Thursday May 17, 1979

_. I vowed to Dave Wainwright that the next time he saw me at Oakwood Hall I would be accompanied by something called a 'girlfriend' ~ and I meant every word of my vow.

Jim and Margaret came at 9, with Julie. Watched a Rock Hudson film on BBC2. To bed with Richard III.

-=-

Wednesday May 16, 1979

_. John Wayne, the great American actor, and something of an institution, is dying. He probably won't see the end of the month. Our friends in America, it seems, are becoming quite hysterical at the thought of Mr Wayne's coming departure to that great big cattle ranch in the sky. A growing dread is seizing everyone. I do find his films very likeable, and his roles are always endearing but he is no Laurence Olivier, is he?  Just imagine John Wayne playing Richard III or that nice gentleman in 'Pride and Prejudice'  - Mr Darcy.

Goodnight. To bed with Richard III.

-=-

Tuesday May 15, 1979

_. Had a headache this afternoon. A rarity for me. I am reminded of when I was an small child because on reflection my young boyhood was one of throbbing pain in the head. In fact, I was a sickly, little individual.

It was the State Opening of Parliament this morning. The Queen looks odd wearing spectacles and the Imperial State Crown. One would think HM might lay hands on contact lenses. As to the contents of the speech, I completely agree with Margaret's package. The budget is set for June 12, and the tax cuts will be revealed on that date. I am so happy about everything. The Labour party is now in chaos and disarray. Callaghan may still be the party leader, but for how long? Already we have Wedgwood Benn baying from the Left and to be honest I do hope he succeeds in his ambition to take the party leadership because who, at the next election, could cast a vote for Labour with the knowledge that Tony Benn could be put into No. 10? He has set Labours chances back 20 years.

Dave G phoned. He cannot make it to Alison's 21st at the weekend. To bed with Richard III. Fuming that  the BBC didn't show a re-run of the state opening in full in the evening, for the benefit of the masses at work. The pageant was of course televised live, but who could possibly be at home to watch other than a few under fives and the men on social security?

-=-

Monday May 14, 1979

_. At 1pm I met Jacq and handed over a blouse that she'd purchased from mum's catalogue. She has just returned from Salou with Cheryl. "It's like Ibiza" she said. "Nowehere can possibly be like Ibiza" quoth I.

I am sure that when I have an entry in 'Who's Who' the section stating recreations will simply say 'Ibiza'.

Queen Silvia of Sweden gave birth to a son yesterday but the poor boy will never be king due to an alteration to the Swedish constitution which has made his 2 year-old sister, Victoria, the crown princess. The idea of the first born inheriting the crown will play havoc with the dynasty, and feel sure it is a big mistake. King Carl Gustav can hardly agree with this new fangled idea because he has four older sisters. The eldest, Princess Margaretha, is married to a Bradford chap, John Ambler.

Home at 5. Went down the lane wearing leather gloves and carrying a large plastic bucket. For what, you ask? Well, I gathered a load of fresh nettle heads and set about making a gallon of nettle wine. The house stank of rotting vegetation, and the pan was stained by the heavy green sludge. I am sure the finished wine will be exquisite.

Whilst devouring our dinner something quite dreadful occurred. Papa discovered the remains of a boiled centipede in his cauliflower cheese. The discovery of this apparently insignificant myriapod caused nausea and panic to reign. The four of us clamoured for the door, leaving the half eaten dinner on the table top, and of course the corpse of our dear friend, Clarence.

-=-

Sunday May 13, 1979

_. 4th Sunday after Easter.

Sat in a deckchair in the garden reading 'Richard III' swinging my ancient knees. I cut the lawns, which took me just over an hour. Tortuous endurance. It was about six inches long .... the grass that is.

Mum baked herself all day in the sun and by tea time she resembled something of a mix between a lobster and the Rev Ian Paisley.

Sue and Pete were out all day no doubt copulating in some remote Yorkshire dale, or boosting the profits of some local ale-house.

