Friday April 27, 1979

Felt acutely rough all day. Kathleen laughed at my condition. I determine to stay by my own fireside tonight. I was horrified looking into my wallet this morning. I spent £10 last night at the Elma and at Oakwood (Hall). 

Speaking to Dave W I told him that last Thursday was my very last 'Thursday night with the lads'. ___________.

So, tonight I stuck to my resolve and sat like a chunk of vegetation before the TV set. The Queen was involved in a road accident en route from Heathrow to Windsor this evening. She wasn't injured but her chauffeur-driven Rover was badly pranged. A spokesman said Her Majesty was unshaken by the incident, but I suspect she must live in fear of kidnap by the IRA.

Bed at 1am.

-=-

Thursday April 26, 1979

Back to the YP. Pay day. It has been like a dream missing one full week of the general election campaign. Let us hope and pray that Mr Callagas is not re-elected next week. Labour until 1984 would just about finish us all off. We are already on a par with Mozambique, and I do suppose that the populace of the Spanish Sahara are living in opulence in comparison with the starving masses of Bradford and the industrial north. Margaret Hilda (Thatcher) will be our salvation.

I fully intended staying at home tonight but Chippy phoned at 7:30 and I gave in. I do give in very easily when pleasure is dangled like a carrot before my beady, donkey-like eyes.

Out to the Shoulder at 8:15. Micky H_____ is out too but he leaves at 9:30 to go commit adultery. This is terrible. His poor wife is expecting a baby in May. On to the White Cross and the Commercial. I wasn't in the mood for the Elma, and we all realised this was a mistake, so we moved on  to Oakwood Hall. Bought Dave W his entry in and his booze all night. Got drunk. Met Steve Hudson and my 'Oakwood girl' Sarah. Home for cheese on toast and coffee at about 2am.

-=-

Wednesday April 25, 1979

Ate the usual breakfast washed down with oceans of splashing tea, and left at 10am without saying goodbye to Arthur or to Lady Spencer-Churchill, his wife. I have stolen a very large sun parasol from the hotel which will make a splendid present for Lynn and David. I could not possibly hand over this piece of 'hot' stolen property to dear Daddy, who is a fine, upstanding member of our local law enforcement establishment. Questions would be asked in the House and 'Panorama' would dedicate a whole thirty minute programme to the incident should it ever reached the courts. We Rhodeses are VIPs in this area, you know.

I was in charge of navigating the route homeward. Back up to Devizes and then we by-passed Oxford and joined the M1  at Northampton. Before hitting the motorway we indulged in a few drinks, but were put off somewhat by the very noisy, endless political discussions going on in the bar. Politics and alcohol should never meet and be avoided at all costs.

God only knows how Alison gets from Winchester to Leeds in only three and a half hours. We didn't reach Guiseley until just after 7pm. Bill and Garry were unimpressed by Harry Ramsden's and I was moaned at for quite some time. We went off to Lynn and Dave's at 7:30 and we watched TV and sat with them for a couple of hours. They were very impressed by the large, gaily coloured umbrella. David promises to make a stand for it to adorn the garden this summer. Lynn is always so amiable and wonderful with visitors. Both Lynn and Dave are smoking cigars on an increasing scale. Back home at 9:30 where Mum and Dad sit laughing at Billy. They left after 10:30. It is good to go away, but equally nice to be home. Everything looks so incredibly tidy.

-=-

Tuesday April 24, 1979

At breakfast Billy remarked how incredibly thirsty he was (alluding to the locked bar) to which Arthur replied: "That's why I have given you an extra large tea pot." It was wonderful just to watch Billy's face. Arthur deserved an Oscar too.

As usual Neil and the silent twosome cleared off while I was still attacking the toast, but we didn't mind in the least. Miserable sods.

At 9:30 we went by car on another jaunt across the southern countryside. Lymington Spa, or is it just plain Lymington? Anyway, we found ourselves at Beaulieu and after a few drinks (12-2pm) we went to the National Motor Museum and then visited Palace House where Lord Montagu hangs out. The old cars were fascinating but I didn't rate the house. Not a patch on Castle Howard.

