Sunday February 23, 1975

2nd in Lent. Up at 11.00am. See in the Sunday papers that the revolting Communist rag The Morning Star is in possession of certain papers, government papers too, relating to the personal share holdings of the Queen and other members of the Royal Family. The poor Queen will be distraught with grief. This country makes me sick. The shear lack of decency and manners shown by the Press emphasises too much the need for censorship, and interrogation and torture of all newspaper editors, and the need for certain people, who shall be nameless, to go down to the headquarters of certain annonymous socialist newspapers and reduce them to nothing more than rubble and ashes. May the Morning Star and all who serve in her be eternally damned. Amen.

Chicken for lunch, and then in keeping with the traditional Sunday afternoon we all go and sit listening to the Jimmy Savile programme on the radio. Don't really know what's going on tonight. John of course is going off to the Hare with Naomi, and Chris has mentioned the pictures, but I'm on the verge of bankruptcy at this moment in time, but I'd rather not discuss anything involving financial topics.

Before tea I cut John's hair. Yes, he finally decided to hand it all over to the National Trust, and I am sure that the national will be eternally grateful. John and Naomi go out, but I stay in with Mum. Sue is at Peter's and Lynn and Dave are at the pictures. Come to bed at about 12.30 after seeing a Bridget Bardot film. John created a sensation with his hair in the pub, and says the general opinion of the gang was a favourable one.

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Saturday February 22, 1975

Don't climb from 'neath the sheets until 12.05. Take a liberal breakast (not Jeremy Thorpe on toast) then John suggests a trip in the ailing car. We go up to Yeadon, but don't stop, and rocket in the direction of Otley. On our arrival at the place of Thomas Chippendale's birth we seek solace in the Black Bull, a homely ale house of little ostentation, with friendly, genial locals. Only consume one pint each before venturing home.

We spend the remainder of the afternoon with Sue & Pete in the lounge playing a selection of records old and new. Mum in the meantime attempts to bake cakes in the kitchen, and we only realise at tea time to what extent she went to make such a vile creation. If you'd seen the cake you'd certainly realise I'm not exaggerating.

At about 7 I departed to the bathroom with a pair of nail scissors and a mirror. Half an hour later I emerged with a new hair-style - semi-short and shaggy, but quite good really considering.

To the Hare & Hounds again. Dave is home again and once more in our midst. So we were garaunteed an eventful evening. John, Naomi, Andy, Linda, Peter Mather, Carol and her latest friend went to Rockerfellas leaving the remaining people in the Hare until nearly 11. Dave goes off to Mick Orchard's at 11, saying he'll sdee us in two weeks, and the remaining chosen few come back to Pine Tops to see a pathetic film, 'The Reptile'. Bed at 1.30am.

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Friday February 21, 1975

Cold day at work. The conversion men having moved in have stopped all the heating in the place, and the sound of many knees knocking together simultaneously with the unnerving chatter of teeth and dentures has created a worrying atmosphere. However, the cold has given one and all the impetus to run round the office, and we completed all the filing in record time.

To the Hare & Hounds with Naomi, Christine and Chris, not forgetting John, that is after a chase round Horsforth and a quick one in the Fleece. Went to Christine's to pick her up and sat with her Mum & Dad for 10 minutes. A nice couple, with the Braithwaite humour stamped all over them.

The gang move on to Wikis as usual, and I pass a pleasant but uneventful evening. Marian is nowehere to be seen, and Gillian is flaunting one of her spare gentleman friends. Home at 2.30 in the usual style and after taking the two C's back to Horsforth. Sleep soundly.

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Thursday February 20, 1975

Eileen and I go to the Central for lunch again. I say 'again' because we did the same thing last Thursday, but that seems to have been missed from these historic pages. Swill down a few pints of lager before moving reluctantly back to the YP.

Chaos reigned this morning. Evidently, the Dowager Lady Mowbray, Segrave & Stourton saw fit to do herself in last night, and alas, no photos of the obscure, highly neglected lady are to be found in our files. The newsdesk and Donald Futrell went berserk, but calmness was dispersed by our beloved leader, Miss Rainford.

