Thursday October 23, 1975

Beautiful autumn day. I wandered through town this afternoon in my shirt sleeves and didn't feel a bit uncomfortable.

Basil, our esteemed postman, is becoming ratty and upset by Christine B's references to him on the rear of the letters she writes to me. I should never have revealed the forename of Mr Postman, and I suppose CB will have to be told about his latest complaint. I don't want the Post Office taking action. On the subject of the Post Office, I should say something about them and their relationship with Yorkshire Post Newspapers Ltd. Denis Lehane was a YP leader writer until last week, when he foolishly published a piece on the PO saying they had destroyed thousands of Christmas cards and other Christmas mail two or three years ago because they couldn't cope with the amount of yuletide post. They have done nothing of the kind. Italy may well have done something similar, but what they do with glittery Santa Clauses in Rome is hardly the fault of Sir William Rylands. (Sir Gordon) Linacre sacked Lehane on the spot, and so poor Tom Greenwell is now completely alone.

A bomb exploded this morning under a car belonging to Hugh Fraser, the Tory MP. It exploded nea the Fraser home, where Caroline Kennedy, Jackie Onassis's daughter, is living temporarily. I cannot help thinking that Lady Antonia has something to do with it._________. But to be serious, the bomb killed a neighbour of Fraser's who was a leading cancer research professor. The day that capital punishment is reinstated will be a day of national benefit indeed.

I've just heard on the late news that Prince Juan Carlos is ready to take over from Franco, who is on his death bed. We may have a king of Spain tomorrow.

Carole rang at 5.30 and then at 8.30. She is worried about me not liking her latest letter. Fooilsh maiden. __________.


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Wednesday October 22, 1975

Up at 7.30 and dash around like something not right for half an hour. As usual it is to Leeds with Jim. Nothing scandalous or anything in the office at the moment so I'll narate something else instead.

I will have to start sorting out my vast collection of letters and other items of nostalgia. Drawers and cupboards in my room are packed with them. Letters from June Bottomley, Christine, Judith, Carole and Dave Lawson are just about taking over the upper part of 58, Hawksworth Lane, and certain indelicate subjects raised in Carole's latest despatch make me somewhat edgy.____________.

After tea we sit in front of the television. 'Carry On Doctor' gives everyone a laugh. I always watch these films with the intention of passing sentence of death upon them, but end up bent double with galloping hysterics.

At 8.10 John and I get in the car but it won't start. In a torrent of abuse I hurry down the lane only to miss the bus and find myself walking all the way to Carole's. I meet her with Mrs P coming out of Oakridge Avenue and I get the impression they had given me up for dead. Mrs P winds her way to Highroyds and Miss Phillips and I nip into the Hare. It is boring in the Hare tonight. After a rum with a few Coca Colas we go back to Carole's for yet another drink. At 11.15 I miss yet another bus and walk home yet again.

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Tuesday October 21, 1975

To the office with Jim Rawnsley at 8.30. Items of interest in the news: Crown Prince Fahd of Saudi Arabia arrived at Heathrow yesterday and I was amused to see our beloved Prime Minister grovelling on his hands and knees on the tarmac, in homage to the fat, arabic potentate. The Duke of Gloucester too was in the official welcoming party and I noticed him running after the crown prince in a feeble attempt to make polite chit chat. Little Richard was no match in the race to the VIP lounge and whilst Fahd and the Prime Minister were busily knocking back the duty free vodkas, HRH was fighting his way through the body guards yelling: "I'm Richard of Gloucester. I'm supposed to do the talking!" (No he didn't, I'm just getting carried away).

Nothing much else in the news other than Ireland and I'm not going to dwell on that.

Carole rang me at work and so too did CB, who was going out with Michael Ives until Saturday when she became intoxicated at Mark Naylor's 21st birthday party and left him to his own devices. A little raver she is!

Carole rang again at 8pm and we chatted for ten minutes or so. We are going out tomorrow night and I'm meeting her at 8 o'clock. I always clam up on the phone and can only really talk to Carole when we meet in the flesh.

Heard on the news tonight that General Franco had a heart attack today and is probably on his last legs. He's 82 so I'm not surprised. If I last as long I'll go quite happily.

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Monday October 20, 1975

No work today. Glad really because I never feel up to it when I've been travelling the day before. Evidently Sue and John threw a small party last night in honour of Carole and Maria. After champagne and God knows what, they retired to the numerous vacant beds upstairs. John and Maria were in his bed, Carole was in mine, and Sue and Peter were in her bedroom.

Lynn, David, CD, and Martyn Cole were of course visiting Alison in Southampton, and Mum and Dad were spending the night with Uncle Harry at Ravenglass, his new place of refuge. Poor Harry took up employment three weeks ago as a chauffeur and general dogs body for a wealthy man and his housekeeper at Cockermouth. After a tour of northern Scotland, on a staple diet of marmite sandwiches, H got a bit aggressive and resigned, leaving the old gentleman and his lady stranded miles from anywhere! Harry is not the most patient of men, and to picture him in a chauffeurs uniform is too ludicrous for words.

