Friday March 3, 1978

Christine and I were supposed to have a mad evening fling at Oakwood Hall but I'm told Philip H is taking her out instead.  I phoned CB at 2 and we were both miserable about our humourless, forthcoming weekend, but it can't be helped. Instead, we may go next Thursday.

At lunchtime Eileen and I went to the Ostlers for a quick one. She doesn't touch alcohol now that she's on a crash diet, but nobody deters me from my pint of lager. Eileen is having a 21st birthday party on May 28, and so it's going to be a proper battle in the library to get the day off on May 29.

To the alcoholic refreshment this evening.  My friends do not inspire me one bit. ________________.

Mustique: Princess Margaret and Lady Lichfield.

Have I mentioned Princess Margaret and Roddy Llewellyn recently? The royal couple are scorching themselves on the island of Mustique, no doubt discussing plans for the future. The princess at the Earl of Snowdon have been separated for 2 years this month and can be divorced forthwith. The camera-mad earl is enraptured with Lucy Lindsay-Hogg, his assistant, and some newspapers say they want to settle down. Things however are very different for Margaret. If she wished to marry Roddy then a constitutional crisis could easily occur. The Queen's consent is required and I'm sure Dr Cobweb, the Archbishop of Canterbury, won't like it. Once again, my sympathy goes out to the poor sovereign lady to whom we all look for guidance.

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Thursday March 2, 1978

Moon's last quarter 08.34

Something of a chaotic day. At 2:30 I took my library books back and then went to see Carole. She is having horrid tests in the morning but seems quite happy and in good spirits. A nurse from Ward 26, who befriended Carole when she was hospitalised before Christmas, thinks I've been away on a winter holiday. Two minutes of sun-ray treatment and I'm bronzed and rippling all over. Afterwards, at about 3, Carole saw me to the door in her carpet slippers. ___________.

Mrs Troubridge: RC divorcee.

The EP have a story that Prince Michael of Kent and Marie-Christine Troubridge have visited the Archbishop of Canterbury recently no doubt to discuss the royal marriage question. Mrs Troubridge is a Roman Catholic divorcee and so you can imagine the mutterings that are going on in the corridors of Buckingham Palace. Our poor, desolate, over worked sovereign must surely be at her wits end over cousin Michael's papist diversion. However, they should allow the boy to do the decent, honest thing.

This evening the only diversion was a slide show and wine party, with Ernest giving a talk on Wharfedale. The Blackwells came at 8 and the Nasons at 9. Dave was here as 'odd job' man. The films were over by 10:30 followed by a booze up and a typical Rhodes political discussion took place. I was attacked when I said cigarettes and drink are no less drugs than LSD. The furore resembled the evacuation of Dunkirk. Ern offers to teach me Greek, German or Italian. Edith was very drunk and quite rude, especially to Mum. They left at 2-ish and I cleared everything up and returned the lounge to it's former glory. I'm in bed at 3:00am.

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Wednesday March 1, 1978

St David (Wales)

Carole phoned this morning to ask if I intended visiting her today, but pressure of work deterred me. I told her I will go at 2 tomorrow. Tonight I compiled a letter to her and I will deliver it by hand tomorrow.

This evening I saw Marita again in Leeds and she brought me to Rawdon, and from there I completed my journey to Guiseley on foot. I should walk more often and perhaps I would be more fit to consume the vast meals that await me on my arrival home. I had a good talk with Marita about winning a fortune which was interesting. She doesn't approve of my dream of buying a Rolls-Royce Corniche,  even if after a £50,000 win on the Premium Bonds.

Christine phoned and suggested a visit to Oakwood Hall with her, Philip H and a work-mate called Marion, on Friday. I said yes even though my finances will be revoltingly low. This Marion may be a bit of alright, but on the other hand she may be ghastly. It's a risk all desperate bachelors like me have to take. To look on the bright side, no friend of Christine's could possibly be ugly.

At home we had great excitement. Peter brought a sun-ray lamp, heater, call it what you will, and we all had a 2 minute session underneath it. My face was tingling and Mum seems to think I've 'caught my cheeks' but somehow I feel sceptical about these gadgets. By 11 we had all had a go except Lynn, who was abed. According to the instructions, after 10 days treatment we'll all be nicely tanned. Bed at 11:30 with a drink and a copy of 'The Times'.

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Tuesday February 28, 1978

I'm not feeling very communicative, to be honest, but for your benefit I'll try to say something of interest.

