Monday July 7, 1975

The weather has changed. Heavy cloud everywhere, and I'm of the mind that summer for another year is over.

Went to the Ostlers at 12 with Sarah for a few drinks. I thought somehow that I'd be embarrassed facing her after professing my undying love for her, but I feel nothing of the kind. She said that the only thing which prevented her coming home with me was the fact that she was working on Saturday morning. This sounds feeble, considering that I would go to the end of the earth for her if she asked me to, but we all love one another in different ways, don't we? The Ostlers was quiet and we didn't see David. I'll say just one more thing today. Sarah is gorgeous.

Historic evening: Mum and Dad went out for a drink and came back with the news that Dad is going to resign from the police force and they are going to apply for a pub somewhere. No doubt the chief constable will be besides himself with grief when he hears the news. It's no use him thinking about the chief's feelings. If Dad isn't happy he should hand in his helmet and collect his cards. A pub will of course mean bye bye to Pine Tops - our home for five years - but Mum says she's always been a wanderer, and five years in one place is probably as much as she can tolerate.

Bed at 12 after the Family Council fell through.

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Sunday July 6, 1975

6th after Trinity. A beautiful day. The hottest one yet this year. Went down to the Commercial with Chris and John. Andy and Linda were stood in the car park with Carol, and so too was Dave B. It was really too hot to do anything. Even drinking was a strain. The so-called Bradford Jet-Set were cluttering up the place - as usual - and the snobs who gather in that place every Sunday afternoon are disgusting. I see no pleasure in standing about watching Jason park his Lancia in a sticky corner. No indeed.

Mum and Dad came down for a quick one at 1.30, and at 2 we came back to Pine Tops and had greasy Harry Ramsden's fish and chips on the lawn. Chris came up so that Dad could sign his passport photographs.

Lynn, Dave, Dad, Sue, Pete and John played 'badminton' on the lawn, and I put 'badminton' in inverted commas because what I saw looked like a re-enactment of the Battle of Waterloo, or a cross between the Normandy landings and the riots at this year's European Cup Match! It was too hot for me. I kept falling into a darkened lounge and looking in on a Bette Davis film.

John went round to 'George's' this evening, and I stayed home with Mum. Dad was working at 10pm. Saw a 1955 film on BBC2 about the last few days of Hitler's life. A German film it was, and a lot better than Frank Finlay's portrayal.

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Saturday July 5, 1975

I cannot really understand where my hangover is this morning. After all I drank last night it's a miracle that I'm not permanently damaged from the stomach upwards. My liver loo, cannot have enjoyed the bashing it received. After all, what's my liver done to me to deserve that. Poor Sod.

However, though I have no hangover, I do feel really tired and shagged out. The tennis men's singles final was on the TV this afternoon and I nearly fell into a coma watching Arthur Ashe beat the hell out of Jimmy Connors.

At 5pm I disappeared to my room and slept upon my bed until 6.30. I awoke feeling a good deal better, and refreshed.

Joh staggered me this evening when he said he was going to Maria's - sorry, I mean 'George's' - for the evening and not going out for one single drink at all!! This is incredible.

Chris rang and I said I'd see him at the Hare at 8.30. After seeing Barbara Stanwyck in 'The Titanic', I was surprised to see Chris calling for me in his Dad's car.

We went down to the Hare, where we were joined by Mr Mather, and we thought we were in for a boys' night out. However, Helen and Carol are in and they join us. Gillian takes a few photographs of us lads in the car park, and I can't quite get over just how crude that girl can be at times. The five of us move on to the Black Bull in Otley for a few, and come back to the Hare at 10.30 for a last look at the place before closing. Carol, Chris and I go on to Harry Ramsden's for fish and chips, and I'm home for 11.30. Spend the next hour or two watching a weird Julie Christie film on the BBC with Mama.

