Sunday May 13, 1979

_. 4th Sunday after Easter.

Sat in a deckchair in the garden reading 'Richard III' swinging my ancient knees. I cut the lawns, which took me just over an hour. Tortuous endurance. It was about six inches long .... the grass that is.

Mum baked herself all day in the sun and by tea time she resembled something of a mix between a lobster and the Rev Ian Paisley.

Sue and Pete were out all day no doubt copulating in some remote Yorkshire dale, or boosting the profits of some local ale-house.

Relieved that I'm not living in England in the 1480s. The horror of Reginald Reginald Bosanquet reading 'News at 10' and Esther Rantzen's ugly mush pale into insignificance when one thinks of the life and times Edward V endured.

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Saturday May 12, 1979

_. At noon I went into Bradford and paid Michelle £650 for four holidays to sunny Ibiza. Took cheques with me because the cash would have been far too tempting. I could easily have ended up with a second hand Datsun and three Chinese prostitutes, which I might have regretted later. The girls in WH Smith's Travel are sweet and they giggle and titter like fifth formers. They say Denise is in the Greek islands on business. Home at 2pm.

Watched Arsenal beat Manchester United in the FA Cup final (3-2) at which the Prince of Wales put in an appearance. Countess Desiree Rosenborg, a cousin of the Queen of Denmark, is now rumoured to be the 'ideal' match for HRH. whether Charles has ever met his Danish kinswoman I don't suppose matters to the gentlemen of the Press.

Read 'Richard III' and watched a 1930s Erroll Flynn epic 'Captain Blood'. Is it true what they say about Erroll Flynn?

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Friday May 11, 1979

_. Mum phoned me at the office to say my national savings certificates arrived this morning and at 12:45 she and Dad brought them to Leeds so that I can cash them. That's £120 towards Ibiza '79.

Spent some time in the library and took out a couple of sizeable volumes. "Richard III" by Paul Murray Kendall and "Bloody Mary" by Carolly Erickson, a biography of Mary I.

Later I started on Richard III which is a very interesting account. He wasn't the crippled monster one imagines. Bloody Shakespeare should have thrown all his considerable energies into bricklaying or dabbling in watercolours because his historical plays have maligned more innocent characters and distorted history on a massive scale. Especially Plantagenet history, which was so blackened in the Tudor era, and this has stuck down the centuries.

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Thursday May 10, 1979

_. Cold day. Wet too. The soggy daffodils are retreating at speed back into their bulbs. Old Wordsworth would have beheld a 'host of running, wet daffodils'.

Susan seems much improved. She tells me that staying at home with mother all day long is driving her crazy. Mother is quite insane. Edgar Allen Poe would have found material for a dark, gripping tale after spending a morning in the company of Nora Rhodes at Pine Tops.

Mrs Thatcher has been prime minister for a whole week. Lord Soames is the new Lord President of the Council, but who is the government chief whip?

To the dentist at 5pm (Rawdon) and find myself with a new dentist. What has become of old Hough? The young, moustachioed guy prodded around in my cavities and cleaned my crumbling teeth and charged me £2 for five minutes work. That's me until November. Left in pouring rain at 5:10 for home.

Jim, Margaret and Julie came at 9. Retired at 11:30.

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Wednesday May 9, 1979

_. I am putting on weight in the wrong places. The very thought of spending the rest of my life in rotund misery is much more frightening than the prospect of the coming holocaust due to the failure of Cyrus Vance's SALT2 agreement. For a one-time slim-line Adonis  it's harrowing watching the numbers on the bathroom scales moving up and up. So, the fight back begins today. I am cutting down on my lunches and my beer intake is to be reduced drastically. I want to be on top form for Ibiza in eight weeks time.

It was a warm and sunny day. Mum and Susan sat in the garden. At the YP I spent the day, again, adjusting the files with the new government appointments. Cabinet ministers were sworn in at the palace yesterday afternoon.

At 2pm I went over to the library in town, but after an hour came back unable to make a decision on which books to choose. Glanced at "The Lives of the Queens of England", an ancient tome, but decided against it. It's probably a volume of historic poofs down the ages. Oh, and on the subject of our gay friends, the trial of Jeremy Thorpe has started at the Old Bailey. My great fear is that old Mr Justice Cantley will not survive long enough to send the disgraced former MP to the gallows. (Well, why not? They hanged Mr Bhutto.)

I have it on good authority from a man on the YP that Marion Thorpe is a lesbian, and that the object of her obsession is none other than FW ______. If this is so I can see why Mrs Thorpe has behaved with an almost light hearted indifference through the period of Jeremy's humiliation and disgrace.

