Wednesday December 7, 1977

Snow upon snow. A thick, white layer everywhere.

Carole phoned me at 5:00pm to thank me for the letter. She says she's probably coming home on Friday. I'm elated. ____________. My letter must have been sentimental. It's made her realise just what I'm thinking. I put Mum on and they chatted for ages.______________. Today I wrote to Kathryn (Young) and Christine. Dad's typewriter in the house prompted this industriousness.

It's becoming very 'Christmasy' you know. Mum is playing 'The Floral Dance' by the Brighouse and Rastrick Brass Band on the record player and the combination of this, the weather, and general cheer will undoubtedly be confusing Santa into coming early.

I have laid hands on a pair of cord trousers from Mum's catalogue. Black ones - very nice too.

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Tuesday December 6, 1977

_.A day at home. Feeling much, much better. Read 'The Millionairess' by G.B.S. Finished it.

Carole will have received my letter today. I hope she likes it. She has been complaining that I never write.

Dad brought his typewriter home from the office and so I wrote to Jacqui. I enjoy typing.

We turned off the television fairly early. Mama is knitting me a large, chunky pullover. _________.

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Monday December 5, 1977

_.Much better today. Out of bed by 10:30 and spent the day reading 'The Millionairess' by G.B.S. I'm in stitches at much of the dialogue. It's far better than 'The Apple Cart'.

Had kippers at lunch and pork this evening.

Harold Pinter.

Peter N hobbled up to see us. Lynn spent the evening with David at Pool in Wharfedale.

The TV was crap except for Barry Humphries, but he was only on for 30 minutes or so. At 9 o'clock we switched off. I walked around the house, hands in pockets, complaining I had nothing to do. It was reminiscent of my childhood. I have decided to write a play. I'm going to be a second Mr Shaw or Harold Pinter.

Jacqui phoned. She can't get any specs like Groucho Marx, or at least she can't from Derek Sate. I tackled Ernest tonight and he said he might have a pair somewhere. Back to Jacqui: she was in high spirits and sympathetic about the Bubonic plague (my illness). I also wrote to Carole and told her I'm at home. _____.

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Sunday December 4, 1977

_.2nd in Advent. Slightly better. In fact I'm a lot better. Just watched TV the whole day and ate a sizeable Sunday dinner at about 6:00pm.

Watched 'Royal Heritage'. It was about Victoria and Albert. 'The Count of Monte Cristo' is finished! Over a thousand miserable pages in about as many days. It's nothing to be proud of at all, Michael Rhodes. Two months to read a book. I really should be horse whipped. I bet Mr Dumas wrote the bloody thing in half that time.

Mum and Dad went out for a drink tonight and I watched a play called 'Waste' on the BBC. Quite good.

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Saturday December 3, 1977

_.Mother's coffee morning in aid of Mark Sansom, a 19 month-old brain damaged child whose parents want to send him for treatment to Philadelphia, U.S.A. About 60 people turned up. I stayed in my bed and was visited by my nephew. He must think I'm a lazy rat. Sue came up to see me and had me in stitches when she told me she'd given a cup of hot coffee to an old lady with Parkinson's Disease, who proceeded to shake it all round the room.

I got out of bed at about tea time and remained in circulation until about midnight. Didn't hear from 'the lads'. Saw a Jack Lemmon film on the BBC which was hilarious.

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Friday December 2, 1977

Maria has told Mum that Mrs Phillips told her on Tuesday that Carole's got a 'dark patch' somewhere. Carole is, of course, unaware of this. Shit.

Basil Rathbone.

I'm ill. Revoltingly ill. Saw Basil Rathbone in a 1939 Sherlock Holmes film and then went to bed where I got no sleep until the crack of dawn. I was sweating like Hell all night. Ghastly it was. And the dreams I kept having went on and on for what seemed like hours.








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Thursday December 1, 1977

Feel revoltingly weak, dizzy and painful about the head, back, arms, legs. At work I did very little, and after collecting my wage, including a tax rebate of £20 by courtesy of Mr Healey, I left for home.

I took something hot to bed and read 'The Count of Monte Cristo', which I almost finished. Yes, nearly.  You may be needing tranquilisers I know, but there's no point trying to deceive you is there?

with JPH.

Maria, John and JPH came to see us this afternoon. Mum brought the baby up to my room and he crawled about on the floor. He liked my clock and kept saying "tick tock", "shoe", "flower", and made various horse impressions.

Saw 'Top of the Pops' tonight and eventually passed into a coma. For God's Sake I hope nobody creeps into my room during the night and switches off my life support machine.

Carole's latest treatment was a success and she may be out of hospital by Christmas. I was supposed to see her today but when she telephoned me with the news I told her I was ill. Bless her.

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Wednesday November 30, 1977

St Andrew's Day. A ghastly day. Just Kathleen and I in to do all the work. By 4:30 I was dead to the world. Didn't even have time to take a lunch break. I phoned Lynn this morning to enquire about acquiring a morning coat with tails from one of her mad associates. She settled it straight away and this saves me £8 or £9. Sisters can be very useful at times.

Striking firemen (1977).

______. This morning Jim Rawnsley gave a lecture on his view of the firemen's strike. He really let rip. He thinks all the striking firemen should be put up against a wall and shot. Blimey, we don't live in Chile or Argentina, Jim! (I almost said Spain here, but they are becoming more sensible and non-reactionary lately).

