Sunday September 25, 1977

16th after Trinity. John's 21st birthday. ________.WE ARE A UNITED FAMILY.

John: 21st birthday.

Decline and Fall.

Joy went back to Leeds last night and is going to visit Paul (with the handbag) in Halifax today. Jacqui slept here on the settee. We had breakfast at about 11.30 and John came up afterwards and we celebrated his birthday with a few bottles of wine, which saw us through until about 2. Dom(inic) Melville, whose birthday was yesterday, joined us. Jacqui demonstrated the art of tap dancing on our kitchen floor which was hilarious. Lynn loved every minute of it.

John (who had gone home at 12) returned at 2 in pouring rain to commandeer Pete and I for a spot of labouring work. We dismantled a porch and carried it from Netherfield Road to some remote part of Guiseley and helped to erect it there. It was his birthday present. (The labouring). I haven't given him a proper present yet. He quite understood. He called me a 'bastard'. The three of us did a lot of laughing. John was especially cheerful.

Peter and I returned to Pine Tops and had a late lunch, or tea. Jacqui had a pleasant chat with Mum and Lynn. We watched TV and I refused to leave my chair until after 8.

Joy returned at about 7.30. She hadn't been to Halifax and instead her lover came to Leeds. The poor soul has no sense of direction. They left at about 8.30 and I promised to go to Muswell Hill on October 8. Jacqui is a nice girl.

In bed tonight reading 'Decline and Fall' by Evelyn Waugh. A very good novel. In fact I was sat laughing in bed. Ho Ho Ho.

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Saturday September 24, 1977

Out of bed at 9.30. Yes, half past nine. I went to Guiseley for a large family-size tin of Eno's Liver Salts and a bottle of orange barley water. Home by 10 feeling much better for my walk. David and Dad were on the drive at work on the Toyota.

Jacq & Joy on Ilkley Moor.

I was commanded to an audience with Mama. It's the usual story. Complaints about things that go pop, bang, and what have you, in the night, or perhaps I should say early morning. She was quite adamant this time about orgies, and future orgies in hours of darkness, and so pained that I vow never again to bring a living soul home after a night out. Mama, whilst sipping her morning tea, threatened terrorist action. When angered I suppose she could make the Bader-Meinhoff gang resemble the Wombles. I went cold with fear.

I have an amusing tale to recount to you. Do you recall M___P___? The mama of Carole? Yes, now you do. Well, it seems she's been caught altering price tickets at Presto again. Terribly sad I know, but there it is. Anyhow, it came to pass that Susan was reading of this incident, and peering over the top of the local paper she said quite seriously to Mama: "My God. That woman must be a nymphomaniac".

Jacqui and Joy came at about 3.30 and we went to Ilkley Moor where I leapt around with a camera. We made spectacles of ourselves before moving to Bolton Abbey for further revelries. The girls are mad. Truly insane. They have never before been north of Luton and are impressed by the rolling greenery of Wharfedale, but I make a terrible guide.

They came back for tea with the family and then we ventured back to Leeds to get ready for John's party at Oakwood (Hall). We didn't leave Leeds until 9 o'clock and the girls and I went to the Old White Horse at Bingley with Sue and Peter. Tony and Martyn joined us. Tony said he wasn't going to Oakwood but on seeing Joy he changed his mind. We got to Oakwood for about 10.30. John and Maria came with Chris and Pete M and Steve Hudson. Joy pinched John for a dance. Jacq and I danced all night. Well, until 2. _______.


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Friday September 23, 1977

Eileen showed me an article in that glorious relic 'Woman's Own' which I found hilarious. It states that the Royal Family is becoming far too large, the biggest one in fact since Victoria's day. Laugh at the thought that by the year 2000 the south of England will be overrun by minute Queen Mothers, devouring and devastating crops and making a general nuisance of themselves. _______.

Royal Family: too large.

