Sunday August 10, 1975

11th after Trinity. A lovely day, but not as warm as we imagined it would be. Laze around all day in and around the swimming pool, and spend just a bit of time on the beach.

The Caracola Club once again in the evening where British women seem to cry out for good British men. The German population seems to have arrived in Majorca like a plague of locusts, and a nice Yorkshire accent warms the hearts of millions of our fellow country women.

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Saturday August 9, 1975

Get into Victoria Coach Station at 5am and immediately make enquiries about how to get to Heathrow. An amiable little porter directs us to a British Airways terminal and we get a bus direct to the airport at 6 o'clock. We make our way to the departure place, and what a relief it is to find Chris waiting! Success! We'd made it! (Forgive the Queen Victoria style punctuation). You have no idea what it meant to know that no hitch had arisen.

Fly at 8.05am. Unforgetable experience. The plane was quite smaller than I imagined it would be. John was near the window, Chris in the middle and I was in the aisle. The sun was brilliant above the thundery London sky, and two hours later we were in the heat at Palma airport. John's case came on another flight, and we messed about for hours waiting for it.

The hotel was reached by about 3pm and we were impressed by it. After all, it is a two star one.

Have two great meals before going out on the town. Find a discotheque called the Caracola Club, and stay until 2am. I am asbolutely sure we shall all have the time of our lives here in Majorca.

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Friday August 8, 1975

Last day at work for over two weeks, and I can't say I'm sorry to get away. Home at 6 o'clock in pouring rain. Thunder and lightning. The lamp in Lynn's bedroom exploded (in the storm) and quite unpeturbed she went on drying her hair with the hairdryer plugged into the same socket!

We were chasing round the house stuffing things in suitcases - Uncle Jack, Auntie Mabel, Marlene, Frank & the children arrived after tea.

At 9 o'clock we'd finished everything and John went off to the Hare with Maria to say a final goodbye. I went down with Lynn and Dave for a quick pint but didn't enjoy it one bit. It's a nerve wrecking experience going off to the other side of the world with only a younger brother and an absent minded bank clerk (no insult intended, Chris).

Mum and Dad take us to the Wellington Street bus station at 10.30 and we bid our fond farewells. Leave Leeds a few minutes after 11 and I'm awake all night until we get into Victoria coach station at 5am. John slept, as he usually does, like a three month old baby. Lucky lad.

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Thursday August 7, 1975

John and I go to Morrison's in order to get a few vital provisions for the holiday. Spend a couple of quid on tooth paste and such like, and then go down to the Fox for a quick one. See Peter N, who is having his usual Thursday lads night out without Sue. Leaving the Fox the car runs out of petrol, and we ring for Dave B to come down in order to re-fuel. We walk up to the Hare and have a few drinks before coming home at 10. Give Mum a box of chocolates and see a few TV programmes.

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Wednesday August 6, 1975

Incredibly warm day. Meet the gang in the Hare. We all sit outside, and we, that is John and I, say goodbye to everyone until the end of the month. Christine B is in tremendous spirits, and I'm quite sure now she regrets not going out with me when I asked her.

Miss Akroyd and 'Mr WH Smith' join us. The second time since Saturday!_______.

Home on the 33 bus with the two Christines. I fell and grazed my hand giving CB a piggy back, but this is soon forgotten when CD robbed the sum of 94p from the West Yorkshire Bus Co, and we both dashed to Harry Ramsden's for fish and chips.

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Tuesday August 5, 1975

Eek! It's only four days until the holiday! My first ever aeroplane journey! Two whole weeks away from all those worries!! Oh, the sun! The sea! The women! Aaarrgghh!! All these exclamation marks are too much to bear!!

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Monday August 4, 1975

Holiday in Scotland and Irish Republic. A beautiful day again. See in the paper that the temperature in Roundhay Park (Leeds) yesterday reached 90 degrees farenheit, and if that isn't some kind of miracle I don't know what is.

A historic day indeed. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother is 75 years-old today, and I'm sure she'll manage to give us 10 or 15 years more brilliant service in the future. Saw on the 6 o'clock news a sizeable crowd sing 'Happy Birthday, Dear Mother' to her outside Clarence House, and I only hope Willie Hamilton was watching. People like him must really feel as though they are banging their heads against a brick wall on days like this. The Queen is throwing a party at the palace this evening and all the Royal Family are attending except the Prince of Wales, who is on a fishing holiday in Iceland.

Dirty little (news)papers like the Sun are known to say that when it's cold over here the Royal Family board planes for sweltering regions on the equator. But here we are at boiling point in Britain, and Charles has boarded a plane and fled to the Arctic!

A feature in the EP says the Queen Mother is the first Scottish-born Queen of England. I am damn sure that one of the Plantagenets took a bride from over the border, and just for the record, the Queen Mother is a Hertfordshire lass! Sometimes I wonder just where we dig up our journalists.

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