Got home at 5 o'clock. Mum and Dad are back from Luton. The funeral isn't until Tuesday and so they brought Edith & Ernest home too. They're going back on Monday.

I phoned John G in Rawtenstall. He is very well, in case you're interested.

Change of ink from red to black: I feel a little 'off it'. Almost as though I have a cold coming. In the bath at about 11. My neck aches. If it becomes any more painful I won't hesitate to chuck in work tomorrow.

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Tuesday November 29, 1977

Sarah is still ill. I realised something was afoot last week. I put her listlessness and complete lack of interest down to the fact that she had tired of my company. Maybe a bit of both.

Simon Regan.

Derek Naylor lent me Simon Regan's new book 'Margaret: A Love Story'. Good of him. The book however is not up to much and is riddled with errors throughout. One cannot help thinking that if he can make so many errors with the known facts how far can we trust him with the juicy, gossipy bits he says are authentic? Not far if you ask me.

Went to see Carole at 2:30. Her face is still swollen slightly. She is entertaining her Mum and 'Auntie' Anne, who are kept busy making Christmas decorations. She walked me to the stairs at the end of the ward at the close of my visit. I hadn't realised just how frail she actually is. I had to support her all the way, and as we walked, arm in arm, down the long, shiny floored corridor I remarked how much it was like getting married.

Maria and baby JPH came at 3:10pm. ________.The baby was rosy cheeked and had a marvellous set of teeth. He has all the attributes of a future Conservative prime minister. I told Carole I'd return on Thursday.

Tomorrow she is undergoing yet another 'milogramme' or whatever. She's got the bravest little character on earth ______.

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Monday November 28, 1977

Eileen is still in hospital. Sarah is off sick. It's Kathleen's day off, and so only Carol J and I in the office. Not such a hectic day though and we refuse to panic and let the bastards get on top of us.

My unhealthy Barclaycard statement.

Jack Heath, who died on Tuesday, was cremated today. Most people went from the office just to get off work. ______.

Carole PHONED ME  this morning in marvellous spirits. It was wonderful to hear her sweet voice on the blower. I promise to call in and see her at 2:30. She looked like her mother today. Her face was round, which she put down to the steroids that they are pumping into her each day. She is very much back to normal though and because of this her mother was half as attentive. In fact the old girl disappeared onto another ward with a mug of cocoa to visit a less fortunate patient. I asked Carole where she plans on taking me when she gets out. It triggered off the usual story about why our relationship fell down in July. She seems to think it was all my fault and we had a whispered quarrel, not wishing to have a full argument whilst she's laid up hospitalised. My God she must be improving if she can oppose everything I say! Great, isn't it? I didn't mention __________whom I'm sure is the 'nigger in the wood pile' regarding Carole and I.

I left at 3:15 say I will see her tomorrow. She doesn't allow me to give her a parting kiss on the lips because she doesn't want me going back to the YP smothered in lipstick.

Edith's aunt has died in Luton and Mum and Dad are taking the Blackwells down tomorrow for a couple of days to sort out the estate. The old dear was 87 and died suddenly the other night in her sleep. Not a nice way to go. I'd like just a tiny, little warning, I think. No long, painful illness but a gentle reminder that my time is up.

Watched a Western on the BBC and played Patience. The family sat startled as I shuffled a deck of cards.

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Sunday November 27, 1977

Advent Sunday. My eyes were opened to the principal bedroom of the Ratcliffe residence and Mr Mather's gaping mouth and Mantovani on the stereo playing 'Greensleeves' and then 'My Love is Like a Deep Red Rose'. All very nauseating. Peter George Mather, Esq is indeed a weird bundle of male. His eccentricities are numerous:

1). He persists in the wearing of the article of underclothing known as the VEST.
2). He wears his hair in the style of a lieutenant in Princess Patricia's Own Right Knee and Underskirt Regiment.
3). His bizarre musical tastes not only feature Mantovani and Max Jaffa, but Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson and Des O'Connor, &c.
4). His choice of footwear is indescribable.
5). His overall appearance is that of a 1958 bank clerk.
6). Sexually, he's a three year-old.
7). Sexually, he thinks he's a combination of Ryan O'Neal, Casanova, Mick Jagger, the Sex Pistols and Erroll Flynn.
8). He enjoys those archaic boys 'comics' like Hotspur.
9). Everybody's mother simply adores him.
10). If he'd been born American Mrs Edith Blackwell would campaign to have him elected president.

Peter: 1958 bank clerk.

Peter drove me home at 1:30. Shortly afterwards I went with Lynn, Mum and Dad to look at 34, Town Street, Guiseley, which is for sale. A poky, tiny little place but very 'country cottage with roses round the door' type of place. David is, I think, going to 'make an offer for it' as they say in the house buying business.

Back for luncheon and then collapsed in a chair by the fire with my knees firmly under the television set. The series 'Royal Heritage' featured George IV. Later, a Phyllis Diller film.

To bed at 12:00 with 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. Bloody Hell, I expect a visit any day from Alexandre Dumas to fill me in on where I'm missing the point. Oh, hang on, there goes the doorbell. He's here now. Come in, Alex! Sit down and take the weight off your Three Musketeers.

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