Sunday March 11, 1979

_. 2nd Sunday in Lent

Felt slightly better today. I rang Chris. He was disgusted about last night. I told him I'd meet him this lunchtime. He told me he was going to the Regent at Chapel Allerton. Alas, Sue & Pete don't want to go over to Leeds, and so we went to the Commercial instead. Down at Esholt we drank like diabetic fish for just over an hour. At one point John Pinder raised his glass to me [when nobody else was looking] and said: "Well, Michael, here's to you because it is probably the last time I'll see you." He then told me that he'd attempted to go home from Grassington on Tuesday after a fight with Ally but had missed the train & so he returned to the cottage.  Poor Alison ______________________.

Back home for lunch where we discussed the idea of going to work abroad. Ally was serious about the whole thing. She and John left for Winchester at 4. John & JPH arrived while we were at the Commercial and at 5 they took Dave G and I to Lynn and Dave's where he discusses his plans for Lawn Road.  Dave B was as quiet as a mouse. Chris B and Julie arrived.

Tonight: to the Shoulder and the Half Way House with Sue, Pete and Dave G. Almost boring.

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Saturday March 10, 1979

_. Woke up at about 10 feeling ghastly. Shivering with cold and full of the jitters. This is probably due to the fact that mildew and fungus is growing over my solitary sheet and something resembling the Victoria Falls is gushing down the crooked, picturesque interior walls.

At 11:30 Dave G, Sue, Pete and I found refuge in the Foresters [another charming pub]. By now I was feeling decidedly rough and unready. A few pints later I had had enough and decided to leave them and walk to the car. My knees knocked together like empty milk bottles, and I could barely move. It all sounds over-dramatized but I can assure you I thought the end - my end - had come. I slept in the warm car for an hour until the mob left the Foresters and decided to leave for home.

I would rather not discuss the events of tonight in any way. I phoned Chris Ratcliffe to ask what he intended doing tonight with John and Steve H and he said he would go down to the Shoulder. I agreed and said OK, but thought I'd never make it.

To Marlene  and Frank's at 6:30 for Auntie Mabel's 60th birthday party. I was in no fit state to be out in company, and after a few glasses of whisky I was dead to the world and asleep in a armchair.  At 10 o'clock Sue, Pete, Dave G, Ally and John P went off to find Chris R, John and Steve & co, but I was unable to move. Auntie Mabel says it is all because I am burning the candle at both ends. Aarrgghhhhhh....

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Friday March 9, 1979

_. Home at 5pm. Found the house full. John [Pinder], Alison, Dave G,  and Jacq. Yes, Jacq. She had been out to lunch with Lynn and decided to pay Mama a visit. However, the poor girl looked ghastly pale because Mum had tied her to a chair and force fed her with homemade beetroot wine. She [Jacq] looked on the verge of collapse. She left at 6:30 in her rusty, over-priced Hillman Imp.

At about 7pm John P and Alison took Sue, Pete N, Dave G and I to the cottage they have taken for the week at Grassington. A damp, tiny little place, but undoubtedly romantic. It was Dave G's first visit to the Yorkshire Dales.  We went into the Devonshire [Arms] at 8pm and ate scampi & chips, and consumed a moderate, pleasant amount of alcohol. At 12 we stood up to leave [yes, bloody midnight] but John was still chatting to the pub landlord.

Sue and Pete went to bed and Dave G and I drank the best part of two bottles of wine. Alison and John didn't return from the Devonshire until 2am. John was horribly pissed and staggered off to bed dragging debris and leaving a path of devastation behind him. Dave made Alison and I dinner [or was it an early breakfast?] & we talked until nearly dawn. The place was so wet that even the coal refused to burn.

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Thursday March 8, 1979

_. David Andrew Baker is 23 to-day. I bought him a bottle of pernod, which no doubt he will demolish within minutes of receiving it. I didn't see Lynn & Dave today because after work I went to Bill North's to continue daubing pain everywhere.

Did I tell you that Bill and I have settled upon the sum of £50 for decorating? Not bad, eh? Bill tells me that Sarah is a notorious hyporchondriac. I have always thought that the girl is obsessed with disease and illness and seems to go through endless lengths to avoid people with even the most minor ailments.