Lord Montagu of Beaulieu was charged with indecency back in the 1950s. But I believe he is now a reformed peer, and has put groping around in public lavatories behind him.

Back to Bournemouth for fish and chips and then out for more drinks. Tonight our bedroom drinks party became quite riotous. Garry demolished Billy's bed and destroyed a couple of towel rails. We had to swap the furniture from room 17 upstairs, and at one point Garry thought he was Terry Wogan, the Irish lunatic.

-=-

Monday April 23, 1979

St George's Day

To Poole in Dorset this morning to explore the town. Fell into a few bars. Things just were not the same without Alison's company and we talked about her all the time. I really should begin a Miss Dixon fan club. Ate salmon sandwiches and drank a few pints of Stella Artois. This Philippe Junot-like lifestyle cannot go on forever. How long will the cash last out?

Back in Bournemouth this evening we went for a curry, which was like fire. I only had a prawn madras but I felt like I was being cremated from the inside. We took booze with us back to the Gainsborough because the so-called licensed bar remains under lock and key. Billy says he is going to see Arthur about this tomorrow.

Garry is a lonely lad, and I can see where he is going wrong. He wants the companionship of a lady (who doesn't?) but he never goes to the right places to find one. _______________.

-=-

Sunday April 22, 1979

_. Low Sunday.

The pizzas last night were diabolical. Just thought I'd say that. Had a usual breakfast at the usual time and at about 11 we headed off for Alison's at Martyr Worthy. I had been feeling guilty about dragging the lads away to Winchester but following yesterday's session I don't think I could keep them away, especially Garry who is very smitten.

With Alison at Winchester Cathedral

Alison was bashing the top of her boiled egg, looking so voluptuous in her dressing gown. Mrs Dixon, as usual, was staggering around her mansion with a vague expression on her face. In fact she looked pale and ill.

At 12 we ventured to the Plough in Itchen Abbas for drinks and sandwiches. Graham was working in the bar with Midge, the landlady, who is the image of comedian Ronnie Barker when in drag. Had a quite a heavy drinking session and went on afterwards to Winchester to look at the cathedral. A hot, sunny afternoon too.

Back to Alison's for apple wine and a session on the piano. Poor Bill slipped into a coma. At about 7 we went to the Ship Inn for grub and more poisonous liquid and then back to the Plough to conclude the day's activities. Bill was really on top form, and was incredible all evening and at times I almost wet myself laughing. A more sensitive and genteel mob would have been more than slightly embarrassed.

-=-

Saturday April 21, 1979

._. Bournemouth. Her Majesty's fifty third birthday. Breakfast was served at 8:30. Sausage, bacon, eggs, and lashings of hot, flowing tomato, the tinned variety. Afterwards we congregated in the [dry] lounge to discuss tactics. Neil and his two stooges announced that they wanted to go watch an amateur football team by the name of Stockport County, who are playing at Portsmouth this afternoon. Obviously, I was horrified and dumfounded. I said: "leave me out" and immediately Dave and Garry followed. Billy, who enjoys a game of football said he would go along with the Portsmouth trippers, and that was that.

Garry, Dave and I wandered around the town and then went in the car to Boscombe Pier where we listened to Sooty and Sweep singing 'Teddy Bear's Picnic'. At 12 we met Alison near the Royal Bath Hotel. Her car was making a terrible noise and the exhaust was blowing out filth and choking fumes. Experts afterwards said it was probably the silencer, or lack of it. She leapt from her motor and we all took off in Garry's car to a pub on the outskirts of the town.  _________. It was as though Alison and I had never been apart. Garry announced that he could have grabbed hold of her and cuddled her tightly. It was great how the four of us got on so well. Garry, I am sure, fancies her. Things become very blurred. Pints of lager and Pernod make a lethal mixture. We took Alison back to our hotel and something must have been said because the bar door was unlocked and unbolted and Arthur, the toothless proprietor, was soon pulling pints like something possessed.

