Tuesday November 1, 1977

I am writing this, dear reader, by candle light. Those nice electricity supply people are asking for more money than the miserable 10 per cent offered by Mr Callaghan, and because he's taking his time giving them the cash, they are in return giving us a dose of the old black-out treatment. I bet it's bringing back lovely memories for Ted Heath and his enfeebled colleagues.

Anne: Duchess of Sussex?

Susan is sat sewing by flickering candlelight; Lynn is in bed reading by torch-light to the sound of Radio Luxembourg (which, thank God, is beyond the scheming clutches of the ghastly power workers). I only hope that for the sake of children throughout the land the electricity will remain off on Nov 4 and Nov 5 so that that Mischief Night and Bonfire Night will be well remembered.

The Daily Express today carried a story riddled with errors on the subject of royal births. Mistake one was that Princess Anne was born at Buckingham Palace, when in fact her birth took place at Clarence House; mistake 2, was that the presence of the Home Secretary at the birth of a royal baby was only dispensed with at the birth of Prince Edward in 1964 - when in fact King George VI scrapped this custom in Oct 1948 just before the Prince of Wales was born. I persuaded Sarah to phone the Buckingham Palace press office to confirm this, which she did, and she was told that 'His Majesty found the whole business archaic'.

We have just been discussing (still by candlelight, at 9.20pm) the possibility of the 6th person in the line of succession (to the throne) being a 'Master Phillips' and both Mum and I don't like the idea one bit. We decided that Princess Anne should be created a duchess, so that the infant cane come into the world as a marquess or earl, but nobody in 1977 takes much notice of reactionary swines like what we are.

The lights came on as if by magic at 9.55 and the television disrupted our peerage chatter.Dad was relieved because our deliberating as to whether Princess Anne is to be Duchess of Sussex or not is of no interest to him.


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Monday October 31, 1977

A nasty wet day. Had an appointment with Hough. He always treats his victims as though it's their first ever experience in a denist's chair. He means well, I suppose. Walked home from Rawdon with a numb face.

Martyn phoned after tea to say that he, Tony and two young ladies (one being Mrs Carol Johnson) went to a barbecue on Saturday evening at Carlton Lane. No comment. Otherwise, no communication with the outside world.

I haven't phoned the hospital since Thursday which is disgusting but I'm so fed up with bad news on top of bad news.

John came at 7.30 and we all had a go at him. ________. He says his departure for Scotland could be quite soon.

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Sunday October 30, 1977

21st after Trinity. Had a few drinks at lunch and watched TV in the afternoon and returned home at 8.30 (arriving at Pine Tops at 10.20) after having a drink in Manchester with Dave, Bill and Garry. Sorry it's so brief, but it's better than:-
a) a kick in the balls,
b) a letter bomb, or
c) syphilis, or even
d) Syphylis.


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Saturday October 29, 1977

Woke with a ghastly hangover at 7am. Dear Mama was, of course, my alarm system. My God - the whites of my eyes were bright pink - a horrible Rhodes give away if ever I saw one. From the depths of deepest Berkshire to the bleak hills of Cumbria if you should ever come across a man with bloodshot eyes you can guarantee his lineage. Just like the wearer of the Crown of St Edward owes his glory to Alfred the Great, the man with the eyes of a purple hue does so because of Lawrence the Great, commonly called Rhodes. (God, my mind is wandering again).

Hollywood Hotel.

I was in Stockport by 12.30 and went with David G to the Hollywood where we sat drinking in the billiard room until 3pm. Billiards. A pathetic, mindless pastime. Bashing little balls into little holes on a big, oblong, green table? Why not take up missionary work in Saigon instead?

Out to the County Club at 10 with David, Bill (up to his usual standard of insanity), and Garry. These 'cabaret evenings' are all very well but not really my scene. Loud, lewd comedians and the like. I'm not a fan of sitting in a chair drinking and clapping simultaneously as well as taking in the comic's obscenities. I'd sooner be drinking in a dark, perfumed grotto with James Brown records pounding rapturously. Oh God!


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Friday October 28, 1977

Mum called in at Chapel Allerton Hospital on the way out with Ernest this afternoon and delivered flowers and a box of chocolates. They couldn't get to see Carole. John, who called in at about 7.30, said it may be a brain tumour and says that Maria has been at the hospital 'every day'.

