Wednesday June 1, 1977

Phoned Carole this afternoon. She used some marvellous adjectives and in the space of a few minutes referred to me as 'chicken', 'lamb' and 'poppet'. We discussed going to London on June 11 but have no idea how to go about it. Grange's Coaches have gone bankrupt.

The only sad thing about going on the rampage on the continent with Martyn is Carole. I'm more attached to her now than I ever was before - even though things get somewhat stormy at times. Neither of us are particularly placid and we just fail to see eye to eye at times. This doesn't mean we think any less of each other.

On to a more unpleasant subject: Money. Barclaycard want £70 from me by June 6. They've brought my bloody credit payment day forward by three bloody weeks! No chance of paying so I'll just have to pay what I can manage and hope that some idiot in Stockton-on-Tees (or wherever Barclaycard hangs out) is endowed with a loving, gentle nature.

Think of poor Christine. The funeral is tomorrow and I only hope they both bear up. The agony must be incredible. However, I shan't bother her for a week or so because people like me must only be a hindrance at such a time as this.

Tony and Martyn came this evening and we went to the Hare & Hounds at Heaton. We had no money at all and we only drank half pints. Disgraceful, I know, especially in Jubilee week, but what else can be done?

Tony was a complete misery tonight for some reason. Home at about10 o'clock. To bed with Anne Boleyn by Marie Louise Bruce. A very interesting book and not one I'd normally read. The Tudor period is something I haven't touched upon since I was 14 or 15 years old. I'm quite ignorant on the subject.

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Tuesday May 31, 1977

CB: completely flattened

A horrible, sad day. Christine rang at about 10 and said she wouldn't probably be able to attend my Silver Jubilee party. She sounded so strange, and her voice was full of sadness. I asked why, and she told me her father had died yesterday evening. I was thoroughly lost for words and shocked. She cried a bit and I think I blurted something about going to see her straight from the YP and then put the phone down.

I last saw poor Mr Braithwaite on April 29 and to think I will never see him again leaves me cold. Death is a wicked thing. In CB's shoes I'd just fall to pieces.

Left work at 4.30. Marita picked me up on Wellington Street. I told her the news and questioned her as to whether it's quite right calling in on somebody so soon after a tragedy. She thinks it can well be a comfort and so I'm encouraged. Christine is ashen faced and quiet. She hasn't quite grasped what has happened yet. Mrs B was sat smoking and did not stop talking. In fact both of them were constantly chattering about irrelevant topics and only when a lull in the conversation occurred it became obvious that they're acutely distraught. Christine's eyes were full of tears. The poor things are completely flattened. God knows what they'll do. Mr B was always the life and soul of the party -  & even I, who barely knew him, thought of him as a kind, warm and tremendous character.

CB brought me home at 5.30 and the whole family offered some sympathy and comfort.

Although the evening was sunny and bright I felt cold & miserable.

I rang Carole at lunchtime but only her obnoxious boss was in. Said I'd ring back but never got round to it.

Tony rang at 8 to say he's finally received communication from Denise in Australia. _____________.

Just watched TV until midnight and thought constantly of poor Christine and her mother. Even Lynn, who'd been working at the Hare, reports that they've all heard the news. To bed with Anne Boleyn by Marie Louise Bruce.

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Monday May 30, 1977

Cloudy, but warm. A hectic day at the YP. Spent most of the day finding pics of all descendants of King George V and Queen Mary for Jack Stancomb's contribution to the Jubilee supplement. The chaos created by the Jubilee is quite amazing. The general public are going berserk and all think of little else at the moment.

Her Majesty at Covent Garden.

Don't get home until 5.45. Tony and Linda have finished - for good. Oh, not again! I have only just posted her birthday card too.  They'll have made up by the weekend. Or will they?

Rang Dave in Stockport. He'll be over on Friday evening. He's going to ring me on Thursday.

Saw the Queen, and many members of the royal family, on TV, at the Silver Jubilee Gala at the Royal Opera House Covent Garden. At midnight when she left in her large Rolls Royce the streets of London were packed with thousands of people waiting to catch a glimpse of Her Majesty. Jubilee fever. People are going insane with patriotism. The crowd was singing the National Anthem louder than I've heard it before. The Queen is perfection. Truly a legend. If this momentum grows with the years until the Golden Jubilee God knows what will happen.

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Saturday May 28, 1977

Don't get out of bed until 12 noon but when I do I feel better. Still slightly 'tingly' but better at least. I shudder at the sight of Lynn, clad only in a scanty bikini, laying prostrate on the lawn. 'Don't do it!' I yell from the window, but my pleas go unnoticed as the powerful suns beats down upon my poor, vulnerable sister. Will our roles of last night be reversed and will I be nursing my sister tonight? Time can only tell.

Peter the Alsatian.

Ring Tony and he and Martyn call at 12.30. To the Black Bull in Otley and then the Bowling Green. Very hot day. Feel it penetrating my shirt (the sun, that is). Move on to Otley Show which is something of a dead loss. Nothing to look at but hot dog stands and beer tents. Watch Alsatian dogs competing in some ridiculous charade, and unbelievably the winning dog was called 'Peter'. A dog called Peter?  Peter the iguana - yes, Peter the Tortoise, yes. Peter the budgie, yes. But Peter the Alsatian, no.

Lynn & Dave

Tony comes back for tea and at 8, or possibly 9, we go for Martyn and then to Skipton again. Not very enjoyable and it's back to the Rose & Crown for 10.30. Phil Hewitt and the clan were in - no comment.

