Wednesday April 23, 1975

St George's Day. It's actually still about 2.50am on the morning of April 26 so I can't deny it. However, casting my mind back to this St George's Day does create certain problems. I could quite easily say that I've forgotten what exactly occurred on this day, but in saying so I'd be wrong because I know for a fact that in the evening of this day that David, Gordon (a college pal of David's)and I went to the Camp, where he took me in Dec. for the nice sandwiches, but the bread strike prevented the participation in such a delightful grapple. (OK, you don't understand any of this, but neither do I. After all, it's nearly 3 o'clock in the morning).

As I was saying, the three of us went to the Camp after messing around at college all day, and indulged in one or two drinks and admired the guinea fowl, which looked really succulent.

Honestly, this is an unearthly hour, and I do have two days entries to fill in and so I'll be turning over the page now. Bye Bye. (Now you know just what state I'm in when coming home from Wikis.)

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Tuesday April 22, 1975

I'd be lying my soddin' head off if I was to say I was actually writing this on April 22, 1975. In fact, if you must know, it's about 2.30am on the morning of April 26. So once again, I beg forgiveness for this disgusting betrayal of journalistic rules.

Well, after safely arriving in Worcester the events of this day were truly magnificent in the extreme - in fact, never before have I enjoyed myself like I did this night. (Forgive the English, but it's 2.40 and I've just staggered in from Wikis).

At 10.30pm on April 22, David, Serena (a beauty from college), Carol (another dame from college), Lynn (another dame from college) and yours truly went to Sacha's Disco in Worcester. After supping gallons of vodka (it was a double for the price of one) we staggered back to college, taking two hours to do so, when ordinary, sober folks do the same walk in 25 minutes.

I cannot express what joyous feelings I have about this evening, though I know they will be forever imprinted on my mind. Michael Rhodes.

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Monday April 21, 1975

Rainy, nasty day. The Queen's birthday. Uncle John says it would be advantageous to visit Windsor at this time because something is always happening.

I'm about to leave, with Dave, for Worcester. I do not intend taking the diary with me, because I'll have other things to do, and I don't like letting people in on the secret that I'm a day-to-day diarist. However, whilst I'm down yonder I will make the odd note or two so that I can come home and fill in the details, and indeed you'll not be able to tell I've been neglecting this truly historic record.

So, I'm on my way now. All packed and ready. Pity about the weather, but what do you expect in Britain in April? What do you expect of the weather in Britain at any time? Precisely.

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Sunday April 20, 1975

3rd after Easter. Quiet day really. Do nothing other than watch the TV until some unearthly hour. Saw about six films in all. Idleness, pure unadulterated idleness.

John went out for his Sunday night ale supping session and so too did Mum and Dad. Sue and Peter were babysitting, which left me, Lynn and Dave in one another's company all night. Looking forward with rellish to tomorrow's excursion to Worcester. Dave is collecting me at about noon.

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Saturday April 19, 1975

Rainy morning and I'm disappointed because yesterday seemed so promising. Conned into thinking Spring had really arrived.

The girls are at work and so too is Papa and Mama is at the hairdressers. John and I are playing records all morning until Mama comes in with chicken and chips for Sue, John and myself. I've done nothing but eat like a pig all day and it feels horrid. Too much food - it lies so heavily in the pit of ones tummy. What a weird word "tummy" is. So upper class.

Feel sorry for John who is a bit sick about Naomi and her daft proposition. I tell him of David's idea to go the Edwardian Club tonight and I think he'll come. The proudness of we Rhodeses will prevent him from going out with Naomi again I think. Once he thinks he's been used it's curtains for the young lady, and rightly so.

Christine rings at about 3. The bird is crazy. After last night's incident with Gary she says very little other than that she was crying just because she was drunk. I don't believe her. That lad has her under his thumb, and I loathe seeing them together.

John, in his mourning, goes off with Chris and the mob to the Dyneley Arms. David and I go to the Hare (me in John's suit) in expectation of arranging a party to go to the Edwardian. Only Martin (of Carol Smith fame) and Christine Dibb turn up, then Lynn and Dave of course. After two or three drinks we move on to the Black Bull in Otley - the best pub around. At chucking out time it's back to Pine Tops for coffee. Bed at 1.30.

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Friday April 18, 1975

Last day at the YP for one whole week! All Hell will be released next week when I'm away because Kathleen is off for 3 days too - and so the three remaining will have our work to do. Home at 5 after seeing Clifford Howland on the 33 - a real freak he is.

Prepare for the usual battle for the bathroom. Lynn, John and I do war over possession rights but we're all ready for 8-ish. Sue and Pete decide to go to the Hare too. Get quite merry in the Hare. Lager and Campari - an intoxicating concoction. Poor Christine is out on her lonesome and Gary doesn't roll in until about 10. At chucking out time I see CB going out with David, tears rolling down her face. I attempt to chase after her, but she shakes me off saying she'll ring me tomorrow. I don't suppose she will.

Down to Wikis where Naomi tells John she wants a break for three weeks or so - i.e. she's trying to give him the boot in a cowardly fashion. These women think us men were all born yesterday.

Denny was out tonight but didn't say much._______.Little Sue enjoyed herself and I think that Peter should merge into our company more often. The boy never sees life other than what goes on at 58, Hawksworth Lane.

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Thursday April 17, 1975

The name Barbra Streisand will forever be imprinted in large capitals across the frontage of my heart. The woman should be knighted or perhaps canonised by by Pope Paul or something. Joan of Arc, Gladys Aylward, Queen Victoria, Germaine Greer and Princess Anne can ALL stand aside for this lady. Boy! What a Girl! Those eyes! That nose! That figure. God! Dave, Sandra and me went to to the Odeon in Leeds to see 'Funny Lady' in which Miss Streisand excelled all bounds of things which one normally excels. It finished at 10.30 and we nipped into the Take and Bake in Headingley for chicken and chips. Sandra devoured a nasty looking sausage and baked spud with crumbly cheese all over it. The car windows were so steamed up that David had to guess (more or less) where the bloody road was. Sandra looked sexy. I still don't believe she's as old as she surely must be - if you know what I mean. Well, she only looks 21-22-ish, no older than say Sarah - and yet her son Gary must be eight if he's a day. Wonderous it really is. Home at 11 to chat with Ma and Pa for half an hour. I try to persuade them to say they'll go to Windsor for a weekend with me in 3 or 4 weeks time but all Mum can talk about is my holiday in August and how much I'll have to save for it. Once again I'll finish with one word. Yak!

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