Monday October 17, 1977

More bloody fog. It was so thick this morning that Jim drove straight passed me in his rotten car completely ignorant of my presence on the lane. It's ideal weather for committing murder in fact. (Please don't ask me why I should be thinking of murder first thing on a lousy, wet morning).

The YP was horribly busy. The whole day was reminiscent of a typical day in the English Civil War, the Battle of Newark, or something like that. Not exactly a Ypres or Waterloo, but close.

Rene Levesque ....

Sarah was pleasant. We are not 'squashing' this week because she's going to the opera (Welsh National Opera, I think) with John McMurray. No comment on this.

On the brighter side of things I'm sure you'll be gladdened to learn that Her Majesty the Queen is in Canada making some attempt to keep that nation united. Quebec is Canada's answer to Ireland and just because they would like to speak French instead of English they are, under a man named Levesque, seeking to break away as an independent country.

Just had a bath tonight and watched an ancient Bing Crosby film on BBC2 which was corny but quite good really. No one can complain about good old Bing, I'm sure.

Lynn and Dave went to see George and Jane Waite and they returned with a weird tale _______________.


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Sunday October 16, 1977

19th after Trinity. Warm and sunny in Lancashire. I'm not pulling your leg either. I was aroused (in more ways than one) at about 10.30. Pete M, Michelle, John (Grady) and I were lying in a line on a strange sitting room floor underneath one solitary blanket. I felt fresh and awake and John was cheery but Michelle never regained consciousness. Pete was dead to the world too. Sue and Pete are the hardy type, well used to this lifestyle by now. Tea, toast and hysterics followed, and then John took us on a walk around the local rubbish tip (littered with contraceptives, I might add), whilst the hostess, Kathleen, cleared up the devastation.

At 12 we found a pub again and supped and made merry for a couple of hours. Laughed about the events of last night. I met a delightful young lady who helped me to sing tracks from the 'Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band' LP by the Beatles after which we sat in one another's arms on the settee covered by a warm, concealing continental quilt. Quite bliss, don't you think? Well, it would have been but for one slight flaw. The woman in question was married, and what's more her husband was sitting in the very same room scowling and shooting disapproving looks at the pair of us. Anyway, I sat next to the pair of them in the pub this afternoon and the husband was very friendly with me. I think the young lady had no idea what happened last night. She was so gone.

From here we found one of those hideous Kentucky Fried Chicken places where more hilarity followed. I called Michelle 'Pinky' and invited her to join the others when they come over to see us in a few weeks time.

Sue, Pete, Chris, Pete M and I left for home at about 4.30 and half way home we encountered the fog once again. The weather was ghastly at home.

Just watched TV tonight. Tony phoned.

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Saturday October 15, 1977

Foggy still and at breakfast we had a heated argument on the subject of whether we should still go to see John (Grady) in Rawtenstall if the weather continues. How depressing.

I just sat and stared glumly out of the window in the afternoon with the record player singing away in the background, and by tea time it was much more clear.

At 6.30 we went to collect Chris and Pete M at Horsforth. The journey to Lancashire took just an hour and Mr Mather attempted to break the world land speed record, I fear.

with Noel Pilling and John Grady.

John (Grady) was nothing but pure madness from the moment of our arrival. What's more he is now endowed with a beard. Joined by his friends Gary, Steve and Charlie and a few others and we went for a few drinks and on to the 21st birthday party of one of his friends. Drank pils lager and did a bit of punk rock dancing. I was immediately impressed by a girl called Michelle with shaggy blond hair and tight pink jeans. We left here at 10. It was sad because it all the signs of being an excellent party.

On to the Angels at Burnley. A hot, crowded place, but great fun. It's unbelievable the number of women John is acquainted with - most of them very good looking too. Met Noel and his fiance Karen, who says she met me at Manchester Airport after the holiday but of course I don't remember a thing. Sue and Pete got on well with them all which was good. At 1.30 we returned to the party where the remaining survivors were fantastically pissed-up. We danced and joked until dawn. Hylda Baker made an appearance.

Vodka and Pomagne was the 'in drink' in our set. The highlight of the session came at about 4.30am when Michelle removed her blouse and sat about in her sexy black bra and wonderfully tight pink trousers. Oh how I love drunk women! The way they slur their speech and loll in that appealing manner. It was just too much for John and I. We laughed until daylight.

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Friday October 14, 1977

Fog. Deep, deep fog. Sue, Pete and I went to the Fox & Hounds at 8 o'clock where we were joined by Chris and Pete M, Martyn and Tony. ____________.Chris was incredibly cheerful. He told us he's joining Sue, Pete and I on our trip to Rawtenstall tomorrow. The more the merrier. That's a dictum to which I strongly adhere myself. Chris told me that Carole is ill in hospital with kidney trouble again. She had a similar illness of similar proportions when she was 12  or 13. I will post her a 'get well' card.

