Wednesday December 13, 1978

Jeremy Thorpe: sent for trial

Jeremy Thorpe's been sent for trial to the Old Bailey __________.

I  am cheesed off tonight. Sitting around the glowing Christmas tree should have seen me full of the joys of the season, bristling with gay abandon, but this was not to be. I had been thinking about money. I am on the verge of a great financial collapse. Gus and Frank's 21st birthdays take place at Crumpet on Friday, and this event will make me destitute. Mum hasn't come forth with the offer of a loan and I can understand her predicament because she's no Gloria Vanderbilt is she? Blimey, I cannot be expected to use her purse like a ruddy tap, can I? I am going to have to resort to drastic measures and assault someone. Maybe "mug" an 85~year old spinster and make off with her old age pension. It's all very well giving these old souls a £10 bonus every Christmas, but what about us youngsters who could really spend the extra cash wisely? Life is so cruel & unfair. My best hope is to approach Susan, I think.  If she isn't forthcoming I will lower myself and ask one of the lads.

To bed at 12:05am. Ate pilchards on toast and supped a mug of tea. Ugh.

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Tuesday December 12, 1978

I have just been summoned to thee bathroom by Susie who is sitting in a hot bath in complete darkness. "Michael, the bulb's just gone" she moaned. "Go and catch it then" answered I, closing the door. She was splashing hopelessly in the inky black depths. It could have proved nasty if she'd been practicing hand stands in the bath or embroidering a bed~spread whilst soaking.

Enoch Powell: fascist tendencies ...

Have you heard about the ridiculous Enoch Powell's controversial statement on the possible marriage of the Prince of Wales with a lady of Roman Catholic inclinations? The old fool ought to be shot. Obviously, we don't want to the next Queen Consort giving her allegiance to the Pope, but Powell, a Ulster Unionist MP with a little moustache and fascist tendencies is stirring up trouble. I feel sure that the prince is well aware of the impracticality of his marrying a Roman Catholic and do suppose he has no intention of doing so. I am going to state again ~ quite categorically ~ that HRH The Prince of Wales will marry an English rose from the aristocracy or landed gentry (if you can define the two) and in all probability he hasn't even met her yet.

Sarah and I are not having a half~day off together on Friday after all. I'm taking the day off and she's taking Thursday off. It's all part of Kathleen's strike measures. Stupid if you ask me.

Told Sarah that CB is accompanying me to Carol's party on Dec 23, and she didn't look thrilled. She is going with Richard Burke and I haven't complained about that. Anyway, I dislike the Regent (Chapel Allerton) and by going with Christine we can spend most of the evening at the Fox.

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Monday December 11, 1978

Wedwood Benn: future prime minister

I am very worried about Anthony Wedgwood Benn. The Daily Mail seems to think that this man is a future Prime Minister and this really worries me ~ especially at breakfast time when I am inclined to fits of morose depression. I left for the YP with a black cloud hanging over me. What's the bloody point in carrying on when communism, decay and drab uniformity lie at the end of life's sombre pathway?

Rang Janet at WH Smith's and told her to go ahead for the booking of the Ibiza '79 holiday. At lunch I dashed to the closest travel agent and picked up a Thomson's brochure to look at the Hotel Galfi. It seems quite nice. It only has 40 bedrooms. Phoned Dave G tonight. We laughed. After two hours at the Galfi everyone will know us intimately. He's going to see Garry later. Bill is dead chuffed about the whole business. The nasty part about it is that Smith's want a £20 deposit from all of us by the weekend. I collected some coach tour brochures for Mum and she fancies a trip to Yugoslavia next June as part of her Silver Wedding celebrations. Disgraceful that she wants to spend a holiday in the Eastern bloc alliance. It is no idea of fun to me. I suppose Mr Benn and his leftie pals from the House of Commons spend holidays in the Warsaw Pact countries, but Michael Rhodes never shall. President Tito can go piss off.

Saw Monty Python on the BBC followed by a Jane Fonda film. To bed hideously tired at 12:30.

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Sunday December 10, 1978

2nd Sunday in Advent

No hangover. Up at a grotesquely late hour. Lynn and David were screaming with laughter in the garden with Mum and Dad and Chris Baker and three or four Christmas trees. Rain was gushing down but it didn't dampen Lynn's high spirits. She is always wonderful and child~like at Yuletide ~ even after all these years of marital agony. This hysteria comes the ancient Wilson love of Christmas which is steeped in folklore and mystery. The things Great~Uncle Albert did with his mince pies cannot adequately be described here.

Discussing next year's holiday with Sue she says that she and Pete cannot be included because they are saving up this year and intend getting engaged in January, 1980, and married in the following June. She'd like to marry on June 19 ~ Mum & Dad's 26th wedding anniversary. Nothing is official of course, and no doubt Peter will be the last to know. She is always so calm about these matters and almost unenthusiastic. In similar circumstances Lynn would be on the verge of wetting herself. I will not believe it until I actually see it.

Dad and Dave went down to Burley (in Wharfedale) to glue tiles all over the kitchen and Lynn and Mum spent the afternoon baking mince pies.

