Thursday October 2, 1975

Excitement at work this morning. As ever, I was going through the Court Circular quenching my daily thirst for knowing what Her Majesty has been up to, and to my great surprise I see that the Duchess of Kent is to visit the Yorkshire Post on November 25. I know that over the years I have said horrible, unforgivable things about Yorkshire's own Royal duchess, but I can assure you that I've out-grown this childish phase now. The duchess does a brilliant job, and I must state categorically that the stories I wrote about her were nothing more than figments of my imagination. My vendetta against the House of Kent is over.

To Leeds in a thunderstorm with John at 7.30 and we meet about six lads in a despicable pub called the 'Tam O' Shanter' or something. After winding our way up the Headrow we end up in Cinderella's in something of a dislocated, drunken fashion. Raymond ends up grovelling on the floor, and Dave, the groom-to-be, is with a sizeable wench in a red dress. If his intended looks anything like that object I sincerely feel for him in his last week of freedom. John and I get a taxi from Cinderella's at 2am, and the thing cost £3.30. Split between the two of us it wasn't all that tragic. Slept soundly after devouring a sandwich.

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Wednesday October 1, 1975

Down to meet Carole at 8.15pm and sit with her mother, aunt and uncle until she is ready to go out. This family really is hilarious, and coupled with the Frankie Howerd Show on TV I was all in all on the verge of hysterics.

Go across to the Hare at about 8.45 with Carole and it's incredibly quiet. Only Helen and CD are to be seen, and the atmosphere of the place is changing weekly. See Raymond, who tells me that Dave (his little friend) is to be married a week on Saturday and is having his "stag" night tomorrow. This entails a pub crawl through Leeds and an orgy in Cinderella's afterwards. John and I are going, but I don't think any of the other lads will be. Keith isn't really 'in' with the Raymond Bond set.

To get a bit philosophical. What is love and how does one define it? This is the ten dollar question. ______told ________that she loved him and asked if he felt the same way too. His reply was that never having been in love before he needed time to make up his mind what being in love actually entails. Is it possible to go through life thinking you are in love with someone only to find that you actually never were? Carole seems upset when I say I fall in love with every girl I go out with. She says I am the only boy she's loved and cannot understand why I have managed to get hitched from the heart many times before. Am I just gullable, or is falling in love like falling off the kerb as far as I'm concerned?


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Tuesday September 30, 1975

A wet, unpleasant day. The end of September. It has been a lengthy month this, and we can now settle down in front of the TV on these unsettled evenings to watch such thrilling things as the Labour party conference from Blackpool, and all those adverts urging us to buy our Christmas presents early whilst we still have time. The prospects aren't thrilling at all when one thinks about it.

Work was uneventful and nothing is in the headlines at the time being. The usual rubbish about whether the Labour leadership will survive the party conference is all over the front page, but otherwise nothing of interest at all.

Home on the 5.15 (bus) for fish and chips (again). They do say that this greasy creation forms the staple diet of the working classes, and I tend to agree. I also think that they are the staple diet of the middle and upper classes because if you could see some of the people who queue for miles in all weathers outside Harry Ramsden's you'd know what I mean.

That is about all for today other than to mention that the Gadsby pair called upon us at about 8.30. They went out with Mum and Dad, and on arriving back here, we sat until nearly 1am talking about National Service, the energy crisis, politics and all the other useless subjects. Came to bed at 1.30 after compiling a letter to Carole. The first class post is eight and a half pence now! I'll have to try to curb my letter writing activities.

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Monday September 29, 1975

To the YP after 10am. Sarah isn't sexy any more, and I'm going to stop writing about women in these pages because I am frequently making a bloody fool of myself. I change my mind like nobody's business.

Hear from 'George' this evening that Carole is ill in bed with one of her funnny heads again. At 8pm John takes me down to Menston and I buy him a drink in the Hare & Hounds. It is a bloody nasty wet night, so I'm relieved when he takes me straight to Carole's door.

