Thursday December 6, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Sunshine. We have a new nephew, folks. Graham phoned at lunchtime to say Gill had a baby boy weighing 5lb 13oz at 5:21am today. He is to be Simon Something Something Dixon. We went to celebrate in our lifeless lounge and sat with Sammy having a drink for an hour. Archie came in and introduced our sons to the evils of gaming machines. To Club Street at 3 to collect last year's Christmas tree from the garden. We told Samuel that it's a flower and he sat pointing at it making an 'f' sound. Phoned Mum from Bradford . The doctor says her gall bladder is no longer functioning and it will have to be removed. She is such a coward and is quaking at the thought of hospital. She is to see a surgeon at Keighley on Monday. Sue says they've received a (Christmas) card from John & Sheila with a note saying they'll be in the UK from Jan 3 to Jan 24. This means they'll miss seeing us for our first week on the island, and with some feelings of trepidation I took up the phone and spoke to Sheila. She says it's a hot, balmy day in Lanzarote. She said we'll be well looked after and they see us on the 24th. John was his usual buoyant self. Later, John and Janette called in. She looked tired and ill and they left to go shopping at 9:30pm. They saw Sam Snr.

-=-

Wednesday December 5, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Cold. Jim Littlewood came in at 11 and said that Carol and Taffy's daughter, Samantha, died at 6:30am.The infant's first birthday was on November 29 and she has gone through a year of pain and seemed to be getting so much better recently. The pub took on the atmosphere of the Roya Mausoleum, Frogmore. The whole of Carol's family were in and heavily drinking. Young Frank Millar was violently sick and sat sobbing, and later Madge stood banging her head against the flashing fruit machine questioning the sanity of God for allowing little Samantha to be taken. 

Audrey tonight. Dave G phoned at 11:20pm when we were cleaning the lines. He's excited about Lanzarote. Six weeks tomorrow. The Hollywood now bangs away to discos and heavy metal gigs. Old Jim (Glynn) would be proud.

-=-

Tuesday December 4, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Ally took Samuel to the Probation Office and asked them to bring a tin of ham or something  for our Yuletide hamper. Old John saw her coming out of the office and now the rumour is that she's an ex-con and reporting to the beak on a regular basis. 

The dray didn't come until 3:30. Bloody Hell. A soft toy salesman came in with a giant panda and we were persuaded to fork out £7.50 for 'Chi Chi'. It will be raffled for the South Leeds Comforts Trust. 

Ally has bought Samuel some swimming trunks for Lanzarote. Very cute. 

No news from Gloucester, Horton-in-Ribblesdale, Windsor or Barnsley.

Andy in. Dead. The lad says he wants double time for Christmas and New Year. Bloody typical. Of course, he won't get it.

-=-

Monday December 3, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Ally is storming around like Arthur Scargill making life here in 20th century Hunslet quite hellish. She needs vitamin B6 if you ask me. That's all it is. Pre-menstrual tension. She is like an Ethiopian lioness taking chunks out of me. She went off with Samuel to market and I splashed in the bath. Bessie phoned to say Gill went into Gloucester hospital yesterday. Her waters have burst and so it's only a matter of time until we have little Siobhan on the scene. Ally phoned them later, but they had no further news.

-=-

Sunday December 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Advent Sunday

Samuel woke me at 6:30. I gave him breakfast and read him chunks of news from the Sunday Telegraph as he ate his Weetabix, boiled egg and Gurkhas. Did the till, with Samuel of course. Ally emerged at 10:30 we went to Linfood and to Club Street and got back here at 12:30. Spent the rest of the day cooking chickens, lasagne and curry for next weeks sumptuous menu. I stood over a hot stove until almost 10pm. The pub was pounding down below because it is Brian Millar's 19th birthday extravaganza. Watched a film on Channel 4 'Jassy', with Margaret Lockwood doing her old 'wicked lady' routine. To bed after 12. I am reading 'Mr American' by Macdonald Fraser, author of 'The Flashman Papers' &c.

-=-

Saturday December 1, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Mum's advent calendar: we put it up every year

Mum has bought nine advent calendars for the grandchildren. She is sweet. Samuel is too young to understand Santa Claus. He is also too young to understand Arthur Scargill, such a blessing. Poor Mum looks jolly yellow today. The backs of her hands especially. We went in convoy fashion to Guiseley to Sue's. She was ratty and out of sorts and not desirous of visitors. Christopher behaved like an unchained beast and upset everyone. I sat sniffling  and gasping with a Daily Mail over my head. Little Benjamin very much like Samuel, only fatter. Peter was upstairs killing woodworm  and didn't come down to reveal himself. We left to avoid being ejected by a vicious Susie. She loathes children now, apparently. On to Lynn's. They were out and so we peered in at their new dining room through the back window. Mum and Dad said goodbye and went back to Horton and we ate fish and chips in Harry Ramsden's car park. It was Samuel's first visit to that ancient shrine. Back to the pub in the dark for 5pm. Samuel had 'high tea'  and then retired leaving us to out tiny, yet significant ale house. I sniffled all night and propped up the bar in the deserted tap room. Brian P___ gave me snuff which immediately cured my runny nose. Afterwards I felt like a new man. Incidentally, the new and vomit-prone manageress of The Eagle tavern, sorry no, I mean the General Elliot, says we have to keep an eye on Brian, who is  homosexual
and can turn very nasty. He is invariably in the company of intoxicated and recently pubic males.

-=-

Friday November 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Pie and Pea Night.

Mum and Dad haven't gone back to Horton and remain here with us. I do enjoy having them here. Samuel loves to see them and they can amuse him while we are at work. Tonight we had a 'Pie and Pea' evening in aid of the South Leeds (illegible) Trust and we raffled a teddy bear which raised £17 for them. Our clientele are not 'pie and pea' people as we soon discovered, but about 20 of them indulged. Ally looked stunning in her Laura Ashley black frock and accessories. Mum, God Bless her, was chief cook and she stood over a bubbling cauldron of foaming green peas. The awful Michael Pirie made a subdued visit at 6:30 to say goodbye to Audrey. He leaves for Aberdeen and obscurity tomorrow. He came and spoke to me and I must say he was quite pleasant and I put this don to the absence of the ghastly Bev, still incarcerated at Ossett. I am thankful that they are gone. Ossett was far too convenient for them to be constantly nipping back at every opportunity. Bed after watching the snooker on TV. Mum is a big fan of it.

-=-
 

Thursday November 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Not too bad a hangover considering. Lots of staff were in and so I did no work, other than the lunches. Mum and Dad were enjoying it, and decided to stay on again tonight but Mummy has a shortage of clothes and so tonight she wore one of Ally's maternity dresses. Mum has such good hair for her age. No grey. We sat downstairs and joined by cousin Samuel. The boy is something of a religious maniac and sat quoting chunks from the Old Testament to a fidgety Papa. They spoke long about the old days and I think Mum has a particular affection for him. Samuel asked for a pen and in the hustle and bustle of our dark, little lounge he penned a poem which I had to read out straight faced. I have an aversion to poetry. I have never been able to stomach the stuff. Yes, Rupert Brooke's 'The Soldier' is pleasant to the ear, but nothing much inspires me. Sam's poem is 'Journey of a Tear' and I'll slip it between the pages here for your quizzical 21st century gaze. He left at 10:30 and we sat with Mum and Dad until after 12. Lynn and David the topic of conversation again. Mum says they will 'come a cropper' one of these days and I tend to agree.

-=-

Wednesday November 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The deputy high commissioner in Bombay, Percy Norris, has been assassinated on his way to the office. Nobody is safe these days. Topically, Archie has just told me a joke:

Fred: "How do you fit six people in a mini?"

George: "Go on. Tell me. How do you get six people into a mini?"

Fred: "Two in the front. Three in the back, and Mrs Gandhi in the ashtray."

