Thursday April 17, 1975

The name Barbra Streisand will forever be imprinted in large capitals across the frontage of my heart. The woman should be knighted or perhaps canonised by by Pope Paul or something. Joan of Arc, Gladys Aylward, Queen Victoria, Germaine Greer and Princess Anne can ALL stand aside for this lady. Boy! What a Girl! Those eyes! That nose! That figure. God! Dave, Sandra and me went to to the Odeon in Leeds to see 'Funny Lady' in which Miss Streisand excelled all bounds of things which one normally excels. It finished at 10.30 and we nipped into the Take and Bake in Headingley for chicken and chips. Sandra devoured a nasty looking sausage and baked spud with crumbly cheese all over it. The car windows were so steamed up that David had to guess (more or less) where the bloody road was. Sandra looked sexy. I still don't believe she's as old as she surely must be - if you know what I mean. Well, she only looks 21-22-ish, no older than say Sarah - and yet her son Gary must be eight if he's a day. Wonderous it really is. Home at 11 to chat with Ma and Pa for half an hour. I try to persuade them to say they'll go to Windsor for a weekend with me in 3 or 4 weeks time but all Mum can talk about is my holiday in August and how much I'll have to save for it. Once again I'll finish with one word. Yak!

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Wednesday April 16, 1975

Don't expect much today because you'll be very disappointed. You see, John is alseep in bed, and it's quite late at night and the brightness of the electric lighting in the room is disturbing his slumbers somewhat. Anyway, to recap on the days events: Saw June briefly this morning as Jim drove me to Leeds- just a very, very brief glimpse because we rocketed past her at about 60 mph. However, brief it may have been, but my poor little heart almost didn't withstand the excitement. From Horsforth to the far-flung reaches of Kirkstall I travelled with it (my heart) in my mouth.

Later the same day: John deposits me in the Hare and Hounds and then takes Chris and Naomi to Bradford where Gillian is propping up a bar. (Did you know that Chris and Gillian are, as they say, 'going out'?) You know now anyway. I was left with Helen Lockyer in her Pa's car I might add, Miss C. Smith and Mr A Graham. Reluctantly I'm dragged off to the Station on Henshaw Lane. Philip Knowles comes in with a blond chick and leaves after supping only half a bitter. Denis Healey must have gone to his head or something. Half a bitter! Yuk!

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Tuesday April 15, 1975

The Right Honourable Denis Healey, MP, Chancellor of the Exchequer, presented his Budget this afternoon, and I'm saying nothing whatsoever about it, other than he did nothing too drastic or outrageous. Just the usual load of old rubbish.

Busy day at the YP, and I'll be glad when Friday comes around again. A week off is just what I need at the moment.

I see a good feature in The Times on the Duchess of Windsor, still battling on at 78 years old. The poor old soul received sweet sod all from the British people, and the Royal Family ought to be ashamed. Three years since the duke died and they've done their utmost to forget all about her.

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Monday April 14, 1975

Not a perfect day by any means. Rang Christine at 4.30 and she told me that it was all patched up with Gary, and so I'm an outcast through and through. She didn't say I was an outcast through and through - she doesn't really have to. DON'T I KNOW IT, MATE!! A rotten let-down for my ego. Throwing yourself at a girl only to be told you don't stand a chance. Sad really. Well, what else can I expect at the grand old age of 20? I'm getting past the attractive stage.

The dear old Queen Mother flew off to Persia today for a peaceful, and no doubt warm holiday with the Shah. Dad drew the conclusion that Uncle Harold wants some cheap oil - a typical cynical view, but it's a known fact that the old Queen is a close buddy of the Shah, who nips over to Windsor often enough on private visits of his own. Must be nice to be nearly 75 and perfectly active. 'Go it old Girl!' applies just as much to the Queen Mum as it did to Queen Victoria. We want her to go on for years.

Still battling on with 'George VI'. He's just been created Duke of York in the chapter I'm on with, and it certainly makes one wonder just how many years it will be before Prince Andrew is bestowed with the same honours.