Relieved that I'm not living in England in the 1480s. The horror of Reginald Reginald Bosanquet reading 'News at 10' and Esther Rantzen's ugly mush pale into insignificance when one thinks of the life and times Edward V endured.

-=-

Saturday May 12, 1979

_. At noon I went into Bradford and paid Michelle £650 for four holidays to sunny Ibiza. Took cheques with me because the cash would have been far too tempting. I could easily have ended up with a second hand Datsun and three Chinese prostitutes, which I might have regretted later. The girls in WH Smith's Travel are sweet and they giggle and titter like fifth formers. They say Denise is in the Greek islands on business. Home at 2pm.

Watched Arsenal beat Manchester United in the FA Cup final (3-2) at which the Prince of Wales put in an appearance. Countess Desiree Rosenborg, a cousin of the Queen of Denmark, is now rumoured to be the 'ideal' match for HRH. whether Charles has ever met his Danish kinswoman I don't suppose matters to the gentlemen of the Press.

Read 'Richard III' and watched a 1930s Erroll Flynn epic 'Captain Blood'. Is it true what they say about Erroll Flynn?

-=-

Friday May 11, 1979

_. Mum phoned me at the office to say my national savings certificates arrived this morning and at 12:45 she and Dad brought them to Leeds so that I can cash them. That's £120 towards Ibiza '79.

Spent some time in the library and took out a couple of sizeable volumes. "Richard III" by Paul Murray Kendall and "Bloody Mary" by Carolly Erickson, a biography of Mary I.

Later I started on Richard III which is a very interesting account. He wasn't the crippled monster one imagines. Bloody Shakespeare should have thrown all his considerable energies into bricklaying or dabbling in watercolours because his historical plays have maligned more innocent characters and distorted history on a massive scale. Especially Plantagenet history, which was so blackened in the Tudor era, and this has stuck down the centuries.

-=-

Thursday May 10, 1979

_. Cold day. Wet too. The soggy daffodils are retreating at speed back into their bulbs. Old Wordsworth would have beheld a 'host of running, wet daffodils'.

Susan seems much improved. She tells me that staying at home with mother all day long is driving her crazy. Mother is quite insane. Edgar Allen Poe would have found material for a dark, gripping tale after spending a morning in the company of Nora Rhodes at Pine Tops.

Mrs Thatcher has been prime minister for a whole week. Lord Soames is the new Lord President of the Council, but who is the government chief whip?

To the dentist at 5pm (Rawdon) and find myself with a new dentist. What has become of old Hough? The young, moustachioed guy prodded around in my cavities and cleaned my crumbling teeth and charged me £2 for five minutes work. That's me until November. Left in pouring rain at 5:10 for home.

Jim, Margaret and Julie came at 9. Retired at 11:30.

-=-

Wednesday May 9, 1979

_. I am putting on weight in the wrong places. The very thought of spending the rest of my life in rotund misery is much more frightening than the prospect of the coming holocaust due to the failure of Cyrus Vance's SALT2 agreement. For a one-time slim-line Adonis  it's harrowing watching the numbers on the bathroom scales moving up and up. So, the fight back begins today. I am cutting down on my lunches and my beer intake is to be reduced drastically. I want to be on top form for Ibiza in eight weeks time.

It was a warm and sunny day. Mum and Susan sat in the garden. At the YP I spent the day, again, adjusting the files with the new government appointments. Cabinet ministers were sworn in at the palace yesterday afternoon.

At 2pm I went over to the library in town, but after an hour came back unable to make a decision on which books to choose. Glanced at "The Lives of the Queens of England", an ancient tome, but decided against it. It's probably a volume of historic poofs down the ages. Oh, and on the subject of our gay friends, the trial of Jeremy Thorpe has started at the Old Bailey. My great fear is that old Mr Justice Cantley will not survive long enough to send the disgraced former MP to the gallows. (Well, why not? They hanged Mr Bhutto.)

I have it on good authority from a man on the YP that Marion Thorpe is a lesbian, and that the object of her obsession is none other than FW ______. If this is so I can see why Mrs Thorpe has behaved with an almost light hearted indifference through the period of Jeremy's humiliation and disgrace.