Awful, but amusing. Mum and Dad came here at 5. She is still very yellow, but looks better. Ally came down wearing a black and gold creation and looked amazing. It is the Sam Smith's annual dinner dance, of course. We went down to the bar at 6:30 with Mum and Dad. A coach came to collect us and we joined a motley crew and headed to the Buckles Inn, York. We were on a table next to the ghastly band with Chris Barlow and Enid Holden (?), the wines and spirits buyer. Steak on the menu. Boring presentations and then drinkies. Ally was in good spirits and she dragged Roy Barnes on to the dance floor. As usual I was drawn to the charms of dear Marie. R_____P spend the evening stealing cigars from all the tables, no doubt to help his stocks. Chris Wills took all the prizes, as usual. We didn't even go into the draw for the best kept cellar. Enid and I danced to a jazzed up Christmas carol. Really awful.

These evenings go by so very quickly and you know how my memory leaves me after alcohol. Ally did look chic though. Home on the coach singing furiously. My rendering of 'Oh God Our Help In Ages Past' brought tears to Mike Walker's eyes. A clutch of Leeds landlords left the coach at the Brown Hare to go to the loo, and a few were puking up in the carpark. It is Don Whitfield's birthday too. Home for 3. We went in to see Mum and Dad. Samuel had wailed only at 1:30 but was at peace again. To bed giggly and pissed.

-=-

Tuesday November 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 

Yer usual sort of day. Andy Bowden started work at 8 and seems to be a level headed sort of chap. No tattoos or dyed green hair. He replaces Karen Pratt and he'll give us cover for the coming Christmas chaos. We have enjoyed Tuesdays without staff, but all good things come to an end. I had lengthy social intercourse in the tap room. The place was barren. Just Jim and Archie. Ally made sure that Andy was kept running around. 

The beast William Hamilton is to retire from the House of Commons. They say he is going to write another book. The first was very entertaining.

Phoned Mum. She is coming here tomorrow.

-=-

Monday November 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

I expect a visit from Colin Black any day now and I prowl around trying to look useful which can be very time consuming and hard work. Please don't get me wrong. I am not an idle time waster, but feel edgy at the coming visit of our new area manager. We've had them all in the past six months. Despite this anxiety we were up early and out to the market, to Morrison's and God knows where. Back here for coffee at 10. Samuel scampered everywhere and is drawn to the hideous gas fire and wants to touch it. Little bugger.

Pool match tonight. These events have really taken off. Jim and Archie are organising a pool team. We're to join the Hunslet league in five months they say. I am all for it. Pool sandwiches, &c. Ally came down at 10 to assist because Maureen and I were dashing about like blue-arsed flies. 

Neil Pillock (sic) is in Moscow offering to wave the white flag. The tanks will be rumbling down Whitehall by Christmas.

-=-

Sunday November 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Last Sunday after Trinity

Up early and out to Linfood at Bradford making our usual drop in at Club St afterwards. Back here for 12 o'clock heavily laden. Surprisingly we had no family visitors today. I suppose they will all be hanging on until Christmas. Is it Kathleen Rainford's birthday today?

We dined on roast chicken and Yorkshire puds at 4 o'clock. Samuel ate like a horse, and obsesses over Yorkshire puddings like his dear Papa. Later he went to bed and I assisted Ally with cooking for tomorrow's lunches. Lasagne, curry &c. 

At 7:15 we sat down with a coffee to watch the ghastly Royal Variety Performance in the presence of the Queen Mother, the P and Pcss of Wales, and Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones. Lady Sarah is slimmer, drawn, and willowy. She was 20 last May.  The show was hideous, as usual, and I do feel for the dear Queen Mother who must have sat through about fifty of them. To bed at 11 after a loutish sort of day.

-=-

Saturday November 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 

Home news: Ally has been inspecting the Christmas decorations. We had tomato soup at tea time and put up posters advertising the Moorhouse Yuletide lunches at £3 per head. Not bad eh? The awful Piries charged £3.50 last Christmas.

Stiff nobility:-

The 18th Duke of Somerset died recently aged 74. He is the second senior duke after Miles Norfolk and the dukedom dates back to Henry VIII. Queen Jane Seymour was a sister of the 1st duke.

Lord Maelor has died in a Welsh fire. A life peer, aged eighty-ish.

Viscountess Gormanston , Polish-born wife of the senior viscount in the peerage of Ireland, has died of a drugs overdose. Or if she isn't dead already, she's due to pop off any day now.

Noble arrivals:-

I love the Daily Telegraph birth announcements. A daughter for Viscountess Head.  Someone called Georgina Rashleigh-Belcher has been delivered of a child. What a splendid surname. Very Evelyn Waugh.

-=-

Friday November 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Cousin Sam is now firmly on the scene again and he's been a regular visitor since our departure. Archie accused me, albeit jokingly, of employing him as a spy to observe during our holiday. He does look peculiar with his short cropped hair, no beard, and hobnail boots. Bit of a skinhead look. __________.

Ally remained upstairs looking into our finances. We have £10 to last us until mid-December. I fully expected to be 'in the red' and so it isn't as catastrophic as one might think. Ally laughed when I said that Sam now looks like Jilly Cooper with the gap in his new teeth. The poor boy certainly has some smelly, cloggy nappies of late and we put it down to his teeth. Pub life continues on its steady course but I have nothing to report on the subject. On Saturdays we tend to idle around upstairs with Samuel ignoring the fact that a pub lies below.

-=-

Thursday November 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Moor Cres, Leeds

Wet. Rose at 6:44. Phoned the brewery with a Yuletide spirit order and pondered over it a great deal. Samuel was in a vicious temper all day, screaming like a little Maria Callas. I blame his teeth, but Ally says it's just naughtiness. (A first top tooth appeared on Nov 14 and since then it has been joined by another, and the two front bottom teeth are ready. The only news Audrey has for us after three weeks is the death of Peter, her 14 year-old budgerigar. My cousin Sam appeared tonight with short cropped hair, no beard, and tells me he has enrolled at the (Leeds) Polytechnic to do 'A' level mathematics. He is a humorous, yet lonely lad. I didn't see him leave, and feel quite sad about it. We were busy. It's odd having a relation as a regular customer. Am I expected to entertain him every night? I gave him a couple of pints anyway. _______. Jane Fletcher phoned from the brewery to ask if we are going to the dinner dance. We told her yes. Phoned Mum. She was out. She then phoned me later to say she is having an X-ray on her gall bladder at 10:30 on Monday Nov 26 at Skipton, but she isn't seeing her doctor again until Dec 6. She is going to have to be brave if an operation is called for. You know how squeamish she is. She really should take a leaf out of Sue's book. God bless her anyway. Upstairs for 11:10. Ally was counting the money until 11:52. Sandwiches in bed.

-=-

Wednesday November 21, 1984

 5, Club Street

Here we go. Back to the hurly burly of public life. Now I know how our dear Queen feels like on the culmination of her Sandringham break. Heavy rain. Up at dawn. Much industry in the packing department. I did the pack-horse bit to and from the car. Left at 9:30 and was back at our dear tavern for 10:15. Ronnie was in a furious mood because he came to do the stocktake at 7:30 and has had to wait for us. The place looked tidy and the relief manager escaped in a taxi after 10 minutes. He said little about his three weeks stay other than that he enjoyed it and for the remainder of the day I have the feeling that I have never been away. The staff do not mention Richard Tully and I can only guess at what a time they have all had together. I know only too well from my relief days at the Red Lion how the absent manager is slurred, blackened and lampooned by the bar staff in his absence. We went back to Club St at 2 to finish packing. I have a message to phone Fran O'Brien and he invites us to the 'grand re-opening' of the General Elliot in town, Vicar Lane, tomorrow at 11:30am. Obviously, we cannot go. Cleaned out the murky friers (fryers?) this evening. Maureen has done a very good job catering for us and took £170 after buying in. A figure beyond our wildest dreams. We gave her £80 cash tax free. Down to the bar at 8 for social intercourse with our enfeebled, geriatric inmates. Audrey worked with Mavis, and worked excellently together.