Worked until 8:30pm. Crossing a field at Headingley to get a bus I was accosted by two youths who asked: "Hey, Mister. Can we wank you off?" I replied in the negative. I would have missed the bus to Guiseley.

Peter came up at 9:30 and we went to find Chippy and Dave W in the White Cross. Chatted with Naomi and Jill. Did you know that, for some reason, I am attracted to Jill? God knows why. She is massive. She must weigh 12 stone - and nothing about her appearance is stunning.  The only thing that would stun you would be if she sat on you. However, I like her brain. Her mind intrigues me and I cannot refrain from chatting her up as if she is a Goddess, or something.

On to Oakwood [Hall]. Saw Steve Hudson there, and the divine Sarah [not Collis]. Also saw Tony Simpson and his friend from the Keighley Argus. Got horribly drunk, and remember nothing from the journey home.

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Wednesday March 7, 1979

_. Didn't get to bed until 4 this morning - so I don't feel like dancing to Victor Silvester.

Delia came over for me at 9am and we went over to Headingley and Bill North's flat. To our horror, he's lurking around in his dressing gown, or robe, sneezing and coughing as though at death's door. We expected the place to be deserted, but he announces that he has taken the week off and will be 'hanging around' whilst I am attempting to dollop paint all over the walls. Delia was very concerned at the prospect of my being closeted up with Bill for the day. We went through some amateur dramatics on the corridor near the lift, and when I took leave of her she disappeared through the floor wailing like a banshee.

I rubbed down the doors, painted the walls and finished for the day at about 6:30. Knackered I was in body and mind.

At home it wasn't long before I took to my bed.

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Tuesday March 6, 1979

_. Lynn's 21st birthday. Tonight we went out to nosh and make merry at the Coniston at Idle, near Bradford. Alison and John came. It seems as though a reunion has taken place __________________________. The party goers tonight were Mum, Dad, Lynn, Dave, Sue, Pete, Alison John P, Audrey, Henry, Chris Baker, Julie Harris, Richard & Mandy Baker, and me. I wasn't feeling in a celebratory spirit. I do not like the Coniston one bit. I felt the same last time I came here in 1975 for Susan's 16th birthday. The joint is more like a motorway service station café than a restaurant, and to be honest it just isn't worth it. I sat hurling packs of butter at Peter, which played havoc with the surface of the dance floor. I was the only member of the party without a partner, so I had to do something. Blimey, is this how I'm going to go through life?

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Monday March 5, 1979

_. I spent all day looking for something to buy Lynn for her birthday and finally settled upon a 'Toulouse Lautrec' Parisian-style poster. You know the one I mean. An old French tart with the top of her corset open, her tits hanging out and swimming in Pernod,  being ogled by bloated old gents in frock coats and top hats, monocles hanging everywhere.
I'm sure she'll like it. It will add to the bistro-effect of her dining room.

Saw 'Fawlty Towers' tonight. Someone should really persuade John Cleese to continue churning episodes out. So sad, isn't it, that all good things come to an end?

The dear Labour administration is five years old this week. Five wonderful years of prosperity and growth with round, fat children, all with well preserved teeth, dancing and openly rejoicing in the streets. Five years of giving so much money to old age pensioners that even now, as I sit here pen in hand, I can see a group of merry geriatrics dashing down the lane all pushing large wheel barrows crammed with crumpled old fivers. No doubt all having a Monday trip to the local rubbish tip. It's more convenient for them to dump excess cash than try and spend it. Most OAPs are too settled to become tax exiles in Juan Les Pins and St Helier.






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Sunday March 4, 1979

1st Sunday in Lent.

_. Went with Sarah and Delia to see Bill North at Headingley. It was my first ascent of a block of high rise flats and I was pleasantly surprised.

Bill is something of a cross between Larry Grayson and Liberace, and very suspect. We drank gin and tonic. I agreed to paint his hallway, which has ten doors leading from it, but no overall price was settled upon. He gave me £10 to be going along with though. Delia kept bursting into howls of laughter and blaming it on me, and it was all so childlike and good fun.  I am eternally grateful to that small, valiant lady, with the bunch of gladioli and campaigning spirit, who has undoubtedly saved me from prostitution & degradation.

