Wednesday December 11, 1974

James II abdicated 1688. An absolutely perishing day. By the way things are going I forsee Bing Crosby's dream about a white Christmas coming true.

Eileen and I go shopping at lunchtime. We drift around the centre of town in agonising cold and get fish and chips from a little place near the Corn Exchange. Come back to the YP after an hour and with nothing to show for it.

Pleasant afternoon with Sarah. It certainly seems ages since we were in bed together that night at the Johnson residence - and our relationship is degenerating into a mediocre sort of thing. May have better luck with her at Christmas.

38 years ago today King Edward VIII renounced the throne, in order to have his way with Wallis Simpson. Every other book published this year is either on the subject of the Duke of Windsor or the Royal Family since 1917.

A rumpus in the Press about the Prince of Wales spotted at an X-certificate film 'Percy's Progress' at a London cinema. His Royal Highness is reported to have told the usherette that he had 'enjoyed it very much'. And we are all informed that he devoured an ice-cream in the interval. The film deals with a man who has had a penis transplant, and is a follow-up to 'Percy' a good film of a few years ago. A cartoon in the Daily Mail this morning implies that Mary Whitehouse wants a referendum on the monarchy, following this plebian act by our beloved heir.

John and I go to the Hare & Hounds with Mum & Dad, where we consume an excessive amount of alcohol. Following this we move on to the White Horse at Burley-in-Wharfedale, where cousin Dorothy resides. Unfortunately, she's having a night off, and we spend the last hour supping ale.

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Tuesday December 10, 1974

Edward VIII abdicated 1936. Long day at the YP but enjoyable. As I came back from lunch Janice 'the Formidable' Beaumont, was on the phone from hospital announcing that she'd been delivered of a daughter yesterday morning. Sarah was thrilled to bits, but I can't raise any excitement at Mrs Beaumont's bundle of news. Janice was a bitch, and I can't say I miss her at all.

Meet Lynn and Alison on the bus and we are caught up in a hail storm on Hawksworth Lane. Have liver for tea and then do absolutely nothing for the remainder of the evening.

Whilst shopping in Leeds today I saw a good book entitled 'The Royal House of Windsor'. I'd love to start a book collection. In fact I'm more than tempted. I also got a new diary for next year. Sarah says she's kept a diary since the age of 9. You all know now that I write very little of interest here, but I keep a constant and cronological flow at least. As I've said before I'm no Samuel Pepys.

The YP and I had something in common this morning. An article quoted King Farouk from 1951 saying it was gradually becoming a true fact. I quoted King Farouk yesterday on the same subject of declining and toppling thrones. Clever boy, Michael. Clever boy.

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Monday December 9, 1974

The morning papers carry a sad story indeed. It seems that the Greeks don't want King Constantine and Queen Anne-Marie back in their rightful place on the Hellenic throne. A referendum held last week shows that the majority are in favour of a republic. Obnoxious it all is. A sad day for monarchists everywhere. The crown in Ethiopia is even more insecure. The imperial family there are being executed right, left and centre, and fears for the life of the tiny emperor, Haile Selassie, are growing. Two thrones collapsing in one year is too sad. The late King Farouk of Egypt told Lord Boyd-Orr in 1951 that 'soon there will be only five kings left. The Kings of Hearts, Diamonds, Clubs and Spades, and the King of England.'

YP all day. Kathleen is better tempered after the weekend. Don't do pictures at all, and just do cuttings. Much more pleasant.

Denny rings at 4.30 to say she is finishing with Adrian tonight because he is being cowardly about the dinner dance.

The Sunday Express yesterday said that the Prince of Wales continues to visit Lady Jane Wellesley at her Fulham home - disguised beneath a false black beard.

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Sunday December 8, 1974

2nd in Advent. A quick day, and it seemed to grow dark very suddenly before the afternoon had even begun. See a rotten 1939 film on TV and listen to the usual radio programmes in the bath.

John goes out with the Denby Twins in their van and ends up at the Cow & Calf until 12. I get a 55 bus which brings back memories of my love affair with Miss Bottomley, and go to the Emmotts where I'm joined by Denny and Marita. Marita has changed her image again - and is no longer endowed with a head of curls. Nevertheless she looks quite stunning. We sit about looking bored and talking about the events of 1974. Marita says I don't look my usual self, and says I need a good romance to cheer me up. That's all I need! Denny says that Adrian is a hypercondriac and a failure. They're going for a meal tomorrow but she says I can take his place because he's in London and 'with a bit of luck won't be back in time', unquote. She also amused me by saying he is a surveyor, but doesn't think 'he could survey a rice pudding'. Back to Marita's where I inspect my landscape framed on her bedroom wall. A great honour for me indeed. Home and about 11 and have supper with Auntie Hilda and Uncle Tony, Jill and Diane. Jill is becoming_______.

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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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