Tuesday December 14, 1976

King George VI is celebrating quietly somewhere today - his 81st birthday. Prince Albert died 115 years ago, and Coun Norman Anthony Gadsby was born this day in 1935 ...

Write letters tonight to Helen Malin in Gloucester and send cards to Glenn and Dave G telling them of Peter's change of heart. I knew all along that Mr Mather wouldn't let the summer of next year go by without seeing Ibiza and all those women.

Tony rings and we arrange to go to the Hare with Stuart at 8.15. I then contact Martyn and he says he's going with his girlfriend Carla to a new wine bar in Ilkley so I don't think we'll see him tonight. Later: Tony comes at 8.15 and we go to a Christmas-decorated Hare & Hounds and meet Stuart Walker, Esq, and Susan and Peter. After a couple of drinks we join Martyn and his lady at Ilkley and we polish off two bottles of wine before going on to the Rose & Crown. Quite a liquid evening. All back to W.H. Smith's for a coffee and Tony discovers he has a flat tyre which takes us through until 12.15am. Home in a fog and we discuss Thursday night. Hit the sack at 1.05am.

-==-

Monday December 13, 1976

Nothing much to say today. I am always lazy at Yuletide. Couldn't even be bothered to contemplate the TV tonight and for a large part of the evening I sat glaring at my in-growing toe-nail. Why? Well, if you had paid £18 for a pair of shoes would you expect to get a deformed foot in return? I certainly didn't expect it, pal.

Lynne came up at 8.30 and we had a drink at the Commercial before she pissed off to Roundhay. We discussed the Yuletide arrangements. Seeing her on Christmas Eve and then there's a gap until Dec 28 when we go to John & Maria's. I've got Wednesday to spend with her and after that it's New Year's Eve. Why do we bother going out at all? I sometimes wonder. Of course I'd loathe it even more if she lived on my doorstep so what am I moaning about? I'm just a misery guts when it all boils down to it. Bed at 11.30pm. Goodnight.

-==-

Monday December 13, 1976

Sunday December 12, 1976

3rd in Advent. Do bugger all day. Oh look! It's the third Sunday in Advent! How exciting! How thrilling! How fantastic! Piss off, the lot of you.

Reflections:

What has befallen Miss CB? What has befallen Miss Akroyd?, and Miss Fountain for that matter? Have I lost my sex appeal or something?

Poem:

Dr Kissinger, we sure will miss yer,
It'll hurt to see you go

Mr Carter must be a farter,
and when I see him I'll let him know.

Bum Bum.

Another poem.

President Ford I'll be so bored,
when you're gone and far away,
I'll cry and cry - Oh God, I'll die,
on Carter's inauguration day.

MLR, 1976 [c]

--==--

Saturday December 11, 1976

Up at 1.20pm - the phone is ringing like something not right. I lay listening to it expecting one of the servants to answer, but no. After it had ceased I investigate further to find I am the only living soul in residence. 'Breakfast' alone with the record player. Mum comes in at 2 with Maria and baby John. He's grown since I last saw him three weeks ago. A Macdonald too - no Rhodes visible in him at all. Facial appearances of babies change like the weather, don't they? Maria and John stay all day and I arrange to meet them in the Hare tonight.

I go down to the Hare with Sue & Peter. Andy, Linda, Chris, Pete, John, Maria, Elizabeth Macdonald, Molly, Jim, Vasilly [a Greek friend of Libby's] and his wife, &c. Have a good time and it's back to Ridgeway at closing time. Look on in horror as Peter drinks gallons of Jim's whisky. Back at 2am. Mum has been baby-sitting for JPH. Straight to bed.

-==-

Friday December 10, 1976

Alison [Dixon] and John [Pinder] came up from the depths of Winchester last night to stay for a couple of days. Don't see Lynne today and she goes home taking Jean with her. Peter M rings to say he's on his tod [sloan] this evening because Chris has gone off with a mucky woman to Askham Bryan. I must be the last resort. He comes at 8.15 and we go to the Hare with Sue, Pete N, Lynn and Dave [the latter pair move on to a function at the Dragonara in Leeds]. Martyn and his popsy [Carla] are in, and Mum & Dad. Peter M and I return at 10.45 to watch a programme on the Abdication Crisis narrated by James Cameron. Very good indeed and it would have been much better if Peter hadn't insisted on fidgeting and complaining throughout about the time and how late we'd be at Oakwood Hall. Mum, Dad, Sue, Pete, John and Alison come back at 11.15 and when the programme finishes Peter drives us to Oakwood Hall. I feel bloody miserable all night. At 2am Peter M throws me the keys to the van and we go sit outside while he walks his new found 'lady friend' back to Bingley College. TWO HOURS LATER HE RETURNS buttoning his shirt and combing his hair with a vague story about listening to Perry Como records. I realise that fans of this ageing American baritone are probably grossly perverted, but never did I imagine that the ritual of listening to his dulcet tones involved stripping off ones clothes and sitting in the nude. Home by 4.30am and Mum makes us all dance and sing until dawn. Dad was flaked out in bed - pissed I fear.

-==-

Thursday December 9, 1976

A weird day. Dad and I go down the lane at 7.30 in freezing circumstances expecting to get a lift with Jim. I have to tell you now that no lift arrived. By 8o'clock we were poised at the bus stop ready for action and to make matters worse, no bus arrived either. Frozen solid we were by 8.30 when a ruddy cart eventually turned up to take us to Leeds. Black ice and 45 minutes later I was at the YP. One and a half hours on the road!

Had lunch at the Central with Dad [he's on a course] and a work colleague of his called John. Good laugh.

Meanwhile: That night: Lynne comes up for a meal at 6.30, early for her, and we're both in jovial mood. After 'Top of the Pops' we decide to attend the cinema. Go to Headingley and see Margaux Hemingway in 'Lipstick', a tale of rape and vengeance. Very good it was too. However, the highlight of the night came afterwards in the carpark. Whilst negotiating a reverse in treacherous conditions Lynne had the misfortune to collide with another vehicle. It was doubly unfortunate that the incumbent of the bereaved motor car happened to be of Oriental origin - a Jap to be precise. The gentleman couldn't speak a word of the Queen's English. The usual exchange of names and addresses took place - written on a crumpled cinema ticket, and we parted ways and disappeared into the night. I have only just forgiven them for Pearl Harbour. I laughed all the way home. Lynne saw the lighter side after a while.