Thursday May 8, 1975

Ascension Day. Pay Day. I'm not writing much, because I don't want to. Love sick, I am. It rained all day, and I attempted to buy a camera in Boots in Leeds, but they only accept Barclaycard if you produce a cheque. Who do they think I am?


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Wednesday May 7, 1975

After 11pm: Forgive the cheap, horrible biro. I am quite madly in love with the most enchanting girl I have ever had the honour to meet. Quite seriously I mean it when I say that Christine Braithwaite....(gap on page) followed by (10.5.75)... Oh what's the use? Forgive this slight folks, but it's no longer May 7 - in fact it's the afternoon of Saturday May 10, and the heart rending, passionate whimsies of my heart (written in biro that is) seem futile at this stage.

To get back to Wednesday. Christine rang me this afternoon and told me that Gary finished with her on Sunday. She is horribly cut up, but it is the first time that anybody has done this to her. We meet at the Hare at 8 and she says it would be impossible and wicked for her to go out with me because she feels it would be a false cover-up of her own feelings for that lunatic, Gary. Home at 11 after attempting to team John and Naomi together again. A sad failure I'm afraid.

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Tuesday May 6, 1975

Peaceful day without the chaos of Kathleen. A beautiful hot day, and it really is a crime to be trussed up in an office - without windows - for a rotten £30 a week.

Bumped in Speed, the EP cartoonist, and he says I really ought to have a word with Malcolm Barker about my future. He says it's dead easy being a reporter, and didn't seem to think that my lack of 2 'A' levels was a hinderance. And so, it's Malcolm Barker here I come!

Carol J was rabbiting on about the Queen abdicating in a few years time to make way for the Prince of Wales. A load of codswallop! The very word 'abdication' will strike horror into the heart of any member of the House of Windsor after the trauma of King Edward VIII. Besides, the Queen is a very healthy, dedicated sovereign, who vowed on her 21st birthday that 'whether my life be long, or short I will serve the British Commonwealth of Nations with all my heart' or words closely resembling this.

Nothing of vital importance today. I knocked about the garden after tea and inspected Uncle Albert's apple tree, which is growing marvellously. To think that 6 years ago my old uncle took a pip from an eating apple and laid it in a little pot. It now stands about 3ft in height. Old Mother Nature is a genius, and besides, Uncle Albert had a way with plants that assures its future prosperity.

'Edward VII' was on TV again tonight and again I must say that Annette Crosbie plays a marvellous Queen Victoria. Truly a wonderous actress.

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Monday May 5, 1975

Holiday in Scotland. I always loathe and despise Mondays. Why this is so I fail to understand. Probably my devotion to the Yorkshire Post and the prospect of eight hours solid work ahead of me has something to do with this.

Kathleen is on holiday and so I'm left with Saturday's EP to deal with, and this doesn't cheer me up. This paper is riddled with trash. and so after I've glanced through it and disposed of it, I snatch a look at todays nationals. Nothing of interest other than the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh's state visit to Hong Kong, and endless tosh on the Common Market issue. I really am becoming worried about the sanity of our future Communist Prime Minister, Mr Wedgwood Benn, alias the 2nd Viscount Stansgate. He really is a left-wing creep. I for one will book a one-way ticket to New Zealand on the morning he moves into No 10, Downing Street. Horrific he really is.

See TV all evening and throw myself into Lady Randolph Churchill before hitting the sack.

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Sunday May 4, 1975

Rogation Sunday. A beautiful day. Up and out at 11.30 and fall into a deckchair in the garden until lunchtime. John has been idiotic since his breach with Naomi and I hope for all our sakes that he'll soon pull round because quite honestly he's making life hell for me. It niggles me the way he only thinks about ale and cars - I suppose he thinks he should behave like that when he surrounds himself with such bores as ____. John's even talking like him now. Boasting about all the near misses he's had in the car and how he screeched the brakes, &c, &c. The horrific thing is that one day they'll be no near miss and the world will be minus another human being. Tragic it really is.