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Friday July 4, 1975

Independence Day, USA. Don't worry. It's now a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and I'm sat on the lawn in a stone cold sober fashion. However, it does say Friday at the top of the page, so I won't mess about any longer. Here goes: I met Sarah on the bus at 7.30, and we had to meet Carol on Broadgate Lane. We decided not to bother about the Fleece, which is too far down the road, and so we started off in the Stanhope - a tatty looking place by anyone's standards. We got off on the right footing, and I had a pint of cider, Sarah had half of cider, and Carol half of lager. Sarah was the epitome of loveliness as usual, and we continued in this pattern of alcoholic consumption in the King's Arms, Black Bull, Brown Cow, Grey Horse and the Queen's Arms. Carol and I varied it a bit in the Brown Cow by having Stella Artois, and then in the Queen's I had a whisky, and Sarah a gin, because they'd run out of cider. After the Queen's I remember very little in order. Sarah and I staggered up to her place, and I definately remember falling over once. I also remember telling Sarah that I loved her, and that was why I worked 'at that bloody place'. She bundled me onto a bus, but two stops further on I climbed off and tried to find her, but arrived instead on the main road. Luckily, or so I thought, I got a lift to Guiseley, but unluckily, the driver was homosexual, and he put his hands on me. Punches were exchanged, and I climbed out of the car. Ghastly, I know. But what can you do about a thing like that? Got home at 12.30, and then walked down to Wikis. Lynn and David were in, and I fell flat on the floor in drunkenness. A fantastic evening though, and I hope Sarah won't be offended by anything I've said to her. I meant it all, anyway.

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Thursday July 3, 1975

Another gorgeous day. We haven't had a drop of rain now for about five weeks, and it's absolutely fantastic.

Sarah Elizabeth Collis and I go to Whitelocks again, where we meet David B. Those two get on with one another like a house on fire, and David amuses Sarah really phenomenally. The two of us stagger back to work in the blazing heat and we don't tell Carol or Eileen that we've been out together. They believe what we say, though we do slip up occasionally, but quite unnoticed. A real darling, Sarah is. We're doing Town Street tomorrow night, so don't blame me if the writing on Friday's page is illegible.

See TV all evening, including 'Top of the Pops' which is full of rubbish.

I'm not writing any more now, so you can just get lost, the lot of you.

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Wednesday July 2, 1975

A horribly warm day. 77f in Leeds at lunchtime, which is hot for our climate up here.

Another Sarah day today. Dave B rings me at 11.30 to see if I want to go for a drink and I say I'll bring Sarah along too. We leave the office at 1.10 and don't get back until 2.30, but S is regent in K's absence, so who is there to complain?

We have one or two ciders and then walk back to the YP complaining that we, us two, were never meant for work. We were born to lay around all day on a beach in St Tropez or Biarritz - drinking rum from long, tall glasses, full of ice cubes the size of building bricks. Unfortunately however, that life is not to be. Great wealth is not for the likes of peasants 'like wot I am'.

Meanwhile: Back at Pine Tops: Lynn and Dave in the usual Wednesday spirit go down to the off-licence for the traditional apricot wine. The final part of 'The Poisoning of Charles Bravo' was excellent, and the beautiful Mrs Bravo died at the end. However, our drinking, and the TV play was interrupted at 9.30 when MM and Marita came to see me! Haven't seen them since Easter, and considering the time lapse, they didn't really have much to say. He'd had his hair cut.

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Tuesday July 1, 1975

Dominion Day, Canada. The start of yet another month. 1975 will be gone before we really begin to appreciate it. Warm, nice day again, but a little cloudy over Leeds.

Before I say anything else I'd just like to lodge another complaint about 'The King, the Press and the People: A Study of Edward VII' by Kinley Roby. Well, it's not a complaint as such, it's just a warning to future biographers of American birth writing about English royalty. DON'T. And when I say don't, I mean please do not write about English royalty when it's painfully obvious you know nothing about the subject. It's as bad as me writing a critical study of Abraham Lincoln!

It really is remarkable how the nation is going crazy over King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra. Derek Naylor, much against his will I might add, has been forced by our beloved editor into writing a five-part feature in the EP on King Edward and the Tranby Croft 'Baccarat Scandal.'

_____It's awful working with someone when you are besotted with them (Sarah). I can understand what the situation was like with CB and Gary. It will never work out, but we can always try. Friday will be an historic night indeed, and if I don't make a move then I might never receive the opportunity again.

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