We drank until about 6:30 and then Alison drove us, in Garry's car, to the beach where, wearing only my underpants, I took a dip in the sea, and poor Dave vomited over the sand. Garry and Alison spent ages lobbing pebbles into the sea. Truly delightful.

Back at the Gainsborough we sobered up, went out for a pizza and then more drink. Alison went at 1:00am.

-=-

Friday April 20, 1979

-. We left at 7:30am for Bournemouth, with maps, compasses, carrier pigeons, &c.

Bill was navigating and I snoozed in the back of Garry's car. My red suitcase was behind at the Hollywood because it wouldn't fit in the car, and Neil had orders to bring it along in his car when they followed on.

Down past the Midlands I was in new, unexplored territory and the delights of Wiltshire unfolded before my eyes. At lunchtime we stopped off at a village pub where all the regulars resembled characters from 'The Archers'. They all addressed each other as "Mr A" and "Mrs B", just using initials. Then, when Neil and the other lads had caught up with us, we left them and moved on into further unchartered stretches of the vast unknown. Near Devizes we had further refreshment and then motored onward to Bournemouth, arriving at 5pm.

My first action was to phone Ally in Winchester and she promised to join us tomorrow lunchtime for a few drinks. The hotel proprietor, whom we called Arthur for some reason, was typical of those of his profession. He tried to tell me that the hotel - the Gainsborough - had been built for Prince Rupert, the gay Cavalier, who was a nephew of King Charles I. Given that the hotel dated from the Edwardian period I sneered at this tale. Prince Rupert died in the 1680s! Silly, old, lying Arthur.

The bar on the premises was barred and shuttered in a very ominous fashion. The seven of us visited several hostelries in the town and returned to the Gainsborough at 11:30 ~ pissed up.

-=-

Thursday April 19, 1979

_. To Leeds with Jim R bearing my red suitcase packed with nearly all my possessions. At lunchtime I bought a ticket and passed the afternoon hanging around in readiness. It was unfortunate really because the coach to Manchester didn't leave until 6pm.

I had a pleasant chat with Ursula before marching out of the office at 5:30. Slept all the way to Manchester on the boring M62 and then got a bus to Stockport arriving there at about 8pm. I managed to get lost. The statue to Queen Victoria was facing one way, and I walked in the opposite direction. Billy told me to follow the old Queen. Dave was out searching for me and so I sat at the bar in the Hollywood with a heap of tongue sandwiches and a pint of lager, chatting with Mrs Glynn. An old boy leaning on the bar was reminiscing about the British pulling out of Malta in WW2, which was really interesting. We then discussed the pros and cons of marrying for money, and we decided it was quite acceptable. I did say that the fortune would have to be considerable before I could contemplate such a move.

Dave G came in at 8:30 followed by Bill [Wright] & Garry [Barratt]. The lads seemed quiet and subdued. Neil arrived with two other Bournemouth trippers and we sat drinking ale until 11. _________.

-=-

Wednesday April 18, 1979

_. Packed up my troubles in my old kit bag, and smiled, smiled, smiled.  Well, not quite. In fact I loathe preparing to go away and despise traveling and all the inconvenience attached to it, and do not enjoy a holiday one bit until I'm sitting in the hotel bar with a full glass. Suit cases are hideous objects. In fact, I'm looking at one right now. Red it is.

Spoke to Dave G in Stockport and we joked about the recent violence in Bournemouth. I said I'm going to push a few old girls off the pier and into the sea ~ bath chairs and crutches too. But Bournemouth so conjures up a vision of red geraniums set out in regimented gardens, cluttered with elderly ladies with blue rinses, staggering around the sea front clutching onto one another. I see elderly, long retired colonels, with yellow moustaches, and wilting spats. In fact, I picture nothing young or youthful at all. The arrival of ten lads from the north of England will send a gust of cold air up the crinolines of many a dowager duchess, as they cough and wheeze themselves from the latest Des O'Connor show to the garden of remembrance. Goodnight. Lights out at 1:23am.

Spike Milligan was good tonight.

-=-

Tuesday April 17, 1979

_. Last night, it's all very vague. Ally and I really joked about our so-called romance. She said Lynn is taking it all quite seriously and whenever they are alone together Lynn feeds her potted anecdotes from my distant childhood. Oh dear.