Burdened with a ghastly hangover today. I'm home completely shattered at the usual hour and spend the time until 9 o'clock readying myself for Angela (Singer's) party. Jacqui phoned at 9.15 and by 10.15 we were teamed up outside the Yorkshire Post and we made our way to Headingley.

I loathe going to parties stone cold sober, but I soon remedied that. It was rewarding watching bleary eyed journalists eyeing up Jacqui and Joy. Peter Fearon attempted to woo Joy with his Fleet Street routine which failed brilliantly. She then went off to dance with a Daily Express man. I became quite drunk.

Carol Johnson and Roger Ratcliffe arrived at the same time, but not together. The girls thoroughly enjoyed themselves and were very sociable. Did I do a tango with Brenda Rankin? I hope not.

Joy brought me home and I foolishly had them in for coffee, giggles and screams, slamming doors and other loud robust noises. Naturally, Mama was awakened by the commotion but made no assault on us downstairs, luckily. They set off back for the depths of Roundhay at some unbelievable hour and I departed to my chambers for a few hours shut-eye. A very pleasant party. Angela Singer deserves to be the first woman editor of a national newspaper.

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Thursday September 22, 1977

John's official birthday party with his Mummy and Daddy and brothers and sisters. He came up at 8.30. ______. The six of us, plus David and Peter, went to the Commercial where we were joined by Chris Ratcliffe ________. At 10.30 I went out with John and asked him to come back home with us for a few drinks, but he declined. _______. He said he and Maria are going to Oakwood Hall on Saturday and I said I'd go along too. Jacqui will be in Yorkshire to help me 'freak out' in true style.

Later, Dave and I clowned around with gladioli (dead ones at that) and I played with something called a shuttle that Mum had acquired from (Abraham) Moon's Mill.

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Wednesday September 21, 1977

The autumn equinox, I believe. Yes folks, with a rendering of 'Autumn Leaves' I now bid farewell to you in order to roast my chestnuts on my little garden bonfire. Oh, how I love this time of year!  The browns! The golds! The burnt yellows! No.To be honest I can take it or leave it.

An autumn without a good old general election is just not on. It's like having peaches without cream or whisky without American Dry Ginger and lots of ice. I'm sure that dear Mrs Thatcher thinks along these lines too. To see the beloved leader of the only true political party, ballot papers in hand, coming into focus through a typically misty autumn dawn would be a sight to cherish. But alas, the sorrowing nation must now wait until this gorgeous season is once again upon us before the Sainted Margaret - her hair burnished with the magnificent hue of autumn leaves - rides into Parliament as our prime minister.

Otherwise a normal day the YP and with little play.

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Tuesday September 20, 1977

Martyn phoned. We talked about Stockport, but he disagreed with everything I said. He made some comments about Carol J being a 'nice girl'. ________. Tony rang too to talk about the Jacqui/Joy visit. He suggested picking up the girls at Leeds City Station but I told him they were coming up by car.

Jacqui phoned at lunchtime to say they are staying at Elmete Lane, Roundhay, from about 9pm on Friday. They are going to phone me when they arrive and I will meet them and take them on to Angela Singer's party at Headingley. Chris phoned for John Grady's number.

John came to see us for a few minutes. We are going out on Thursday, first for a few drinks with Mum & Dad and then on to a disco with Sue, Pete, Lynn and Dave.

I made one of my irregular visits to Hough the denist who just glanced at my teeth and told me to come back at the end of October. What a wasted journey.Feeling quite energetic I walked from Rawdon to Guiseley where John (or is it Tim?) Mounsey (of Oakwood Hall fame) picked me up and brought me half way up Hillway. He's a good laugh and although we've lived near each other all these years I hardly know him.

Fred Mulley slumbering ...

Saw in one of the papers that the Defence minister, Fred Mulley, is probably going to be replaced following the embarrassing but hilarious incident at the Silver Jubilee RAF display at Finningley when he dropped off to sleep in a chair next to Her Majesty the Queen, who was not amused.

