Sunday August 21, 1977

11th after Trinity. Woke at 11 feeling quite dead. Mr Brotherwood Senior, grinning broadly, deposited a cup of tea by my bed and made a quick exit from the room. Tony was outside beating his sheepskin car rugs with a large wire brush. He laughed on seeing me and joked about the pinkness of my eyes and deathly hue of my palid cheeks. We then attacked slices of hot buttered toast with Mrs B's constant chatter as a back drop.

Groucho.

See in the Sunday Times that the genius Groucho Marx is dead. Let us hope that, as in the case of the late, lamented Mr Presley, the BBC will now show all the Marx Brothers films because 'Duck Soup', 'A Day at the Races' and 'A Night at the Opera' are masterpieces of comedy. The Elvis films are starting on the BBC next Wednesday.

We went back to the White Horse taking Mrs Brotherwood with us. Tony and I drank tomato juice. Mrs B was on the sherry.

Sunday lunch was at 2 followed by a slight kip and then we hit the road for the north at 4pm. Home via Goodwood and picturesque Sussex and various other bits of that area of which I know nothing. We ate our packed picnic of cheese and spring onion sandwiches in the car, and I had mine as we passed Kew Gardens at about 6.30.  We were at Bradford and in the Bod at 9.30. At times Tony  had been doing over 100mph on the M1. Wendy and Anne were in the Bod and we planned to go to Annabella's with them on Wednesday and to the WH Smith party, I think. I'm surprised we weren't thrown out for all the attention we were drawing to ourselves. Three pints of Guinness, no money an one hour later I returned home to find everyone at Edith and Ernest's and in a state of intoxication. Even Lynn and David back from Italy - not as brown as they should be.

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Saturday August 20, 1977

Mr Brotherwood Senior brought me a cup of coffee at 10am. Tony and I had breakfast together and then he took me on a sight seeing walk around the town. Quite a nice little place. A typical seaside resort. Tony thinks it's all very quiet for the time of year. Is it because people now go to Ibiza instead?

Went on a deodorant purchasing expedition, looked at the beach, before succumbing to Tony's adopted aunt's pub, I think the White Horse. Back to lunch at 2 with the Brotherwoods. Later we went with Mrs B to collect Stephen from his mother's house. He's a marvellous child and is thrilled to see his 'Daddy'. To the park and then back to tea of salad. Very pleasant afternoon.

Good night. We had whisky after whisky and by the time we arrived at Dante's Discotheque I for one was pissed. The women were somewhat tight and non-committal and I managed to pinch somebody else's girlfriend, again. Tony told me afterwards that I was close to getting clobbered again. Home after 2 after doing a detour around a housing estate first. I vomited in a garden on Chestnut Avenue, which is now chestnut, mauve, light green and puce. Or is it puke? Oh what a bloody night!

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Friday August 19, 1977

The alarm clock sounded at something in the region of 6.30am and I felt quite awake and ready for action. Mum climbed out of bed and made sure I was on my feet and then returned to her boudoir wishing me bon voyage and 'God speed', &c. I got a bus at about 7.30 and arrived in a damp, cold Leeds at 8. I purchased a copy of the Daily Telegraph and a few packs of chewing gum, boarded the coach and pair and was soon off on the road south to the heart of this Empire of ours.

Changing the Guard ....

London was somewhat damper than Leeds but my spirits were high (amongst other things) due to the attention paid to me by a female fellow traveller clad in not much more than an engagement ring. A stunning beauty indeed. However, at Victoria Coach Station attempting to rid myself of a mouthful of chewing gum my hand slipped and I glued myself to the middle section of my Daily Telegraph. I met Jacqui in something of a messy state.

We passed a couple of hours laughing in a pub over the road. She says her Dad is the financial director of Ladbroke's. Blimey, are the Sate's landed gentry do you think? We went from the pub to Buckingham Palace and the Queen's Gallery, and then walked back to Regent Street, Leicester Square and all those frightfully interesting places on the Monopoly board. Saw a bit of Soho too.