Poor Uncle Tony (Gadsby) failed in his quest to become a Liberal councillor - by about 150 votes. Poor man. He worked so hard too.

Mum and Dad went to dinner at Lynn & Dave's. I watched TV with Sue & Pete. Bed at 12:15am.

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Tuesday May 8, 1979

_. The alarm clock sounded off at 7am. Made cups of tea for David G and he devoured those revolting Kellogg's Cornnflakes which make one hell of a noise for sensitive young ears first thing on a morning.

Looked at the Daily Mail before taking the 8 o'clock bus to Leeds. Spent the day pouring over the election news, and the movers. The only government appointment that I find surprising is that Lord Carrington has gone to the Foreign Office. Recent foreign secretaries have come from the Commons. Most of the other appointments seem to be drawn from Mrs Thatcher's opposition front bench team.

The leader of the Tories on Leeds City Council has been given a position as a junior minister with a seat in the House of Lords. Irwin Bellow is a friend of Jim Rawnsley. Just think - I have travelled in a car with a man who has danced with the wife of the man who has spoken to Margaret Thatcher on the telephone!

Worked all day without a break. Sarah brought some sandwiches in for me, but otherwise I didn't leave my hot, sweltering typewriter. The Labour party has been shredded. Yippee. I suppose it means the gallows for Jim Callaghan, and by Christmas we'll have Wedgwood Benn at the helm. It is such a relief that we now have a civilised government until at least 1984.

Susan saw a doctor at Yeadon this evening. He says she has some kind of fish poisoning, probably from the seafood salad she had at Salvo's.

Ally came back from her interview to see Mama and seemed quite hopeful of the position. She stayed to lunch before bombing off to Martyr Worthy.

I retired at 12:23am.

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Monday May 7, 1979

_. Bank Holiday in England, Ireland, Scotland & Wales.

Work-free today because it's May. All other nations have a holiday on May 1 to riot in the streets or parade in Moscow or shoot someone in the backstreets of Istanbul.

Had breakfast with David G and Alison. She thinks he is insane, and it's touching how he watches her with spaniel-like tendencies. Dad is quite correct when he says David has Rembrandt-like qualities. All craggy like one of the master's self-portraits.

The three of us went off in Alison's Midget sports car, roof down. Dave looked amazing sitting up in the back with what is left of his hair blowing in the damp, soggy atmosphere. We called on Lynn and Dave at Burley-in-W. David was messing round with his kitchen door and we waded through wood shavings to say hello. After a brief visit we went off in the direction of the Dales. Burnsall was too crowded - the tourists were out in force - peasants from the filthy urban areas. We found ourselves in the packed Tennant's Arms at Kilnsey, in the shadow of the jutting crag. Pints of ale and steak and kidney pie saw us through to 3pm and we journeyed back laughing like six year-olds at other motorists and waving at people in the style of our dear, beloved Queen Mother.

At home poor Sue was in bed after being taken ill at the office.

We ate fish and chips and sat in front of the telly all night - a war film dragged on for hours and in the midst of it Alison went off to Lynn's for the night, nervous about her interview tomorrow.

Bed at about 12:30.

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Sunday May 6, 1979

_. Up for breakfast. My mother is an ogre and resembles Rumpelstiltskin all morning ~ in fact all day. Our guests must think she is insane. The atmosphere is ghastly throughout. We didn't go out for a lunchtime drink and instead sat looking at old photo albums. Our only adventure was when David G, Alison and I went for a quick ten minute constitutional around Tranmere Park.

It was back to stony silence and an old Peter Finch film. We were so desperate we were reduced to looking through old copies of 'Private Eye' to stir up some amusement.

Motherdear and I reached our 'climax' as it were, and the tension began to subside from then on. We had roast beef for dinner, &c. Afterwards Peter took us (Dave G, Ally, Sue and I) to the Half Way House on Hollins Hill. Not a good pub, and far from interesting. Dave was amusing. He sank a couple of pints straight back without comment, as he must have missed his quota today.

Bed at 1am.

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Saturday May 5, 1979

_. A bugger of a day really. I woke up and the clock said nine o'clock. I had slept for seventeen hours.

Mum tells me David G is coming by train and will be here by 2pm. The other good news is that dearest Alison is with us once again. She arrived at 1pm and with Sue and Peter we went  to the Yorkshire Rose for a 'buppy' (one of Dad's terms for a drink). A hideous scene awaited us. A couple of drunks were drinking themselves into paralysis and were rolling around like animals on the sticky carpet. Another scruffy individual was sleeping in a corner ~ all this and the landlord and bar staff were giggling. Sadly, Mum and Dad intend celebrating their silver wedding anniversary here. To make matters worse the place was swarming with dogs.

