Sunday November 30, 1975

Advent Sunday. St Andrew's Day. Wake up feeling quite normal considering the amount of alcohol I consumed at the Minstrel's Gallery.

Carole rings me from Maria's to say they are going to church this afternoon and 'do you mind if I don't see you until teatime?' I say I'll just about survive (God knows how) and return to the lounge to discuss food with Lynn and Dave. We are all on the verge of starvation and the aroma of Mum's cooking doesn't help much.

Marlene, Frank and the children come round at 2 for lunch and because of the large numbers involved we have to have two sittings in the dining room. I am on second sitting with John, Lynn, Sue, Dave and Pete.

I spend the afternoon playing a chess-like game with Frank. Really cosy it was too,and made such a change from the usual Sunday afternoon activities. Frank was clad in pink socks, orange and green checked trousers, a white shirt with black men all over it, a lime green and blue striped tank top, and a repulsive vomit coloured tie. However, I do suppose that one goes through a phase like this when one hits 30. Funny really.

The Harwoods go at 5.30 and John and I are summoned to the Macdonald residence. Mr & Mrs Mac are keeping vigil around grandfather's hospital bed but hope is fading fast. They look at his possible passing quite objectively though. I suppose to Roman Catholics death is like going on holiday.

After an hour at the Macdonald stately pile I leave, for health reasons, with Carole in the direction of home. We watch television, and that's about it really. Nothing thrilling or outrageous. Just the days events as seen through the eyes of a raving lunatic called Michael Rhodes.

NEWS: Graham Hill, the racing driver, was killed in a plane crash last night. Now I'll just go upstairs and lay down.

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Saturday November 29, 1975

To Bradford with Carole and Maria at 2pm. Maria goes off to buy presents and Carole and I go looking for a ring for me. We see one in Samuels after an hour or so. She buys it for me. £26! Bless her. I never thought she'd pay so much, and it only goes to show that I underestimate her feelings for me. The ring is gold with a tiny diamond on one corner - beautiful.

Ring Brummels and they say we can't go in as a coach party. We therefor cancel our venue and go for the Cat's Whiskers instead. They have no objection to us going. I ring Christine W in York and tell her to go to the Cat's Whiskers instead of Brummels. Phew! What a lark. But the worst is yet to come. You just wait and see.

We readied ourselves and dashed around the house in a mad panic. Sue and Lynn were wearing new creations. At 7.30 Dad drove John, Maria, Carole and me down to the Hare. People started arriving and by 8.30 we had gathered some 31 people.Chris and Gillian came, and the couple from next door, and many people too numerous to mention. At 9 o'clock I go outside and wait for the coach and my heart sinks when it gets to twenty past that fateful hour and it is still nowhere to be seen. Half the crowd follow me to the telephone in the tap room and look on in horror as I'm told that no coach whatsoever will be coming tonight. I tried to get mad with the creep on the other end of the line but was rendered speechless by the shock of it. Peter Nason called him a 'bastard' and Gillian Upton called him a few other things, but it was all in vain. 31 people all dressed up with nowhere to go. A scramble was made for the door and those who were able went home for cars. By 11 o'clock two thirds of the original 31 people were in the Minstrel's Gallery in Ilkley. We stayed until 2am and I cheered up somewhat after the shock of being let down by Rhodeses Coaches Ltd.

CB was pissed out of her mind.

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Friday November 28, 1975

Don't want to write much. To the Cow & Calf with Peter M, CB and Carole. We all got on quite well considering how the girls hate one another.

Peter wants his head looking at for chasing after CB. She makes it obvious that she wants nothing to do with him, and Carole feels sorry for the poor lad. However, I shouldn't interfere with the 'goings on' of other peoples 'romances'.

Drink pernod and realise I must be mad because of what I'll be spending tomorrow.

Ross McWhirter, the Guinness Book of Records chap, was murdered by the IRA last night. Margaret Thatcher, a mate of his, is now shouting for the re-introduction of capital punishment. It is a sad state of affairs when a political leader is only moved to action when a personal acquaintance is done away with. What about all these innocent people dining out in London restaurants? Why should it take Ross McWhirter's death to get our MPs to leap into action?

Roy Jenkins still insists that death for terrorists is no deterrent and that the police force is the main force of attack. Fool that he is.

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Thursday November 27, 1975

A wet, nasty day all round. Sarah and Carol J are in London on a day trip, and they are worried about being blown to pieces by the IRA. Before they left I advised the following: keep out of restaurants, cinemas, big famous stores like Harrods and Fortnum & Mason's, museums, art galleries, the Tower of London, Madame Tusaud's and the Planetarium; and that probably the safest thing they can do is go sit in the middle of St James's Park having heavily lagged their under garments with at least eight sand bags, and just hope for the best.

Wednesday November 26, 1975

A wet day again. To Leeds with Jim Rawnsley. He says that in ten years time we'll be in the same situation with Scotland as we are with Ireland now. I shudder with horror. The Irish Republic Army attacking from the right, the Scottish Republicans from top, and the Welsh Nationalists from below the knees. What will become of us all?

The Scots will keep all the North Sea Oil for themselves, and England's economic future will be non-existent. The Financial Times will have to close down due to lack of business, &c.

Carol J and I go down to photographic to look at the negs of yesterdays Royal Visit. We see at least three negs with us with the duchess, and order them. I'll have them enlarged and glued on my bedroom wall.


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Tuesday November 25, 1975

She came today. The Duchess of Kent that is. I had a marvellous view of the spectacle and was in the reception lobby when she arrived. She dashed in through the main door and the managing director and his cronies fell upon her like a pack of wolves. She was quite nice about it though, and came through it unruffled.