-=-

Tuesday November 20, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green

Samuel was awake from 5am and I entertained him on the bedroom floor until 8 when I heard father padding around. The three of us went down to eat porridge and laugh at the traffic on Cemetery Road. "Queueing up to go to work" mocked Dad. We both despise the rat race. Lynn phoned at 9 to say they have had a good night. The bout of sickness must have passed as quickly as it came. Bloody annoying it is. Ally is a treasure, having slept all night flat out on a cold floor, and today she looks a million dollars. Mum and Dad went back to Sue's to assist. Peter only took one day off for the move. Naughty of him. Samuel was tired out and went back to bed until 12:05 and I went shopping. Ally, always full of good ideas, suggested a 'bar snack' and so off we went to the Rock & Heifer somewhere near Wilsden. We sat in a quiet corner, Samuel chewing the menu. Ally had a steak & kidney pie and I had roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. £5 is a bit steep but we had a pleasant lunch on our last day of freedom until 1985. It is only eight weeks until our next holiday extravaganza in Lanzarote. Onward to town - Bradford - the shops and then on to see Catherine Alderson. She gave birth to a son, Peter James, weighing 7lb 17oz on November 5. The boy has an enormous nose just like his father. We should have leapt into action this evening, but just sat. Ally is the packer. I rely on her for so much.

-=-

Monday November 19, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green, Bradford

Susan & Peter's moving day. Bright and dry. We went to Guiseley at 10am to investigate 21, Thorpe Lane. It is a substantial, attractive family home. Sue & Pete have done so well to get it. I am reminded very much by the late, lamented Pine Tops. Susie beside herself with excitement. ________. Ally unpacked cases and Samuel sat with poor, yellow Mum and Benjamin, who could be Sam's brother, though fatter. I travelled back and forth with Dad and Pete to Fieldhead Road moving furniture. Sadly, no Hepplewhite. The previous owners of no. 21 possessed a cat and I was streaming and slobbering everywhere. I returned to Bradford in a temper but I couldn't breathe. Mum and Dad had intended staying at Lynn's _______ but they came over to Club Street at 8 because of a sudden and dubious bout of sickness had struck the Baker children rendering the Baker residence a no-go area. We sat close to the fire eating fish and chips. Poor Mum has no appetite and retired to bed early because Dad was exhausted. When I say early I mean 11pm. They had our bedroom and we slept in Sam's room, in a heap next to his cot, beneath a king-sized duvet which Ally had bought in Settle on Friday. Samuel was a little beggar and he squealed all night rendering sleep on my part impossible. We took him into our 'bed' and he assaulted her by pulling her hair and so she found a turban and slumbered beneath the duvet looking like a deceased Sikh.

-=-

Sunday November 18, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

22nd Sunday after Trinity

Waltergarth.

John and Janette were up at the crack of dawn to go to Guiseley to collect JPH and Catherine. They are just going to go back to the flat to watch videos. Dear me, the life of the modern child. We went to see Mama in her feminine bedroom, which she herself decorated. Mum's constantly changing hue is a phenomenon. Bright orange eyes, &c. Samuel had a few belly laughs which made everyone dissolve. We took our son out in his pushchair and wheeled him around the churchyard. Ally was heavily pregnant on our last visit to this bleak, ancient burial ground. Samuel whimpered for his luncheon and so we made our way back to Waltergarth. After salad sandwiches we packed and left at about 4 o'clock. Dad looked particularly touched on saying goodbye to Samuel and afterwards Mum said he sat in silence for hours. No doubt in a state of shock. On to Lynn's. Dave was decorating his erection. The lad is obsessed with dark, wood panelling. Lynn was bathing Frances and Katie and then came down for a coffee. We hadn't seen the Bakers for seven weeks. __________. Back to Club Street. Samuel was exhausted and we didn't get him into bed until 9. Well, he is on holiday. We dined on fish in boil in the bags. Our holiday is almost over.

-=-
 

Saturday November 17, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton

A damp and dismal day. Almost gruesome, in fact. I arrived home last night with a devastating hangover and found no solace in the night. Samuel was awake bright and early and I went to retrieve him from his distant bedroom. He settled down in bed with us for an hour or two but by breakfast time his patience was wearing a little thin and Ally got up , God Bless her, and I remained unconscious until 11am. It was the first time I have had a 'lie in' since Samuel joined the family. John and Janette could be heard munching on breakfast cereal. Later Mum and Dad lay claim to Samuel again. It was damp and raining without, much too inclement to subject our child to the elements. John and Janette took us in their car to Malham. For some reason Janette had the idea that Malham is a major tourist resort and on driving into the hamlet she sat swearing, in a lady-like fashion, at the sight of three broken-down cottages surrounded in a swirling mist, and the inevitable gift shop. We found refuge in the Buck Inn, which was dead. Just one other customer, an exhausted hiker, and Tchaikovsky blasting out on the piped music system. We ate a disappointing lunch. Ridiculously over-priced. I drank nothing but fruit juice. Ally felt sickly in the back seat of John's car. She is a poor traveller when not at the wheel. A giggle tonight. We all stayed in and all were in high spirits. Janette has something of a persecution complex and doesn't take kindly to us sticking our tongues out at her when her back is turned. Mum was chirpy.

-=-

Friday November 16, 1984

 Waltergarth, &c.

Mum spent the morning in bed and wasn't up to doing much and so we went into Settle and purchased a shirt for Dad's birthday, and I bought a pair of shoes. At 1:30 we fell into the Talbot Inn (Fred's old pub)recently re-opened after a £75,000 refit. Very impressed and so we remained until 3. Half pissed I was. Back to Horton for afternoon tea and 'Crackerjack' - a favourite of Mum and Dad's. Samuel rarely takes notice of the TV, but likes the loud music at the start of the BBC news and the Breakfast TV jingle. Apparently we had liver and onions for dinner which I do not remember eating. John & Janette came at 6:30 and at 8 we went back to the Talbot with them but the place was too crowded, busy with the curious townsfolk. Whilst here I developed a hangover and wasn't at my best. Back for 11:30 where I squabbled with Dad about the hypocrisy of the Salvation Army collecting money in pubs. All very silly.

-=-

Thursday November 15, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Mum and Dad are so very good to us. After breakfast we decided to go conclude our Christmas shopping in Skipton and they volunteered to have Samuel for a few hours. We wanted to buy them a print of a watercolour, with a Dales-type of scene, and for about £40, but Skipton proved fruitless. The one art gallery had nothing under £200. Two hours trailing around the shops was enough and so we came back to Settle and did the same. For our labours we returned home with two newspapers, a 'Private Eye' and a film for the camera. Samuel was exceptionally good and did not miss us. He allowed Mum to feed him, change him and play with him, and his eyes gleamed with delight at the sight of his old, dotty grandad. 

News in brief: Prince Henry is to be baptised at St George's Chapel, Windsor on December 21. St George's hasn't seen a princely baptism since Prince Leopold of Battenberg's christening in 1889. Apparently, the baby is to be dipped in the King Henry VII chapel, his namesake. Godparents are Prince Andrew, Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones, Bryan Organ the artist, Lady Vestey, wife of the 'billionaire butcher' Lord Vestey, Gerald Ward, a kinsman of the Earl of Dudley and husband (or ex) of Rosalind Ward, rumoured in the 70s to be a flame of the P of W, and Carolyn Bartholomew, nee Pride, Diana's loyal flatmate. None of the Spencer family are asked, yet again. Why Bryan Organ? I didn't realise that the Waleses mixed with artists. The Princess (of Wales) launched her first ship today, aptly named the Royal Princess. 

Out tonight to the hamlet of Helwith Bridge, and a pub where the slovenly landlord wore carpet slippers, no socks, and was a victim to flatulence, breaking wind everywhere.  Then to a better pub at Stainforth and finally back to the Crown at Horton. We giggled at the local accent.

-=-

Wednesday November 14, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

We got up feeling daring and frivolous today and decided to visit Morecambe on Sea, the coastal town that is the butt of endless cruel jokes and besmirchment. We were surprised that Mum was up to it but we decided that the bracing sea air would be a tonic. At least it didn't rain. Dad took the scenic route, up hill and down dale and went straight to Heysham cooing at the ocean as we drove past but not stopping until  we reached the (blank) inn. The yellow peril was despatched inside as a forerunner to see if they would allow Samuel inside whilst we lunched. All was well. We sat feasting in a corner and Samuel had something cold and sticky from a jar. Dad is a great entertainer and Samuel was bedazzled. Then we walked on the miserable concrete promenade and stopped at a shop to buy a windscreen wiper for ailing Mandy. Mum was cold and tired and we ventured back to the car and home. I remember little of Morecambe though Mum says we stayed here when I was a child. Very cold. back home for tea. Later Ally and I walked to the Crown for the last hour but it was darts and dominos night and very uninspiring. We sat watching the solitary barmaid at work. 