Us librarians are getting sick of the quiet and the cold, which we are forced to endure while workmen install new air conditioning in the press hall. Will we survive until May. Wait and see.

At 8.30 John and I go to Gillian's for a beer and record session (nothing else either). Have one glass of Dad's home brew concoction, then decide not to bother with any more. Listen to the Monty Python LP (mine) and a bit of Bowie's 'Diamond Dogs'. Gillian gets even worse, and I'm going to have to make it clear that a) I'm not going to sleep with her, and b) marry her, or c) buy her the Smirnoff Vodka Company. Home at 12 feeling horribly tired, or incredibly bored. I expect it was the latter disease.

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Wednesday February 19, 1975

Beautiful day. A crisp morning with the sun as big as a football following us all the way to Leeds. One would hardly believe it's 93,000,000 miles away, or something equally fantastic.
Margaret Thatcher picked her shadow Cabinet yesterday. Willie Whitelaw is the deputy leader, and the repulsive Sir Geoffrey Howe is 'Chancellor'. Peter Walker and Geoffrey Rippon have received the boot, as it were, and the prodigal Reggie Maudling's been forgiven all his sin sand receives the Foreign and Commonwealth job. Definately a right wing leap for the Tories but I can't say that I disagree. The country needs a good old Churchillian party.

Go to town with Eileen at lunchtime and spend £1 on absolutely nothing. Must be a sign of the times. I can recall the days when I got one shilling and six pence a week, and on Friday I still had change in my pocket.

Prince Andrew is having another quiet birthday today. The Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh are of course out in the Bahamas; the Prince of Wales, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, and Earl Mountbatten are in Nepal for the coronation of the King; Princess Margaret is on holiday in the sun, and Lord Snowdon is working in Australia. No one to help him celebrate. I bet they've had a job finding counsellors of state. The Hon Gerald Lascelles and the late Lady Patricia Ramsay will be acting in this capacity no doubt.

To the Hare with John, Naomi and Gillian. The latter young lady certainly knows how to keep hold of someone. Just because I got carried away with her in Peter's van last Friday she thinks I ought to be infatuated for life. Not on her Nellie. Chris, Laura and (Jane's) Helen joined us. Boring really.

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Tuesday February 18, 1975

Busy day really. Kathleen and I mess around for hours with the files - shifting massive, filthy cabinets from one end of the office to the other. Quite strenuous really.

Home at 6 and debate the idea of going out or not. Decide not to bother.

Marian rings at 6.30 and says she'll pop up tonight to collect Alan's (her brother) coat, which I loaned on Sunday. She arrives on her moped at 7.15 and I make her a cup of tea and let her thaw out in front of the dining room gas fire. We chat for about half an hour and then she moves off in the direction of Yeadon. She certainly is a weird kettle of fish, but I am quite at ease with her. Not good looking at all either, except for her hair and eyes, as I've already said, but I've known some gorgeous looking birds who've been so foul characters it can't really be described. She told me that Maura and Dave (Knowles) are probably back together again.

At 10.30 John comes back in with Naomi and Gillian - talk for an hour.
Uncle Harry rang from his convalescent home tonight and Mum & Dad went out with him. Uncles are certainly a laughable bunch.

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Monday February 17, 1975

Quiet day at the YP. Do all my routine before lunch and sit with a beef and onion sandwich and 'The News of the World' after. George Best is publishing his memoirs in full sordid detail, so what with Richard Crossman it seems like an embarrassing time for certain people at the moment. Lord George-Brown and Sir Matt Busby will be particularly ruffled by these publications.

Crossman makes the Queen out to be a feeble, pathetic figure. She's always 'The poor Queen'.

A bright, sunny day. Home in the light for the first time this year. Salad for tea. Just watch TV later.

Bob Cryer, the silly MP for Keighley, is now joining Mr Hamilton in the ritual humilation of the Royal Family. He is criticising the Queen and Prince Philip's current state visit to Bermuda. 'Most people don't have the chance to get away like this', he said. I quite agree. Most people don't 'get the chance' to go on a gruelling tour, shaking 7,000,000 hands, dishing out medals, and throwing large, sweaty banquets for old diplomats, and not many people want to do this either. Mr Cryer must think the Queen is going on holiday. Another example of 'Westminster ignorance' which is reaching epidemic proportions.