Poor Uncle Tony (Gadsby) failed in his quest to become a Liberal councillor - by about 150 votes. Poor man. He worked so hard too.

Mum and Dad went to dinner at Lynn & Dave's. I watched TV with Sue & Pete. Bed at 12:15am.

-=-

Tuesday May 8, 1979

_. The alarm clock sounded off at 7am. Made cups of tea for David G and he devoured those revolting Kellogg's Cornnflakes which make one hell of a noise for sensitive young ears first thing on a morning.

Looked at the Daily Mail before taking the 8 o'clock bus to Leeds. Spent the day pouring over the election news, and the movers. The only government appointment that I find surprising is that Lord Carrington has gone to the Foreign Office. Recent foreign secretaries have come from the Commons. Most of the other appointments seem to be drawn from Mrs Thatcher's opposition front bench team.

The leader of the Tories on Leeds City Council has been given a position as a junior minister with a seat in the House of Lords. Irwin Bellow is a friend of Jim Rawnsley. Just think - I have travelled in a car with a man who has danced with the wife of the man who has spoken to Margaret Thatcher on the telephone!

Worked all day without a break. Sarah brought some sandwiches in for me, but otherwise I didn't leave my hot, sweltering typewriter. The Labour party has been shredded. Yippee. I suppose it means the gallows for Jim Callaghan, and by Christmas we'll have Wedgwood Benn at the helm. It is such a relief that we now have a civilised government until at least 1984.

Susan saw a doctor at Yeadon this evening. He says she has some kind of fish poisoning, probably from the seafood salad she had at Salvo's.

Ally came back from her interview to see Mama and seemed quite hopeful of the position. She stayed to lunch before bombing off to Martyr Worthy.

I retired at 12:23am.

-=-

Monday May 7, 1979

_. Bank Holiday in England, Ireland, Scotland & Wales.

Work-free today because it's May. All other nations have a holiday on May 1 to riot in the streets or parade in Moscow or shoot someone in the backstreets of Istanbul.

Had breakfast with David G and Alison. She thinks he is insane, and it's touching how he watches her with spaniel-like tendencies. Dad is quite correct when he says David has Rembrandt-like qualities. All craggy like one of the master's self-portraits.

The three of us went off in Alison's Midget sports car, roof down. Dave looked amazing sitting up in the back with what is left of his hair blowing in the damp, soggy atmosphere. We called on Lynn and Dave at Burley-in-W. David was messing round with his kitchen door and we waded through wood shavings to say hello. After a brief visit we went off in the direction of the Dales. Burnsall was too crowded - the tourists were out in force - peasants from the filthy urban areas. We found ourselves in the packed Tennant's Arms at Kilnsey, in the shadow of the jutting crag. Pints of ale and steak and kidney pie saw us through to 3pm and we journeyed back laughing like six year-olds at other motorists and waving at people in the style of our dear, beloved Queen Mother.

At home poor Sue was in bed after being taken ill at the office.

We ate fish and chips and sat in front of the telly all night - a war film dragged on for hours and in the midst of it Alison went off to Lynn's for the night, nervous about her interview tomorrow.

Bed at about 12:30.

-=-

Sunday May 6, 1979

_. Up for breakfast. My mother is an ogre and resembles Rumpelstiltskin all morning ~ in fact all day. Our guests must think she is insane. The atmosphere is ghastly throughout. We didn't go out for a lunchtime drink and instead sat looking at old photo albums. Our only adventure was when David G, Alison and I went for a quick ten minute constitutional around Tranmere Park.

It was back to stony silence and an old Peter Finch film. We were so desperate we were reduced to looking through old copies of 'Private Eye' to stir up some amusement.

Motherdear and I reached our 'climax' as it were, and the tension began to subside from then on. We had roast beef for dinner, &c. Afterwards Peter took us (Dave G, Ally, Sue and I) to the Half Way House on Hollins Hill. Not a good pub, and far from interesting. Dave was amusing. He sank a couple of pints straight back without comment, as he must have missed his quota today.

