Wednesday February 4, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

The usual frantic sort of day. Work, work, work, &c. Tonight Mags worked from 8 and I joined in Alan Batey's quiz and partnered poor Mary Knight. She is so embarrassed about her relationship to our cig machine bandit. We won and I gave the £5 winnings to Mary for something for Sarah-Jane, 2. 

We have a letter from St Edmund's Hall Prep School re an open day on March 4, prior to Sam's entry into school life on April 28. We were thinking it would be September. 

Frank and Bessie have gone to Tenerife, Islas Canarias for 2 weeks.

In the news: Liberace, the flamboyant American popular pianist who has died aged 67, was the world's single highest paid performer throughout the 1960s and 1970s.

Demolition for Royal lodge: A Victorian hunting lodge once considered by the Queen as a wedding gift to the Prince and Princess of Wales has been offered to the Army to dispose of in a demolition exercise. The 12-bedroom Delnadamph Lodge, adjoining Balmoral estate in the Highlands, has been empty since it was bought by the Queen for £1 million 10 years ago. The property came with 7,000 acres and several cottages.

Lady Rendlesham, who has died in her sixties, was (as Clare Rendlesham) the doyenne of London fashion retailing and in 1969 had the distinction of opening Rive Gauche, Yves St Laurent's first franchise in London. 

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Tuesday February 3, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally is livid at LG's attitude. He has obviously phoned Bonnie & Clyde and discussed the diluted spirits, and it has caused irritation. Apparently, he needs this nauseating couple. He says that nothing can be proved at this stage anyway, and he laughed it off. We are out of favour most definitely. 

Today. Hungover. The draymen woke me at 7:30. I have been over doing it with the orders in recent weeks and and so they dropped only a little. No doubt we'll be dry by Saturday. Buggered. Maureen opened up until 8 and then just Ally and I did the remainder. Liz has asked for a reference.

From the Daily Telegraph, Peterborough column, I think: Hard to crack -- LAST week's Surrey Comet reported: 'A cement mixer was stolen from Birkenhead Road in Kingston on Tuesday night. A police spokesman said yesterday "there was nothing concrete to go on".

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Monday February 2, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally spoke to Leslie Gledhill, who was very casual and 'laid back' about our diluted Bacardi. Annoying really. He was more concerned about how much they had taken over the counter. The reliefs did £2,700 last week. To the General Elliot at 6. The couple at the Raynville, Bramley, have been dismissed, but are refusing to quit the premises, hence this new venue for a meeting. It was a long meeting. We drank until 9 with the Darringtons, so very nice and normal - she especially so. Saw Ann Revell too, who was stunned beyond belief that 'Our Billy', as she calls him, is dating Margaret Rushton. We invited them back to the Moorhouse and surprisingly they agreed. Ann came for an hour or so, but the Darringtons were here until 12:30, going home in a taxi. Dearest Marjorie (our former barmaid) was babysitting.

From the Daily Telegraph: Safe hands? Passengers on a Qantas flight from Bombay to London the other day were greeted with this announcement from the flight steward: "I would give you the emergency safety instructions but I'm afraid the tape machine has broken down." He paused, and went on "never mind, I'll read them manually."

The Americans seem to have great difficulty in understanding Thomas a' Becket's place in history. Following my note about the tourist in Canterbury Cathedral who wanted to know where Becket had been shot, a former chorister assures me that he was approached some years ago by an American who asked: 'Say, can you show me the spot where Joe Beckett was knocked out?' Joe, as boxing fans will recall, was not a saint but a heavyweight champion of the 1920s. 

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Sunday February 1, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

4th Sunday after Epiphany

Thick frost. A rough night with Clemmie. I was up at 4:30 watching Damien: Omen II - a murder every 45 seconds or so. A 'full-English' and then over to the paper shop with Samuel, a precocious beast. Later, two Margarets worked and we escaped to Harewood House. The grounds were open today for the first time this year. St George's flag was fluttering above, and the lake was frozen solid and no amount of sticks and stones thrown in by Samuel would break the surface. Back at 4. Watched a chunk of 'Omen II' (tape) that I missed in the small hours. Dined on fish. Watched part II of 'Bertram's Hotel' at bedtime. Dear old Joan Hickson is an excellent Miss Jane Marple.

From the News of the World: Princess Margaret's son Viscount Linley is to marry his long-time lover Susannah Constantine. He has already been secretly shopping for an antique engagement ring with his sister Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones.

