Wednesday May 9, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, &c

Still dull outside. Who cares? Our alarm clock is on the blink and refuses to sound off. Samuel laid patiently peeping through his bars and his slumbering Mama refused to follow my example of climbing out in the chill of the bedroom. The brewery phoned to say the dray isn't coming until tomorrow. This is no trouble.

Samuel almost sat unaided. He wobbled for a few seconds and then keeled over. Just after 2 we escaped to Bradford where Ally left me at Club Street to go for her hair doing ~ a perm. She was back at 5 looking like she did two years ago. A crinkly fringe, &c. At Club St until 7-ish when we returned to the pub where we went unmolestered by the bar staff. We spent a few hours upstairs together. TV abysmal.

To bed with Noel Coward's journal. He was certainly well in with the Queen Mother. She has a leaning, they say, for homosexual company, a comment which certainly upset her private secretary Sir Martin Gilliat. I can see his point. Ally, all curls, on the pillow next to me.

-=-

Tuesday May 8, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Overcast. We intended turning over a new leaf today by getting up at 7am and running an organised machine, only to sleep through the alarm clock and wake at 8:05. We had the usual dash around. Ally was grumpy and grumbling about everything and I stood at the kitchen window watching her muttering to herself and into the Hunslet horizon.

Samuel wants to crawl. Lay him on a rug and he'll kick furiously, but he has yet to build up enough energy to move. He has the right idea though. Ally has given him baby rice and mixed fruit slop which he eats splendidly. He is clad in woollies from Bessie and a chunky polo necked sweater resembling a lifeboat man or a whaler and not a 17 week old baby.

A good day for luncheons. We took the vast sum of £14 on food. 

Opening the flood barrier.

News: Ralph Bonner Pink MP, is no more. Another by-election. The Daily Telegraph reveals that the King of Tunisia has meningitis and now cannot marry his fiancée in Hampshire on Saturday. Prince Edouard-Xavier de Lobkowicz, 23, a scion of the royal house of Bourbon-Parma, has been found murdered in Paris. They say Gadaffi has shot some of the London siege murderers for 'bungling the job'. I do hope so. I cannot decide who I loathe the most ~ A. Scargill or Colonel Gadaffi. At least Gadaffi lives in Tripoli. Barnsley is a little closer. The Sovereign declared open the Thames Flood Barrier. Ken Livingstone was bowing and grovelling like the rest of them. Mondale and Hart are continuing to fight it out in the US of A. Ron and Nancy are visiting Ron's roots in Eire in June after the D-Day landing 40th anniversary shindig at Dunkirk. The Queen is going to Normandy on HMY Britannia. Olympic rumpus: Russia isn't goint to send a team to Los Angeles. It's a retaliatory step because Jimmy Carter stopped a US team from visiting Moscow in '80. The Olympic Games should be ended once and for all. More trouble than it's worth and invariably they end in blood and tears. It was the quietest night ever. Bed at 11:30.

Monday May 7, 1984

 Bank Holiday in UK

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Bitterly cold. A bank holiday instituted some years ago by a Labour government. May Day indeed. It all shreiks of Joseph Stalin to me. 

Samuel woke at 5:30 wailing in his cot. Ally and I squabbled about who loves him the most and who should pick him up. Needless to say, I do. At 7:30 I went downstairs and came up for breakfast an hour later. Frank and Bessie had slept heavily and B thinks a cold is about to erupt. They were at Susan Hellier's wedding on Saturday and endured a meagre reception at the Potters Heron. Sausage rolls, &c. The aristo neighbour on Chilland Lane is now identified as Robert (Robin) Napier, heir to a baronetcy. Frank says he's a drip.

See in the Daily Telegraph that Ronald Reagan is related to all the crown heads of Europe. They always seem to link US presidents to the old Irish kings ~ you know, Brian Boru, and the likes. Our Sovereign lady is is one of George Washington's nearest living relatives. Beat that.

