Wednesday June 6, 1979

_. The Queen failed to win the Derby and I lost 50p because of it. Some upstart by the name of Willie Carson riding Troy achieved victory by seven heads, or was it seven lengths? It certainly wasn't seven arm chairs or seven salmon sandwiches. King Edward VII is the only sovereign to have won the Derby, but no doubt our own dear Queen will succeed one day. Saw HM on the news at last night's concert in honour of Sir Robert Mayer's 100th birthday and thought how wonderful it would be if she could live to climb out of bed on the morning of April 21, 2026, in the 75th year of her reign. To equal Victoria's 64 years she has to live to be a mere 89, which isn't an impossibility. The Queen Mother must stay with us until she's 85 years 304 days to be our longest lived Queen Consort. The present record holder here is the Queen's grandmother, Queen Mary. Crikey, I could go on all night with royal statistics.

Alison phoned tonight and confirmed she is moving north tomorrow. She has put a letter in the post to Mama, but it has yet to arrive here. She starts working in Bradford on Monday. She didn't sound enthusiastic ____________.

Mummy has given me detailed instructions on how to behave and conduct myself when Ally is here. A sort of 'Scarborough warning' which made me feel almost like a small child, or unruly Labour Cabinet minister on the carpet at Number 10.  In fact, Mother was in one of her critical moods all evening and was quite ridiculous. Most of the time I think her flared tempers can be laid at the door of high blood pressure, so I don't put such flare ups down to insanity.

On the other hand Dad is too placid for comfort. He would make an ideal archbishop of Canterbury. In fact, when old Dr Cobweb retires in January I really think that Dad should put himself forward for election. Just one problem here. He says he's a Methodist, whatever that is.

To bed at 11:15 after viewing the running of the Derby no fewer than seventeen times. A hoodlum hurled a toilet roll at Yves St Martin and he rocketed around Epsom trailing ten yards of Andrex behind him.

Came to bed with 'Bloody Mary' by Carolly Erickson. She must be an American writer because she is almost illiterate. "The duchess of Norfolk and marchioness of Salisbury fell from favour", &c. Don't they do capital letters in Pennsylvania?

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Tuesday June 5, 1979

_. Further horrible and traumatic developments regarding Susan and Peter. He came waltzing in here at 8pm saying nuthin', and for a few moments we sat in embarrassed silence. I pulled my volume on Bloody Mary closer to my face and peered at the scene from page 195. Susan leapt from her chair and dragged him outside only to return after minutes alone, and Peterless. Like Neville Chamberlain she has been issuing ultimatums. ___________. I think it has come down to this - 'the lads or Susan'. He's going to have to pick Sue. After all can 'the lads' comfort you in sickness and in health, make Yorkshire puddings, or raise your fat, bouncing blue-eyed children?

On the topic of broken romances, Sarah has gone and kicked Mr Richard Burke into touch. She's been going about the office threatening to jump from the roof  and behaving generally irresponsibly all round. Once again it falls to me to bind her wounds and restore some level of sanity and stability into her existence.

Alison is supposed to be coming here on Thursday. She got the job at Bradford Area Health Authority and has been in touch with Lynn, but we have heard nothing.

What a soddin' week. Christine's cataclysmic tidings; Sue and Peter's dispute; Sarah's delicate matter. Whatever next? Oh yes. The sudden rise to power of the Ayatollah Rawnsley. No doubt his revolutionary council will be executing NALGO members in City Square.

To be at 12 with Mary Tudor. Is the Queen going to win the Derby tomorrow?

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Monday June 4, 1979

_. Bank Holiday in Irish Republic

Back to the YP this morning feeling grubby and greasy from my weekend away. ________.

Read in the paper this evening that Jim Rawnsley is to succeed Ken Potts as Chief Executive of Leeds City Council, although Jim says he won't assume that title or take the extra £3,000 per annum. Posh, isn't it? Going to work chauffeured by the top brass at Leeds City Council. "My Chauffeur is the Chief executive" sounds like the opening line of a Victorian music hall song.

