Sunday December 26, 1976

1st after Christmas. It isn't Boxing Day today. I don't think so anyway. Boxing Day cannot fall on a Sunday. However, Yuletide or not I'm well aware of the excitement you undoubtedly share for the gripping adventures of the Hay clan. Now read on.

He [William de la Haye no less See Dec 21] was granted a charter [still intact and well preserved in the Erroll papers] of the feudal barony of Erroll in the Tay estuary, county Perth, most of the witnesses being also Anglo-Normans from Cotenin. He [William de la Haye that is] married a nice lass by the name of Eva a Celtic heiress, of Pitmilly, and possibly of other lands near the Tay estuary, and the old legend that the lands of Erroll were acquired by a Falcon's flight, in reward for an ancient victory over Viking invaders, may have been derived from the clan of which she was heiress....

Is this a Nut House? Surely only a loony could fill his diary with such rubbish? I wonder what Margaret Thatcher is putting in her diary at the moment? 'Lunched with Ted at his place before going over the ruddy devolution problem with Quintin [Lord Hailsham] at his place. Shirley [Williams] had a nice gown on today. She says she picked it up cheap in the C & A sales....' and so on.

Saturday December 25, 1976

Christmas Day. Wake up at 9.30 or so on Lynn & Sue's bedroom floor. Go for a 'Merry Christmas' session around the house first paying a call on John, who is sat in my bed nursing JPH. Mum and Dad are downstairs and I can hear Maria talking with Lynn and Susan. John says he has recovered from the illness that descended on our house like a plague yesterday. The baby is laughing and gurgling - so fantastic. His first Christmas.

John, Mum, Maria and JPH, Christmas Day, 1976

Meanwhile 10 minutes later: we all gather in the lounge for the present opening ceremony. The baby is amused with the Mickey Mouse brought to him by Santa. I have a black pullover from Sue & Peter, Eau Savage from Lynn & Dave, and the same from Miss Thornton-le-Dale. Mummy and Daddy gave me £5. That's enough present details. It gets monotonous. Late lunch at about 4pm. It is fabulous. A candelabra on the table and Royal Albert china. Posh eh?

Laze around for the rest of the night. See the usual things on TV like Morecambe & Wise and then Rod Steiger in 'Waterloo' and much more. Sleep kept creeping upon me and I frequently passed into unconsciousness in the chair. A lovely Christmas day - but unusual. Probably because John's always been here on Christmas Day and he was round at Molly & Jim's for lunch. Mum keeps mentioning his name as though he's miles away.

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Friday December 24, 1976

It's not only Christmas Eve. In fact it's also King John's 810th birthday today! Happy Birthday, Your Majesty*** Wherever you may be ... probably in a more sober frame of mind than I am now. Last night I slept in the spare room at Stuart's flat above Smith's, and he gave me a lift home at 7.30am. Dave B was sleeping in the lounge and his semi-pissed future brother-in-law made him a cup of tea and sat underneath the Christmas tree chatting with him for half an hour or so.

At the Central with Judith

Down to Leeds in the Spitfire at 8.30 - singing all the way, and my arrival at the YP creates something of a sensation. Why? Well, how many people go to work pissed up other than ___, _____, and the editor? Work is lousey and Mr Michael Rhodes can barely focus on the damned newspaper. Horrible. By 12 o'clock we, the blessed library staff, are having our usual Asti Spumante party behind the filing cabinets. It was all a bit flat. Is it true that good old Santa Claus is coming tonight?

At Pine Tops, Christmas Eve 1976

***I don't think King John was ever a 'Majesty'. He was a Lord Sovereign Highness, or something like that.


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Thursday December 23, 1976

What a bloody laugh. Lynne beetles her way up the lane at 7.30 and we take Sue, Pete N, & Mr & Mrs Nason to the Craiglands [hotel] in Ilkley before dropping off Martyn's 'things' at his residence. Miss Mather and I then motored to Neville's Wine Bar [she prefers Neville's to the Vineyard for some ridiculous reason] and after putting away a bottle of wine I suggest going to Stuart's flat for my jeans and pullover. An innocent enough suggestion you may think - and it certainly was meant to be one, but Oh dear, just see what occurred. 

We found Stu and Andrew attempting to clean up in readiness for Mr & Mrs Walker's visit for the festive season, but I gave them leave to crack open a bottle of Scotsmac. One or two bottles later Stuart, far from being a sober manager of W.H. Smith and Sons Ltd, happened accidentally to refer to Lynne as 'Carole' - a name not unfamiliar to Miss Mather's ear-holes. With this slight she leapt from her chair with the words: 'Come on, Michael. We're going.' With a flourish she swept from the room like Lady Bracknell. I, of course, had no intention of leaving and remained firm and defiant throughout. Minutes later she's sat in her squat little car beneath the balcony of W.H. Smith's, and I proceeded to give a Mussolini-like lecture from above. Then she was gone into the darkness, not unlike [Stanley] Baldwin's departure from Fort Belvedere in 1936. 