Hilda and Tony came here again. Wine was consumed on the usual vast scale and we discussed the so-called family tree. I am sure that Tony knows more on this subject than he lets on , and when I next go to Pudsey I must look at the Wilson family Bible. I gave him the dates of the burials of John & Rella Wilson who died in Dec 1920 and March 1926 respectively. Lynn and David came and saw Auntie H for the first time in three years.

Saturday March 3, 1979

_. To the White Cross at lunchtime with Susie & Peter and then went on to Otley with the intention of buying Lynn a birthday present. Sadly, Peter's car broke down near Birdcage Walk in Otley and something of a pantomime followed. I made my way to a phone box and contacted Margaret Nason and arranged for us to get a lift from Jim. Back at Guiseley we secured Dad with the tow rope and headed back to retrieve the ailing vehicle.

Tonight: Out to the Regent [Chapel Allerton] with Sarah at 8. I had arranged to meet Sue, Peter, Chippy and Deborah but they didn't arrive until 9 o'clock. I was left talking to Sarah & Richard Burke and his brother Eamonn, which was awkward. The lads don't like me at all, especially Eamonn. It all stems from our mutual relationship with J___, and for some reason this is embarrassing for him.

The night was dull and boring. I don't want to go back to the Regent for a long, long time. Home at 11. Sarah and Richard were arguing. For a moment I thought I stood a chance, but this prospect faded rapidly. She has a strange choice of boyfriends does Sarah - they are always the same.

Watched Bogart in a film later.

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Friday March 2, 1979

_. To Len's Bar with Sarah & Delia at lunchtime. Why do I always prefer the mothers?

Thursday March 1, 1979

_. St. David's Day


Today is lost in the mists of alcohol and time. ______________________.

Wednesday February 28, 1979

_. There is a saying that goes "faber est quisque fortunae suae" - so where have I slipped up for God's sake?

I try to do my bit and keep out of trouble. I've never voted Labour, contracted VD or praised the Ayatollah, so why am I being singled out in this cruel way?

This evening I phoned Dave in Stockport and put him off coming at the weekend. He has postponed his trip until March 9. This is far more sensible and agreeable for all concerned. My excuse to Dave - an outright lie - was that I have found employment decorating at the weekend. This may prove more accurate than you may think. Delia phoned me this afternoon in a state of great intoxication. She immediately put me onto a male flower arranging friend [bent as a nine bob note] who wants paint slapped over some of the walls of his flat. The delightful sum of fifty quid was mentioned. Naturally, I leapt eighteen feet into the air and suffered a major respiratory collapse.  £50 is just the right sum to save me from incarceration in the Chateau d'If, and putting emulsion paint on walls is simplicity itself. Further arrangements will be made on Friday but it seems that good old Delia has found me salvation.

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Tuesday February 27, 1979

_. Bright, sunny day. Dave Glynn phoned and invited himself here at the weekend. I readily agreed at the time but afterwards decided that things will be exceptionally tight, financially. It is both Lynn & Dave B's birthdays next week, and with my phenomenal debts I cannot see this weekend being a riot.

Lynn and our Dave called in this evening. We are definitely going - en masse - to dine at the Coniston next Tuesday. The party includes the Bakers and Julie Harris. Lynn complained that I haven't been to Burley since Alison's visit in January. __________________________________.  Jacq is being entertained next Wednesday, and so I must make the effort next week.

Lynn says I am putting on weight. Sharp of her. My ever increasing girth is almost as much a worry as my financial  condition. Aren't I on the mullock heap? Oh dear. This permanent scrawl of self-pity cannot be doing any of you readers much good, eh? I will do my best to cheer up in the coming pages and so do keep reading, and if you like, why not skip a few pages until happier, more interesting times? I feel sure I will be in a happier frame of mind when the Spring lambs are frolicking in the lush greenery of our beloved Yorkshire.

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Monday February 26, 1979

_. At lunchtime I ventured to Leeds Library and snatched up a copy of William IV by Philip Ziegler. By 11:30 tonight I had read 80 pages. I've also got about as far with Dorothea Jordan's biography.