Yorkshire Rose: mortuary.

Out with Christine to the Fox at 8.20. Sue joined us because Peter is at a party in Durham. I strongly resembled a punk rocker because Sue trimmed my hair in the 'Punk Rock' fashion and my tight jeans and plimsolls were an added touch. We were joined by Andy and Linda, Chris, Pete M, and Steve Hudson, and - wait for it - Miss Lynne Mather. Yes, Lynne Mather followed on. She looked much the same and didn't have much to say in my direction which isn't surprising. CB had me in stitches when she pointed out that Lynne appeared to be wearing a pair of bananas on her feet.

Tony arrived at 9.30 just as CB and I left for the Hare. From the Hare we went on to the Crown at Yeadon and then - finally - the Yorkshire Rose which resembled a mortuary. I was really pissed.

Christine came back for coffee and crumpets but left at a reasonable time because of her mother.

Lynn and I sat near the record player singing quietly and sharing a cigarette until 2am and supping a bottle of terrible nettle wine. She told me that when she and David have a son one of the lad's names will be Michael. What a wonderful gesture.

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Thursday October 27, 1977

Phoned Chapel Allerton Hospital at 11.30 and spoke to a nice nurse who spoke for a while about Carole. She is extremely ill and today underwent tests for some nameless disease which everyone is keeping quiet about. No point in passing on any messages either, because she's too drowsy to comprehend anything.

I contacted Christine this morning (10.20am) and we arranged to go to the Fox and Hounds tomorrow night. This should prove exciting and pleasant after the stagnation of recent times.

Thatcher: grey and toothless.

Denis Healey presented a Budget yesterday and by the look of things I'll be getting a £20 or £30 tax rebate at Christmas. Better than putting your feet in acid I do suppose. It's chilling to hear that Mr Healey intends presenting three or four more budgets before going out of office, which means that the nauseating government may be with us until the Spring of 1979. Poor Margaret Thatcher will be grey and toothless by then.

No Squash this evening. Sarah must have gone off the idea, but I can't say I'm heartbroken. Sarah's ups and downs get on my nerves and hitting balls against a brick wall are not the top of my priority list at the moment.

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Wednesday October 26, 1977

I was up at 7.30 today but decided to go straight back to bed. Phoned Sarah at 8.30 to inform her of my absence then retired to bed until after 10. I am just miserable, penniless and depressed and nothing on earth could have persuaded me to go into the YP today. I'm not often to be found in this state, but today was the exception.

Dad didn't go to work until 2pm and so we spent a couple of hours in the garden where I pruned most of the rose bushes whilst he foraged happily in the undergrowth.

My thoughts were of Carole throughout the day and I was virtually in a trance. Mum asked me to turn the cooker on and I accidentally turned the wrong nob and set fire to her best tea pot and burned her Formica work surface. I was on another planet.

Didn't see the point in phoning Chapel Allerton. They aren't doing anything until tomorrow and they are all busy people. I'll send some flowers on Friday or perhaps I'll hand them in at the hospital.

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Tuesday October 25, 1977

_.Day off with Susan. To Bradford at 11 where she did a bit of Christmas shopping - or perhaps I should say all of her Christmas shopping. We met Martyn and had a drink in the Painted Waggon and then Sue went with him to Samuel's to see about a job.

Susan.

Coming home on the bus at 3 o'clock I fell to sleep. It gave Sue a good deal of amusement. At home I phoned the hospital and a helpful nurse said: "she (Carole) is very much better, but very much the same", which is a fat lot of good.

Tony came after tea with bad news. They are taking Carole to Chapel Allerton tomorrow where she is having a hole drilled into the back of her head on Thursday. Tony got this information from her mum, who also told him that they gave Carole something today which paralysed her. Oh God it's hideous. Chapel Allerton Hospital is a leading cancer hospital and most of the leukaemia cases in the area go there. However, the surgery on Carole at the moment is only of an investigative nature and the operation on Thursday is only a test. All may yet be well and in a few months I may well be moaning about seeing Carole out in the usual haunts looking adorable on the arm of Peter Fogarty. I hope to God this is the case.

