to his side. He calls for so much sympathy. The innocence of the principal character too is wonderful. Oh why don't I just go to sleep?







-=-

Monday September 26, 1977

Work was quite lazy. We made a birthday card for Michael Robertshaw, whose birthday it is today - his 21st. Eileen has been quite a misery since returning from honeymoon and today she smiled once or twice but is still quite off -hand with me. The reason for this I fail to understand but it must have something to do with Christine Byram's party. I have no intention of worrying about it anyway.

A Woody Allen film on the BBC tonight.'Play it Again, Sam'. Thoroughly hilarious. That actor is one of the funniest men alive I'm sure.

Mr Fishmonger's book.
Roddy Llewellyn.
Edith Blackwell has lent us a copy of 'Margaret: Princess without a cause' by Willie Fishsomethingorother. I fully intended purchasing it but after glancing over it I am so glad I haven't wasted the £5.50. It is just like the Helen Cathcart biography with a bit of extra spice gathered from the cheap Sunday newspapers and gossip from the European and American journals. Coincidentally the papers today have stories about Margaret in them. According to one, Roderic Victor Llewellyn (born October 9, 1947, son of Sir Harry Llewellyn, KB, and grandson of Sir David Llewellyn, 1st Baronet) is being groomed as a courtier with the intention of marrying him to Princess Margaret after her divorce next year. From his pedigree it's easy to see he is not the sort of low 'drop out' he's been made out to be. He is at least in Burke's  Peerage. Grandson on the paternal side of a baronet and on the maternal side of the 5th Baron de Saumarez. The young man no longer wears an ear ring and the t-shirt embossed with 'Roddy for PM' on the front has been replaced by pin striped suits and sober ties. It certainly seems he is being prepared for the trappings of royalty.

I retired to bed with Willie Fishmonger's boring, bitty book. I could do a better job and certainly get more of the facts right. Mr Fish 'n Chips in merely a profiteer, a sensationalist, a scoundrel. In fact I'm in two minds whether or not to go on reading it. 'Decline and Fall' by Mr Waugh is far more entertaining and certainly more of a bedtime book. Who knows what nightmares I'd be subjected to if I were to drift off to sleep after reading of the sexual exploits of Princess Margaret, which I am sure are based on nothing more than the idle chatter of ignorant people.

-=-

20120922

Sunday September 25, 1977

16th after Trinity. John's 21st birthday. ________.WE ARE A UNITED FAMILY.


John: 21st birthday.
Decline and Fall.
Joy went back to Leeds last night and is going to visit Paul (with the handbag) in Halifax today. Jacqui slept here on the settee. We had breakfast at about 11.30 and John came up afterwards and we celebrated his birthday with a few bottles of wine, which saw us through until about 2. Dom(inic) Melville, whose birthday was yesterday, joined us. Jacqui demonstrated the art of tap dancing on our kitchen floor which was hilarious. Lynn loved every minute of it.

John (who had gone home at 12) returned at 2 in pouring rain to commandeer Pete and I for a spot of labouring work. We dismantled a porch and carried it from Netherfield Road to some remote part of Guiseley and helped to erect it there. It was his birthday present. (The labouring). I haven't given him a proper present yet. He quite understood. He called me a 'bastard'. The three of us did a lot of laughing. John was especially cheerful.

Peter and I returned to Pine Tops and had a late lunch, or tea. Jacqui had a pleasant chat with Mum and Lynn. We watched TV and I refused to leave my chair until after 8.

Joy returned at about 7.30. She hadn't been to Halifax and instead her lover came to Leeds. The poor soul has no sense of direction. They left at about 8.30 and I promised to go to Muswell Hill on October 8. Jacqui is a nice girl.

In bed tonight reading 'Decline and Fall' by Evelyn Waugh. A very good novel. In fact I was sat laughing in bed. Ho Ho Ho.

-=-


Saturday September 24, 1977

Out of bed at 9.30. Yes, half past nine. I went to Guiseley for a large family-size tin of Eno's Liver Salts and a bottle of orange barley water. Home by 10 feeling much better for my walk. David and Dad were on the drive at work on the Toyota.

Jacq & Joy on Ilkley Moor.
I was commanded to an audience with Mama. It's the usual story. Complaints about things that go pop, bang, and what have you, in the night, or perhaps I should say early morning. She was quite adamant this time about orgies, and future orgies in hours of darkness, and so pained that I vow never again to bring a living soul home after a night out. Mama, whilst sipping her morning tea, threatened terrorist action. When angered I suppose she could make the Bader-Meinhoff gang resemble the Wombles. I went cold with fear.

I have an amusing tale to recount to you. Do you recall M___P___? The mama of Carole? Yes, now you do. Well, it seems she's been caught altering price tickets at Presto again. Terribly sad I know, but there it is. Anyhow, it came to pass that Susan was reading of this incident, and peering over the top of the local paper she said quite seriously to Mama: "My God. That woman must be a nymphomaniac".

Jacqui and Joy came at about 3.30 and we went to Ilkley Moor where I leapt around with a camera. We made spectacles of ourselves before moving to Bolton Abbey for further revelries. The girls are mad. Truly insane. They have never before been north of Luton and are impressed by the rolling greenery of Wharfedale, but I make a terrible guide.

They came back for tea with the family and then we ventured back to Leeds to get ready for John's party at Oakwood (Hall). We didn't leave Leeds until 9 o'clock and the girls and I went to the Old White Horse at Bingley with Sue and Peter. Tony and Martyn joined us. Tony said he wasn't going to Oakwood but on seeing Joy he changed his mind. We got to Oakwood for about 10.30. John and Maria came with Chris and Pete M and Steve Hudson. Joy pinched John for a dance. Jacq and I danced all night. Well, until 2. _______.


-=-

20120906

Friday September 23, 1977

Eileen showed me an article in that glorious relic 'Woman's Own' which I found hilarious. It states that the Royal Family is becoming far too large, the biggest one in fact since Victoria's day. Laugh at the thought that by the year 2000 the south of England will be overrun by minute Queen Mothers, devouring and devastating crops and making a general nuisance of themselves. _______.
Royal Family: too large.

Burdened with a ghastly hangover today. I'm home completely shattered at the usual hour and spend the time until 9 o'clock readying myself for Angela (Singer's) party. Jacqui phoned at 9.15 and by 10.15 we were teamed up outside the Yorkshire Post and we made our way to Headingley.

I loathe going to parties stone cold sober, but I soon remedied that. It was rewarding watching bleary eyed journalists eyeing up Jacqui and Joy. Peter Fearon attempted to woo Joy with his Fleet Street routine which failed brilliantly. She then went off to dance with a Daily Express man. I became quite drunk.

Carol Johnson and Roger Ratcliffe arrived at the same time, but not together. The girls thoroughly enjoyed themselves and were very sociable. Did I do a tango with Brenda Rankin? I hope not.

Joy brought me home and I foolishly had them in for coffee, giggles and screams, slamming doors and other loud robust noises. Naturally, Mama was awakened by the commotion but made no assault on us downstairs, luckily. They set off back for the depths of Roundhay at some unbelievable hour and I departed to my chambers for a few hours shut-eye. A very pleasant party. Angela Singer deserves to be the first woman editor of a national newspaper.

-=-

Tuesday January 7, 1986

  Moorhouse Inn , Leeds , LS11 5NQ A 7am start again. What long days we have. Samuel is still raving about ' Agadoo ', dancing with ...