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Saturday January 31, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ 

A trying day . A police constable (PC Bassey 1711) came at 8:30 as I was feeding the children. Ally having a laker. Simultaneously, a washing machine repair man appeared, and Samuel fell down and cut his lip. Oh, dear. The PC was told that Anthony Cheetham, 24, was responsible for the recent bout of cigarette machine thefts. The police constable was beaming. Obviously, the Cheetham guy has 'previous'. He wanted some concrete proof, an eye witness, &c. My only hope is old Ada Dickinson, a terrified rabbit and octogenarian. Later in the day after talking to Ada I phoned the police to be told that they were holding someone for my robberies in the cells. Such joy. Sue phoned. She's seeing Dr Glass on Thursday ____. Messy business. Went to a managers meeting at the General Elliot on Vicar Lane. Bev came to babysit. Awful night. Tony Cheetham the sole topic of conversation. To bed at 1:15.

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Friday January 30, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, &c

It was 'one of those days'. We were still complaining about the relief couple when I noted that a Bacardi bottle on the optics looked odd so much so that I took it down and found  another bottle from the cellar to compare. My worst fears were realised. They have watered down the spirits. Not only are Golding & Jones squalid they are also thieving bastards. Ally phoned LG who wasn't in, and spoke to Mr Cawood, who showed some concern and said he will inform LG on Monday. What else in our tavern is let down with Co2? The mind boggles. Clementine was a picture today sitting in her pram and giggling, playing at peeping and chewing her toy keys. Baby has actually slept better. The screaming banshee of County Durham is now a blue-eyed slumbering cherub. Aly took Sam to a pet shop to buy seed for Reg (the budgie) and to a wallpaper shop (??) and to the local old people's home which he calls 'the pantomime' because he remembers the Christmas 'do' they laid on for the kids at nursery - "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs". Tonight. I opened at 6pm. Oh, and yet another cigarette machine 'vanished' last week, and Tony Cheetham has been openly selling cigs in the Junction this very afternoon. I phoned the police today and the policeman involved will contact me tomorrow. I want 'Cheesy' behind bars. He is of course the father of Mary Knight's granddaughter. Anyway, at 8 in walked 'Cheesy' and I immediately clotched him. He went away threatening to raise the establishment to the ground calling me a 'dick head' as he left. Then, Gabrielle's French mother phoned to say the girl had just fainted and would be unable to work tonight. Just Mags in. Ally came down looking lovely. And so a pleasant time.

From the Daily Telegraph: Maj Hugh Charles Lyttelton Lindsay, 9th/12th Royal Lancers, is engaged to Sarah Patricia Brennan.

Eva, Countess of Rosebery, who has died aged 94, was the key figure in the founding of the Edinburgh International Festival after the 1939-45 War ... &c.

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Thursday January 29, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

A historic day. Michael Lawrence, dear reader, went to a blood transfusion centre and did give up - nay sacrifice - a pint of his precious blood - so that others might live. Dad will be so chuffed. He's a gold medallist having donated blood for 30 years. It was a day of slagging off the Golding and Jones couple. Margaret Rushton was in tears at their behaviour. The woman was knocking back the brandy and Babychams before 11 o'clock. Gabrielle reports that the intoxicated couple were swearing, fighting and beating the hell out of each other one night. Taking holidays in this business are simply not worth it. Our flat is very tacky today. None of the doors fit in their casings. The walls are awash and stained with beer. Roy Barnes warned me that she (the relief) would be hitting the bottle. Just Ally and I tonight. Alan had a quiz game.

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Wednesday January 28, 1987

 Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

We got up at 6:30 and had a cooked breakfast with Dad, who has this off to a fine art. Clemmie ate crusts of brown bread with relish. I had a very 'thick' head and slumped over the table. I always return from holiday looking half dead. We left at 8. Dad is going to the dentist at Rawdon and then on to Cambridge to his brother John and Sheila's. He has drawn to his brothers and sister and to our detriment. It's not jealousy by any means, but I think that in his grief he has returned to his childhood affections, those that are pre-Nora. I suppose this is normal. We drove back to Leeds. Ally the only conscious occupant of the car. Back to the Moorhouse at 9:30. Our departing stock take was £148 up. Phew. Ronnie didn't come until 10:45. The relief managers Golding & Jones have a £124 deficit. They were filthy pigs. The flat is very shabby. The catering kitchen absolutely filthy, covered in grease and fungus. Rotting veg, &c. Their bed was still made up. This is unprecedented. Even Ron Brook stripped the beds of dirty linen. Cig ends everywhere. The house plants dead. The washing machine damaged. No doors now close properly. Filthy cloths everywhere. How disgusting. Ally is livid and went on about them all day. The cash was wrong and fiddles abound. Watered down orange juice &c. The optics had been tampered with. Funny to be back, really. Tom Kennedy and Pat Johnson died last week. Margaret Rushton has ducked out of work a few times. Margaret M says she didn't see 'eye to eye' with 'Bonnie' Jones. Jack Collett told me that barmaid Gabrielle wants to quit. Samuel was hysterical al day. No nursery. Clemmie screamed all day too, and did so until 11:45pm/ I had a haircut at 4pm.