-=-

Tuesday November 13, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Mum stayed in the precincts of Waltergarth leaving Papa to take us to Settle on a shopping expedition. It was of course Settle market day. Mum is very self-conscious about her colour and thinks that Settle is not yet ready for her yellow skin. She is far too soft about illness and doctors. She phoned her quack today for results of a blood test and he told her bugger all, and she has fretted about what he might say for days. It's cruel of them. I have the blackest fears. I am illogical and pessimistic. I blame the twentieth century and the pressures that modern times have imposed on us simpletons. Two hundred years ago I would have been toddling around in a ploughed field without a care in the world and not fretting about gall bladders. Collapsed by the fire tonight. Rest, perfect rest.

-=-

Monday November 12, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Veteran's Day Holiday, USA

A wet morning. We pottered about on Duckworth Lane taking money from the Provincial Building Society. Ally was tetchy because a cheque had 'bounced'. We went to Horton-in-Ribblesdale via settle taking three litres of Laski Riesling in a box and chocolates for Mummy. At Horton we were shocked by Mum's appearance. She is very yellow, even to the whites of her eyes, and much thinner. Poor oriental mummy. Dad, dotty as ever, still wearing mum's specs, and magnetic as ever to children. They all adore him. Mum says Lynn has told them that grandparents are absolutely no good for children and that they only disrupt everything that the parents have instilled in them. __________. An evening in front of the TV. Samuel has captivated them and was so jolly this afternoon. That boy will sleep anywhere.

-=-

Sunday November 11, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green, Bradford

21st Sunday after Trinity

Remembrance Sunday

After breakfast we looked in on the Cenotaph. The usual Nimrod, Flowers of the Forest, and parading geriatric veterans of the Somme, &c. It is so touching. Ashamed I haven't bought a poppy this year. 

Phoned Mum again and she was bright and cheerful and insisted we should carry on as normal. She has spoken to her doctor who assured her that Samuel will be in no danger as he is breast-fed. If the doctor is happy then so am I. We have decided to go in the morning. 

My ex-sister-in-law Maria was delivered of a daughter, Sarah Jane, on Guy Fawkes night.

This evening I went and bought a curry take-away bur from the Chinese, and a bottle of Emva Cream sherry from the off-license, and we demolished this ghastly concoction with rellish. To bed tipsy, yet happy.

-=-

Saturday November 10, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

Frank took me to Winchester in the Merc to get me a radio aerial for the car. I was set back £7. F didn't get out of the car at the garage because he was in his work overalls, like Churchill. He is quiet, but so well-meaning. Ally has been infuriated by his behaviour this week. She feels that Samuel has not been fussed over enough. ____________. We cleaned the car, packed and left. Home for 5:45. Phoned Horton to finalise next weeks little venture only to hear that Mum is ill with jaundice and doesn't know whether we should allow Samuel to come into contact with her little, yellow skin. Obviously, the orgy planned for next week is now terminated. Mum was cheerful and connects this latest illness to the gall-bladder trouble of two years ago. We took no time to deliberate, and decide to go see them.

-=-

Friday November 9, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

To soggy Winchester. Took Ally to have her hair done. Outside the trendy music-filled hairdresser she stood, knees knocking, trembling with fear, for some reason. Bessie went off with Samuel and I held Ally's hand as she went inside. They gave her a coffee and I sat watching, reading last Christmas's Vogue. We emerged after an hour. Ally looking like a glamour girl. _________. Tonight we had a drink with F & B and watched a documentary on the life of Billie Holiday, the black jazz singer. What an exxceptionally dreary voice she had.

-=-

Thursday November 8, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

Full Moon

_____________. To Basingstoke of all places. Bloody concrete. Bought a few more presents include Johnny Mathis's awful biography for mummy. 

(Large redaction).

Tonight at 9 Ally and I went to the Bush at Ovington where we cringed at the prices. A pint of Stella Artois is £1.06. A fog from the river. Home at 11. Supper with F & B.

-=-

Wednesday November 7, 1984

Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

We were up at 7am. Ally splashing violently in the bath. I lay in bed listening to the news of President Reagan's much predicted victory. My knowledge of US politics is nil though with my temperament I tend to side with the sitting chief executive of whatever political colour. I do not feel comfortable with upheaval.

Rack & Manger.

After breakfast we took Bessie to Bournemouth where Samuel had his first view of the sea. He didn't enthuse.We then headed for the shops buying Christmas presents from 10am until 3. Samuel was an angel sitting in the seething restaurant of the British Home Stores, large eyes, feet straight out in front, watching shoppers devouring fish and chips at £1.49. Bessie did very well on her padding around on her feet for so long. After all, she is 62.

At home tonight we put the Bear to bed and decided to go out for a drink. Ally in a very wicked mood. We went to the Rack & Manger at Crawley, where the lager was warm and then we drove around the country lanes in search of a pub for half an hour without success. Villages with pretty thatched cottages, but no pubs. Home after one at the Plough.

-=-

Tuesday November 6, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

Election Day, USA

We went into Winchester for an hour to give Samuel his constitutional and came back to view the State Opening of Parliament on TV. Nothing drastic announced from the throne. Buses are to be privatised. Out again after Samuel's lunch. Bessie went to her art class. We bought F & B a pot hare at Border Fine Arts for £28 as a joint Yuletide offering. Samuel howled and insisted on being carried. He is such a smiler. We went home for toasted tea cakes and more regurgitated episodes of 'Dallas'. You have no idea what this mundane domesticity is bringing us. Margaret Hillier came in with Bessie. She is 6ft and dark. Samuel went hysterical. We dined on an enormous dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding - the three of us. Frank came in at 8 in a jolly mood. 90,000,000 Americans go to the polls today to re-elect President Reagan. I do hope so.

-=-

Monday November 5, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

Sunshine. Graham and Gill were up and off at 9. Gill to the Isle of Wight and Graham to Wimbledon and his latest suspended ceiling project.  

Salisbury Cathedral.

After hours of deliberation we went to Salisbury to show Sammy that fine ecclesiastical erection, but he slept throughout. The shops are the same as in Winchester, only fewer. Back for afternoon tea and 'Dallas' repeats on the telly. Received a cheque for £200 from John for the Lanzarote holiday. Good. I sent him a cheque back for £36.50. We sat tonight and ate stew with Bessie. Frank is on business in Guernsey until tomorrow. Ally's mood is better, thank God.

-=-

Sunday November 4, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

20th Sunday after Trinity

Ally is angry about her Mum and Dad's attitude. It seems that they make such a fuss over visitors from France and Frank's associates, but when family turn up they carry on almost as if we are invisible. Frank spends a lot of time in his office. I try helping by saying this is the way they are, but it doesn't really pacify her. Graham and Gill, I think a bit tetchy that the dog has been banished, went off to see Michael Lynn. I sat sneezing and gasping on the sofa reading the Sunday papers. 

Lady Joanna Knatchbull married her French baron yesterday in the presence of HM and Prince Edward. Recently, the Hon Michael-John Knatchbull, son of the Brabournes, became engaged to Melissa Owen, a judge's daughter.

Graham and Gill came back later. They went to join Michael Lynn at the Baker's Arms, but we didn't join them and were in bed by 10:30. 

-=-

Saturday November 3, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

The River Itchen.

A rotten day. Bright, but nippy. Up at dawn because Samuel hadn't slept soundly and instead of lounging in front of the TV watching Mrs Gandhi's funeral pyre Ally decided we should go in to Winchester. I tried to stress that a world leader is not cremated in public every Saturday morning. She just sniffed her indifference. To town we went leaving Samuel in the capable hands of Grandmama. We went and bought Matthew a pullover and returned to see the smoke engulfing the VIPs in Delhi. The PM and Princess Anne sat together. Much maligned women, they are. Out in the sun with Samuel. We pushed him down to the river, walked through Easton and back to Chillandham Cross. Graham and Gill arrived after 12 and I was immediately incapacitated by Tara the dog and went into a bronchil attack which lasted for the duration. I was so bad that by 3pm I took paracetamol and took to my bed. The poor dog was banished to the utility room. We dined on turkey, which I didn't enjoy, and went to the Plough afterwards where I wheezed and gasped over everyone. Drank brandy alternating with pints of lager. Saw Neil. We haven't laid eyes upon him since he crashed through the garden fence after a surfeit of pernod in 1979. He is a rugby player. Today is Graham's birthday, but you wouldn't think so. Very low key.

