Saturday December 7, 1974

YP until 4. Doesn't feel like a Saturday at all. The papers are full of the 'plane crash in Rawdon last night, in which eight men died. I wondered what all the fuss was as I passed through Rawdon. Never seen so many ambulances in one place at once.

Kathleen had a go at me this morning about doing a days' work! I sit biting my tongue because if anyone does two days work in one day it's Mr Bloody Michael Bloody Rhodes!

Do filing till 4, then attempt to get a bus home, which I do successfully at 5.30. All the buses are packed out and I don't fancy having to use West Yorkshire transport after my pass expires on Dec 21. It's back to the trains for me.

Dog tired on my arrival at Pine Tops and sleep in the chair whilst the TV moans miserably in the background. John, Lynn and Dave Baker go with the crowd to Philip Cartwright's annual Conservative Christmas orgy - attended by the Right Honourable Giles Shaw, MP no less.

I see a film with Mum and Dad and sit with a glass of horrid sherry and a packet of Polish cigs. Bed at about 12. Makes a changing staying within the precincts of ones own home.

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Friday December 6, 1974

Birth of Henry VI, 1421. Don't want to write too much. Did all the usual Friday ritual. Hare & Hounds, then the Commercial, and finally Wikis. Altogether pleasant and get slightly fresh on the lager. I still haven't reverted to drinking bitter, and I do not intend to. Campari remains a favourite though.

See Helen Willis at Wikis. She's had her hair cut in a ridiculous style. John and I walked home at 2. Freezing cold but very exilerating.

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Thursday December 5, 1974

Busy day. The bloody telephone didn't cease ringing all day. Nothing of interest to say, but I must say something because it's hardly proper to leave blank pages when ones diary is to consitute a major contribution to the historical, social, and literary knowledge of this, the 20th century. OK, we all agree I'm no Samuel Pepys, or John Evelyn or even 'Chips' Channon, but what do you expect from a comprehensive school educated creature who never set foot in Harrow or had Princess Marina for a godmother?

See TV and Monty Python. Nothing of vital interest. So I'll be saying goodnight to you all. I write this journal as though I'm addressing a party of OAPs at the local Darby & Joan. But it's not my fault.

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Wednesday December 4, 1974

Back to work. Not a very cheerful day. Kathleen says I can leave pictures for good after the weekend and move in with Sarah on cuttings -very cosy I should think.

Celebrate Carol Smith's birthday at the Hare & Hounds. Denny comes too which is a lovely little surprise. Carol gets quite intoxicated because everyone bought her drinks until closing time. I wear my old cheese-cloth shirt which Sarah has dyed a nice brown colour for me, and a blue and white 'Gatsby' style jacket. Denny and I sit listlessly by the juke box and have little do with the others. She tells me mouth-watering tales about______and we talk about a possible weekend orgy in a London hotel, &c.

Home with Chris at 11 where we have a birthday kissing session outside in the cold, wintry night air. Christine White had her share of 'snogs' (a quaint word) too. Mum is sitting in bed going on and on about the patchouli oil. Will it ever end.

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Tuesday December 3, 1974

Another good day. To Stratford-upon-Avon with Barbara, Serena, Mike Jenns, John Kirk, and Dave in the Lawson-mobile of course. The girls were horribly drunk and ploughed into a bus queue of old ladies outside a nice Shakespearian inn. Three old women died and seven were later reported 'serious but stable' in a Stratford mortuary.

A fantastic laugh it all was. Dave and I purchased a couple of pheasants and we carried them with pride through the streets. Had a few drinks before being kicked out at 2.30. Messed about near the river and took several photos.

How happy I have been this year. My entries for Dec 1973 are a painful experience. Moping for June Bottomley was a pathetic saga which dragged on for months. I was upset and depressed but subjecting you to the boring, heart-rending details was a mistake never to be repeated.

Home at 10.30 after travelling for three hours. Barbara is a darling, though she doesn't know that I know that she's a darling. Such a darling.

At home Mum starts nagging about the patchouli oil, and goes on and on...Oh for the solitude of Worcester.

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Monday December 2, 1974

A lovely drunken day. At lunchtime Dave suggests that we, and some others, should go to a pub which is about 2 miles along the River Severn, walking there of course. Dave, Mike Jenns, John Lessor, John Kirk and I go. To our horror we discover on our arrival the bakers' are preventing our consumption of sandwiches, due to the silly strike they're having. We struggle to survive on bags of crisps and Mars bars. Play darts until after 3, and drinks lots of home brewed cider. Coming back is a good deal more difficult. The mud seems twice as deep, and so does the river. Dave starts a friendly fight with John Kirk and it degenerates into a filthy mud bath and we all arrive back at college in a filthy, muddy state. I bring back a massive branch of mistletoe, which causes soemthing of a sensation in the female channels of the college.

After tea Wizard reads my fortune in some cards he frequently dabbles with. I agree with Barbara when she says that Wizard pretends he knows more about the cards than he says, when in fact he knows no more than we do! Oh God! I don't want to write any more. I never liked doing this anyway. I always wanted to be a gynaecologist.

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Sunday December 1, 1974

Advent Sunday. Henry I, died 1135. The first of December today: a lovely month indeed.

Had a good night again but was awakened at the unearthly hour of 11.0am by Mike Jenns and Steve, or 'The Wizard' as he is known. We make the best of it, and sit about with a coffee until lunch.