I have studied the life of Sailor Bill before. When one reads of the exploits of the royal dukes in the 1780s/90s it never ceases to amaze me that the British monarchy survived into the 19th century. The cherubic Queen Victoria saved us from the disease of festering republicanism.

My financial condition is now in a calamitous situation. If I could only see some light at the end of the tunnel perhaps I'd be slightly happier but I see nothing but gloom and drudgery.

Saw the divine Julie Harris on our mutual form of public transport and she showed me the engagement photos taken at the engagement party on Saturday. Poor Chris [Baker] was helpless with drink and eventually collapsed. Lynn behaved herself, she tells me, and my sister managed to keep on her feet. Julie thinks Audrey and Henry Baker are a very odd couple. I cannot agree more, but do not say so. I have no intention of becoming a foul conspirator to the plot which Lynn and Co. are so marvellously perpetrating.  _____________________________.

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Sunday February 25, 1979

_. Quinquagesima.

Continuing heat wave. Lawn cutting weather is just over the horizon and I can almost envisage the dancing daffodils & hear the conscientious bee as he dashes about his business, which is more than can be said for 15 million British workers including the civil service and that sainted profession, the refuse collectors, who have done sweet sod all since Christmas.

We can no longer see down the lane because the piles of festering rubbish are over twenty feet high. To make matters worse the stench is intolerable, and the little masked gent pulling the hand cart piled high with human remains crying: "bring out yer dead!" finds it impossible to get through the heaps of filth and effluence.  Otherwise, everything is rosy and going well on this fake Spring morn.

Did nothing today but watch TV and eat fruit. Sounds weird I know, but true. My reclusive lifestyle continues. I'm now on the path to a lifetime of celibacy and peace. Booze is definitely out and the joys of the female flesh are now a thing of the past. It's strange really because theses sorry symptoms are not the normal ones for those recuperating from pnuemocallaghanicosis. Those on the mend from 'Jim's disease' usually drink themselves into a coma and the majority of them are old regulars down at the clinic having treatment for sexually transmitted diseases.

Watched Irene Dunne in a 1906 epic 'The White Cliffs of Dover' - nauseating. Mum made up her own dialogue as the film crackled along its weepy, tragic course. Later saw Shakespeare's 'Henry VIII' - which was good.

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Saturday February 24, 1979

_. Spent the whole day alone like a recluse, lost in solitude and very deep, serious thought.  Mum and Dad went out to Clapham [near Settle] for the afternoon leaving me slumped over the typewriter dashing out a tale to Delia and then compiling a 'Stockport County Quiz' for David in that town.  I was far from satisfied with my efforts and by 5:30 all I had to show for a days toil was cold feet and a dull, aching pain in the back of my kneck. [Does kneck begin with a K? Of course not. Oh dear, I must be thinking of knickers].

Susan and Peter went to a cousin's 21st [a Miss Sanderson?] - at a club in Otley this afternoon, and Peter returned with glassy eyes and hair jutting out. They were off out again within minutes and then the walkers staggered in from the dales.

Watched TV with Mum and Dad. I didn't realise I was being morose or dull until Mama, that ever vigilant all seeing woman, pointed out that I hadn't said a word in hours. I blamed my lengthy silence on the long day in solitary confinement. I did feel like the Count of Monte Cristo - alone in my mustard coloured cell, commonly called the dining room, with no company other than the rats and vermin who have accumulated outside since the onset of the dustmen's strike - about eight long weeks ago.

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Friday February 23, 1979

_. Warm & sunshine. A spring-like day with the birds clucking overhead and the daffs forcing themselves up from 'neath the leaden earth. I think our esteemed prime minister has done a deal with the lads at the World Meteorological Conference to arrange this, and if the weathermen at the BBC suddenly have a wage rise of 60 per cent we'll all know what's happened.

At lunchtime I met Sarah and Delia at Len's Bar. Delia was moaning about the head of the Leeds museums, who refuses to let her decorate the museum at Kirkstall with garlands of flowers, inside and out. She's already been refused permission to drape garlands over the famous Leeds lions at the Town Hall and is mortally wounded by the general apathy and dreary attitude of those employed in local government. It would appear that Harewood House is Delia's only retreat, and venue for her floral displays, but she hated her last encounter with the Countess [of Harewood] .