-=-

Friday November 2, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

I got up with Samuel at 7 and took him down and gave him a Weetabix and toast which he ate with gusto. He did pick out the chunks of orange peel from the marmalade. Frank is a funny old boy. He was going about his chores very quietly. I see where Ally derives much of her character. I played with Samuel for a couple of hours and he attempted to vandalise the settee, pulling at the velvet buttons. At 9:30 I took Ally her morning tea and persuaded her to get up from beneath her sweaty, cornnflower blue quilt. She is done in. ______. 

To Winchester shopping. Tonight we went out in the dark and rain looking terribly scruffy to Alresford and the Horse & Groom. I had a trout and Ally a game pie, and we sat in a dark corner making observations about the clientel. Then to the Bush at Ovington, and the Plough at Itchen Abbas where we were the sole occupants of the lounge bar, laughing at the landlord.

-=-

Thursday November 1, 1984

 Chillandham Cross

Itchen Abbas, Winchester

A beautiful day for the time of year, don't you think? No, seriously. It;s shirt sleeve weather in Winchester. We went out this morn with our son and heir to inspect the old cathedral town (sic). Book shops are my favourite. We combed the town without success for a volume entitled 'Alphabears'. We spent £12.50 on a plate for Bessie, and I laid hands on a 1985 journal (£3.50), &c. Samuel, clad in a white woollen suit, slept for 2 hours. What an angel the boy is. How lucky we are. We returned for lunch and ate in the kitchen on the new pine. Samuel spluttered his mince everywhere. Bessie had put salt in the concoction. We had salad.

This afternoon to Alresford where we pushed Samuel by the river to let the ducks look at him. He was, yet again, at his slumbers. Alresford crawls with aristocrats. At least we had a blast of fresh country air. How pleasant it is not to have to stick to a timetable. 

Tonight: F & B dined out. We put the bear to bed and ate chops and watched TV which was abysmal. Samuel decided to wake up and we spent an hour getting him back to sleep. We had a restless night. I got up with Samuel at dawn.

-=-

Wednesday October 31, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green, Bradford

Hallow'een

Up with the larks on this bright, autumnal morn. Bacon sandwiches again, and hot baths. Switched on the news to hear that Mrs Gandhi has been assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards. I do feel sorry. The poor Queen must have liked her because the monarch's recent meeting with Mrs G dominated her Christmas message last yuletide in a most uncomfortable manner. Princess Anne is in Delhi now and is staying for the funeral bonfire on Saturday. I suspect that many people think that Mrs Gandhi is related to that tiny bald person with the loin cloth who featured in a recent Attenborough epic. However, from New Delhi to Winchester.

Chillandham Cross

We left Bradford at 10 and picnicked on a Northamptonshire housing estate at 12. Samuel with cheese sandwiches and chocolate. He behaved beautifully in the car. Near Oxford we met Frank and Bessie in the Mercedes returning from Anne Rayner's, and we drove on together. Very odd. Such mild weather in Hampshire. Just sat and did nothing tonight. We presented them with a portrait of Samuel , and it now adorns the TV set. Mrs Gandhi dominates the news, and the Indian riots make such a change from Arthur Scargill.

-=-

Tuesday October 30, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Club Street.

A wet, but jolly day. we were up at 7 but took Samuel into our bed and played a while until bacon sandwiches and tea. Ally had forgotten to pack pans, but we managed. Rain. We went to Heaton to see Catherine Alderson, whose child is due on Nov 15. We have decided she'll have a girl. _____. The Alderson's live in a house that looks like Cavendish Woodhouse's shop window. Afterwards we drove to Haworth and ate fish and chips in the rain and went around inspecting the various pub menus. Samuel's pushchair buried behind the heavy plastic rain cover, and he looked to be in an oxygen tent. He slept soundly. We didn't bump into any of the Brontës. They are such unassuming sisters. Haworth is always overrun by damp oriental types with very large cameras.

John and Janette came tonight with £80 for Lanzarote and say the remainder will follow by post to Hampshire. We are not convinced. If I receive a cheque  from John this week then I'm Neil Kinnock.

-=-

Monday October 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Dawn rise. In the bath like a rhinoseros at the zoo. Mick Thompson (stocktaker) and Richard Tully (relief manager) arrived simultaneously. A quick stocktake showed a £5 surplus and after giving the disinterested Mr Tully a run-down of our business we went off to Bradford leaving Maureen, who is to be the cook in our absence. We have no recriminations about taking a three week break and fully intend forgetting the Moorhouse Inn for the period.

We collapsed at Club Street at 2 after unpacking the heaped car. Samuel, snoring in the back, buried in luggage. We looked like refugees. We came home via the clinic because he was due a jab, but because of his cold this is now delayed until Nov 21. We unpacked. Watched 'Dallas' (repeat) and a Charles Laughton film. To bed indecently early. Samuel finds Club St a huge joke nand giggled as he crawled around investigating. We are going to have some fun.

-=-

Sunday October 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

British Summer Time ends

19th Sunday after Trinity

A day of ferocious activity. Ally likes to have everything spotless when we go on holiday and so she went about like a galley slave from dawn until dusk. Samuel and I had to endure the constant noise of the vacuum cleaner. We went to Club Street at 5 taking Sam's cot to erect it there. Tonight he slept in the bed with us. It is, thankfully, a very roomy bed. Can hardly believe we go on holiday tomorrow. Never have I looked forward for one so much. I have never seriously worked anywhere until I came here, you see. The YP was a holiday in itself. Bed very late but the place is like a new pin.

-=- 

Saturday October 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Our Halloween party. Quite a good response. Edna came as a brilliant witch. Kevin - the Hunchback of Notre Dame. John didn't come, but Marlene, ,Frank, Jacq, Jill, Tim, Sam Rhodes Snr, all did. I was Count Dracula, and Ally a particularly scruffy witch. Busy. Ran around all night with my plastic cape flapping. No more. Please see the appropriate photo album. Bed at 2am, but then the clocks go back.

(Photos to follow)

-=-

Friday October 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Samuel is right as rain. We are still shaken though. Ally stayed upstairs cleaning tonight in readiness for the relief manager Richard Tully, who first came here years ago. Sam Rhodes Snr, returned tonight. He filled me in on ten years of family history. He says he is not a schizophrenic, but manic depressive. He married a girl called Christine in February, 1981, who grew from a size ten to a size twenty in as many months. She had herself sterilized, behind his back, and then took off to the divorce courts. My Uncle Harry is still with us, and living in Whitehaven, and according to Sam he doesn't drink quite as much as he did. Cousin Megan lives in the Dordogne, in South west France, with lover Roy. She hasn't worn shoes since 1973 (he says) and lives the life of a vegetarian farming peasant. Mavis lives in Ripon. Cousin Helen is in a home in Harrogate. Edward lived with a lady, fathered a child, and lost them both and is cut up about it. David is doing well in the United States, an 'American tycoon' says his brother. Lawrence is with the Leeds Permanent Building Society, a deputy manager in Middlesbrough, married with a daughter Alicen Frances Rhodes. Sam puts his 'insanity' down to a thwarted love affair in his teens, and we discussed everything from family, education, ancient Greece, and poetry. Bernie cast him funny looks and thought Sam might be a gipsy. Samuel has so much intelligence but his life is in ruins. Things look bleak for him. He will be 34 next month.

-=-

Thursday October 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

My cousin Sam.