Jacqui and I parted at about 4.30 and I passed some time reflecting on the young lady in question in the damp, pigeon-laden Trafalgar Square. She's having a party in October which sounds very promising indeed. Won't miss that.

Tony was late and we didn't meet until nearly 8pm. He'd had a rotten day and his superiors had mucked him about. We got to Bognor in heavy rain at 10 and I was introduced to Mr & Mrs Brotherwood. exceptionally nice people. Mrs B is something of a chatter-box and says that Tony inherited his 'gift of the gab' from her. I felt sick with tiredness and want nothing but sleep. Bed at about 12.

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Thursday August 18, 1977

The YP took £5 from my wages today (National Savings Certificate) and it opened a new chapter in the life of Michael Rhodes. Yes, I have actually started saving some money for the first time in my long and varied life. By Christmas I'll have £100, and by next May £200. The holiday in 1978 will be no problem financially.

Jack Warner: 'Blue Lamp'

Tony came at 6.30 and collected my luggage and took it down to London, where he is at a conference for the day tomorrow.

Martyn rang. He says Martyn Knipe is home and invites me out tonight to join them. I tell him no because Anthony Cawston's film 'Royal Family' is on TV at 9.55. The lads came here at 8.30 and we watched a chronic, yet amusing film 'Blue Lamp' starring Jack Warner. To say we demolished it is an under-statement. After some persuasion they set off for Oakwood Hall without me.

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Wednesday August 17, 1977

Mr Presley is all over the newspapers this morning. I think that they are making too much of his death. Granted he was a singer, and one of the first 'rock and roll' stars, but why go over the top?

I am looking forward with some relish to the London-Bognor Regis excursion at the weekend. Work is something I could do without at the moment. It's all so bloody boring, you know. How are things with you? I expect they keep you 21st century wallahs busy, eh? For years they have promised more leisure time for the masses, with a three day week and all that, but as time goes by I find my leisure time doing quite the opposite - it's shrinking. More and more work seems to be the thing. What's the chance of spending four days each week on a yacht on the Thames? It's about as possible as my chances of becoming President of the United States of America. Have you read the novel "1984"? Well, I hope you aren't all living like that in your world because if so you won't be reading this now.




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Tuesday August 16, 1977

Tony came over this evening while I was in the midst of cutting the lawns and he procured me for drinking purposes. I'm flat broke, but he says he has more than enough cash to buy us both a couple of pints of Guinness.

Elvis: dead at 42.

We went over to Baildon but it was very quiet compared with the Bacchanalian reception we received last Tuesday. Darryl Wills and a friend came in.

We returned refreshed to Pine Tops at about 10.15. Mum informed us that Elvis Presley is dead. I find it hard to believe. He was only 42. He's six days younger than Mother to be precise. No doubt a flood of hysteria will sweep the world as is the general trend on the demise of a Super Star of Mr Presley's rank. (Rudolph) Valentino and Miss Marilyn Monroe for example.

We had our usual Tuesday night 'Panorama' type session with Dad and tonight it was crime and punishment and the death penalty (again). We all became somewhat heated.

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Monday August 15, 1977

You will be relieved to read that the poor, exhausted Queen is on her way to Balmoral for her first break since February. Thank God the Ireland visit is over and done with and safely sealed away in the pages of history.

Carole phoned to explain why I received a postcard from Newquay on Saturday which had an Ilkley postmark embellished upon it. Miss Phillips is a write-off as far as I'm concerned and she can become Mrs Peter Fogarty tomorrow. Goodnight.

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Sunday August 14, 1977

10th after Trinity. We all woke up in the same bed to the gay pealing of the bells of Ilkley Parish Church. Not a pleasant experience by any means. After eggs and bacon with the girls - who seem incredibly frail, we menfolk adjourned to the Commercial. We were joined by Graham Peel, who had been dumped at the party by other members of Denise's entourage and had spent a very noisy night in one of Tony's beds with a young lady strongly resembling Miss Dibb.

Lady Penelope and Parker ...