Heard last night that Christine went home from the Hare early because Gary didn't arrive to see her. He uses that poor girl horribly. Treats her like dirt, and she puts up with it. I still feel a lot for her, and she refuses to believe me, or at least refuses to acknowledge it. She's known for years (2 at least) how much I admire her, but somehow hates the idea of anything coming of it.

On Friday before going into work I took 'King George VI' back to Leeds Library and took out 'Jennie: Lady Randolph Churchill' by Anita Leslie. Quite a good book and I realise that the TV series starring Lee Remick was taken almost word for word from Miss Leslie's book.

At about 4 Uncle Peter and family call to see us. My peaceful rest on the lawn with Lady Randolph is disrupted by Peter's delightful daughters - who are sweet really. I ended up playing 'tig' with them, much to the amusement of Dave, who is working on his car on the drive. Peter is one of my favourite uncles. _______.Lovely day, and we are all a lot more healthy for the sunshine.

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Saturday May 3, 1975

John wakes me at about 11.30 and I feel quite rotten again. Headache and sore throat. On making enquiries I discover that we're all the same in the house. John, in the car, departs in the direction of Horsforth. He's going to Chris's then down to Charlie Brown's for some car tyres or something.

I do most of the housework. (Just thought I'd slip that in, and I'd like to make it quite clear that I'm proud of it. Men who can't do the ordinary household chores are pathetic). Play a few records but feel as though my head is about to explode.Mum and Dad come back from Bradford and they say they feel the same. Mum kept saying that we might have a gas leak or something, but surely if this was the case we'd all be unconscious or dead?

This evening was one of the most nasty, uncomfortable affairs I've ever really experienced. To start with, John went to collect his idol ___ and he was persuaded to call in at the revolting Station 'just for a quick one'. I had a pint of Guinness which ruined my evening because it stuck in the pit of my stomach like three tons of reinforced concrete. After collecting Linda, Carol and Miss Dibb we made our way to the Devonshire Arms near Bolton Abbey - a most hideous tavern, full of old clapped-out idiots in tweed trousers. From then on things went down hill and the gang ended up in Burnsall. I was with Lynn and Dave and noticed the horror on Mr Baker's face at the mileage we were doing. When petrol is 70p a gallon I couldn't agree more with him. Never again.


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Friday May 2, 1975

I saw Harold Macmillan on the TV last night and I must say that he's made my mind up once and for all on this referendum nonsense. I always said that I would never vote in any referendum, because it's an unlawful abomination, yet the TV and the papers had almost made me change my mind. I would have voted for staying in, but that's besides the point. No, Mr Macmillan convinced me that it would be a disgrace to vote on June 5. What is the point in having a Houses of Parliament when they are just going to hand over all important decisions to us. And let us face it, the Common Market isn't a matter of life and death. We have gone through two world wars and we, that is the ordinary plebs, were never given the chance to state our views on that subject. Good old Harold Macmillan. They don't make 'em like him anymore.

Work at 5pm. I never object to working nights until the actual day comes along, when it's all too late to do anything about it. Friday night without Wikis is just pure, unadulterated Hell.

On my arrival at that saintly place, the Yorkshire Post, I settle down for an extremely quiet night. See nobody until 12 and the only convseration I really have is with the telephone operator when booking my taxi. Pinch a picture from the throw-out drawer of Barbra Streisand - the sexiest thing I've ever had the pleasure to see on the screen.

On my arrival home I dig out a picture frame from underneath a pile of rubbish in my cupboards and Miss Streisand is formally established on the table near my bed.

David B has had the photos developed from the orgy we had after my birthday. Some brilliant ones of me the morning after!

John is in bed when I eventually climb the stairs. Mum stays he staggered in at 11.45pm with blurred vision and a slow, slurred voice. Pissed he was. Lucky swine.

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