Uncle Arnold's visit in greater detail: he arrived looking pale and thin, saying he could not get dad out of his mind so that he had to come and see him. Mum invited him to the Silver Wedding party and he leapt at the chance to see us all again._____. He insisted on referring to Mum as 'Duchess' in the charming manner the Rhodes gents have.

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Sunday June 3, 1979

_. Whit Sunday

Up at 11:30 for one of Dave granddad's greasy breakfasts. Quite exceptional they are. At 12 we were transplanted from the dining room to the bar for the ritual of Sunday drinking. Joined by Garry and Steve (from a game of tennis) and then Neil (the Hulk) and Willy. By now I'm in the embarrassing position of being out of cash and have to rely on charity. Dave didn't give me the £2 he owes me until the second before my departure because he says he knows what I am like with money. Only the Prince of Wales and I can  go out into the world without a single penny piece in our pockets.

At 2:30 we ate one of Lil's Sunday dinners (lamb) and then went for a walk in Alexandra Park and collapsed, sweating upon a park bench for almost an hour. Then, on to Garry's where we sat in his garden with cups of tea. Garry's dad is something of a joke, and we sat sniggering. Garry was sprawled upon a camp bed virtually naked.

They (the boys) came with me to Manchester at 7pm and we had a few more pints. Then it was bye bye, and over the Pennines and back to Guiseley. Home by 11. The family are sitting around looking quite miserable.  Uncle Arnold called to see them yesterday after a lapse of almost 5 years. Upstairs my old bed had disappeared and the Victorian article, from the Baker family, is erected in place. I'm now going to try it out.

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Saturday June 2, 1979

_. Out of bed at nearly lunchtime. Dave was hung over. He took a couple of headache pills to smooth the ridges of his aching brain. Joined by Garry we went off for a jaunt in the sun across Stockport. Of course, we stopped off at a pleasant tavern for refreshment. Dave was extremely pale. He started to sweat and almost collapsed. Most unhealthy.

Tonight: Out to Enzo's Pizzeria with Dave Garry and Steve. Dave and I had pizzas, but Garry and Steve demanded something 'English'. God knows what Garry will eat in Ibiza.

Afterwards it was more booze and a farewell to Steve who didn't want to join us at a disco.  I was refused entry into 'Rumours' because of my dress which wasn't up to standard apparently. They classed my Lee Cooper trousers as jeans. So we went to 'Ups and Downs', which perhaps should really be called 'Down and Unders'. Never have I been to such a diabolical, atrocious and rough club. Drunken old tarts and heavily tattooed yobs filled the place. I had that niggling feeling throughout that I was about to have my head kicked in. We had a few drinks and a view of that other world of vice and poverty.

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Friday June 1, 1979

_. The first of bleedin' June. To the YP with my suitcase because after work I begin my pilgrimage to the shrine of St David of Stockport, patron saint of warm beer.

I phoned Mother this morning. We had a fiery exchange on my arrival home last night over the 'new' bed I have acquired from the Baker residence. She thinks it's an atrocious piece of furniture but I stood firm and demanded my right to keep it, pleading for my civil liberties, human rights, and all that. At times dear Mama plays President Brezhnev to my Russian Jew.

A hot day. Left at 5. Sat in the coach depot until my coach left at 6. By 8 I was languishing in the Hollywood with a glass of heavily polluted lager. Dave was in fine form. Joined by Billy and Garry. Poor Dave fancied a night on the town, but once again he was trapped in his own pub. Jim Glynn didn't look well.

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Thursday May 31, 1979

_. Out tonight with Peter, Chippy, Dave W, &c. It was a pleasant start but at Oakwood Hall we encountered Sue with her friend Janet Simon, and a bunch of ladies. Immediately the trouble began. Peter, for reasons I do not understand, cannot talk to Susan on a Thursday night. Monday yes, Tuesday yes, Wednesday is all wine and roses. Friday is nothing but euphoric. On Saturday it is a delight to witness the banter, and Sunday is conversationally astounding. But not today.

Dave W told me that Debbie finished with Chippy earlier in the week, but had phoned him and changed her mind by the morning. __________. Home after 2am.

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