A much warmer atmosphere was circulating in the upper chambers of that bastion of book selling. In fact the mood of we three lads was not unreminiscent of the aura circulating in the private suite of Adolf Hitler on the night he made himself chancellor of the Third Reich. [That's enough dictators, I think]. Minutes later, Stuart, Andrew and I were at the Stoney Lea where we made merry until 2am. Andrew Walker Esq pinched someones cigarette lighter, which wasn't very nice, but things like this do happen when one is as pissed as he was. The theft of a lighter is a much nicer crime than say raping three nuns in the rear of taxi - or is it? [By the time you, dear reader, sit reading this rape may well have been legalised].

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Wednesday December 22, 1976

At lunchtime I go to 'Just Pants' in Leeds and lay hands on a white shirt and a red tie. Took a half day today and so at 1 o'clock I'm hurtling back to Guiseley, courtesy of West Yorkshire Road Car Co Ltd. Alight from the omnibus at 1.30 and go see Maria and the baby. On my arrival there I find Miss Phillips discussing the ins and outs of everyday things women normally discuss and I end up staying for two hours. My first conversation [with Carole] of any length - or pleasant one at any rate - since May. What more can I say? It's too daft for words, and besides, I've said it all before.

Home at 4pm and prepare for the onslaught. Martyn comes at 6.45 and Dad gives us a lift into Guiseley. By 7.30 we're at Delia's where we have a good laugh and a few tubes of lager. Chris and Peter come at 8.15 and we go out for a bus. No bus arrived until 9 o'clock. Kathleen, Carol J and Marilyn get on the bus at the Old Ball and we all head for Salvo's. Monica joins us there. The lads take one table, and the girls [like Vestal Virgins] share another. It's going to be one of those nights. We all get more than merry and the bus journey [yet another one] to the city centre was one of hysteria. The Nouveau was horrific - completely dead, and so we went by taxi to [Cinderalla] Rockerfella's. Not a particularly enjoyable evening. I was sober as a judge at midnight and we all stood around looking quite miserable at one another. Pete, Martyn, Chris and I went for a taxi at 2am and waited an hour. A car came driving past us & a naked woman passenger had her bum hanging from a window. Hilarious sight! Martyn and I get home for 3.30. Go to bed in a shagged out condition.

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Tuesday December 21, 1976

I'm not in the mood for this at all. I'd sooner be a department store detective with a large round face and horn-rimmed spectacles, with pores which open readily when agitated. [Courtesy of P.G. Wodehouse, Sir].

Good God I've just looked at the date at the head of the page. Isn't it supposed to be the shortest day of the year or something? Is June 21 the longest day? Funny how a brilliant mind can just seize up and wither.

Blimey, did you know, or were you aware of the fact that the chiefs of the clan Hay derive their name [Latinised as Haia, and later rendered into English as Hay and into Gaelic as Garadh] from an original 'Haie' or stockade on the castle motte-hill at La Haye in the Cotentin peninsula of Normandy? Their arms argent three escutcheon gules have always been the same as those borne in the Middle Ages by the ancient Norman family of La Haye, seigneurs of the Le Mesnil-Geldouin [now Le Guislain] La Haye-Hue [also called La Haye-Comtesse or La Haye-Bellefond], La Haye-Belouze, Villebandon and Beaucondray, whose fiefs border on the Soules, near St Lo. The first chief of the Scottish Hays, William de la Haye, Butler of Scotland under MALCOLM the MAIDEN, was a nephew of Ranulf de Soules, Lord Liddesdale, and also Butler of Scotland, whose family became hereditary butlers of Scotland but were fortfeited for plotting to seize the throne itself during the wars of independence. William de la Haye, Butler of Scotland under Malcolm IV anmd WILLIAM the LION, was among the nobles of the Scottish court from circa 1160, was a hostage for the Treaty of Falaise, 1174, and ambassador to England for the King of Scots in 1199.... Zzzz

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Monday December 20, 1976

What a year it's been! A good one generally but some horrific spatterings thrown in like salad dressing or mayonnaise - if you see what I mean. Surely the greatest event for the family was the birth of John Philip Hugh on Sept 30. Never have I seen a more placid, happy child. It makes one wonder how the hell we all went on without him gurgling merrily in the background. However, if he grows up thinking he's Napoleon or Elizabeth Taylor I wouldn't be surprised because every time he opens his eyes some fool takes his photograph. Forever in the limelight.

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