YP was dull and uninteresting. I didn't arrive at the office until after ten because I failed to respond to both my alarm clocks (yes, two of them). Kathleen seldom complains about my diabolical time keeping, but I don't like to get in too late in case the Ayatollah Khomeini should happen to be in the throes of a guided tour of the building with the Lord Lieutenant and dear old Sir Kenneth Parkinson.

David B phoned after lunch to say we are going to Salvo's after work, and he collected me at 5:30 and we met Lynn, Ally, Sue & Peter at the New Inn in Headingley. On to Salvo's at 6:30 for pizzas and el vino. We all enjoyed a couple of bawdy hours, The food was incredibly good and the only sadness was poor Ally having to return to Hampshire. Before she left I took her phone numbers so that I can contact her when I am in Bournemouth next week.

Lynn and Dave didn't want to come back to Pine Tops and see Mum but I insisted and both of them seemed subdued. Lynn said she was tired, but I still think something is queer. ____________. Drank coffee and sent Ally off south at 9 o'clock. Poor Alison. ______________________________.

-=-

Monday April 16, 1979

_. Bank Holiday in England, Ireland & Wales.

Incredibly warm day. I had to go into the YP too. Roads are dead, deserted and once again I have the distinct impression that I am the only bugger working this Bank Holiday Monday. Just Carol J & me in the office, which was lifeless. More noise to be heard in the crypt of St George's Chapel, Windsor, I suspect. Did a deal with Carol letting her go home at 2pm, but I took a two hour lunch break from 1pm, and came back to work at 3 for an hour.

At lunchtime I was joined at 1pm by Sue, Pete & darling Ally and we found ourselves in Whitelocks because both Len's Bar and the Ostlers were closed. Gulped back lager and beef and red cabbage sandwiches. They collected me at 4 after my feeble one hour back at the YP, and they tell me that some unfortunate devil has drowned in the weir at Kirkstall Abbey. Damned Bank Holiday swimmers - they just cannot be trusted.

Tonight: with Sue, Pete and Ally to the Commercial. She [Ally] is now very cynical about marriage ___________.

On at 9:30 to the Prachee Indian Restaurant at White Cross. I had prawn Madras curry, &c. All quite drunk and outspoken. A waiter attempted to rob me, but I didn't let him get away with it.

-=-

Sunday April 15, 1979

_. Up at about 10 feeling revolting. Ate toast and drank tea, then bidding our fond farewells we piled into cars and headed for the Red Lion at Burley in Wharfedale. I could only drink Coca Cola to begin with but soon pulled through. To Lynn and Dave's afterwards where everyone [except me] slept and snored through 'The Greatest Story Ever Told'.

At home by 6:30 to find John, Maria, JPH, Hilda and Tony. Watched even more religious propaganda on TV and ate a big dinner. I am sick to death of food this Easter. Tony is hilarious. It is obvious they have had a good weekend with Mum & Dad. Poor little JPH is returning to Scotland tomorrow. Maria, beetroot-like, had burned herself under a sunray lamp.

-=-

Saturday April 14, 1979

A warm summer-like day. Was very surprised to see Mum up bright and chirpy after last night. She and Papa consumed vast quantities of whisky. At 11:30 we all went to Lynn & Dave's and then all on to the Fox & Hounds at Starbotton for drinks. Ally is still knocking back port and lemon. God knows where she puts it. It was very pleasant have 99 per cent of the family together.

We had turkey sandwiches at Burley and then went over to Pudsey at 7:30 to meet Karen, Steve, Jill and Tim. Diane was out babysitting. Tony and Hilda offered to do an exchange visit by coming over to join Mum & Dad at Pine Tops for the night, leaving number 6, St James's Crescent to the mob. We did a pub crawl of five pubs in Pudsey and then returned to St James's Cres for a party, but nothing exceptional occurred. Steve passed out in an armchair and David went deathly white and dashed off to a bed. Susan and Peter just sat on top of one another in the usual way. Karen danced, and Tim played at disc jockey. Ate cold pizza and supped gallons of wine and ale. Ally and I were drawn together once again and at 3am we were alone in the dining room listening to Harold Melvin's 'Don't Leave Me This Way'. Pepper, the dog, proved himself to be something of a nuisance, but we managed to get rid of him. Things became quite romantic ______.