Mrs Phillips bundles me upstairs where the Angel is propped up in bed looking like a ghost on the operating table. We sit watching TV. (Yes, she's the owner of a little portable one), and I stay with her for a couple of hours. I sit hunched on her bed and laugh at the pathetic sight of the rose I gave her on Friday night. There is is, all wilting upon her dressing table. She was reading, and re-reading the letter I wrote to her some days ago, so I think it's about time I created another one for her. The Darling Girl loves me I think. I hate people loving me - it gives me the frightening sense of having to be reliable, responsible and faithful. However, she is perfection itself.

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Sunday September 28, 1975

18th after Trinity. Wake up at about 11am I think. John is still asleep and I go downstairs to investigate. Carole is lively, and so too are Sue & Peter who are carrying on like wrestlers in the lounge. 'George' is busy making cups of inviting, hot tea for all who want it. When John rises he proceeds to dash off to Ridgeway with 'George' and Carole, Sue, Peter and I remain for the so-called breakfast/lunch combined.

The four of us devour bacon, beans, mushrooms, fried bread, &c, and plenty of tea. Chris and Andy call in to see us before going to the Commercial, and I make (yes, you've guessed it) more hot tea, this time for Mum and Dad. Poor Mama is under the weather and lays motionless beneath her sheets like a Mummy - if you pardon the expression.

Sit with Carole all afternoon, and we watch a Tyrone Power film called 'The Mark of Zorro'. Corny, and ridiculously out-dated.

I worked 5pm until 10.30, and leave Leeds on the last bus.

John's party was a tremendous success again, and it looks like becoming something of an annual occasion.

Lynn and Dave are now over their first year of courtship and who knows just what the future will bring for this happy couple? Mum whispered the other day that she thinks they may be engaged when Lynn is 18. Who knows?

Home at about 11.15 and I eat masses of rabbit stew, which is delicious beyond words. See the end of a lousy James Dean film of which very little need be said.

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Saturday September 27, 1975

John's birthday party. Mum is cooking all day and is in a foul mood after hearing from Tetley's that they haven't got the New Inn. She really is shaken about it and says they won't try for another pub if that is how they treat people, but that is hardly the right attitude. To get anywhere these days you have to fight, kick and cheat to do everything possible to secure your choice. Life's a rar race.

At 4pm I meet Carole in Guiseley and we buy some flash cubes for her camera and walk back to our place eating lollipops in the rain. Romantic is the word you are looking for.

To the Hare & Hounds at 8.30. Mum and Dad come down with Bill Stott and his wife, and all the gang gathers in readiness for the party. The guests are too numerous to mention, but you know who they are by now. Back to our place at 11 after talking with RM who is just out of Armley Jail. He stabbed someone in Yeadon and went down for nine months. Silly little sod that he is.

Party is a tremendous success. The food went as if a plague of locusts had descended upon it, but the drink lasted quite well. Mum went to bed at about 1am feeling 'off it' but otherwise no casualties were accounted for. I lasted out until about 5am and had the usual cheese on toast with Martyn Cole. Carole went up to sleep at 3. The poor girl is hopeless with drink.


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Friday September 26, 1975

Do not wake until after 11. Staying in bed for hours on end is shear bliss. No work. Absolutely free until Sunday night! These days off are such marvellous things. (OK Michael, don't get carried away about having a few hours off work. It isn't the 'be all and end all' you know).

Finish reading The Duke & Duchess of Windsor by Ralph Martin. How much in love they were. The final chapter left a lump in my throat. The Queen should really feel ashamed for not letting the poor bloke do a job for us in Britain. All that talent and ability was rejected simply because he married out of the Establishment. Shameful.

To the Hare & Hounds with Carole at 8.30. Christine is in. I'm uneasy when both she and Carole are together. The animosity between the two is transmitted straight at me. With Peter M and Christine D in his van to Wikis. Carole and I don't dance until the final record, but we got on well enough. See Ann Greep, Marian, Maura, Lynne Mather, &c. My old girlfriends all in one night! Ann Greep especially was a surprise. I thought she'd married a guy called Ellis from Essex (no it's not a Limerick) and never imagined laying eyes on her again. At 2am walk Carole to Menston and then walk home. Arrive at 3am. Have a drink with Dad and then go to bed.

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