A terrible thing has happened. We cleaned the beer lines this morning and let Samuel play in his baby-walker down in the lounge bar. I was up and down to the cellar at regular intervals and closed the door behind me each time, except once, when the boy decided to investigate and he came down the stone steps in his walker landing with a bump at the bottom. He cut his head. Ally and I were in hysterics and took him to the LGI. He needed no stitches - Thank God - but they x-rayed his head and checked his limbs, and sent us away shaken, but relieved. I kept bursting into tears and was rendered useless for the rest of the day. Samuel recovered and played as he usually does but looks so pathetic with a bandage above his eye. Phoned Mum who had a good cry. I must have looked bad because Audrey bought me a Remy (brandy). Feel ashamed at our negligence. My cousin Samuel appeared tonight, quite out of the blue, and he sat at the bar on a stool looking like Ringo Starr. I recognised him immediately. He is a sad figure housed in Shaftesbury House until he can find a place in Leeds. He says he is tired of Cumbria and wants to return to his roots. We had a good natter. That Rhodes humour is very much at the forefront of his personality.

-=-

Wednesday October 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

United Nations Day

New Moon

Samuel crawled and in a forward direction. Historic occasion. World News: NACODS cannot decide about strike action. The Mitterrands are here with the Queen. She's seen more French presidents that she's had hot dinners. The late Earl of Warwick has left £61 in his will. Of course he was filthy rich. How very clever of him. The Treasury must be fuming. The Earl of Ulster is 10. 

Rain, cold, &c. Autumn leaves. Late up. In fact I woke up to find Samuel in the bed looking at me. Ally was cooking curry and lasagne, after counting the tills. We breakfasted with Mum & Dad. Porridge, sausages, crumpets, &c. They left at 12 with Samuel's portrait wrapped in newspaper, for Pudsey to go see Auntie Hilda. It's always sad saying goodbye. 

Who cares about United Nations Day?

-=-

Tuesday October 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Up early with a slight hangover, though I drank little. It's lack of sleep. We discussed Christmas last night. They are definitely coming here for the festival and we'll ask them to come after dinner. I don't suppose Lynn will budge from Thorpe Lane. I suggest that for Mum's 50th birthday we should have a child-free 'do' at a restaurant where we can all talk and laugh away from the pack of offspring, just for a change. They think this is a good idea. What about the Hare and Hounds? 

Ally went off to Tadcaster for a food hygiene seminar, no doubt very dull. It is Samuel's first day without his mother. Dad took the boy to the park and Mum and I did the pub lunches, and I think we did very well. Afterwards Dad and I took our recumbent angel to Grandways. Horrible children were outside collecting for Guy Fawkes and Dad fell for the scam and coughed up. I had none of it. Ally was back for 5pm and the tea time conversation was centred on germs. Crumpets. The couple from the Duncan called to see us. A busy Tuesday minus staff. Mum and Dad came down for a 'quickie'. Later, watched the news. The state dinner for the Mitterrands at Buckingham Palace. Bed at 12:20. Mum and Dad stayed here again.

-=-

Monday October 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Busy. Marlene and Frank appeared for lunch when our food supplies were virtually exhausted. we managed to feed them. At 2 we went upstairs where they inspected Samuel who was tootling around at great speed in his baby-walker. They left after an hour promiosing to attend our Halloween extravaganza on Saturday. Marlene is a very sweet 'Wilson' and has something of Motherdear about her. 

Tonight the pool players gave Ally flowers and a card for the sandwiches which was nice of them. We had a busy, lively evening for a Monday. Mum and Dad arrived at 10:20 and we sat for a few quick ones. Mum did look fresh and healthy and consumed tomato juice. We gave them a portrait of Samuel which seemed to delight them both and we went upstairs happy and friendly as in days of old. Dad went to bed and we talked with Mum until nearly 3am.

-=-

Sunday October 21, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

18th Sunday after Trinity

Horatio Nelson died this day in 1805. Bacon sandwiches for breakfast. A sunny, blustery morn but we didn't venture out because of Samuel's cold. The poor boy has a runny green nose. I made a roast chicken lunch, but we didn't attempt to eat it until after we closed at 2, in case we might have marauding, hungry visitors. I sometimes think that certain family members (the Bakers) must believe that Guiseley is behind the iron curtain or somewhere where the borders cannot be crossed unless one does it through the sewers or by hot-air balloon. We ate at 4. Samuel demolished four small Yorkshire puddings. He has a vast appetite for one so lean and tiny. We love him to distraction. An evening in front of the TV. Robert Lacey's 'Aristocrats' is just awful._____. Margaret Lockwood in a 1940s spy film drove us to bed.

-=-

Saturday October 20, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Susie phoned to say that she and the Nason progency will visit us this afternoon in Jim's automobile. Ally struggled out to the shops and I played with Samuel. He is fascinated by vinyl records. We went downstairs together to 'bottle-up' and he watched from his baby-walker. He smiles for Maureen. A honour indeed. The Nasons rolled up at 2:30 for a couple of hours. Christopher is especially naughty. Obviously, he takes after Peter. Ben is big, fat and blonde, not unlike the late Jayne Mansfield. They are no nearer moving to Thorpe Lane. They left at 5. We ate pizza. Both in the bar tonight. Quiet and stuffy. We are tired.

-=-

Friday October 19, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Re centenarian peers. The late 5th Lord Penrhyn lived to be 101. 

So, it's Friday, again. The schools have broken for half-term and so we were not bombarded with hungry teachers at lunchtime as we usually are. Ally's cold worsened and she took to her bed after Samuel. I repaired to the tap room to sup ale. The locals tend to go a bit mad on a Friday. __ Andrea has had the banns read and is to marry toothless Scottish Dave on November 16. It should be the wedding of the year, and I am told that Andrea does indeed go through matrimony every year.

-=-

Thursday October 18, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Damp, wet and autumnal. The trees on Hunslet Moor are going bald. That cantankerous old sod Lord Shinwell is 100 years old today. Earlier in the week I read in one of the papers that no peer has ever struggled on to see a centenary. This is inaccurate. The old Countess of Kintore, a Scottish peeress in her own right, lived to be 100, and died in September, 1974. Wouldn't it be nice to see Mrs Thatcher survive until 2025?

Looking at yesterday's paper over a cup of tea I splattered a mouthful over the breakfast table on reading a letter from Sir Charles Mott-Radclyffe. Good to know that in this year of NACODS we still have wonderful 18th century-minded folk. How reassuring. Ally wasn't amused but it certainly tickled me.

Ally is much better today, but still with a glowing nose and oozing glands. We thought Sammy might be catching cold too but today he seems unaffected.

Audrey informs me that another regular customer has died and I told her to prepare a list, every morning, of those customers who are still alive, for my inspection. Perhaps it will be easier that way.

The news is all NACODS and Manny Shinwell. Nigel Lawson was on the news talking about the pound which is at its lowest ebb today since 1976. The chancellor (of the Exchequer) looks more like the Prince Regent than the Prince Regent. 

It was a quiet night but not without incident. A drunk in the back bar accused those nice boys who work at Systime (Computers) of stealing his ale, and later on, after I'd closed, gone upstairs, and removed all my clothes, he came back, banging on the pub door saying he'd lost his overcoat and house keys. The saint that I am went down to retrieve his tatty Gannex only to have him disappear into thin air leaving me in the rain clutching at my Kung Fu-style dressing gown. I am far too soft and caring. This guy will obviously have to be clotched upon his return. Bed at midnight. Ally was reading her 1982 (and only) journal. How simply we lived then.

-=-

Wednesday October 17, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Ally is in a terrible state with this bloody cold. Red nose, &c.

Sarah and Eileen appeared at 12. It was as though time has stood still. I don't think that either of them actually believe that I am making a 'go' of being a pub landlord. They have heard nothing of Carol Oldroyd (aka Mrs Slocombe) since she rose to fame by marrying that craggy TV salesman with a strong resemblance to the late President Eisenhower, or perhaps Woodrow Wilson. I took the girls upstairs and Samuel clung to his mother as though a pair of ghouls had walked in. Eileen exclaimed: "Oh, doesn't he have an old face?" After lunch off they went into the drizzle.

Ally took to her bed at 2. I spent the afternoon with Samuel, gave him tea, and put him to bed. I worked with Audrey from 8.

-=-

Tuesday October 16, 1984

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

NACODS? Who do they think they are? Where have they come from, and where are they going?

Shit of the Week: NACODS

Ally has a glowing nose and she sneezed and coughed into the night. We were both downstairs this evening because we continue unstaffed. The whole company in the pub fretted over Ally's cold, many suggesting remedies. Old Harold has a soft spot for her. 