We all ate at about 6:30 and then I persuaded them to watch "Richard II" by Shakespeare on BBC2. Lynn and Dave went off at about 9 o'clock because she couldn't understand John of Gaunt's senile deliberations. I really do think that the young people of today should have more patience with Shakespeare. He is so easy to understand if you are prepared to concentrate. Lynn said she thought the play was boring! How can Richard II be boring?

To bed at 1:00am and shudder at the thought of the YP. Weekends just dissolve, don't they?

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Saturday December 9, 1978

Sun rises 07:54

Sun sets 15:52

KING HENRY VI YOU SILLY GIT

Joke: "What fucks old age pensioners?" (For the answer see the heading of Dec 16).

My stomach isn't what it should be today. I am dribbling and rumbling all over the place and put it down to the Tetley's bitter in the Shoulder last night.

Did absolutely nothing all day other than listen to music and watching Mummy going about her work. If I was the Holy Father I'd have her beatified. (Richard III's niece, Margaret, Countess of Salisbury was beatified in the 1880s). Mum does work like a bee though.

Original Oak: Headingley

Tonight: phoned Chippy at 7 and he and Frank came at 8. We went to Queensway for Gus and then had a drink in the Crown before moving on to the Original Oak to meet Johnny. We latched on to the vicars and tarts. Frank and I went outside to change into our costumes. He was clad in a black skirt and canary~yellow jacket and I put on a white shirt backwards beneath a black t~shirt so that soon I'm the image of the Archdeacon of Bath &Wells. Frank brought the place to a standstill with his impersonation of a tart, he even used the ladies toilets. The gin and ale swilled everywhere. I persuaded a crowd of people to join me in the singing of rousing hymns including "Christ the Lord is Risen Today, Hallelujah!" Someone complemented me on my ecclesiastical voice. One gorgeous tart said I sound like William Rushton! What a tremendous complement. I didn't know I was so articulate. An articulated lorry yes, but no orator.

We gave a lift to a guy called Smith and carrying a seven pint can I entered the party. As usual everything is shrouded in mist and stale alcohol fumes. I had a romantic interlude with one nameless tart who enquired: "Ooh Father, where did you learn to kiss like that?"

Became deeply involved in a discussion on which part of the UK is the friendliest. I said (of course) that Yorkshiremen are the warmest but my opponent said boys from Devon are far friendlier. I concluded that they all vote Liberal in Devon and are invariably homosexual, at which I was set upon by a rugby player from Paignton.

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Friday December 8, 1978

Not too hung~over, but all the same  took my weekly dose of Eno's on my arrival at the barren, deserted office.

Malcolm was working flat out to get the EP on the street. I gave him a few items of interest from the Daily Telegraph and he snatched them up eagerly and called me a "grand lad". Am I perhaps a creep, or just nice and helpful? Peter Lazenby wouldn't approve of my assisting here.  Sarah is still off.

At 2 Eileen and I went to Len's for a couple of lagers. At 3 I began my Christmas shopping in torrents of rain and in 90 minutes I purchased five presents and spent £20. Easily done.

Golda Meir: eagle?

Home and dry for 5:30. Devoured a pile of cheese sandwiches. Saw on the news that Golda Meir has died. I believe she is the eagle which escaped from London Zoo in 1966 or thereabouts. (Am I mad?)

Out to the Shoulder of Mutton with Sue & Pete at 8 and are joined by the mob. Johnny is home from college and he is taking us to a party in Headingley tomorrow night  ~ a 'Vicars & Tarts' arrangement. I spent very little but enjoyed it all the same. In fact I was slightly pissed.

Pennies from Heaven ...

At 10 we went to the White Cross and then back to _____West's house opposite the old police station. (He was the lad who thumped me, Dave Lawson and Andrew Dean, after the Fieldhead School prize giving day in Dec 1971). However, Christmas is the season for forgiving. Besides, he bought me a whisky. They played cards and I watched 'Pennies from Heaven' and completed a crossword. Later I read an interesting article on carp fishing in an angling volume which educated me greatly. Home at 1 o'clock and to bed.

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Thursday December 7, 1978

Moon's first quarter 00:34

Slightly festive. Out tonight with Christine to the Fox & Hounds in a deluge of bloody rain. She was swearing, using four~letter words in fact, about getting her delicious hair wet.

The Fox was dead and dull and was brightened slightly by the arrival of Philip Knowles and a fellow soccer enthusiast. He and CB had been out together last night.

At 10:30 we went to Oakwood Hall and danced all night. We must be growing quite ancient and unfit because at 1:30 we were exhausted and close to collapse. Sweat trickled and cascaded down the delightful contours of Christine's form.

Peter, Gus, Chippy and Dave Wainwright made an appearance but we didn't fraternize. Christine and Chippy have something of a personality clash. In fact, they hate each other.

Sexual croquet ...

Outside was hilarious. Christine wanted a curry and a £1 note from her purse blew from her fingers and under the mobile curry van. I proceeded to discard clothing and spread~eagle myself beneath the vehicle to salvage the offending note much to the amusement of the assembled multitude. I got stuck. People tried to pull me out. A woman dropped an onion bhaji and it rolled between my legs ~ like a game of sexual croquet. Eventually I got out, covered in filth and clutching CB's money.

Christine laughed all the way home. bed at 2am.




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