Bed at 1am.

-=-

Saturday May 5, 1979

_. A bugger of a day really. I woke up and the clock said nine o'clock. I had slept for seventeen hours.

Mum tells me David G is coming by train and will be here by 2pm. The other good news is that dearest Alison is with us once again. She arrived at 1pm and with Sue and Peter we went  to the Yorkshire Rose for a 'buppy' (one of Dad's terms for a drink). A hideous scene awaited us. A couple of drunks were drinking themselves into paralysis and were rolling around like animals on the sticky carpet. Another scruffy individual was sleeping in a corner ~ all this and the landlord and bar staff were giggling. Sadly, Mum and Dad intend celebrating their silver wedding anniversary here. To make matters worse the place was swarming with dogs.

On to the Regent and home at 3pm to find David G drinking wine with Mother. At 6pm we went to Salvo's at Headingley for pizzas - well, that is David G, me, Sue, Peter and Alison. Alison is having an interview at Bradford Area Health Authority on Tuesday.

Afterwards we went to the Taps in Ilkley and then met Lynn & Dave at the Cow and Calf. I didn't like the place. It was packed with twelve year-olds, and so we moved to the Fox & Hounds which is too incredibly boring. When I suggested going on to Roger Ratcliffe's party in Leeds it wasn't well received. Subsequently we returned to Pine Tops in argumentative mood. I had bought a bottle of wine and a party can of ale.

Mum and Dad came in late from Wilsill where they had dined with Jim and Margaret. Squabbled furiously. We played Monopoly until Ally lost the little dog and everyone else fell asleep. Peter stole £600,000 of Monopoly money and slipped it amongst my toytown cash. Subsequently I was accused of cheating. The noise was dreadful. At 3am we woke Mum from her slumbers whilst arguing about the sleeping arrangements. Some very hot tempers flared throughout the household.

-=-

Friday May 4, 1979

_. To Ivory Towers on West End Lane (Horsforth). Delia howled with excitement as I sat on the edge of her bed informing her of Jeremy Thorpe's defeat in Devon and the Tory revival in the land. We ate scrambled eggs and drank the fizz. At 8:30am, in brilliant sunshine, Delia drove Sarah and I to the YP. Kathleen was dumbfounded and very nasty about the Tory victory. She didn't approve of me wearing a blue rosette in the office. Library staff, she thinks, ought to be impartial. Blimey, I'm not the fucking Duke of Edinburgh.

After about half an hour I began quite seriously to lose my powers of speech and vision, and a total inability to type. Sarah took me out at 12 and I slumped, almost unconscious, on a park bench in Park Square. At 2 Kathleen realised I was beyond hope of recovery and sent me home. She wanted the flash of my blue rosette out of the office for sure. I got a bus and slept all the way to Guiseley.

At home I focused only briefly on the telly to see Margaret Thatcher leaving Buckingham Palace as our first woman prime minister, and at 4pm I staggered to bed. Four o'clock in the afternoon and I succumb like an eighty year-old geriatric! Lay in bed with the soothing paralysis creeping upon me and contemplating the idea of a Conservative government. My last act of the day was to let out a burst of laughter at the thought of what Mrs T will do to those revolting trade unionists who get out of hand.

-=-

Thursday May 3, 1979

_. General Election. Dad got me out of bed at 5:40am and then went out on very early duty to guard the polling station at Oxford Road School.

At five minutes to seven I took Dad's large bicycle and pedalled to Hawksworth village and cast both my votes for the Conservative party. Giles Shaw the parliamentary candidate and old Mr Freeman, the municipal candidate. I was the first person to vote at the polling station. Cycled back to breakfast with Mother and Susan. Yes, my mother emerged from her bed. I haven't seen her up so early since Christmas.