A flat lunch. ______. A miserable crowd all wrapped up like sherpas. As you know our boiler is defunct. Poor Samuel will be blue. F & B left at 4:30 or so. Good old Frank did his usual chores, fixed the vacuum cleaner and hung pictures, &c. Bessie bought Samuel a pelican and enough knitting to clothe Samuel until he's 5. A quiet Bank Holiday extension until 11:30pm. So many of our customers are OAPs who go home to bed at 9:30.

-=-

Sunday May 6, 1984

 2nd Sunday after Easter

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Dismal. The little warm spell has passed by.That's summer over and done with. Down to the furthermost depths of my cellar to swill, swab and shuffle. Who knows when LG will call upon us again.

Ally excited about seeing her Mum and Dad. They got here for 2:30 bearing gifts of plenty for Samuel, who was clad in his Prince William-style romper suit. We all think Samuel is the double of Frank but they don't see it, and Bessie says he looks more like her cousin Evelyn Braithwaite, who ever that might be. Both look fatter and they blame the surfeit of banquets. 

We ate an enormous luncheon ~ roast beef &c. Collapsed afterwards. I opened up at 8 (?) and then Maureen and Jane appeared and I floated off back to join the others.Samuel, aware of the visitors, refused to go to bed and grumbled furiously about this intrusion into our peaceful domesticity. At 10o'clock I went down to find the place packed to the doors and both bar staff in the cellar trying to connect a barrel of Sovereign keg. It was frantic. When all had gone we had cheese toasties and showed F & B around the downstairs. Felt whacked.

-=-

Saturday May 5, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Poor Diana Dors has run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. Aged 52, she has suffered from cancer. We lazed around this morning. Ally sat amid the debris of breakfast reading chunks from 'The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole', newly arrived from our Book Club.

Club Street.

Maureen's vacuum cleaner has exploded spewing red hot flowing rubber over the lounge carpet. Like Mount St Helena. Maureen only wants to do one 'early doors' instead of the two offered. Her husband Sam seems to be something of a case. He is an out of work country and western singer with an abnormal appetite for pork pies and mushy peas. We decided, quite suddenly, to escape to Club Street for the afternoon. So, off we went down the Queen's highway, Samuel in the back of the car kicking his legs and blinking in the sunlight. The little house looked well. Nutty Norman, scantily clad, was smoking in his garden. We hid from him. Mrs O'Brien came to inspect Samuel in his pram and gossip about the new neighbour across the road. Mrs Greenwood's house is still for sale. At 4 we went to the market and bought a piece of beef. We spotted Sister Laidler, who delivered Samuel, buying cucumbers. She didn't see us. Back for 6:30. No drama, tragedy, or touching human sob stories. Margaret worked.Her husband Dougie came in.

-=-

Friday May 4, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

At lunchtime Ally took Samuel to the clinic and had him weighed. He is 12lb 10oz. Ally says the clinic is full of screaming, hysterical babies and Samuel just sits amidst them calm and collected with a curious look on his face. Samuel had a spoonful of rice ____. He chewed it for a bit and took the lot. And so the weaning process has begun.

June, Joe Cullen's tart, was in the back bar swilling vodka as if Mr Chernenko has launched his attack on the west and we only have eighteen minutes to oblivion. She will have to go in the path of her barred out august paramour. Tonight, Ally spotted them groping together in a car in our carpark, but they made no attempt to enter the premises. I told Maureen we will have to scrap her 11-12 daily shift and that I will do it. Instead I asked her to 'open up' at 5:50 as from next week, for two days. This will work better for us because early evenings can be tiresome. This evening Ally stayed upstairs. Frank McCarron came in and announced that Diana Dors is fighting for her life. Poor thing. An up an coming rock group, called The Cult, who inhabit the tap room, asked Jane to give them a lift home, presumably for a gang bang. She declined. Bed at 12 after a cheese toastie.