Because of the weather I had no desire at all to go trailing over the county in search of females or more drink, and so when the lads left at 10.15 I told them I was staying with Sue & Pete. In fact we had a very good night at the Fox - a place which I previously had no love for at all.

Home after 11. Mum says Bing Crosby is dead. He collapsed whilst playing golf in Spain. Elvis, Marc Bolan and now Mr Crosby.

Watched the film 'Billy Liar' on TV. Ghastly.

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Thursday October 13, 1977

The delights of Sarah this evening once again. We played squash at the usual time after devouring far too much food at Delia's. She is terrible at over-feeding me.

Princess Margaret: peach

At lunchtime Sarah and I joined a crowd outside the Leeds Civic Hall and saw the arrival of Princess Margaret who came to a lunch with William Hudson, the Guiseley-born Lord Mayor. The princess looked marvellous. Just like a tiny peach and graceful as a swan. I fail to see how anybody can say she is 'dumpy' or 'fat'.

After squash we went to the Commercial. We discussed marriage again and our different relationships. ______. We also talked about work and I said I cannot last out at the YP for much longer. The money is diabolical and I point out it would be impossible for me to be married, have children and a house and remain in employment with the ridiculous newspaper. She agreed and says how sad it is that I cannot be given the opportunity of to stay with the company on a decent wage.

Back at Pine Tops for 10.30 where Sarah showed Mum four or five of her pots. She left them with us so that Mum can decide which one she prefers. I have a sneaking suspicion that dear Mama will keep them all.

Bed with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' again. It was pay day today, folks.

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Wednesday October 12, 1977

Dad was on Radio Leeds at 7.45 this morning (live) and throughout the Empire many millions of his followers sat grouped around tiny wireless sets to listen to his words of wisdom. I suppose you could liken him to Neville Chamberlain really.

PC 1656.

I went to Leeds with him and was in the office by 7.20. Bloody hell it was still dark. Mind you, I suppose that is how my forefathers started the working day.

I phoned Mum before lunch and she played a tape recording of dear Papa's speech down the receiver to me. He sounded quite good.

Did nothing but watch television this evening. Saw Penelope Keith and Richard Briers in Part II of 'The Norman Conquests'. Miss Keith ought to be made a Dame at the earliest opportunity because she's of the Edith Evans ilk without a doubt.

Dame Penelope?

To bed after 11 with 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. Dumas is excellent and I think I will have to tackle 'The Three Musketeers' series next. It seems quite ridiculous, doesn't it?

I must keep an eye on The Times and indeed the dear YP for signs of my brilliant letter. I do hope it will be published because they will be among the first organs to complain when Master/Miss Phillips is romping around on Her Majesty's knee without even a humble 'Honourable' prefixed before his/her name.

(By the way - I'm willing to bet you anything that the infant royal baby will be MALE. The last occasion in that august family when the first-born child was a daughter occurred on April 21, 1926, and that child is now the Queen).

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Tuesday October 11, 1977

I wrote to the Times and the YP on the matter of Princess Anne's baby and it's title, or rather lack of it, when it comes into the world. I suggest doing what King Edward VII did in 1905 (see Diary, Saturday April 9, 1977). No doubt Mr Rees-Mogg and John Edwards will cast my mail sneeringly into the waste paper baskets of their respective offices. At least it cannot be said that I have neglected the plight of what can only be referred to, at this stage, as Master or Miss Phillips.

Edith & Ernest

Edith and Ernest came over at some frightfully early hour to 'sample' the wine. Lynn and Sue departed to bed quite early leaving Mum, Dad and I with them. I haven't laughed quite so much for at least 24 hours. Ernest told us, at great length, of how his great-uncle, Edwin Fletcher, founded the Provident Clothing Company. Edith cried with laughter throughout and it proved so infectious that we all followed suit. Do not ask what is so funny about Edwin Fletcher and the Provident Clothing Co, because I doubt whether I can enlighten you one bit. Ernest also told this tale to one of his arch-snobby neighbours further down the lane (whose husband is currently involved with the above mentioned company) and she retorted: "Oh, so your must be related to the Waddiloves". Ernest turned purple and demanded to know just where the Waddilove family come into the tale, but the neighbour changed the subject to the latest Princess Margaret story.

The two Es departed at 12 like Cinderellas (pissed ones) and Mum and I had a furious row which resembled 'Vimy Ridge' proportions. I adjourned, nay retreated, to my room with 'The Count of Monte Cristo'.

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