Saturday April 5, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Today I am 31. Ally, God bless her, made it a special day with her munificence. Samuel came in early singing 'happy birthday to you' and the three of us sat in bed opening cards and presents. Ally bought me two shirts from 'Paris', at Rawdon. Exquisite. A tie rack, and a beautiful tie with a miniature elephant reclining. Two books. "Claudius the God" by Graves and "Les Misérables" by Victor Hugo. Thorntons chocolates. Breakfast in bed. The girls and Dad all phoned before 9am. It was touching to hear Dad. Lunch. Drink downstairs. Ally and Sam to bed. I had a lager with Margaret and Audrey and they formed a plot and gave me a 'German special' one of the concoctions favoured by our Gestapo clientele. I was slightly 'tight' by 4pm. Upstairs we had rump steak, sauteed mushrooms, white wine, &c. We then lay upon cushions on the floor like Roman patricians. I failed to win the pub 'flutter' on the Grand National. Chris phoned to say he cannot work tonight and so I axed him from my front bench team. Ally very beautifully said she would do his shift. Janette phoned to say they are coming. We went down at 7 and sat sozzled in a corner. We were joined by Uncle Peter, Auntie Jean, John, Janette, George W and Jayne. A quiet night really. You have to be reasonably quiet at 31. Bed at 12:30. No high jinx. No stoppybacks. No 21 gun salute.

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Friday April 4, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn Leeds LS11 5NQ

Uncle Peter is 57 today. We haven't seen him since Christmas. One of my customers makes me feel like vomiting. Joan Shelton, 58, has just been savaging the poor prime minister. "I was never out of work until she got in". And there she is (Joan) supping gallons of mild every week and living a life of Riley. She expects something for nothing. Bloody parasite. Ally went to bed early and I went down to the bar for social intercourse. A drunk, tippling whisky in the tap room, upset me at 11:30 and I physically ejected him midst the breaking of glass and furniture. My remaining customers filed out in an orderly fashion. I went to bed covered in blood and sweat.

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Thursday April 3, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally to Dr Duck at 9:50. ________. Believe it or not Ally has yet to be confirmed as being definitely booked in to the BRI for baby's birth. St Luke's is the designated place and whenever Ally brings up the topic with Dr Duck she says "Oh don't worry. We'll have you at the BRI. It's where you went last time." It will mean war if we are thwarted this time. A home birth in fact. Ally has a wicked look on her face. She and Samuel are in collusion over my birthday presents, and by the look of things my wife has gone mad on the plastic again. On Saturday morning all will be revealed.

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Wednesday April 2, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Lynn and the children came over this afternoon for high jinx and high tea. Ally laid on an old fashioned nursery spread and the little ones greatly appreciated it. Katie had never seen a doughnut before and sat wide eyed but refusing to touch one. Samuel was covered in jam. Little Thomas moves around like a badger and refuses to walk. David came and picked them up at 6. Lynn made a comment about the Moorhouse: "It's a typical town pub". Snobby somewhat. She perhaps should visit some of the pubs in town.

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Tuesday April 1, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

We went over to Bradford this morning to meet Sue and Pete at Club Street where Peter installed a new kitchen sink and did the plumbing. I am very pleased with him really. Susan isn't the enormous mountain as in previous pregnancies and I pray she has a daughter. Surely not another uproarious boy? The children played well together considering the confined space. Ally went to the fish and chip shop and queued for almost an hour and returned with cold and greasy fayre. I do worry about all this work I am making for myself at Club St. It's two rooms stripped bare now and in six or seven weeks I am expected to have finished the lot. Oh dear. 

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Monday March 31, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Bank Holiday in the UK (except Scotland)

Ally in a mood because she feels bilious and bloated and out of sorts and lay in bed with Samuel until the afternoon. Jill phoned to say they would be here at 4, but didn't arrive until 5 and so we missed out on food. I was just about to tuck into a turkey leg when they appeared. ________. They left when I opened up at 7 o'clock. A quiet night. Chris worked, or perhaps I should say he showed his face. We had an extension until 11:30 but shouldn't have bothered taking it. People go away to caravans at Morecambe and such places at Easter - for some reason.