-=-

Friday April 13, 1979

_. Good Friday

Day off. Alison walked in after breakfast from Burley where she arrived late last night. She looks well, and didn't mention John Pinder, and so we avoided the subject too.

A hot, sunny day. At 11:30 with Alison and Sue we went to collect Janet Simon, and then went on to Wendy Wools to pick up Sue's pay, and a pair of shoes. A strange thing to do you may think, but Alison and I did it without question and walking around Guiseley carrying a pair of size 5 women's shoes didn't seem remotely funny.

We went to the Commercial for a few drinks and roast beef sandwiches. Janet is experiencing pre-marital bother and she and the obnoxious Robert have terminated their relationship.

At 2pm [the pubs close at 2 because it is Good Friday] we went back to Otley and basked in the warmth of the Spring sunshine. Real shirt sleeve weather. Alison wanted some pottery from an obscure shop, but of course it was closed because of the season. I know I have said this before but why Oh why couldn't Christ have been crucified on a Wednesday, because it makes such a mess of what could be a perfectly wonderful Friday. Mind you, Good Wednesday doesn't have quite the right ring about it.

From Otley we collected Lynn from her place of work. Saw David Greenwood ______________. Back to Burley in W  for drinks with Lynn and Dave and afterwards we headed for the Red Lion where we spent the evening. Got pissed up and Ally and I realised we have an affinity. My flirting and footling around with Ally seemed to embarrass the others. Sue and Peter argued all night and bringing us home he collided with a roundabout and several rose bushes at the Fox and Hounds. Home in one piece.

-=-

Thursday April 12, 1979

_. Escaped from the YP at 3:30 and in Guiseley I obtained a lift home from Papa, who came to meet me.

John, Maria and JPH are home for Easter. Maria had a 'scan' yesterday ~ whatever that might mean, and the doctors say she is not expecting a multiple birth. Her due date is August 2.

Watched 'The Song of Bernadette' ~ an ancient religious epic, and then devoured a hot curry. Decided to go out with John tonight, but Maria and Sue said they wanted to come too, so that's that. Chippy will have a seizure if a woman appears in the Shoulder on the boys night out.

Out at 8:30 to the Shoulder with John, Maria, Sue and Janet Simon. Pete N is in with Chippy, Neil and Dave W, but they left minutes later ~ Pete being incredibly childish. Refusing to socialise simply because it is Thursday.

We had fish and chips at Harry Ramsden's because Maria has a fixation. She told me that the baby, if a boy, may be Charles.

-=-

Wednesday April 11, 1979

_. Warmer today, but still damp. Lynn came from her weekly shopping extravaganza at Morrison's and remained to dinner. David B came from the office seething with rage and hate after a confrontation with Messers Thompson & Spencer on the topic of his diabolical salary. I do believe he receives less than me. I find this mind-boggling. It means he is running a car, a home and a wife on something like £30 a week! I shudder at this because I find it hard to get by ~ and I have no commitments at all. My £30 is beer, whore, and bus fare money. Oh dear.

To change the subject Sarah and I are back communicating with each other. We plan to go to Lanzarote together in the autumn to stay with John & Sheila. Will this come about, or am I writing balderdash in order to fill a blank page? Wait and see, but at the moment we are deadly serious.

The election campaign dominates the news. I am saying nothing, but my mind is made up, and I don't need to be convinced by any political party and so I can ignore the whole thing until May 3.

Princess Michael of Kent has named her son Frederick. I am quite taken aback by this. It hasn't been used as a first Christian name in the Royal Family since Frederick Augustus, Duke of York [1763-1827], the _Grand Old Duke of York_ the second son of George III. Before him we had Frederick Lewis, Prince of Wales [1707-51] who is the new baby's great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. Of course, George III was George William Frederick, and George V was George Frederick Arthut George, and George VI was Albert Frederick Arthur George. So it isn't altogether an alien name. Princess Michael's brother is Baron Frederick von Reibnitz.