David calls in at 7.15 with an LP. He takes a few more records to tape, and spends about 10 minutes laughing and fooling with Lynn. That boy just ripples wit humour - always so full of vitality too. Must be marvellous. I'm going to Worcester on Apr 21 after all, probably until the 25th - which is the following Friday. It'll be fantastic seeing Barbara again, who is such a gorgeous character. Bed at 11.30 after reading in the lounge.

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Sunday April 13, 1975

2nd after Easter. Sit in bed, after waking up, with Wheeler-Bennett's 'George VI'. Good book really, and the more you read it, the more you realise that he was a very ordinary sort of chap.

I'm toying with the idea of going down to Worcester on April 21 with David. He goes back that day and so it would be perfectly easy for me to get a lift. His teaching practice starts on April 28, so he'll be busy throughout the days and that would mean me making my own entertainment until the evenings. It will be better than idling about at home all week doing absolutely nothing.

Dreading tonight. David and me are going to the Emmotts to meet Stephen Holmes, whom we haven't seen in 18 months. He wants some prints from stills and photographs in Mr Lawson's possession. He collects me at 8.15 and off we go. The Emmotts is a lousy, horrible place really. I can't understand why we ever patronised the place. Saw slides from the day trip to Otley in May/June 1973, and the photos of June brought it all flooding back. I've ordered quite a pile.

Home at about 10. The car nearly didn't make it, and David seemed quite cheerful considering the horrible racket it was making. See a Vincent Price film. Bed at 11.30.

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Saturday April 12, 1975

Marlene, on the phone, gets me out of bed at 11.45. Debbie has mumps and so they can't come on Sunday. I offer my condolences then go downstairs on a mission of mercy for John, who wants a glass of orange juice, and I'm not the sort of person to see a close relative suffer when the antedote is so close at hand. Whilst getting John's juice I find a letter awaiting me from Christine. She says "you ought to be more bold where women are concerned", and I cannot agree with her more. Not many people think I'm shy. I somehow conceal it behind a mask of foolery, but I really am quite like a guinea pig, or expectant rabbit, as far as showing my feelings for young ladies are concerned. Not that guinea pigs or expectant rabbits are scared of showing their affections for young ladies in the first place. Of course, they do show affection, quite boldly, to lady guinea pigs and lady rabbits, which is an example I should get into the habit of following.

Go to Yeadon with Mum and Dad at about 3 o'clock and I lay hands on a copy of 'Lady Marmalade' by Labelle. A wonderous record indeed.

At 7.15 Sue, Peter, Mum, Dad and me go up to the Stone Trough for a meal. Why? Well, it's part of my birthday festivities carried over from last week. Very pleasant, except for the fact that the waitress begrudged giving us anything. Back at 11 o'clock and sit with Dave and Lynn in front of a revolting old film on the BBC.

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Friday April 11, 1975

Friday night again. OK, so Friday night usually does follow Friday day, but it's just that I like Friday nights particularly and you'll never fully appreciate just what pleasure I get from writing 'Friday night again' at the head of the page. After all, I ought to be able to write just what the hell I like at the top, middle or bottom of any page of my own choice in this diary. I did buy the bloody thing with my own money, just in case you've forgotten. Anyway, let's not get silly about it.

Traumatic evening. Christine is in the Hare and Hounds without Gary - they had a squabble at work and he declined to say he'd take her out. I love her you know, and the thought of her going out with that emaciated little bank clerk with nine inch hips and no hair repulses me like I've never been repulsed before. But as the ancient Chinese proverb says: "that's the way the cookie crumbles'. Move on to the Tudor Bar with David, Chris, Carol, Helen, Christine D, Christine. Leave at about 10.30 for Wikis. With Christine all night, though we do not enter into the subject of our relationship until the very end. At 1.50 we go sit outside in the cool air, near Chris's car, and we talk about us. She thinks a lot about Gary and is annoyed that I didn't make my feelings known before this point. But you know what they say about true love and the fact that it never runs smoothly? Well, mine hasn't had the opportunity to run at all yet.

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