-=-

Thursday May 3, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Samuel is clad in his new gear. What a beauty. He had a spoon of Delrosa syrup.

Busy in the bars. Another riotous 'Giro Day'. More beer is spilled on the floor (by the customers) than consumed. The tap room looks like Lake Windermere. Ally went upstairs in a state of collapse and I battled on with Margaret and Karen. I ejected a pissed young pool payer who was infuriating everyone. For a while I thought a brawl might ensue.

The dear PM has been at the helm for 5 years today, and is said to be planning a third term from 1987/88. I think she could do it. I'd like to see her surpass Walpole. 

Andrew: out of favour?

Fuss and nonsense on breakfast TV about the Prince of Wales kissing Prince Edward when they met in Cambridge. If brothers want to kiss then why not? Kevin Keegan does it on the football pitch, so why can't yer crowned heads? Poor Prince Andrew has taken a knock. Recently in Los Angeles he sprayed photographers with paint, he says accidentally, and then back  at home for Easter he wasn't at Windsor for the church service and the gutter press claimed this is because he is out of favour with Her Majesty. In fact the prince was up in Scotland at Floors Castle standing as godfather to Lord Edward Innes-Ker, son of the Duke of Roxburghe. Such a lot of twaddle is printed about our long suffering royal house. The annoying thing is that the majority of the British public believe what they read in the newspapers.

--=-

Wednesday May 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Mum.

To try and keep a journal, run and pub and a baby is asking the impossible. Gone is that old wit and sparkle because I have no time to think or be creative. Believe me, I am still full of humour and fun. It just doesn't come out onto these pages much. Dad and I went down early to clean the beer lines but the mild XXXX exploded and I had to phone cellar services at the brewery.The guy didn't appear until 2:30 and he casually strolled in whistling a Hoagy Carmichael number. Then the Piries arrived to talk about a court case. I ignored them and went upstairs to have lunch with the others. Mum had made beefburgers. Previously they's been out with Samuel for a walk up Dewsbury Road and had stood eyeing a microwave oven in Des Butler's window. Over lunch Mum says Billy Wright phoned her on Easter Sunday to say he would be at their pearl wedding celebrations on June 19. Have I said that they are all coming here to celebrate, about 30 of them? Should prove devastating. I must phone Dave G to give him Samuel's christening details. At 3 Mum kindly offered to babysit and Ally and I went into town to spend £20 on baby clothes at Schofield's. The lad has a fat money box. We have bought him old fashioned baby wear ~ the style made popular by Prince William of Wales. You know the sort I mean. The stuff with an elasticated embroidered front and puff sleeves. Mum and Dad went off to see Sue at 5 o'clock. We are hoping to get to Horton near Ally's birthday. I worked tonight with Karen. Not too hectic.

-=-

Tuesday May 1, 1984

 New Moon

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Papa.

Mum and Dad rolled in at 11:30 looking tanned and happy. Dad has long grey curls and could be mistaken for Lord Lichfield any day. They brought an Easter egg for Samuel who is calm and happy today. They see a great change in him and remark on his strong resemblance to Frank D. I have a sickly headache, the kind I suffered from in my schooldays, and have taken a couple of ultra-relief pills swilled down with Mandarine Napoleon brandy. We sat for a couple of hours playing with Samuel. Poor Papa becomes very emotional looking at babies. He is a sensitive man. His eyes go damp when watching films like 'Brief Encounter' and that sort of thing. We looked at an old group photo including Uncle Albert taken in 1907. Great Uncle Oliver is on the extreme right. We dined on brisket, cauliflower cheese, and later Ally and I walked across to the Blooming Rose and had a quick drink in a half hearted way but returned to the Moorhouse for 10pm and sat with Mum and Dad. It was a quiet night in the pub. The loss of Joe Cullen has left a void which cannot be filled. We retired at 11:30 and ate chunks of cream cake. I had a cherry brandy as a nightcap. And so to bed.