Retired to bed at 1:00am.

-=-

Tuesday April 10, 1979

_.  Jim Rawnsley insists that the so-called Yorkshire Ripper is none other than the Earl of Harewood, our ugly royal opera fanatic. Jim's theory is that he [the Ripper] has to be a member of the Royal Family in the tradition of Jack the Ripper, of Victorian London, who undoubtedly was Edward, Prince of Wales. I smiled at all this as we journeyed to Leeds because Jim expounds his theory in such a charming and amusing way. Wouldn't it be marvellously embarrassing for the YP if this was so? Whilst the fiend was in the boardroom swilling gin and humming along to Wagner with Gordon Linacre, forty thousand journalists are scouring the county searching for clues. Sadly, the identikit mug shots of the supposed mad man bear no resemblance to his Lordship. Another likely candidate, according to Jim, is Brigadier Kenneth Hargreaves, the former Lord Lieutenant of this charming, picturesque county.

I am enraged and spitting blood at the bloody civil servants strike, which is affecting the payment of my national savings certificate. I need £120 in May [to pay for my holiday] and things don't look very bright at all. The pigs wouldn't be on strike at all if only this country had the proper leadership. What are we coming to, for God's sake?

I have been reading my journal from five years ago and do you know I seem to have been more intellectual and mature than I am now. Writing about Napoleon III and his social policy I was. Blimey, it's quite frightening but I've already forgotten most of my history and Napoleon III means little or nothing to me now. Is my brain rotting away?

Mum and Dad went off to see Marlene and then Mabel after tea. They say they will lend me the £120 until my national savings money arrives.

Sue is full of cold again and her nose is glowing like a furnace. Pete arrived and we watched the Academy Awards on TV.

-=-

Monday April 9, 1979

_. It poured down from dawn till dusk. Whatever became of the long, warm Spring which was forecast in the delightful EP?

Carol J paid me £10 for doing the bathroom and asked me whether I would possibly do the wall behind the door in that same, auspicious room. I leapt at the chance. It will only take me ten minutes.

Delia phoned and was most revealing. She told me she had argued with Sarah late last week at the cruel way S had sent me to Coventry for giving her that "frightful cold". She told Sarah to pull herself together and start being nice to me once again. She can be a horrid, precocious child at times. I'd love to be given the opportunity to really sort her out. In a brutal, forceful Clint Eastwood sort of way.

The general election campaign is already in full swing. A month of codswallop and blatant lies from our beloved pin-striped PM is something I can do without. Jim Callaghan really should do the honourable thing and shoot himself. It would be far better to go now than to wait until May 3 and suffer the same fate as King Charles I, Mr Hoveyda, the former Jamaican premier and poor Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who died by hanging last week simply because he was the leader of a defeated party. Margaret Hilda [Thatcher] seems to have the right idea. She says she is ignoring the campaign for a while because she doesn't want to bore the pants off Joe Electorate. Hoe right and clever of the sainted Margaret.

To bed at 1:12am.

-=-

Sunday April 8, 1979

_. Palm Sunday

Yes, Sarah was carried screaming from the party over David's shoulder at about 6am, leaving me alone with Jacq and the debris of half consumed drinks and piles of cig ends. We ate toast and drank tea due to a coffee shortage and huddled together on a large bean bag. ____________.

I crept in at home at about 9am and devoured boiled eggs and looked at the Sundays [papers]. The Countess of Snowdon is expecting a baby in the autumn. It's her first and she's 37 years old.

At 10 I went to Carol J's flat in Horsforth to hang wallpaper in her bathroom, and did so with great skill and patience until 6:30pm. I felt quite satisfied with the job afterwards. Carol was delighted, so much so that she drove me home [still in pouring rain]. Women and vehicles are a weird combination. Watched TV and ate until 10 and found myself unable to stay awake and staggered off to bed. Completely shagged out.

-=-