Friday August 12, 1983

Club Street: listed.

 We have a letter from the Department of the Environment informing us that our dear, neglected home, that tiny weavers' cottage, is in fact a listed building. So we now join the ranks of historic home owners and can now rub shoulders with the likes of Lord Pembroke (Wilton), the Duke of Marlborough (Blenheim), and Tony Gadsby (Wilsby). Mary Moore has always insisted that the little houses on Club Street dated from the days of the beginning of the industrial revolution (circa 1760) but I have been sceptical. We will have to write to the DofE for information. The only drawback is that now we may be restricted if wanting to make improvements. Dormer windows and the like are out. We have also received a letter from Jean Watts. We sat beneath the tree in the garden eating our horrible lunch and reading our mail. Barbecue night. Not as busy as last week. Long lulls at the bar. Koo Stark has left the bearded 23 year-old Prince Andrew. I'm pleased. Princess Margaret is on holiday in Italy with Norman Lonsdale and their children.

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Thursday August 11, 1983

Dave & Lynn.

 Woke at 7. I dreamt I was running down an escalator at an airport. For some reason I was going to France with Roy and Marie and wearing a great, white overcoat. Most odd. No sign of Roy until lunchtime. In the absence of the cook Marie made the breakfast which was good. Nice little touches like warming the plates and giving us friend eggs with the yokes intact put the repast in a class far above Janet's. A letter awaits us from Lynn. It crossed with ours to her unfortunately. David has a new job with Tay Homes, the people who make cardboard boxes for people to live in. Audrey is now home from hospital, but Henry B has sprained his ankle. Trevor and Jane have had a daughter, Rebecca Jane, on July 29. It was a nice chatty letter which began: 'Roses are red, Hotels are Blue, Mike and Ally are managers, but not o'er Tetleys brew'...  Very entertaining. I did a stocktake and then read the order compiled by me to the girl at Sam Smiths. Ally, behind a desk, did a lot of paper work too. I was in lounge 2 from 11:30 till 2. We lunched under a large tree but it was too hot to sit out. Ally phoned Sister Matthews who has heard nothing from Middlesbrough hospital, so everything must be OK. We are still keen on the name Samuel for a boy, though Ally says if Sam Smiths drop us, which I doubt, then she says he'll be Joshua.

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Wednesday August 10, 1983

 The alarm sounded at 9 and I had a good cough which annoyed Ally intently. I went downstairs to make boiled eggs and toast and went out to buy a Daily Telegraph and post my letter to Mum. I climbed into the bath and Ally ironed her smalls. Felt tired all day and after a morning stroll we went upstairs and slumbered for a few hours. Feeling refreshed I went and pulled pints with fury in lounge 2. It was a steady night with none of the recent hysterics. Looking at the pair of us Roy says he can see why we are so compatible. He always has such a twinkle in his eye. Marie seems to be annoyed about something and pulls faces like dear Mama does. R went off to a party. The washer up -a new slave - took Ally and I for the Barneses children. Roy and Marie didn't find this amusing. We lay awake for ages. Read my Ken Follett book.

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Tuesday August 9, 1983

 Linthorpe Hotel, Middlesbrough

We were in bed until 10:30 but didn't go down until after 12. Received a letter from Mum - a nice letter. She says she fell and sprained her ankle in Settle and cried all the way back to Horton. Poor Mumsie. We also received a cheque from Ken Gilbertson for our travelling expenses here, but not for the return visit to the clinic. Can't complain. £30. Went down and made eggs and bacon after writing letters to Sue and Lynn. The kitchen was in uproar after a blackout. We went on foot into town looking at antique shops and baby shops en route. We looked at the shops - all equally impressive, if not better than Leeds. Had a drink at the Masham, a Bass pub. Looked at the shops until 5:30. In Mothercare Ally was in hysterics trying on a pair of baggy trousers. Went to Ossie's for a drink, and then the Wig and Pen. Frightfully expensive. At 6:30 to the Mama Vittoria Pizzeria on Linthorpe Road and spent £18. We had prawn cocktails and steak Diane, &c. Back in a taxi to the hotel where we sat in the lounge watching Mags and Peter at work.We went up to bed at 9:30. Wrote a reply to Mama and started a new Ken Follett novel 'The Man from St Petersburg'.

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Monday August 8, 1983

New Moon

Linthorpe Hotel, Middlesbrough

The green phlegm continues. I am going about the place sounding like a consumptive. A telephone engineer came to install a bright yellow phone. Francis O'Brien, the chap who interviewed us in May, arrived at 11. He fixed his eyes on Ally's bump and refused to take his gaze from it. It's just a call to see how we are getting on and to see if we have any problems. We enthuse and say nothing has put us off. He went away after 10 minutes. He is a Uriah Heap type. JT says O'Brien is 'a first class c*nt', and Mags agreed. I went into the vault for the afternoon, stone dead. Roy came to see me and says O'Brien must have something up his sleeve. I asked if that something is a horrible, unpleasant something and Roy responded: 'Oh, no'. We later did our washing. I made fishcakes and chips, and Ally made herself a chicken curry. Roy saw me frying and I made something for him and William too. Marie was running around excitedly because Gaskins, the local nightclub, is at this very moment a blazing inferno, and she tried to persuade Charlie to take her to spectate, but he declined.  In the 'vault' tonight. The pool competition has fallen through and only a few locals appeared. Big Ron Perry acted as my minder and helped with the ashtrays and glasses. Back in the top bar I bought him a drink. The cook's mother died suddenly today so breakfast will be a shambles, says Roy with a grin. Tomorrow's our day off.

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Sunday August 7, 1983

 10th Sunday after Trinity

Linthorpe Hotel, Middlesbrough

    The Linthorpe.

Feeling better. I found myself in the 'vault' this morning thinking about Ally. It's shocking that we went back to Bradford at great expense to give blood, only to have it spilled and lost by the NHS. However, the authorities here were so kind it did compensate. Marie went to Chesterfield. I set to and cleaned out the deep fat fryer. A hideously messy, laborious job. Afternoon in the vault and evening in lounge 2. Afterwards Roy bought piles of fish and chips for everyone and we made sandwiches sitting at the bar. We chatted with Marie. The first pub they had was the Duncan in Leeds, then they went to Carlisle with John Smiths, and then to Manchester, then Rochdale, and four years ago here to Middlesbrough. She also lived in Headingley and worked on Low Lane at Horsforth. She drinks Bacardi and coke. We went up to bed. I have discarded the novel I was reading. It's a hideous thing.

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