Carol J and I were on the front line and when HRH started her 'walk about' we were in direct line of fire. She came straight for me and I went weak at the knees. Carol was squealing with a mixture of terror and delight. She decided not to question me, but bombarded one of the little joiners. She couldn't have stood much nearer to me if she'd tried. So slim, blond and attractive. I have quite fallen for her. What's more, Carol says we are on at least four photographs with her. Fame at last! Photographed with the only daughter of a Yorkshire baronet who just happened to marry the shy, little cousin of Elizabeth Windsor. Who'd have thought it? Oh, if my grandmother could see me now. Aaargh. It's all too bloody much.

Meanwhile, back to reality. How at the usual time for the usual tea with the usual people. Mum says she'll tell everyone at work that I've captured the heart of a duchess. Let's not over do it, Mother.

Ring Carole who's at Maria's place. At 8.30 we go for a walk in the rain round Tranmere. Arguing again. We mean no ill will by these attacks on one another, but I somehow can't help it. She brings out my devilish, argumentative nature.

Carole is a Scorpio, which probably accounts for our fiery relationship.

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Monday November 24, 1975

Top people were prowling around the office this afternoon making sure that all is in readiness for tomorrow's royal visit. They've put new carpet in the lift, and all our desks have been polished for the first time since the Prince of Wales visited in 1970.

Royal visits certainly give the chiefs galloping Ooojahs. All the things they've been putting off for years are done, as if by magic, overnight.

Kathleen, who won't curtsey, has bought a brand new wardrobe especially for it and I've noticed quite a few abnormally decently dressed reporters crawling around the office.

Sunday November 23, 1975

Last after Trinity. A wet, horrible day. I walk down the lane after lunch to meet Carole off the 3 o'clock bus from Menston. She is a bit late and I walk about kicking leaves around pretending not to notice how unpunctual she is. I don't get too wet and feel refreshed by the gales and pounding rain. She does arrive in the end and we saunter up the lane like love birds.

Last night she lost her mother's priceless bracelet at the Cow & Calf and all hell was raised at 14, Oakridge Avenue, this morning.

We watched tv, and then John and Maria came over for tea. After tea, watched tv again. Nothing like a bit of variety, eh?

John obviously doesn't have my great willpower or strength of character because he and Maria made off to the Hare after part 2,000,000 of 'Upstairs, Downstarirs'. We all grit our teeth and fought our way through the news, eighteen war films and finally a Bette Davis epic.

Dave took Carole home with Peter at midnight or so, and I crawled away to bed.

Have I mentioned already that Kathleen found a 1956 Burke's Peerage in a cupboard at the office and I am now the proud owner of it?


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Saturday November 22, 1975

Went to the Cow & Calf and the mob took rellish in a brawl which took place in the ladies toilets of all places. Two young ladies saw fit to tear one another into small pieces, and one of them was in a bloody state - quite literally. She had had her pierced ear-rings torn out. Ugh. I tell Carole I'm not going up there again, but know that next week I'll be back. The Cow & Calf is horribly rough, but we do have a laugh. _____________________________________.

CB will always be at the top of my list as far as friends go, and nothing she does will stop me._______________.She is vivacious and hilariously funny.


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Friday November 21, 1975

Uneventful day and night. We stayed in the Hare and Hounds until closing time and then I got a bus home with Susan and Peter.

Carole was feeling a bit off it, and because we had no transport we could see no point in her coming back to our place. We cannot really go on using Dave like a taxi - he may well catch on.

I rang Rhodeses Coaches this lunchtime and booked a vehicle for Nov 29th. So it's Brummels here we come on Saturday night. I shall have to contact David about the trip. He only misses them when he finds it impossible to get home, and I know how much he'd love to go. My main worry is that we won't be able to raise the £25 necessary. However, Brummels should be able to entice some of the more discerning members of the happy breed.

Juan Carlos joined the ranksof European monarchs yesterday. Old General Franco decided to call it a day after what seems like months of hanging on. Spain will probably fall into a pit of chaos and anarchy now - like Portugal - and I can't see Juan Carlos reigning for very long. One thing's for certain, he doesn't have the worry and strain of planning a Silver Jubilee like our poor, over-worked Sovereign. The London Transport people are even considering letting loose a batch of silver painted buses in 1977 to celebrate Her Majesty's 25 years on the throne! The Queen herself wants none of it, if you ask me. I'll bet you a pound to a penny that devious little Uncle Harold is going to use it to some political advantage - that's if he's still in No 10, Downing Street in 2 years time.

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Thursday November 20, 1975

Carole's 18th birthday. Go to her place with Dave and Lynn at 7.30 and meet her parents for a few drinks of pernod and home-made lager. John and Maria come soon afterwards and we all have a good laugh. Paul, her 10 year-old brother drank a glass of pernod and went upstairs to be sick. Carole looked great in her new dress. She'd been drinking since 6.30 and was well on the way when we arrived, and so Lynn took over the responsibility of playing hostess, which she does well. I refused to give Carole my present in front of all the others and so I waited until she went upstairs, and then sneaked up afterwards and adorned her neck with the item of jewelry. It's probably not as good as Liz Taylor's, but it's the thought that counts after all.

At 8.30 John, Maria, Lynn, Dave, Carole and I - plus CD - made our way to the Hare for a few pre-meal slurps. Carole had her eighth pernod or something equally ludicrous, and could hardly stand by 9 o'clock. The meal is lost in something of a dream. Carole was sick twice but insisted it was nothing to do with the chicken. I devoured a T-bone steak and the best part of a bottle of wine, and helped myself to an ashtray on the way out. A thief, that's what I am.

__________________________________.We went to her place at midnight and I stayed a couple of hours. We were quite alone and it was the most romantic time of my life. Walked home at 2.30 in the frosty air.

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