Sat and ate Susan's home made toffee this evening laughing at Magnus Magnusson on 'Mastermind'. One of the Sunday papers carried an article saying that Diana Dors is suing a magazine over allegations that twenty years ago she played strip poker with Mr Magnusson and Bernard Levin. Very improbable I know and like a Monty Python sketch, but I bet it's true. Something as ridiculous as that must have some truth in it.

Diana Dors, speaking in the Sunday People after Elvis bit the dust referred to Presley as her 'SVENGALI'. That was a new word to me. Am I illiterate?

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Monday September 19, 1977

Lynn told me this morning that she and David bought an engagement ring on Saturday. _______. She looks very happy now. Thank God her future is secure.

Mum says that Derek and Jennifer's baby born on Sept 1 or 2nd  is to be called Paul Justin. Just thought I'd let you know in case Mr P.J. Myers is the current prime minister.

Starving peasants ....

The (national) bread strike finished tonight leaving many peasants dead or dying throughout the starving kingdom, not. No one would have guessed that a bakery strike was on at all. The news media have blown it out of proportion. One would think we were in 18th century France the way they've gone on. "Ma'am, the peasants are starving. They want bread." "Oh let them eat cream crackers".

What do you think about Margaret Thatcher's proposal for a referendum on trade unions should they ever get a future Conservative government over a barrel?  I'm not sure really. I was opposed to the 1975 EEC referendum, but cast my vote all the same. Reducing the authority of the Houses of Parliament can only result from such action, but then the destruction of parliament as we know it is on the cards anyway.

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Sunday September 18, 1977

15th after Trinity. Felt incredibly revolting again. Mrs Glynn made Dave and I a massive, greasy but glorious breakfast, and at 12 we set out for what was for all intents and purposes, a walk. The brightness of the sun was hideous and we sought solace in a pub with a loud juke box and friendly barmaid, even though she was a bit rough. "I've been married four times but never divorced" she proudly told us as she pulled the Guinness and went on to say she'd thrown one of her wedding rings in the river Mersey and "one in the bloody river on the Isle of Man", which due to my lack of geographical knowledge remains anonymous. Don't we mix with a nice kind of woman?

Dave G.

Dave says he thinks we are going to have a wedding in the family and so I just could not contain myself and revealed all. He was jubilant and plans sending an hilarious card on Sept 28. He likes Lynn and Dave immensely and jokes about being on the top table at the wedding. It turned into another session and by 2pm we were marching back to the Hollywood canned yet again.

Roast lamb for lunch. Afterwards we slept in our armchairs. At 8pm he saw me off from Stockport Station for Manchester. Coach back to Leeds and home for 10.30. The family were watching TV and eating a Chinese meal. I felt half starved but nobody had thought to put some grub on one side for me. Disgusting treatment when I had been many miles away for the weekend.

Watched the expurgated version of 'Soldier Blue' on the BBC which was quite boring. I feel a cold coming on. Blocked head, nose, ears, &c.

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Saturday September 17, 1977

I have very strange thoughts about the events of last night. Sarah became so ridiculously miserable _______. From what I remember of our visit to Wetherby Delia and I were eating carnations and slapping turkeys before we left for home. (For some reason a very large, uncooked turkey was sitting in the bath in the upstairs loo of the private flat of the pub where we made merry).

Turkey slapping ....

I was up at 9.30 and expected a call from Delia about returning to Harewood for coffee, but the summons never arrived. Had a bath and left at 12.30 for Stockport.

I was in Manchester by 2.30 and managed to get through the blockade of Manchester Utd fans who were attempting to sabotage the Lord Mayor's Parade. I got lost in Stockport and arrived at the Hollywood after 4pm. Dave G was awakened from his afternoon slumbers and he greeted me with yawns and bleariness of eye.