Dead: Sir Ian Auld Mactaggart, Bt, on January 27. 

From the Telegraph: "That plaintive publication Singles, offers this month the following catch: "Sagittarian, 46, divorced, fleeced, limp [walks with], failing eyesight, been doctored, shares Quasimodo's tailor, bitter, temporary mysogonist, recently mugged, answers to the name Lucky. Requires pleasant , slim lady, 35-40, to restore faith in women ... Sense of humour and bike essential."

Letter to the Editor: Question of Degree

Sir- Can anyone explain why the media use Centigrade for temperatures in the winter [still below zero etc] and Fahrenheit in the summer [80 degrees - phew what a scorcher!] - Robert Salter, Kenley, Surrey.

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Tuesday January 27, 1987

 Bradley Burn, Co Durham

Clemmie and Teddy.

We packed and left Bradley Burn at 12. Our electricity bill was £23 which Mrs Stephenson was over the top, but we thought reasonable. We said goodbye to the cat that has the continuing hanging out tongue. Aids, perhaps? We drove via Barnard Castle to Richmond, Aysgarth, Hawes and to Horton-in-Ribblesdale for 3pm. Dad was pottering around cooking a meal with the radio blasting at full throttle. He is so eccentric these days. He infuriated Ally and I and I was 'on edge' for some reason. We hear of Arnold's funeral. A packed crem. Someone stood up and read "If" by Rudyard Kipling. Dad weeps at this poem at the best of times. Arnold kept a journal and it revealed that only a few days before his demise he wrote that when he eventually collapsed that no 'do gooder' would resuscitate him. He wanted to go, I think. This death has hit Dad very badly. We ate and then put the children to bed. Samuel proud in a large double bed in his own room. We sat watching 'Goldfinger' drinking the remnants of our whisky. We bought Dad underwear for Christmas and he had to bugger around swapping the items at Debenham's. He disappeared into his room and then emerged clad in the garments to give us a fashion display. Ally averted her eyes. We went to our beds at 10:30. Clemmie was a piglet and refused to sleep. She is sitting up now, by the way.

News from the Daily Telegraph: The Duke of Kent yesterday took the oath of allegiance in the Lords to enable him to be the Duke of York's sponsor when he is introduced in the House.

Mr Younger, Defence Secretary, confirmed to MPs last night that he had set up an inquiry into the leaking of a letter from Prince Philip to the Commandant-General of the Royal Marines about Prince Edward's resignation from the Corps.

The Marquess of Huntly, who has died aged 78, was premier Marquess of Scotland and did homage on behalf of the marquesses at the Coronation of King George VI in 1937.

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Monday January 26, 1987

 Kilmacolm to Bradley Burn

We went back to Durham where Samuel requested fish and chips in newspaper by the river. He loved the experience and so did I. Clemmie had a mad morning in her pram and so our visit was as pleasurable as the one on Tuesday. Home via a car wash at Crook - Sam's face was a picture. Dined on trout (me) and steak (Ally) tonight, but Clemmie wailed throughout. The joys of parenthood. Candlelit dinners are not what they were. 

Society engagements: The Earl of Dundonald and Beatrice Russo, and the Earl of Macduff and Caroline Bunting.  In the Daily Telegraph we are told that "two million Britons could be dead or dying from Aids by the turn of the century, according to a report by Dr Martin Schweiger, a community physician working in Leeds". 

Cannon Law: overheard the other day in Canterbury Cathedral: an American tourist making enthusiastic inquiries about the cathedral's history. "And where exactly," he asked, "was Thomas a' Becket shot?"

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Sunday January 25, 1987

 Kilmacolm

3rd Sunday after Epiphany

Lynn is very flippant about Aids. "Oh, it's no concern of mine." She tore up the government leaflet on the disease without reading it, for instance. I do not subscribed to this. In ten years time she will have two teenage daughters, juices flowing, and open to danger. It's no joke. We went to the park in Kilmacolm. Not like Scotland in the Stranraer sense, more like Harrogate. David has selected a good spot for his new erection, surrounded by mature Scots pines. However, a council estate looms at the rear. "I suppose they have to live somewhere", said Lynn, in a Marie Antoinette sort of way. She isn't a snob in the way that I am. She doesn't approve of private education, for instance. "All that gingham", she sniffed. We bid our farewells and left at 1pm. A long journey. Samuel wet his pants and walked around Alston, legs akimbo, in obvious discomfort. Back to the cottage for 5 o'clock after several stops for milk, papers, &c. Ally totally exhausted took to her bed at 8:30 after "At Bertram's Hotel" part 1 by A. Christie (Dame). I lingered with the Sunday mags and a drink. Clemmie did her 'Sarah Bernhardt routine' well into the small hours.

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