On to the Regent and home at 3pm to find David G drinking wine with Mother. At 6pm we went to Salvo's at Headingley for pizzas - well, that is David G, me, Sue, Peter and Alison. Alison is having an interview at Bradford Area Health Authority on Tuesday.

Afterwards we went to the Taps in Ilkley and then met Lynn & Dave at the Cow and Calf. I didn't like the place. It was packed with twelve year-olds, and so we moved to the Fox & Hounds which is too incredibly boring. When I suggested going on to Roger Ratcliffe's party in Leeds it wasn't well received. Subsequently we returned to Pine Tops in argumentative mood. I had bought a bottle of wine and a party can of ale.

Mum and Dad came in late from Wilsill where they had dined with Jim and Margaret. Squabbled furiously. We played Monopoly until Ally lost the little dog and everyone else fell asleep. Peter stole £600,000 of Monopoly money and slipped it amongst my toytown cash. Subsequently I was accused of cheating. The noise was dreadful. At 3am we woke Mum from her slumbers whilst arguing about the sleeping arrangements. Some very hot tempers flared throughout the household.

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Friday May 4, 1979

_. To Ivory Towers on West End Lane (Horsforth). Delia howled with excitement as I sat on the edge of her bed informing her of Jeremy Thorpe's defeat in Devon and the Tory revival in the land. We ate scrambled eggs and drank the fizz. At 8:30am, in brilliant sunshine, Delia drove Sarah and I to the YP. Kathleen was dumbfounded and very nasty about the Tory victory. She didn't approve of me wearing a blue rosette in the office. Library staff, she thinks, ought to be impartial. Blimey, I'm not the fucking Duke of Edinburgh.

After about half an hour I began quite seriously to lose my powers of speech and vision, and a total inability to type. Sarah took me out at 12 and I slumped, almost unconscious, on a park bench in Park Square. At 2 Kathleen realised I was beyond hope of recovery and sent me home. She wanted the flash of my blue rosette out of the office for sure. I got a bus and slept all the way to Guiseley.

At home I focused only briefly on the telly to see Margaret Thatcher leaving Buckingham Palace as our first woman prime minister, and at 4pm I staggered to bed. Four o'clock in the afternoon and I succumb like an eighty year-old geriatric! Lay in bed with the soothing paralysis creeping upon me and contemplating the idea of a Conservative government. My last act of the day was to let out a burst of laughter at the thought of what Mrs T will do to those revolting trade unionists who get out of hand.

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Thursday May 3, 1979

_. General Election. Dad got me out of bed at 5:40am and then went out on very early duty to guard the polling station at Oxford Road School.

At five minutes to seven I took Dad's large bicycle and pedalled to Hawksworth village and cast both my votes for the Conservative party. Giles Shaw the parliamentary candidate and old Mr Freeman, the municipal candidate. I was the first person to vote at the polling station. Cycled back to breakfast with Mother and Susan. Yes, my mother emerged from her bed. I haven't seen her up so early since Christmas.

To the YP with Jim (Rawnsley) and the delightful Jennie. An interesting day at the office. Kathleen is convinced that tomorrow we will have a hung parliament and is convinced that one party with a big, working majority will never happen again. "You have to face the facts, Michael," she intoned: "the vast majority of the British public want a middle-of-the-road type of government with a re-emergence of the Liberal party." I cannot see this wishy-washy attitude catching on at all.

Sarah and I went to Len's Bar for lunch. _________.

Home at 5pm in a snow storm. Yes, snow. Bought a bottle of Cinzano and twenty cigs and wished a 'Merry Christmas' to the silly sods out walking dogs. Quite freezing cold.

Mum was in a nasty temper and we argued like rat and dog (sic). Lynn and Dave B arrived at 6:30 followed by Jim N, Margaret and Julie N at 9 o'clock.

From the very start of the election programme on the BBC it was obvious to all that Margaret Thatcher will be prime minister tomorrow. The swing to the Conservative party was something in the region of five or six per cent throughout the nation. I didn't feel particularly pissed but throughout the night we consumed a vast reservoir of alcohol. Lynn was invited to stay the night, but they left at about 4:30am, and poor, dejected Labour supporter and Jim Callaghan fan Jim Nason went weeping on his way at 5:30. Mum and Dad went off to bed and I cleared some of the debris to the sound of screaming birds in the snow-covered trees. Then, as if empowered by some superior force, I grabbed my jacket, with the stuffed bird stitched to the shoulder, my Mark Phillips style flat cap, and bottle of 55p pomagne, and walked to Ivory Towers, about six miles away, for breakfast with Delia and Sarah.

(Now see the following entry)


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