Delia discussed Jo T_____, the previous flower chairman,  saying she is undoubtedly 'perverted' and between sips of bitter lemon, adds that the woman is 'slightly lesbian'. Sarah spluttered lager everywhere. Or was it cider?

Delia says I ought to be a scriptwriter. __________.

Back to the YP at 2:30 totally cheesed off with my financial situation. Looking around the office I don't care what I do in future just as long as I can escape the clutches of the Yorkshire Post.  I do so miss 'The Times' - since that paper collapsed I long for the feel of that delicate, exquisite paper between my fingers. Alas, no more.

Sat tonight over whisky with Mum & Dad. We discussed the question of wages and what different workers deserve. Are ambulance men really necessary?  If Field Marshals were to withdraw labour would anybody notice? This dragged on for hours.

Saw Peter Sellers in a late night movie which was hilarious. The man is undoubtedly a genius. Bed at 2am.

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Thursday February 22, 1979

_.  The Duchess of Kent is not pregnant - Fred [Manby] has this information directly from York House, her London home. Her cancellation of various public engagements is due to ill health. Happy 46th birthday, your Royal Highness all the same.

A funny night. Peter and I went to the Shoulder, as usual, at 8 o'clock. Chippy was working at the asylum until 9:30 and so we sat about drinking our traditional ale and waited.  Unfortunately, he never materialised, and Peter became quite agitated, and drove desperately around in search of him, from the Shoulder to the asylum, and even to his home. Mrs Ash said he'd left work at 9:30. Peter was like a petrified sheep. _______________ .

I'm a bit fed up of Oakwood Hall. It's far nicer to accompany a young lady to the place instead of relying on a pack of pissed -up whores to take a shine to one when one actually walks through the door half canned, bleary of eye and obviously on the 'pick up'.

Honestly, the older I get the harder it is to chat up the talent. This is because the talent is growing younger and younger. Blimey, most of them nowadays never even saw the 1950s.

Anyway it was to Oakwood Hall with Peter until 2am. Met and danced with another Sarah. She was horribly drunk and had no recollection of seeing me at Oakwood on February 8. Not pissed-up myself.

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Wednesday February 21, 1979

_. Mother thinks that the bath is inflicted by a malignant disease, because a mysterious brown patch is slowly spreading over the previous white enamel.

My new hair goes down well at the YP. Sarah thinks it's gorgeous, and dark, sultry beauties throughout the office are flocking around me as though I'm Christopher Reeve.

Alexandra Bastedo: so beautiful.

Back home Mum says I look hideous and Sue, in a hail of laughter, says the whole family have clubbed together for my birthday to pay for me to fly to the U.S for a face-lift. Swines. They don't realise that at 24 I'm beginning to look haggard and baggy and that I need constant reassurance from family members. I need somebody, every day, to point out that I am a God in trousers, a living Jupiter. Ought I to be contemplating to settling down with a wifey, for a life of companionship? Or should I continue as I am in a life of dissipation? Answer: YES, BLOODY YES.

Ran down to Guiseley Library at 5 and picked up "Mrs Jordan" by Brian Fothergill ~ a biography of William IV's mistress. To bed at 11 after a night in front of the smouldering TV. Alexandra Bastedo is so beautiful. 'The Aphrodite Inheritance', a thriller series set in Cyprus, ended and with it my eight weeks affair with Miss Bastedo.



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Tuesday February 20, 1979

_. Kathleen is mad. Her very existence entirely justifies the presence in our society of acid bath murderers, insane axe-men and left-wing schizophrenic rapists. ___________________.

Yesterday I met Jacq at lunctime and paid her the customary £5. John phoned tonight. Maria isn't having the baby until August, and so he is delaying bringing her down for the confinement. I don't like the idea of them being up there in that barbaric land. _____________.

Susan cut my hair tonight. No trace of a perm now, and I feel quite smart. It's a sort of Duke of Windsor-John Snagge-Kenneth Kendall-Reggie Maudling-Ian Ogilvy-Roger Moore-King Farouk coiffeur. I've even got a side parting. Mum doesn't like it but says I look like John.


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