After lunch, Dave, Mike Jenns, the Wizard, and his girlfriend Sabia, Barbara (swoon), Noelle, and a little horror called Caroline all go in D's car to the Malvern Hills, a beautious spot indeed. We walk a few miles to the highest peak where a memorial is dedicated commemorating the 60th anniversary of the reign on Queen Victoria. Coming down a hill in the direction of St Ann's Well, I fall flat on my back staining my jeans bright green. The water from the Malvern Hills is favoured by the Queen, who drinks no other water. We call in at a good pub where I sample the lager - I drink little else these days. Back at college, Dave, Barbara and I go into the art room where I paint a caricature of her. She and Dave were reduced to hysterics at the sight of it and lay helplessly on the floor for about half an hour. She says she will treasure it forever as a reminder of my visit. Do little else tonight. Sleeping on Dave's floor. John Lessor is good fun_____.

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Saturday November 30, 1974

St Andrew's Day. Dave and I go into breakfast with his room-mate John Lessor, and a few others. Have to pay 52p, and Dave complained about it being ridiculous.

A gorgeous little friend of David's by the name of Barbara makes herself known to me. A lovely Newcastle accent and a wavy mop of black hair give her the sexiest qualities. Extremely flat chested, but I think she's the nicest girl I've seen in months. After this breakfast, the two of us, that is Dave and I, go to Worcester, where I buy some patchouli oil, a delightful aromatic. We then drive round the little villages, stopping at a perfect pub for a few drinks, and then collect mistletoe, sprouting in profusion from all manner of woodland shrubbery. We end up in Gloucester where we potter around the shops until darkness draws us back to college for tea.
A party in Worcester at about 8. Dave and I go with Noelle, a colleague of his. Have a tremendous laugh and pinch a voluminous pair of knickers from the washing line at the pub. We later hang them in a prominent place in the Lawson boudoir. Back to college with Barbara and some others where we consume coffee until beddy byes time.

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Friday November 29, 1974

Mum wakes me at 9. I feel upset about the incident on the phone last night. Only one person's ever slammed the receiver down on me before and that was Judith B, not one of the nicest characters to have crossed my path in these nineteen and a half years on earth. Never would I have imagined Mum doing the same thing. She had a good cry too, which chokes me. It isn't many years since I would have been sobbing along with her. People who cry have that effect one me. She says little about my visit, and doesn't pursue the matter when I say that I am going. The bloody car refuses to move, and so Mum has to walk to work. Standing at the kitchen window watching the lovely little lady - the greatest woman on earth -disappear down the lane, in the cold frost, in order to earn a living so that I can live in the best of comfort. 'Greater Love Hath No Woman...'
Get the suitcase out of the loft and prepare for this trip - almost reluctantly after all this pressure. Get a bus to Leeds where I bump into Kathleen on Wellington Street. Get a ticket and leave for Birmingham. A really hilarious bird shares my compartment with her kids - common as Hell but so funny. The train breaks down near Sheffield and we seem to be hanging around for absolutely ages. Change trains at Brum and arrive at (Worcester) college just before 8. Dave is surprised to see me and didn't expect me for a hour and a half. Bump into a few good guys and settle down straight away. Go to a party on the campus where free drink is to be had. Back to a room at about 12 and sleep comfortably.

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Thursday November 28, 1974

A dreadful day. Don't work until 5, but am glad to go after listening to poor Mum's attempts to disuade me from going to Worcester. David sent his student pass in the morning post and family pressure made me realise it would be an evil, criminal act to impersonate a biology student for purposes of robbing British Railways of a couple of quid. Nevertheless, I see the reason behind my not using the pass. Possible jail sentences and large fines being the main factors.

At about 9 this evening at work I ring home and speak to Mum. She says she and Dad don't want me to go______. The money also came under fire. Who do they think I am? Aristotle Onassis? I think that £15 cash and a bottomless supply in the Barclaycard department is adequate for four days in the heart of the West Midlands suburbia. Home at 12.30 and go straight to bed.

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Wednesday November 27, 1974

Nice day at work. Mess around all afternoon with Sarah. I do a spot of research after being reminded that Sarah is descended from Oliver Cromwell. She says that her mother's family stems from the marriage of General Henry Ireton and Bridget Cromwell, who were married in the midst of the Civil War. Sarah is quite thrilled when I inform her that the Duchess of Kent is a great-great-great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter of the same Mr Cromwell. You may well remember that not long ago I was forever tarnishing the Royal House of Kent in a derogatory and cruel way. The poor duchess of that noble line doesn't deserve any of the nasty insinuations I have levelled against her over these months. Never again will I be so childish to say such things.

See in the morning papers that the Earl of Lichfield is not to remain the gay bachelor we all imagined he would. It seems that Lady Leonora Grosvenor, daughter of the Duke of Westminster, is the lucky, and extremely wealthy bride-to-be. Sarah was most down-hearted that he was out of the running. She fancied herself as Lady Lichfield. Not that she's ever met his Lordship...

The buses home are hours late again. Don't get in until 6.30. Still no word from Worcester. I'd hate to have to pay the full train fare when it would only rush me £3 with Dave's pass. Well, that's life I suppose. On the whole it's been a terrible day. Hail, rain, bloody wind, and more bloody wind being the prominent factors involved.

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