A letter from dear Jacq awaits my attention. Blimey, she's done another Emily Bronte job. I'm considering bequeathing her mail to the British Museum after I've done with it.

Poor Uncle Jack (Myers) has been in hospital for treatment to his bowel, according to Auntie Mabel, but no further information is forthcoming. I've been thinking of writing to cousin Jackie but stop myself at the last minute. _____________.

Tonight I retired to bed at 11 with 'Sir Percy Hits Back' by old Mrs Orczy and let me state from the outset that the old dear has become increasingly dull over the past few weeks. 'I Will Repay' was excellent, but each novel in the Pimpernel series sinks lower in my estimation as I move down the line. That's my opinion. Anyway, I think the books are intended for 12 year-olds.



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Monday February 27, 1978

Hello people. Another bright, Spring like day with singing sparrows and all the usual band waggon.

Carole phoned me at the YP to say she's in Ward 11 of the (Leeds General) Infirmary. I'd forgotten she was going in this morning. At 2:30 I went to see her. She isn't remotely ill-looking and chats away in her famous style. She says she loathes __________. She wasn't wearing an engagement ring but I saw it concealed under the pillow of her bed! When I left she escorted me to the Town Hall (Yep, they even let her out into the streets).

Marita saw me on Wellington St and brought me to Guiseley. She's having something done with her car at Senior Smith's.

Steel: foul smelling.

John made a fleeting call this evening. He and Maria are going to Michelle's party on Saturday. ______.

Susie cut my hair tonight. She's done a great job and once again I look almost semi-Punk. It looks good, I can tell you.

Edith and Ernest didn't get the cottage in Devon but are definitely going to go south this year. Sad, eh?

Dad's been strange tonight. He looks pale. He's terribly out of shape. Fat and out of breath. Quiet too.

Saw the obnoxious David Steel MP on BBC1. He really is a sly, foul smelling being.

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Sunday February 26, 1978

3rd Sunday in Lent.

Edith and Ernest are going to live near their son, Kenneth in Devon. Isn't this awful? My best adoptive grandparents are deserting me for clotted cream, and all that. Mum immediately blanks out the sad details but says: "wouldn't it be nice to buy number 54?" I agree. The Blackwells live in a detached house which must be worth £22,000 and within months (after considerable alteration) could be worth as much as £30,000. Dad, as usual, is pessimistic and sceptical.

Margaret: 'ugly'

Ernest, looking at our Sunday Mirror, says Princess Margaret is 'ugly' and 'looks 60'. Never! Just because the dear thing's gone off to Mustique again (yesterday) with Mr Llewellyn Ernest is following the establishment tradition of 'blackening' her name. She is, and no doubt always will be, a very attractive woman, and her sexual appetite, whether it is for Welsh pop singing gentry or not, should be of no concern to peasants such as us. As long as HRH continues to dish out the honorary degrees, snip the ribbons, and make the speeches then she is fulfilling her intended role.

I did nothing all day but eat and roll around in the lounge. At 9 I went with Mum and Dad to Edith & Ernest's where we watched 'Anne of a Thousand Days' ~ a story very roughly based on Anne's Boleyn's brief association with King Henry VIII. Richard Burton made a very unimpressive monarch.

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Saturday February 25, 1978

Sun rises 6:55 Sun sets 17:33

A very historic Saturday. I was out of bed at a late hour and after a slight breakfast of ham and eggs (Ahem!) I thrust myself down to 69, Silverdale Drive. A thinning Maria and unbelievably robust nephew made me frightfully welcome, so much so that I almost felt that Yuletide was once again upon us. At 3, or maybe 3:30 Carole and Fogarty came with a skateboard. (Yes, the poor boy is obviously retarded). I find the lad annoying and acutely immature and when they left at 4 I offered up a sigh of relief. Carole was nice though, and told me she is going back into the LGI on Monday for eight days. I sympathised but didn't say much. Fogarty's revolting personality deadened the occasion. In fact, I just sat and mused.

When they had gone Maria, JPH and I (with me in control of the perambulator) wheeled into Guiseley and bought pounds of smelly wet fish which baby looked after in his vehicle. It began to rain on a Noah's Ark scale and by good fortune we collided with Daddy, who put us in his car and brought us to Pine Tops.

The boy (JPH) is a comedian. He's still calling me Mick. He finds Michael impossible. They left at 7:00 and I played around (this is the historic bit) with a pair of jeans converting them into shorts for the holiday in July! a) No, I'm not having a brainstorm, b) yes, I did stay in on a Saturday night, and c) Goodnight.

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