At 2pm Tony and Martyn returned to Ilkley and Graham brought me home just so that I could say 'hello' to Mummy and Daddy. They were busily messing around with the washing machine and seeing that Mr Peel is more than a bit sloshed and embarrassed by it we made a quick exit back to the flat. Tony and Martyn were asleep upstairs and so Graham and I finished off the left-over booze and  listened to the 'Thunderbirds' record. It was so good to hear the voices of 'Lady Penelope' and 'Parker' again.

Martyn emerged and we went for fish and chips - it was an Evel Knievel type car ride with Graham at the wheel. Frightful it was. Tony woke up for the game of indoor cricket and by 8.30 we were back to reality at the Craven Heifer. Stayed until about 10 listening to Jimmy Shand and others before returning to the Rose & Crown. Denise and entourage were in. Naomi and Carol too. Naomi was very friendly. In fact she and Carol, Graham and another anonymous guy went back to Southway for coffee and Bovril butties. Home at 1.15am with Naomi who saw a ghost on Hawksworth Lane.

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Saturday August 13, 1977

Yes, I definitely feel quite good about Mary. In fact I haven't had such a good time for a very long time. Out to Baildon again tonight with Tony and Martyn but don't see any crumpet worth collecting for yet another Brotherwood party. Moved on to Hare & Hounds at Heaton where we met Wendy and Anne and a couple of anonymous ladies from Smith's. Wendy is the perfect Hylda Baker. John Grady should have been here to see her.

The Sand Dance...

Returned to Ilkley with the anonymous shop assistants. A successful party. I drink Pernod & orange. Joke all night with the girls. I taught them the Egyptian sand-dance, immortalised by Wilson, Keppel and Betty in the 1940s. At about 6 Wendy, Anne, the two shop assistants, Martyn and I got into Tony's bed. He was shouting about something and banging around in the flat whilst the ladies removed me from my jeans, or in the words of Wendy, my 'clouts'. It must have been about 6.30am.





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Friday August 12, 1977

A good day. Eileen and I met Tony outside the YP at about 1pm and we had three or four drinks in the Central. Tony came back to the YP for the afternoon and had Carol J swooning all over him. In fact she did no work from when he arrived, sat, quite besotted, on her desk, with her legs rubbing up against his. It was bloody painful. Eileen was becoming quite violent about it and if I hadn't made the tea a full scale war could easily have broken out. Tony went off to a dental appointment at about 4. ________.

Tonight: Tony, Martyn and Stuart came up at 8.30 followed by Peter M and Chris. Sue, Pete N and Janet Simon joined us and we went to the Bod. Michelle, Toni and a girl called Mary came in. Mary was so fanciable you just wouldn't believe it. She was quite tanked up.

From the Bod most of us went to Il Trovatore. I was with Mary all night and it proved to be one of the most successful in ages. We got on like a house on fire. The only thing is that she has a ruddy boyfriend stashed away somewhere.  So attractive too. I told her she looked like the singer Dana, but she said Vera Lynn was closer to the mark.

Back to Tony's at 2am, and the ladies brought me home at something like 4 o'clock. A diabolical time. Don't know what sort of reception I'll get if I see Mary again but one thing's for sure folks - Michael's in love again.



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Thursday August 11, 1977

A hot day. Sat in the garden with Mum and Susan until lunchtime and had the occasional lager. Just like been on holiday again. The temperature was in the 70s when I set off to Leeds at 4pm and if there's anything I feel least like doing on a hot, summers afternoon, it's work. However, it's inevitable for plebeians such as I.

Just me and Wendy at the YP until I left at 11.

Grouse: family reunion?

Hundreds of thousands of grouse will be having family reunions in the moorland heather tonight no doubt reminiscing on past escapades together and chanting the occasional prayer. Some of them will weep, or at least do the grouse equivalent, which is, I think, when they bash their wings together whilst frantically squeaking. Yes, tomorrow is the Glorious Twelfth.

Home in a taxi with a witty driver who, on parting,  bid me "Goodnight and God Bless". Who the hell does he think he is? The Pope I suppose.

Made a couple of salad sandwiches and retired to my chamber not particularly knackered. I've been a good deal worse.





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