To the YP with Jim (Rawnsley) and the delightful Jennie. An interesting day at the office. Kathleen is convinced that tomorrow we will have a hung parliament and is convinced that one party with a big, working majority will never happen again. "You have to face the facts, Michael," she intoned: "the vast majority of the British public want a middle-of-the-road type of government with a re-emergence of the Liberal party." I cannot see this wishy-washy attitude catching on at all.

Sarah and I went to Len's Bar for lunch. _________.

Home at 5pm in a snow storm. Yes, snow. Bought a bottle of Cinzano and twenty cigs and wished a 'Merry Christmas' to the silly sods out walking dogs. Quite freezing cold.

Mum was in a nasty temper and we argued like rat and dog (sic). Lynn and Dave B arrived at 6:30 followed by Jim N, Margaret and Julie N at 9 o'clock.

From the very start of the election programme on the BBC it was obvious to all that Margaret Thatcher will be prime minister tomorrow. The swing to the Conservative party was something in the region of five or six per cent throughout the nation. I didn't feel particularly pissed but throughout the night we consumed a vast reservoir of alcohol. Lynn was invited to stay the night, but they left at about 4:30am, and poor, dejected Labour supporter and Jim Callaghan fan Jim Nason went weeping on his way at 5:30. Mum and Dad went off to bed and I cleared some of the debris to the sound of screaming birds in the snow-covered trees. Then, as if empowered by some superior force, I grabbed my jacket, with the stuffed bird stitched to the shoulder, my Mark Phillips style flat cap, and bottle of 55p pomagne, and walked to Ivory Towers, about six miles away, for breakfast with Delia and Sarah.

(Now see the following entry)


-=-

Wednesday May 2, 1979

_. Yes, to get back to David Steel. His father, the Venerable Enoch Steel, was Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, 1974-75. Margaret Thatcher's dad was a Lincolnshire grocer, and of course Jim Callaghan didn't have a father. Well, of course, he did have a father, but it seems that Mr Callaghan Snr, a naval man, had a woman in every port.

The Queen will be chewing on her royal finger nails today. Will it be Jim or Margaret? I suppose she'd like it to be dear old Alec [Douglas] Home tottering up the steps into the palace every Tuesday, or even Sir Harold [Wilson]. I believe she was quite fond of that pipe-smoking vagabond in the Gannex raincoat.

Sleet and snow again. December-type weather, in fact. Delia sent me a blue carnation to wear in my coat. Poor Sarah C's view of politics is that "they are all as bad as each other" but I'm sure she'd rather sleep with Max Bygraves than vote Labour. She'd also have David Steel castrated.

David G phoned. I suggested they come over on Saturday. Alison D will be here for the weekend because she is having an interview at Bradford Area Health Authority next Tuesday. So what looked like a tranquil weekend ahead is now developing into a full-scale orgy of booze and blondes. I'm not complaining though.

Dearest mother was in one of her foul, offensive, almost Mussolini-like tempers and I had little to do with her this evening. Mrs Thatcher isn't the only Iron Lady around here. Mother is more formidable than Leonid Brezhnev, Amy Carter, Lena Zavaroni, and President Tito all put together.

To bed at 11:50pm. Dad is going to wake me at 6am because I want to be the first in out polling station. Hip Hip.

-=-

Tuesday May 1, 1979

_. It snowed today, and was generally cold. Happy May Day to you all. More election banter on the tv this evening. An interesting debate chaired by Robin Day between Michael Heseltine, Michael Foot and the late Jo Grimond. It was entertaining to say the least. Mr Foot was glowing with embarrassment and cowering at Michael Heseltine's questioning. Labour is so obviously terrified by the union movement. Even Grimond likened the trade unions to the great landlords of the 19th century, and this brought much applause from the audience. Labour cannot hide from the fact that it has abdicated its authority and passed over the mantle of governing to Moss Evans and the heavy boys at the AUEW, or wherever he hangs out. The TUC is undoubtedly the 'red mafia' in our society, and when the Tories have hammered them all into the ground I feel sure we'll be much better off. I feel positive that the country requires a firm swing to the right on Thursday enabling Mrs Thatcher to lead a full strength government, and not reliant on Liberal support. Another 'hung' parliament would be tragic and a Labour government doesn't bear thinking about. Jim Callaghan would be so smug and bouncy. I'm afraid I couldn't stand it. The polls say it is neck and neck, but I feel in my blue bones that Thatcher will come out on top. Ah well, that's enough politics for one day.