Sarah phoned out of the blue to say that she and Eileen are coming here for lunch tomorrow. Bloody hell. Pigs might fly.

Old Lord Denning says that the Brighton bombing was High Treason, and I am in agreement with his lordship on this one. The Daily Star says that the Duke of Edinburgh has yet to meet Prince Harry and that the Prince of Wales is wasting away with worry because of it.

To bed late. Poor Ally sweating, and snuggled down in a great heap.

Shit of the Week: The National Association of Colliery Overmen, Deputies and Shotfirers.

Monday October 15, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Phoned Horton and spoke to my prodigal parents. Ally has to go to the brewery next week on a food hygiene course and I asked them to come here and babysit. They have no news really. The girls have been up the dales. Lynn had stayed for a night last week when Dave was in Scotland. It's a bit of a mystery to me why the telephone has gone out of fashion in Horton-in-Ribblesdale. They don't ring to enquire whether Samuel has teeth, or 'O' Levels or the Military Cross. Very sad. 

As I've said we have bought Samuel a baby-walker which he tootles around in at great speed. He now goes from house plant to plant tearing off leaves and cramming them into his mouth like a panda with bamboo shoots.

Pool match night. Vicky Pearson came in looking like Sue Ellen  from 'Dallas' with back-combed hair and a micro-skirt. It will all end in tears. Maureen, virtually crippled, was driven home by Ally at 11. To bed with books. Jack Higgins again.

-=-

Sunday October 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

17th Sunday after Trinity

An early start because today we are visiting the dear Glynn's of Stockport. It took hours of preparation t get the Rhodes bandwagon on the road and we didn't depart until 11:45. It was a fine morning however and our journey was comfortable. Samuel was resless though and I had to clown around and entertain him in the car.

The Hollywood, Edgeley.

To Stockport for 1pm. It is as if time stands still. Dave G just the same. Samuel sat in the vast lounge bar for two hours whilst we drank. Joined by Billy, Garry and Steve later. Dave sees the lads twice a week or so, not every night as in days of yore. At 3 we all dined together and then went upstairs, a traditional routine. Lily went off to bed. We left at 6, and were in bed by 8:30.

Prince Henry, one month old today, is pictured in the Sunday papers. I found myself looking more at the lad's mother. The princess has changed. Gone is that girl-like hair-do and a more sophisticated woman looks out. The caption says 'Diana's Dynasty'. Quite apt. 

Arrivals: a son to Lord and Lady Brocket.

Departures: Alan Lake, the bereaved hubby of the late Diana Dors has blown his brains out with a shotgun. Lord St Just, who is heirless, is dead.

-=-

Saturday October 13, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

It is revealed that Sir Anthony Berry MP, a brother of Viscount Kemsley, and first husband of the Hon Mary Roche (Diana's aunt) was killed yesterday along with some Tory delegates and Roberta Wakeham, wife of the Chief Whip. Mrs Tebbit might be paralysed from the neck down. HM The Q has telephoned the PM from Kentucky where she is holidaying with the Porchesters. The dear PM is 59 today.

We lingered around today because I wanted to interview toothless Dave about a fracas yesterday with Fat Andrea, and also see Vicky Pearson. However, they all stayed away and at 3:30 we went to Morrison's. I was like a zombie. Home for tea and crumpets and Heinz Sandwich Spread sandwiches, a weakness of mine, but they prove too tart for Samuel. The Bear was nine months old yesterday.

We watched 'The Tripods', a TV adaptation of John Christopher's series of novels, featuring a pretty actress Charlotte Long, who was a daughter of Viscount Long. I say 'was' because she died in a road accident at Newbury last week, aged 20. 

An awful night. I battled on behind the bar quite courageously. We did no cleaning - thank God - because Ann returns tomorrow with fresh eyes. (She's had an eye op). Ally gave some lads a game of darts, and I gave Vicky Pearson the 'Scarborough warning' (sic).

-=-

Friday October 12, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

We got up at 6:30 in the dark with every intention of busying ourselves but over our pots of tea I switched on the TV to look at Selina Scott to see with complete astonishment and horror that some swine has blown up the Brighton hotel where most of HM Government are lodged for the Tory party conference. A sickening sight. We watched poor Norman Tebbit being dug out of the rubble in paroxysms of agony, and Mrs Tebbit and the government chief whip John Wakeham. Some are dead, but as yet they're unnamed. The PM is safe, thank God, and was working on today's speech at 2:50am at the time of the explosion and her bathroom was demolished. Had she been on the loo then it would have been almost certain death. It is the work of the IRA.  This afternoon I watched the prime minister's speech which was masterful and inspiring. For the survivor of a bomb, assassination attempt she was incredible.

I feel awful again. Cold, shaking and dull. Had a few slurps of whisky later. In the bar Vicky Pearson and Helen had a punch up, and then the Sovereign and lager pumps failed. Brian Pickup saved the day, locating the trip switch which had tripped off. A busy, toilsome evening. To bed shagged out.

-=-

Thursday October 11, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

We held our 'hot shot' pool final tonight which was a success, if only for the sandwiches.  Karma (Singh) won, brilliantly. Earlier, Ally had been to town shopping.  I have been entertaining Samuel. One has to be a Charlie Cairoli. MM & Marita dropped in at 6 with a Beach Villas brochure. (Uncle) John is mentioned therein and they asked for advice on holidaying in Lanzarote. They would like to go there for Marita's 30th birthday, Jan 31, 1985. The brochure has a picture of our villa - Vistamar - with a path through the rocks to the sea. I cannot wait. Samuel wouldn't go to bed because he was enamoured of MM, eyeing him curiously.For some reason MM thinks that all children hate him. He has dark hair. That is sometimes a problem for babies.

-=-

Wednesday October 10, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

I feel greatly recovered. Dear Margaret Nason is 60 today. We sent a card.

Out we went at 10am with Samuel bolt upright in his pram, just for a walk up Dewsbury Road. We saw a second hand baby-walker and bought it for £8. In it, Samuel set off like the clappers but in a backwards direction. Snapped some photos of our son and heir in the park. 

A quiet afternoon. Audrey is hungover after yesterday's funeral observance. At 3:30 we went to town and collected the Fraser Studio photos of Sam. Framed at £18 for three. Exquisite. We saw Diane on the Headrow. Looking at Samuel she exclaimed; "Oh, isn't he like a little boy!?" She invited us to her and Paul's wedding, Aug 31, 1985, and says she wants to honeymoon on a Greek island. Home for crumpets at 5:30. Poor Maureen was hobbling like a pensioner. Busy evening.

The Queen is holidaying with Lord Porchester and Michael Oswald in the US of A, in Kentucky and Wyoming, looking for baby race horses. Private excursions of our sovereign to foreign parts are extremely rare. She has previously visited France, incognito. 

-=-

Tuesday October 9, 1984

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Full Moon

A happy birthday to the Duke of Kent and Lord Hailsham. The latter is 77 and the oldest member of HMG. The Tories are rallying at Blackpool for the party conference this week, and perhaps I won't be spattering blood and cornflakes over my breakfast TV as I have done recently looking in on excerpts from the other party gatherings. Will Norman Beresford Tebbit be PM after Mrs T is elevated to be Countess of Grantham?

Pam's dad's funeral party boosted our takings today. The place was seething with ladies of a voluptuous appearance. My throat continues bad. At 3:30 we went to bed until Sammy's tea time. I struggled out of my damp pit at 5:30, sweating, but greatly improved. Sammy didn't sleep until 7:15 when Ally came to join me. John came in with his work associate, Joe. Whisky and beer. I sat with them for a while and they left at 10. We had no staff this evening, of course. A lad called Andy (Bowden) asked for a job. He looked promising. In bed I finished 'Solo' by Higgins.

-=-

Monday October 8, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Columbus Day, USA / Thanksgiving Day Canada

Stand well back, I have a cold. Not a cold exactly, but my throat is dry, burning in fact, and I feel a sweat on my back. Sadly, I cannot give in to it and have to make sure that HMS Moorhouse sails on into the night. 