-=-

Monday April 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Another warm one. At 2 in walked (Peter) Lazenby and Tony Harney (they had seen Michael Brown's poster on the back wall at the YP). Neither of them change at all. We sat at the bar in the tap room recalling the times we grovelled around Blackpool. I was always something of a celebrity of those debauched 'father's day' trips. Poor Pete asked if I knew Dave, his brother, was dead, and I muttered my sympathies. Six months on Pete still looks very moved by Dave's passing. They left at 3 promising a return visit. 

-=-

Sunday April 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Low Sunday

Cooler today. Cousin Jill is 22. 

We held a staff meeting at 11. A congenial affair with coffee and biscuits.Samuel attended and watched the proceedings from his mother's arms. We had to give everyone the hard word about the stock problem, and scrapped the staff 10 minute break at closing and ironed out one or two minor irritations. I'm sure they all thought it was a waste of time, but Ally and I felt as though something useful had come out of it.

Tony & Geoff.

Auntie Mabel, Marlene, F, Mark & Debbie came at 1 and sat outside with Ally and Samuel. Mabel pushed Samuel in his pram through the tulips of Hunslet Moor and he wailed in his high pitched voice throughout whenever she glanced at him. His pet lip came up and tears welled in his eyes at the very sight of her. Most odd, because she is such a sweet, old thing. At 2:30 we all went in to the tap room where Frank and the kids played pool. They stayed until almost 5 o'clock.

Tonight comes Jill, Tim, Hilda, Tony, Geoff Elmer and his spouse, Margaret. They stood until after 12.

-=-
 

Saturday April 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Warmer. Summer madness in fact. From opening the doors at 11 we could sense the tension and almost hear it crackling amongst the usually placid natives. Should I go upstairs and find a gum-shield? That is the question. I was on my guard watching silly Joe Cullen, who was snarling like a mad dog at bearded Eddie, the sarcastic creep who usually stands in the lounge. At three they took their argument outside where Joe bopped Eddie and knocked him to the ground. The other brawler is currently on bail awaiting trial for molesting a 12 year-old girl. I went out and got between them once fighting commenced, and 'clotched' the pair of them. Joe had been asking for it for a while. Give a man enough rope and he'll hang himself, &c. I am splattered with blood. To escape this carnage at 3:30 we went off to see Auntie Mabel, who was watching snooker on TV in a darkened room. Samuel wailed throughout. He didn't like auntie's spectacles. Marlene, Frank anbd Debbie came and we had salmon and cucumber sandwiches and pots of tea. No news. The Harwoods were fresh back from Brid. Uncle Peter visited Mabel recently. Back to the Moorhouse for 7. A quiet evening with no visitors. Mabel and Co are coming here at lunch tomorrow.

-=-

Friday April 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Warm. This cannot be bad. The pub smells of sun tan oil and we are faced with the sight of pink, newly burned flesh, &c. However, the heatwave is bringing the local nutters out of the trees. I stood at the door like a bouncer turning away the multitude of drunks, who then staggered off in the direction of the Junction.

Lunchtime saw the end of the pathetic London siege, and off went the murderers to a ticker tape welcome in that pin-prick of a country. So, it's all over. They are burying the poor dead WPC tomorrow in Salisbury.

Samuel has found his voice and he sings now like Kiri Te Kanawa.

-=-

Thursday April 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Warm. The siege in London continues. Of course these barbaric Libyans will get away Scot-free. A member of the Kennedy family has been found dead from a drug overdose in a seedy hotel room. 'The Kennedy family prepares for yet another burial', says the Daily Telegraph. The Kennedys aren't exactly dropping like flies. The last one to croak was Bobby in '68, and so in fact they are long overdue a bereavement of some sort.