Tonight to Stockport County Club with Dave, Steve B, Garry B, and Bill (Wright). Bill is one of the most hilarious people I have ever met. We just acted wild and really daft. At one point an act on the stage just stopped to watch us lads performing. In tears laughing. Mind you, it doesn't take Agatha Christie to fathom that the drink intake was at the bottom of the cause of this revelry. Back to the Hollywood at 2.30 not that I can remember anything about it. Stockport always guarantees severe intoxication and in most cases, paralysis. Visits here should perhaps be banned. Perhaps Margaret Thatcher will put a stop to it all next autumn.

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Friday September 16, 1977

Mixed with the posh people this evening at Harewood House. Sarah and I went straight to Horsforth from the YP and at 6.30 we went with Mrs Cinzano to Harewood where we met Delia. She is in a temper and informs us that his miserable lordship will not be attending the function due to the death of Maria Callas, a connection which I fail to see. Blimey, I went in to the office on August 17 even though Elvis Presley had passed on.

Countess of Harewood.

For a start we got on the wrong side of the Countess of Harewood. Whilst she was showing Brigadier Hargreaves the music room, Delia and a band of renegades including Sarah and I, raided the dining room and made a start on the wondrous chicken buffet. Lady H entered the room ten minutes after us expecting to be served first and almost fell over us in the doorway. Delia and Brian Halliday had even flopped down on the Chippendale sofa and were joking about Carol J ____________. Lady Harewood gave us dirty looks for the remainder of the evening but we didn't care. We laughed and I dared Delia to approach Her Ladyship and call her 'Marion', who was of course George's first spouse. Lady H is a snobby, ridiculously coiffured Aussie who was previously married to a Schmidt, and posed for Australian TV commercials in the 1940s, I believe. She made a very bad impression altogether and only spoke to the Hargreaves contingent and his feeble Lane Fox of a wife, who looked positively sick.

The food was good and we put away gallons of white wine. Delia and I wandered out in search of the conveniences and we ended up having hysterics over the Epstein statue of Adam - truly grotesque. My God, the things Delia was doing with his penis, and a stone one too, were mind boggling.

We left for a pub at Wetherby at 9.30 as the Harewood butler stood at the entrance of the house yelling for 'Mrs Collis'. The summons from the countess had come too bloody late. "If she'd wanted to speak to me she could have do so hours ago", screeched Delia.

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Thursday September 15, 1977

Good old Lynn and David, eh? I am so relieved that they have stuck it out to the bitter end like this. I cannot wish for a better brother-in-law than David, and I told him so at lunchtime when we went to the Boar's Head, a new pub near the Bond Street development. He was feeling rough after last night and only managed one, solitary pint, but I managed to put away a couple. He could not understand why he felt so nervous approaching Mum and Dad because he knows them so well. I tell him how good and considerate it was of them to give the family prior notice of the engagement. I don't think Mum and Dad would have wanted them just to walk in with a ring.

Dave & Lynn.

I left Dave at about 1.15 and staggered back to the YP. Work was ghastly. I'm not discussing it, anyway. How can I talk about work when my beautiful sister is about to embark on the biggest step down life's pathway? That innocent little child on whom I've showered my brotherly affection for almost 20 years is going to be married, with all the responsibilities appertaining thereto, BEFORE ME! Am I neglecting my duty as an older brother? Should I set a shining example to my younger kin by taking a bride in hand? Is it right and proper for a 22 year-old male, and a healthy one I hope, to be set permanently in the wicked ways of bachelorhood? How long will it be before the whispering begins? You know the sort of thing I'm getting at: "Hey Doris, did you see Michael Rhodes in his pink socks?" And: "Isn't it queer, Doris, how he's always behind the bicycle sheds with his boy scouts?" &c. No doubt about it. If I'm still unattached by my 25th birthday I'll be branded homosexual for sure. Who knows though? The visit of Jacqui a week on Friday may trigger another romance that will outshine the one with the late Miss Mather, or even Carole. We'll see anyway.

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