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Sunday March 30, 1986

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Easter Day

We roasted a turkey for Easter Day Sunday lunch. A lot of hard work and sweat for nothing. Ally didn't appreciate the big lunch, and the washing up went on and on. Samuel liked the candle on the table. Bessie and Frank phoned in the middle of the lunch and I sat eating alone for ages. Played on the floor with Samuel afterwards. We played at beds. I had to lay on the floor on a cushion sucking my thumb and play the baby. I am actually a baby. Frenzied night. Just Liz and I working. She shapes like a 'wet hen' as they say in Colne.

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Saturday March 29, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

My life is probably at its lowest ebb. Utter dejection and misery. Depression has set in and everything seems bloody futile. Easter Saturday. Just Ally and I tonight. No festivities. Someone asked me why we've given the annual 'Easter Bonnet Parade' a miss. Stuff Easter altogether.

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Friday March 28, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Good Friday. The 50th birthday of Auntie Hilda, who has gone off to Norfolk to see Ruby & Arthur for Easter. Poor H. She has now caught up with Mum. Mum will be forever 50, forever young, whilst we all grow steadily more older and more legless. Sunday hours in the pub today. Which came first? The Crucifixion, or Sunday hours in pubs on Good Friday? Did the pubs close early for the spectacle in Calgary perhaps? I won't be going up to Heaven, if I pursue this. Last Good Friday we were at Club St with poor Mum. It's all something of a blur now. Walking out to the bakery for hot cross buns. Dad's sad face. Mum's despair &c. Dad is now back at Horton taking in guests and cooking breakfasts and evening meals. Making beds, &c. Wouldn't Mum be proud of him?

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Thursday March 27, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

An awful day. Ally was in such a mood  and threatened to retire into private life at Club Street which sent me into paroxysms of remorse and self-loathing. What a puking beast I really am. So bloody childish, &c. Everyone else looked so sober whilst I grovelled around in a red-eyed stupor. "Michael. You are almost 31 for God's Sake." Alcohol has always got the better of me. The Royal Wedding is to be at Westminster Abbey on Wednesday July 23, at 11:30am. This shatters any ideas we have of a 'street party' and revelries here because we should, God permitting, be at Bradford with our baby George/Clemmie. Who knows though? No doubt the bride will be attended by half-brother Andrew and half-sister Alice, and not forgetting Prince William of Wales. It seems I wasn't the only casualty last night. Alan was dreadfully sick in a Leeds street after exiting Hollywood Days/Nights. That pub has such a silly name.

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Wednesday March 26, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

I have a minor attack of the runs. Not to worry. It's the quiz thing at Hollywood Days & Nights. I went down with Alan and Jennie in the pouring rain leaving Ally upstairs and in bed. I promised not to over do things and to return home before dawn with my faculties intact. Obviously, promises I cannot seem to keep. In town we found Karma, his friend, and Geoff, Phyllis, Terry, Doreen, Garry Rhodes, &c. George Bailey, of Hollywood Days was in his team which is annoying because LG said I couldn't be in mine. We lost, but by ony two or three points. Had I been playing we would have won. Daft questions such as 'to whom was Lauren Bacall married?' 'What is Margaret Thatcher's maiden name?' All silly, easy answers. Stayed on afterwards with George and his dreadfully common mistress, who replaced Debbie, who has left him. They want to stay on and keep the licence but he is now in contravention of his contract of employment. The regulars are talking of sending a petition to the brewery, but it will be quite wrong and futile. Home very drunk at God knows what time. Rendered speechless in the taxi. Lay in bed with the room furiously revolving. Ally quite annoyed.

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