Lovely Spring day - all sunshine and cool breezes. The EP certainly has a shock in store for us all this evening. The front page is splattered with silly rumours of a possible divorce between Princess Margaret and the Earl of Snowdon. Utter poppycock! We are all aware that the princess and Tony lead separate existences, but divorce is out of the question. The sister of the Queen of England would be unable to divorce and remain in line to the Crown - and the annuity would be out straight away. Let's face it - Tony is a Casanova and always will be - his current mistress is the notorious Lady Harlech, and his infatuation with Lady Jackie Rufus-Isaacs is a known thing. Evidently, the princess is still in the far flung reaches of the West Indies where she winters on herv own little island with the middle-aged heir of Lord Glenconner.
Driving lesson at 6.30 - quite good. Lynn and I go to the CW at 7.30 - I sit with Sue watching tv and chatting about old times until 10. The baby is fabulous - not at all like either parents. He was just how I imagined he would be. Tucked up in his own room surrounded by millions of cuddly elephantsand Teddy bears - completely spoilt. Home at 10.30.
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20090606
Sunday March 17, 1974
3rd in Lent. St Patrick's Day. Out of bed at 12.30 - which is really 11.30 because we altered the clocks at 2am. Truly pathetic. Why should we always be messing about with the precious time I don't know. It seems so wasteful. I've been robbed of an hour.
Nothing much happens today - only the horrid political situation. Mr Heath and Uncle Jeremy all planning to destroy old Wilson tomorrow, and the tv people are getting excited about the possibilities of a constitutional 'nasty'. All the news bulletins are saying the same thing. What will the Queen do with Mr Wilson? Will she send for all the party leaders and let them fight it out at the palace? Quite tiresome really. Anyway, Her Majesty is far away from Buckingham Palace at this moment in time. Indonesia actually. No doubt she'll have to fly back from the clammy temperatures of wherever she is to pat little Harold on the head and say: 'Now then, what's all this then?'
Billy Don't be a Hero by Paper Lace.
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Nothing much happens today - only the horrid political situation. Mr Heath and Uncle Jeremy all planning to destroy old Wilson tomorrow, and the tv people are getting excited about the possibilities of a constitutional 'nasty'. All the news bulletins are saying the same thing. What will the Queen do with Mr Wilson? Will she send for all the party leaders and let them fight it out at the palace? Quite tiresome really. Anyway, Her Majesty is far away from Buckingham Palace at this moment in time. Indonesia actually. No doubt she'll have to fly back from the clammy temperatures of wherever she is to pat little Harold on the head and say: 'Now then, what's all this then?'
Billy Don't be a Hero by Paper Lace.
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Saturday March 16, 1974
Grandfather John Wilson born 1890. Very quiet Saturday really. Awake at 9.30 when I should have been at work at 9 o'clock. Give the YP a ring and Anne laughs at my plight. Arrive in Leeds at 10 o'clock and do all my work by 12. Home exhausted at nearly 1. Do absolutely nothing until evening.
Up to the Emmotts at 8. Peter Mather and Chris, not forgetting Andy - and not one female. Haven't seen Christine W for weeks. Peter is in high spirits and poor Chris is the the butt of his sharp, sarcastic humour. We all go on to the Malt Shovel at Menston where it is unbearably hot and smoky - we all leave after only a few beers and Andy makes up his mind he wants fish and chips from Harry Ramsden's - we all go. I loathe the ruddy place and prepare to make a quick exit, but John had to have his fun unscrewing the salt shaker - so that poor, innocdent Chris ended up with a ton of salt on his scrappy chips - terrible they were as well - 22p. We all deide to call it any early night and Pete drops me and J at home.
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Up to the Emmotts at 8. Peter Mather and Chris, not forgetting Andy - and not one female. Haven't seen Christine W for weeks. Peter is in high spirits and poor Chris is the the butt of his sharp, sarcastic humour. We all go on to the Malt Shovel at Menston where it is unbearably hot and smoky - we all leave after only a few beers and Andy makes up his mind he wants fish and chips from Harry Ramsden's - we all go. I loathe the ruddy place and prepare to make a quick exit, but John had to have his fun unscrewing the salt shaker - so that poor, innocdent Chris ended up with a ton of salt on his scrappy chips - terrible they were as well - 22p. We all deide to call it any early night and Pete drops me and J at home.
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Friday March 15, 1974
My half-day again. At 12 I leave Leeds for Rawdon where I intend to entertain Christine, who celebrates her 18th birthday tomorrow. I sat on the upper deck of the 33 laughing to myself at the thought of Christine's face when she sees the hideous present I've got for her. But still, not many people receive whales for 18th birthday presents. Arrive at BP at 12.30. Give Christine her whale at 12.45 - she quite likes it - much to everyones amusement. How I managed to last out in that horrid place I will never know. Left at 1.30 just in time to get the 55 bus. Home in 30 minutes.
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