Friday February 14, 1975

St Valentine's Day. Farcical day, or perhaps I should say farcical evening.

Didn't get any Valentine's cards. John got two. Lynn had a massive thing from Dave, and so did Sue from Peter. My magnetic charm must be fading. Am I losing my sex appeal at 19 and a half?

Went to the Wellesley with Maura at lunchtime. She obviously fancies Dave still, and I suppose a reunion will take place shortly. The fool sends her telegrams,roses, and boxes of chocolates, &c.

Chris collected us at nearly 8pm and a vast multitude collected in the Hare. Gillian thingy or whatever she calls herself flung herself at me in the Hare and stuck to me all night, drinking about a quids work of vodka & lime in the process. Thrown together in the darkness near the end of Peter's van she quite naturally sought to reduce my resistence. I was in something of a quandry at about 11. Everyone said they were going to Wikis, but I realised Maura and Marian would be there. Wouldn't like to be confronted with Marian and Gillian in the beer swilling haven of our local night spot. Back to Gillian's pad with Peter M and Carol S. Stay until after 1am.
John came home at about 5.30am and didn't have a key. Woke to find him on the top of a ladder tapping on my window. Laughed myself to sleep.

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Thursday February 13, 1975

Boring day really. See television all evening including 'Top of the Pops' and a few other miserable offerings. Have a bath and tidy myself up generally. Going out on a fool-hardy venture tomorrow night. All the way to Linton in the Dales just for a few drinks! Bloody ridiculous. You know, it was that place we went to in August with the ring on the ceiling.

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Wednesday February 12, 1975

Ash Wednesday. Back out to the Hare again tonight. This week is like September 1973 all over again - or seems like it. Going down to the pub every night is a habit I wouldn't mind taking up again.

 John, Naomi, self, Chris, Laura, Helen (Jane's sister), and Carol S. This Naomi is the sexiest little thing I've seen in years. Doesn't look like she's short of a few bob, either.

Back to Gillian or somebodys at the new end of Tranmere. I say somebody because I'm unsure whether that is her name or not. Have a coffee and stroke the persian cat, Samantha. Home with watery eyes and itchy nose at 12. These foolish allergies are a bloody rotten bore.

The Prime Minister announced his intention to increase the Civil List from today. The vile Labour MPs were astounded by this action, and a certain Hon Member for Mid Fife said it is the most outrageous pay-claim in 200 years. It's not as if the four hundred and odd thousand extra will go in the Queen's pocket, as it were. The extra cash is only going out in household expenses. Her Majesty will feel no better off at all. A lot of misguided sods down at Westminster need shaking up a little.

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Tuesday February 11, 1975

Foggy day. See in the papers that the good old Prime Minister will propose a pay rise for the Queen and the other people on the Civil List either today or next week. Good old Harold. It's the one good thing he's done in his first year in office. He can't be such an old sod really. He only pretends he's one.

Margaret Hilda Thatcher is now Head of the Conservative party and Leader of Her Majesty's Opposition. She beat Mr Whitelaw by about 50 votes. Truly a historic occasion and I think nothing but good can come of it. Whether she'll ever become Prime Minister is another matter altogether. Good Old Harold looks like seeing the 1970s out.

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Monday February 10, 1975

A unusual Monday. After the usual ritual of work, John and I went to the Hare & Hounds where his ladyfriend had begged him to attend upon her. Quite a stunning piece she is too. Called Naomi, or 'Nay', an attractive name. It certainly made a change going out with a different crowd.

Had a letter from Denny today. She said she thought she'd been 'a cow' over the way she's ignored me and the happy family these past few months. I forgave her immediately. (Conceited swine that I am).

The Tory Fiasco reaches its cresendo tomorrow. Will it be Margaret Thatcher or old Willie Whitelaw? In my own mind I know that Mrs T will succeed, but anything can happen in politics. Have a bet with Sarah, Carol and Eileen. I stand to win 10p.

A year ago almost to the day I was saying that Mr Heath's (who's he?) leaning towards male company could not be doing him any good. I was right. One day you can be Prime Minister and the next you're just a middle-aged old puff who used to be a big shot in the Conservative party. Cruel, cruel politics.

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Sunday February 9, 1975

Quinquagesima. Up at a decent time. Can't quite remember the exact hour, but it was well before lunch. See in the Sunday Express that the Queen has sprained her shoulder while chopping wood, and received treatment for it at a London hair salon. I realise that the Royal Family are in a poor state at the moment, what with scrapping those plans for rebuilding Sandringham. She's seen in the same hat and coat on different occasions over a five or six year period, but never did I imagine that the day would dawn when Her Majesty would be compelled for financial reasons to do her own wood-chopping. Mum says that she thought Auntie Hilda was the only woman alive adept at chopping wood, but evidently all the top people do it now.

Out with John, Andy, Mr Mather and Chris, who is really miserable. Oh, musn't forget Carol S and Miss Dibb too. No CB. Move on to the Station in Yeadon after the Hare & Hounds. John and I go on to Harry Ramsden's for the things people normally go to Harry Ramsden's for, and after devouring them in the car we return home. Too hot to sleep and lay awake for hours thinking of all things under the Sun. Hell, I've missed out the most important thing.

At 11 o'clock tonight John's unnamed girlfriend (Naomi Downing)  paid him a visit! She sat in a drunken heap in the lounge & he promised to go out with her tomorrow - me being the chaperone of course.

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Saturday February 8, 1975

Up at noon. John and I take the car into Guiseley and then get a train into town (Leeds). Wander round aimlessly looking in shop windows and laugh at the craze which certain male members of our generation have adopted - wearing trousers ridiculously short. Poor lads - they've no idea at all. Home at about 5.
Marlene, Frank and the kids have come for tea. Mark is a nice little lad and we have several games of marbles before and after tea.

Leave for the Hare & Hounds at 8 so that John can attempt to pick up the girl he was with yesterday at Wikis (Naomi Downing). We're going to Tiffany's by the way. The female doesn't respond and we leave for the Fleece empty handed. Pick Christine B up and then meet Peter Mather and Andy in the Fleece. Have several drinks whilst waiting for Lynn & Dave. Andy goes down to the Hare & Hounds and well drive like hell let loose to Leeds. Never again. Tiffany's is the most diabolical so called disco I have ever had the misfortune to attend. Nobody in there looked younger than 65. Most of them with fond memories of Disraeli's last government and the Relief of Ladysmith. Truly revolting. Have a laugh all the same but vow with all my heart, body and mind, never to set foot in the place again as long as I live. The others liked the place, and some were so taken in by it all that they actually said they'd go again! Back to Ratcliffe Hall for coffee until nearly 4am. Absolutely tired and shagged out after the exertions of the evening. Bed and deep sleep at the unearthly hour of 5 o'clock.

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