I felt horribly tired tonight and by 10pm I was dropping off in the chair. By half past I was snoring in bed with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' over my face. I fear I'm never going to get the end of this book. It's taken me a fortnight to read 200 pages which is a very bad show.

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Monday October 24, 1977

United Nations Day. The hospital says she (Carole) is just the same but I think they are keeping the bad news from all except her family. I don't think Fogarty is allowed to go. Feeling horribly depressed at the YP today I phoned Christine, who didn't know about Carole's illness. She wants to go out for a drink tonight and I readily agree.

Christine came at 8 and we went to to the Shoulder of Mutton, the White Cross, the Hare & Hounds and finally the Fox & Hounds. I was quite pissed after lager, Pernod, cider, Stella Artois, but I needed it, I really did.

Christine was horror struck at the way nobody sticks together these days, the old crowd. She did her utmost to make me laugh. One funny story concerned her most recent boyfriend. He had his arm tattooed with the immortal words 'I Love Christine' and the very next day she told him she wanted no more to do with him! I really liked that. Her attitude is that he can go have a skin graft, or alternatively he can go out and find another Christine.

Christine looked nice too. A new £120 coat and handbag. Her hair nicer than it's been for ages. She isn't as silly about drink as in days of old. In fact she insisted on tipping her drink into my glass each time I complained about 'still' feeling sober. She came back for a glass of wine but had to get off by 11 to see her Mum.

Christine's coming out on Friday night. We always go into hysterics when discussing _______.He is the rallying point, the focal point in fact of my sarcasm, or anything nasty and rude which needs to be bandied about. It must have something to do with his face.

I watched Patrick Moore on the TV with my eyes all bleary and Mum made me a bacon sandwich (I must have looked under nourished) which I don't remember eating. In bed at 12.

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Sunday October 23, 1977

_.20th after Trinity. Tony came up after breakfast to see if I fancied joining him in a few drinks, but I had no desire to leave the house in my mental condition. My enquiries at the hospital received the same reply as I had yesterday. Oh God, isn't life cruel? What has Carole ever done to deserve being struck down at her age? A sweet, innocent young darling with not one wicked thought in her head - and she's laid dying.

I cannot help becoming terribly nostalgic about Carole. Do you realise that I have never felt about any other girl in the way I feel about Carole? Even though I destroyed our 'affair' I have never been able to recapture the same emotions with anyone else, and indeed when we got together in May for a couple of months I had never been happier. We have been apart since July and I know she has chosen Fogarty but somehow I always have had the feeling that we would be back together. And now this. All I can do is hope, pray and ask God to look after her because nineteen miserable years is no life. When she is well again I am going to phone her and simply tell her I love her. What happens after that is down to her. She can have Peter Fogarty but I'm going to make my opinion known. For too long we've been carrying on like children. Fate is terrible. My relationship with Carole has been one long tragedy.

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Saturday October 22, 1977

Must be the worst day of my life. All I could think about was Carole in hospital. At 11 I telephoned and asked about her and a nurse told me she is very, very poorly and is receiving no visitors other than close family. I asked her to tell Carole that 'Michael has phoned'. I then made the mistake of looking through the old photograph albums. ________.

with Carole.

Tony came up after lunch and we had a couple of hours in Bradford. By tea time I was depressed like I've never been depressed before and sat in the bath I actually started to cry. I was really upset. It seems that Carole's had something called a 'lumbar puncture' or something and she must have been in great agony. I could do nothing but think of the good times we had together and I was in agony imagining that if she were to go I'd be the only person remaining with those memories and the little things we laughed at and joked about. For God's sake I think I'm in love and it's all too late. They all see, at home, just how upset I am and they behave with great kindness. Lynn is an angel and tells me it will all be OK.

Down to the Fox with Lynn, Dave, Chris and Pete M, Martyn, Denise and Yvonne. I'm cheered up somewhat but still morose and eaten away inside.

At 11 they all want to go to that grotty disco in Bradford again - except Denise that is - so they go and D(enise) and I came back to Pine Tops for a few glasses of wine and a chat. She stayed until 2 and we gave the record player a good bash in the process. She told me she cannot picture anyone who could ever possibly marry me. Insult or complement I don't care.

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