Sue and Pete went out for an Indian and returned at 10:30 breathing fumes all over us. For a racist he does very well in these multi-racial eating joints.

Just Mum, Dad and I at home all night. Took to my bed at 11:53pm. Looked at my Who's Who 1976. Did you know that David Steel's dad was a 'Very Reverend'?

-=-

Monday April 30, 1979

_. Denise sent me the holiday bill which has to be paid by May 13. A further £162.73 is required, and this means we will have paid £182.73 for what was advertised as a £156 holiday. They have a nerve, don't they? And let's not forget, this is only bed and so-called breakfast. You can't call a hard bread roll and a spoonful of green marmalade a breakfast can you?

Rang Dave G with the dreadful news. He was undisturbed by it, and we joked about the Bournemouth trip. At least he is on speaking terms with Neil again. Peter N came up late, at 9:20, and he brought with him a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream sherry and some cans of lager, and fish and chips. Where has he found the cash? Peter Nason is Guiseley's answer to the Duke of Westminster.

Watched a programme about Margaret Thatcher on the BBC. She is really coming over brilliantly in this campaign and her message is put over with force and conviction. Which is more than can be said of the Ayatollah Callaghan. He has made an astonishing attack on poor Edward Heath, and the only reason why I think he has done this is that he is suffering from the delusion that Mr Heath is still the leader of the Tory Party. Why attack Edward Heath?

Bed at 1:15am after discussing the National Front with Papa.

-=-

Sunday April 29, 1979

_. Felt dull and nauseous for most of the day. Only my dinner at 6:30pm restored me to normality.

Dad and Jim were once again sprawled under the car and Jim remained to dinner. So did Peter N.

Bing Crosby on the telly this afternoon and Marilyn Monroe tonight. I can see from the movie why she actually killed herself. __________.

Laughed at Auberon Waugh, who is standing on Thursday in Jeremy Thorpe's constituency, for, I think, the Dog Lovers' Party. The ghastly Jeremy doesn't see the funny side of this for some reason. To bed after 12, Read 'The Corps of the Royal Military Police' by Crozier. Don't worry, I'm not thinking of joining.

-=-

Saturday April 28, 1979

The Daily Mail says the Queen was 'badly shaken' and the YP says she was 'unshaken' in last night's car accident so I suppose the truth lies somewhere in between. Let's say, shaken not stirred, eh?

Jim Nason came up at the crack of dawn and he and Dad spent the whole day flat on their backs underneath the car. Welding I believe. And all for the sake of some crumbly MOT. I simply couldn't stand the strain of owning a vehicle. One day I will have to go mobile but for the time being I am staying on my own two feet.

This afternoon I took to a hot, soapy bath with Paul Gambaccini, and wallowed in the steaming firmament.  Lynn and Dave came here at 7:30 and Peter joined us before we left for Jill and Tim's engagement party at Farsley Celtic Football Club.

Uncle Tony looked exhausted and I think the coming election is preying on his mind. Guests included Uncle Peter and Auntie Jean. Peter says he's "voting for Maggie" next Thursday which surprised me.

The girls and most of the menfolk danced in formation until after 12. Susan and Diane are just like sisters. The resemblance was noted by many there. Why does my sister [Lynn] always wear trousers? I haven't seen Lynn in a dress for years, and her legs are so slender too.

Back at Auntie Hilda's afterwards Lynn was passing round the sandwiches and nibbles and one of Tony's Asian friends declined a pork pie. "Oh come on, or I'll put you on my black list!" she exclaimed. Black List!

Jill was rolling me cigarettes. Poor Tim fell through a glass door, and then slept on a rug in the lounge frying on the gas fire. Home at about 3:30am. Headache.

-=-