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Sunday February 16, 1975

1st in Lent. Wake up on Gillian's floor at about 8.30 feeling obnoxiously cold and uncomfortable. Marian is underneath her coat next to me, and the faithful, flimsy scarfe is draped between us - the only link between us. Like an umbilical cord. Up at about 9 and we sit huddled around a gas fire. To my surprise I see that Denby and Co have gone off in the van without me. Filthy sods. My jacket was in the van and I now have no other clothing in which to venture forth on the great, perilous journey home.

Walk into Headingley, about a mile in all, then hitch a lift to Horsforth. Call in at Marian's for breakfast. A nice family - especially the mother who is quite a joker. It begins to snow, and so Mrs Read loans me the use of her son's coat for the second part of my journey. Arrange to see Marian sometime next week.

Home at 11.00. The clan are just getting up, and I join Mum for breakfast. Dad was stoned out of his mind last night at a dinner-dance in Ilkley. Dave B and John had to carry him upstairs and dump him on the bed. He was too drunken even to speak. Mum was quiet at first but laughed herself silly about it later.

Don't go out in the evening. See Richard Burton and Peter O'Toole in 'Becket' on ITV, and stagger to bed at 10.15. Tired and shagged out beyond description.

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Saturday February 15, 1975

Go with John to Otley and mess around for an hour. Come home with 'The Laughing Policeman' a really revolting record, and a box of chocolates for Motherdear. A bright sunny day, but chilly and cold.

Hear on the radio that PG Wodehouse is no longer with us. Knighted only a month ago. His death brings a 70 year career as a writer to a close. 'Lord Emsworth and Others' is the only thing I've read of his.

Chris Denby and Teale give me a lift to the Highlander in Leeds at 8. Neither of them have past a driving test, and there we were in a large Bedford van rocketing through Leeds. Meet Marian at 8.30. Really a nice girl. Not particularly good looking, but her eyes are beautifully hypnotic. Gorgeous hair too.
Back to Gillian Barker's near the university for the party. Drink gallons but feel no adverse effects. Marian is such an intellectual conversationalist. You feel as if you should always be on your guard when talking to her. She rivets the hypnotised victim to the spot and keeps throwing up morsels of geniously planned chatter. Quite unlike any other girl I've taken out.

Have no idea what time the party falls through, but Marian and I bed down on the floor in the largest room, with no warmth other than a beautiful scarfe which we share.


Laughing Policeman by Charles Jolly/Penrose

Friday February 14, 1975

St Valentine's Day. Farcical day, or perhaps I should say farcical evening.

Didn't get any Valentine's cards. John got two. Lynn had a massive thing from Dave, and so did Sue from Peter. My magnetic charm must be fading. Am I losing my sex appeal at 19 and a half?

Went to the Wellesley with Maura at lunchtime. She obviously fancies Dave still, and I suppose a reunion will take place shortly. The fool sends her telegrams,roses, and boxes of chocolates, &c.

Chris collected us at nearly 8pm and a vast multitude collected in the Hare. Gillian thingy or whatever she calls herself flung herself at me in the Hare and stuck to me all night, drinking about a quids work of vodka & lime in the process. Thrown together in the darkness near the end of Peter's van she quite naturally sought to reduce my resistence. I was in something of a quandry at about 11. Everyone said they were going to Wikis, but I realised Maura and Marian would be there. Wouldn't like to be confronted with Marian and Gillian in the beer swilling haven of our local night spot. Back to Gillian's pad with Peter M and Carol S. Stay until after 1am.
John came home at about 5.30am and didn't have a key. Woke to find him on the top of a ladder tapping on my window. Laughed myself to sleep.

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Thursday February 13, 1975

Boring day really. See television all evening including 'Top of the Pops' and a few other miserable offerings. Have a bath and tidy myself up generally. Going out on a fool-hardy venture tomorrow night. All the way to Linton in the Dales just for a few drinks! Bloody ridiculous. You know, it was that place we went to in August with the ring on the ceiling.

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