I didn't get up until 11am and after taking a bath I had luncheon with Mummy and Daddy, Sue and John and we discussed the pub business once again. Poor Mum didn't complain this time about being let down, but she so much would have liked the Station. Breweries just don't seem interested in them at all, so I imagine they'll have to buy a free house.

Carole rang me this afternoon and told me I sounded 'different'. As far as I know I don't think I've changed much in four days, but who knows.

Go down to her place at 8pm with John. Sit for half an hour with Carole, who looks divine, Mrs P and Peter, the elder of her two brothers. They discuss sex before marriage and fire questions at me to see if I can be embarrassed. To embarrass Mr Michael Rhodes is just about an impossibility.

We dashed over to the Hare for a few hours and came back to her place at 10.30 to see a film about Lucrezia Borgia (1949). It was quite good really, and I stayed until 12.30.

Walking to White Cross Dad saw us whilst driving around in his cop car and he ferried me home.

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Sunday October 19, 1975

21st after Trinity. Last day in Hayes for Pete and me. Clamber out of bed at a suitable hour and plunge into a hot bath. Ten minutes later I'm to be found stuffing my suitcase full of all my wordly goods, and half an hour later we're stood in the arrivals lounge at Heathrow Airport. Don't worry, I'm not doing a bunk or anything like that, but poor Pete so much wanted to see London Airport before returning to the stagnation of Bramhope, and we couldn't find it in ourselves to deny him this little pleasure.

Two hours at Heathrow watching Jumbo jets flitting about was quite sufficient for me, and we then, the three of us, moved on to London's Victoria bus station. Depositing our cases, we went on yet another tour, taking in the National Gallery, Charing Cross Restaurant, the Banqueting House at Whitehall and Buckingham Palace again. The Royal Standard isn't up, and I hazard a guess that SHE is out for tea this afternoon.

Bid farewell to Chris at 5.30 and head home on a little coach to Leeds. I read 'Mandingo' all the way home and keep dropping off to sleep, much to the amusement of Pete.

At home I hear Mum and Dad have passed an embarrassing weekend at Ravenglass with Uncle Harry, and am told by them that the Station in Ilkley is not going to fall to the Rhodes clan for tenancy. Bastard Charrington is more appropriate.

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Saturday October 18, 1975

To Windsor with the lads today. Of course I didn't go see John & Sheila. I thought of calling in but decided it would be an embarrassment to them. After all, if no one is staying with them after they told me I couldn't stay because of lack of room, they'd be in a sticky position.

We have a great day. They are both thrilled with the castle, especially Chris who thought the state apartments were incredible. I mentioned to Peter that some of the carving in St George's Chapel and in some of the rooms of the state apartments was the work of Grinling Gibbons 1648-1720, and he excitedly sought information on him. He drifted from bookshop to bookshop for most of the afternoon trying to find suitable literature on him, but failed to do so. However, by the time we'd finished we knew everything there is to know about the Rotterdam-born sculptor and carver who came to England and was 'spotted' by John Evelyn, the diarist, in 1671 and was introduced to Charles II, Wren and others. Trinity College, Cambridge, the royal palaces, Burghley House and St Paul's Cathedral all have bits and peices done by him, and the bronze statues of Charles II and James II are attributed to him, but they may have been done by his 'school'. Gibbons was paid for them anyway. How's that, all from memory?

We have steak again for our evening meal at the London Grill in Windsor, and after having taken a look at Eton and had a swan-tormenting session on the Thames we make our way to Windsor & Eton Railway Station and get a train to Hayes.

At the Arlington we sit for what seems like days in the bar drinking, and a wedding reception in an adjoining room kept us wide awake.

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Friday October 17, 1975

We rise from our slumbers at some unearthly hour and head towards the pulsating capital of these Islands (is it called London, or something like that?) After several train rides and a tube adventure we find ourselves at Earls Court. I cannot fail to be completely taken in by that massive structure. The crowds, the people and the atmosphere in general is completely unique, but the only fault in all this is that the magical atmosphere doesn't stay all that long with me. Chris and Peter can wander around looking at the same things over and over again, but I look at everything the once and then call it a day. Three hours in Earls Court is two hours too long for me. I did what most peasants did. I stood wide-eyed in front of the Rolls Royce stand, and pretended not to notice the flashy, American trash. Chris was delighted just to look at clapped out old Vauxhalls and Fords.

After what seemed like hours at Earls Court the three of us go to the Tower of London by tube. Neither Chris or Pete had seen the jewels, and so it makes my fifth visit worthwhile! A guided tour around the tower by an endearing old Yeoman of the Guard ended in the chapel of St Peter Ad Vincula, where Anne Boleyn and all the rest are entombed. The jewels are still as beautiful and the Imperial State Crown takes the breath away from all who see it.

After 'doing the tower' we go over to the Tiger Bar where we have a few drinks until 8pm. We go for a meal at the fairly new Tower Hotel, where Peter nearly rendered himself unconscious on a low-hanging light fitting. Chris tripped and fell off the causeway on the way out and slid down a bank and ended up flat on his back underneath a Mercedes-Benz! This caused for some kind of celebration and so we returned to the Tiger Bar. Leave by train for Hayes at about 10.30.


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