Wet, yet muggy. I am letting my condition depress me. Andy (aka Kenneth Anderson) of Tom, Tom and Andy fame gave in to his tortuous cancer at 4:30pm casting a morbid cloud over our proceedings for the duration of the evening. We took on the aura of a chapel of rest. Andy was 54. Pool night. Sandwiches, &c. To bed shattered and sweating at 11. Ally had a plate of sandwiches, but I couldn't.

-=-

Sunday October 7, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

16th Sunday after Trinity

A pleasant sort of day really. We lounged about a good deal. Breakfast was followed by a brisk walk with Samuel. Footballers were playing in the park but we didn't tarry. We harnessed Samuel into a swing and he kicked with glee as we pushed him to and fro. Later we ploughed into a roast leg of lamb, Yorkshire puddings and eighteen assorted veg, &c. Samuel ate two puddings. TV was horrendous. I wallowed in old yellow cooking fat cleaning the fryers. Later saw Donald Pleasance in 'Barchester' and sweaty 'Tenko' which goes on and on. To bed at 10:30 - not exactly in bed, we lolled on the top - I read Jack Higgins. Solo is gripping. The girls in the bar left at 11 and I went down to make sure that people were not still there making merry.

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Saturday October 6, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Long lost Uncle Harry is 62 today - somewhere in the wilds of Cumbria in the company of his disgustingly youthful yoga instructor. He is such fun.

We went to town after breakfast to collect Sammy's photographs from Boots. They are surprisingly excellent. He looks angelic. The portfolio of photos cost £25. Worth every penny. We long debated which images to share with our mamas.

On to Club St. Mrs Beale's house has been sold. I asked 'Nutty Norman' for the details. He said: "Oh, she's dead. They found her one morning. She made a will leaving me everything, and I've sold the lot." With that, wearing his dressing gown, he headed to the fish and chip shop. Poor Phyllis Beale. I remember going to tell her that Samuel had been born, and she was sat drying her hair with an old Morphy Richards hair dryer. Did old Norman inherit that too? We returned to Leeds at 2. A football crowd came in from Sheffield and for a moment I thought we might have some 'bovver'. Quiet evening. Dead really. I was shagged out. Ally helped out with Mavis and I sat yawning. Brian Pickup was in with Big Wilf  from the Eagle.We cleaned afterwards but finished by 1am.

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Friday October 5, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

I am going blue in the face watching the Labour party conference. What buffoons. Lord Wilson of Rievaulx, KG, FRS, PC, would turn in his grave - if he was dead. Jim Callaghan spoke. Like Lloyd George was the last ever Liberal prime minister - Callaghan is the last ever Labour PM. Mrs Thatcher will be prime minister into the 1990s and that toad Dr Owen will lead the opposition. You mark my words.

A Scottish evening tonight when Margaret and Maureen worked together. Ally stayed upstairs 'bottoming' the bathroom and I slurped below with Bernie & Co. I gave the girls and Frank & Bernie a drink after time, with Bernie footing the bill. Upstairs for midnight. Read Jack Higgins in bed.

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Thursday October 4, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Sir Horace Seymour.

Sunshine, but chilly. I am writing this in what we grandly call 'the office' but in fact it's a dingy, mustard-painted corridor with a prison cell window at one end. Like the Chateau d'If in fact. However, the 'office' does have a desk and a safe, and two family trees on the wall - one royal and one humble. I think Samuel likes to look at the large, blue royal pedigree pinned there. I roll off the names of distant Spencer forebears, the likes of Sir Horace Beauchamp Seymour (1791-1851). It would please me if in years to come the boy could show interest in genealogy but I do suppose we have bred a budding communist agitator with leanings towards squash, windsurfing and micro-electronics. Ally played darts and pool. I worked with Margaret.

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Wednesday October 3, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Ally stayed in bed until after 10am. In a thunderstorm we ventured into Leeds  to collect our 'tramp convention' photos. We were like drowned rats. Dripping around Marks & Spencer. Why did everyone else look snuff dry? Are we perhaps a trifle slow? To Mothercare and bought Samuel a plastic pushchair cover, somewhat belatedly. £11. Back for tea and crumpets. Samuel ate with rellish. Watched Felicity Kendal in The Good Life, from the early 70s. The news was dominated by A. Scargill and the Kinnocks in Blackpool. Ally is concerned that Labour might win in '87. We contemplate emigrating somewhere with a suitably right-wing flavour. How about Bolivia?

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Tuesday October 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

I sat this afternoon, late on, bouncing Sammy up and down and watching the Labour party conference on TV. That Kinnock fellow needs pyschiatric treatment. He cannot see that the vast bulwark of the Maoist left will soon gobble him up. Silly little pillock. All this 'comrade' banter is nauseating.

Just Ally and I tonight (at work). Quiet. Old Tom says Andy is having morphine injections and has only 48 hours left. Poor bugger. Upstairs at 11 I woke Sammy. I was banging around in the kitchen. A furore followed.

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Monday October 1, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The Angel & White Horse.

Good old October is here. Last year we were at the Why Not and I think we had just experienced our first riot. What an experience. I went down and phoned Rob (Piper) to get a lift to the brewery. It's to attend a briefing of the managers after last Wednesday's liaison committee meeting. He came here at 5 and I said my fond farewells to my two precious slugs. We went to the Duncan pub to collect the poor little manager of that den of iniquity. The pub, in Duncan St, Leeds, takes £4,500 a week and the manager has 150 staff hours. At Taddy we sat in the green room, appropriately as we were all like cabbages. We listened to Colin Black, Donna (Lea) and David Tyne. It was just a formality of them reading minutes and asking us for any comments. Later, we fell into the Angel and White Horse. _____ was crawling around Mrs Lea like a sex starved Doberman Pinscher. Rob & Kath dropped the Duncan manager and I and went for dinner and so we were left with CW, who really resents his new baby for taking away his independence, &c. Such a selfish shit. I had too much Old Brewery Bitter and felt canned. Ally phoned to say the lights in the bar at home had fused, but that an electrician was on the way. Wills dropped me at home at 9 and I found the place looking like a fairy grotto, lit by emergency lights. I didn't go behind the bar but stood 'entertaining' the customers. For some reason old Harold thinks I am a first cousin of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Bed late after recounting the evenings events to Ally.

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Sunday September 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

15th Sunday after Trinity

J.P.H. is eight today. He is a pleasant little lad. Last night we came back from Pudsey and after several glasses of wine Ally fell into bed complaining of numb legs. How odd. Then, at 11:30 after Mavis had gone, I set to and cleaned the place from top to bottom. Swabbing out the toilets was a ghastly experience, but by 3am I had finished. Ally was still clothed and flat out on the bed. She beamed when I informed her that the magic fairy had cleaned the pub. 

Pete, Sue & Christopher.

So, at 8am Ally was up bright and gay (yes, I refuse to steer clear of this word simply because it's been hijacked by the likes of the Greenham Common lesbians and Quentin Crisp). Ally phoned Sue and asked her to join us on a trip to Horton, then she she phoned Mama. We left at 11 collecting the Nasons en route. Sue and I were bundled together with the three babies in the back. Christopher was violently sick near Settle and we arrived at Horton covered with a carrot pebble-dash. Parents are well. We had a large lunch.  Relaxed afterwards. Children dominate so. I slept - collapsed in a chair like an old grandad. Home at 8. We crept in and went to bed with the pub heaving below. Exceptionally tired.

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Saturday September 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Very wet. We were late up and off we dashed to Boots to have Samuel photographed. Samuel doesn't take to strangers and he sat scowling on a fur rug and no attempts to make him laugh succeeded. We were bleating, rattling toys, jumping around and eventually he reciprocated. The photographer had to work very quickly. 

Onwards to Guiseley for 10am where we inspected Thomas, no bigger than a doormouse, asleep in his pram in the kitchen. Lynn was busily moving furniture. David stayed outside working on his erection. We went on to Susan's. She gave us tuna fish sandwiches and buns. Then on to John's. He was busily varnishing something. Janette gave us coffee. The children had sent John a birthday card _______. Home via Pudsey where we sat outside the Butcher's Arms. Rob has a heavy cold. Then to Auntie Hilda's where she has Hayley. Tony was in the garden building a wall. Hayley can walk. She is a sweet thing. Hilda was like a bean pole. Lost so much weight.

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