Back to Tony's flat. Tony and Martyn fall asleep leaving me with a large glass of Scotch and 'Saturday Night at the Mill' on TV. Oh God, I think, what a bore. But Tony was soon awake and he took Martyn home and then came dashing back and took me to Il Trovatore, where we find Lynn and Dave B. Joined by Ruth and Linda. All back to the flat where we sat all night just talking. The girls left at 3am and Lynn and Dave at 4am. Tony went to bed at 6 and I sat in a chair dozing on and off until 11am. Am I perhaps insane? No doubt.

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Sunday May 29, 1977

Whit Sunday. Tony and I had another heart to heart chat until dawn on the usual subject - women. 'Is it better to love, or to be loved?' and 'is it better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all?' were the age-old questions posed, &c. He says he's given up with _______.I do not believe him. No sooner will she be back from __________.Horribly sad really.

Picked Linda W up at 12 and went to the Commercial. It seems to be on again with Miss White. Tony and Linda have had more than the usual amount of turbulence in their two month relationship.

Nora: metabolic upheaval

Back to Pine Tops where Mama is in a foul mood. She moans about me 'using' her and says that no Sunday lunch will be put out for me again if I stay out all night on a Saturday. So, it's goodbye to Sunday lunches then. She knows damn well of my whereabouts and at 8.30 yesterday evening she was quite amiable about my arrangements. Weird, bad tempered old bird. She was also rude to Tony and Linda and told me afterwards that she could not be sociable with my friends on  a Sunday lunchtime. A rude and ridiculous thing to say. Is perhaps poor Mum undergoing some metabolic upheaval. She is 42.

The Yorkshire Post was up to its usual standard this evening. John Cameron brought Tony and Linda to see me at 9 o'clock and I showed them round the library. Tony looked at the photos of Lady Ancram - whom he knew as Jane Howard when he lived near Arundel all those years ago.

Left at 11.30 with a subdued taxi driver who expounded no tremendous new theory to me.

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Friday May 27, 1977

Beautiful, hot, marvellous day. By 10.30 I'm in the garden covered head to foot in sun-tan oil, reminiscent of a Roman gladiator, and it's in this idyllic pose that I remained throughout the day, breaking off only for lunch.

My Jubilee party is secure. How did I manage it? Well, Mrs Eccles, our new neighbour, was in the garden talking about the noise the workmen are making in her house and expressed her hope that we are not put out by the banging. 'Oh no', said I, 'we're always making loud noises too, you know.Parties and things'. Before I could sit and savour my craftiness here I'd invited her and her hubby to our party on June 4, and Mama, lurking behind a clump of dying tulips, just couldn't say anything. So, it's all on.

How does one manage to get a job in Spain? Do I write to the Spanish Ambassador to the Court of St James? I am very much aware that I asked this question on Wednesday but I've still done bugger all about finding out.

Taking a bath this evening was painful. I realise I've over done it with the sunbathing. In fact I'm not so much like a gladiator now, more like a heap of tomatoes, or pot of lobsters.

Tony rings to say Carole is joining us tonight. I readily approve. Susan joins us without Peter N. He's in Durham at a party with some friends. Independent Pete, eh?

Sue

To the Bod with Sue, Carole, Martyn and Tony. T picks up a tart called Maureen who resembles Shirley Bassey. A bit of a laugh. Very strange to be with Susan and not Peter too. She looks a bit lost as well.

I begin to feel ill a shake with cold. Carole offers no sympathy. She just smiles and says 'serves you right'. Bless her heart. Home at 11.30. To bed with a hot water bottle and an extra blanket. Feel delirious and realise I have bloody sun stroke. Lynn shows some concern and she sits on the edge of my bed offering assurance. By 12 I vomit and then go to sleep. Never felt anything like it before and can't quite understand how it takes 22 years to come to grief in the sun.

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Thursday May 26, 1977

Just three hours at the YP - 9 to 12. A hot day again. Ate fish and chips in Guiseley and then went home for a large lunch. My God I'm going to become a fat swine. Carole rang me at 10.30 just to make sure I haven't forgotten. I assure her I could never forget. She now says she's wearing a red outfit tonight. Isn't she incredibly sweet discussing her wardrobe with me - My God, it's like the 'olden days'.

Tell Mum and Dad over lunch my Spanish idea and they say just what they said when I put forward the idea last summer: 'Now is the time to go. You are only young once', &c. I must say that in this field dear Mama and Papa have always encouraged me and I cannot help thinking that I'd be doing them a favour by clearing off. Not going to mention anything to Carole because it may prove alarming - if you know what I mean.,

Tony rings at 7.30 and suggests Carole and I go down to Ilkley for a drink but I want to be alone with her. Then John rings and says he and Maria want to join us and I say I'll meet them at the White Cross at 9 o'clock. Meet Carole at 8 and she shows me a jagged scar on her face which she supposedly accidentally inflicted upon herself 'picking up a broken cup in the kitchen'. It is obvious the some person or persons unknown did this to her. I do not question her about it but it is quite hideous.

Things don't go as well as last week, and last week didn't go quite as well as the week before and it is obvious that some deterioration in our newly rekindled friendship is taking place. We squabble and she becomes aggressive and childish about my smoking.

John and Maria came at 9 and after a drink we move on to Bingley (John and M in the car and me and C on the bus) and then from the pub the four of us go to Oakwood Hall. For some reason I become quite pissed and all memories of what exactly took place are vague. Remember seeing Keith Brown, Sandy Lawson and of course the intrepid Christine Braithwaite. Carole and I cheer up somewhat and vow not to argue again. It would perhaps help if we were left alone in future. Back at 2am in a taxi laughing a good deal.

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