Received a call from MM who says he and Marita are coming this evening with Dave L. This put a spring in my step for the afternoon. I do enjoy visitations. People always seem pleasantly surprised with our little pub. They expect the worst coming to Hunslet. (I am writing this with my son and heir upon my craggy, ageing knees). Sure enough, my visitors rolled up at 8. They arrived simultaneously with a miserable wedding party of ten or twelve. The bride had to sit down for fear of delivering her baby. It was one of those affairs where the bridegroom wore a carnation which was so big it resembled a cauliflower.  Dave L is scatty as ever. Bored again of teaching he now wants a pub. He's even considering taking on the Star & Garter, near the Duncan, on the Headrow in town. His trousers stopped at the knee. We had a busy night which surprised everyone. We didn't harp on too much about the days of yore, which tends to upset Dave. MM and Marita are seeking a new venture. They are bored of selling three piece suites and rolls of Axminster and have considered a sandwich shop in town. Money is to be made in food. Upstairs at 11 for coffee and beefburgers. They are all a little amazed that Ally and I have achieved our aim in life so early.To bed quite knackered after one, or was it two?

-=-

Wednesday April 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot and sunny. Dray day. 

Ally is tetchy and grumbly and complains she is feeling tired. She does look pale and needs some sort of tonic, if you ask me. People in public house management are denied sleep. Nowhere is sleep discussed in the management contract. Neither is sex. We stayed upstairs in the flat in a quandry of indecision. Eventually we decided that Ally should sleep and I would do 'the ironing'. Samuel wanted to play and we re-enacted scenes from the Battle of Britain. I ran around the room with Samuel held aloft. He was an aeroplane of course. His giggles are exceptional. Ally slept on in our flat, cum laundry. Bessie phoned. They are coming here next Tuesday when Frank is seeing someone in Burnley. But that is our 'Ossett night'. At 8 Frank phoned back to say he's in Kings Lynn on Tuesday and so they will come here on Sunday May 6. Mama phoned too. They are coming here next week. She says she doesn't want Samuel growing up without knowing his grandmama. I am sure we wouldn't let him.

High society news: Earl Jermyn is engaged. The premier baronet of England, Nico Bacon, received an heir on St George's Day, and so did Viscount Melville.

-=-

Tuesday April 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Bernie McC.

Another warm, bright day. 70 degrees. Early start. Mick Thompson came at 8:30 with a bacon sandwich tucked under his arm. We have a £25 stock surplus. Thank God. I fail to understand this stocktaking business, but I suppose life has to have its ups and downs. Rob Piper at the Butcher's in Pudsey was £200 down on his last stocktake. Phoned LG who seemed dour. We are to go ahead with a staff meeting and he suggests we order 20 ounce glasses and be ever vigilant for the viper within. Ally worked with Audrey and I sat in the carpark with Samuel, who snoozed in his pram. Ally scampered around Hunslet Moor collecting our beer glasses and tidying up. Bernie McC (pissed) came and peeped in at my son and declared with much laughter that I cannot be the father, but that he is most definitely Ally's son. A long evening. No enthusiasm. Ally and Jane ran things and I stood with 'Mad Peter', a gay cockney, who insists he owns a stud farm in Eire, when in fact he lives on his weekly Giro on Beeston Hill.

-=-

Monday April 23, 1984

Bank Holiday in the UK

St George's Day

Harry, England and St George, &c. Will HM fill the Garter vacancies? The Duke of Beaufort croaked, but who else? The Earl of Westmorland will collect the KG one day, and I had hopes for Johnny Spencer but they have faded. They'd never tolerate Raine in St George's Chapel. Perhaps she should send the star and garter to Colonel Gadaffi, and place nitrogycerin in the case?

The Libyan embassy siege continues. It was a hot, steaming day. Samuel's first bank holiday Monday. We took him outside in his pram and Archie played at Nanny Barnes. Quite touching that men who are childless seem obsessed with them. A quiet afternoon. Few customers. They are all in Blackpool or Brid.

Moping all night with nothing to do. Maureen worked. Michael Brown phoned and suggested we do a pub crawl in Holbeck on Wednesday. Ally wasn't too happy about this and so I'll cancel, nay postpone, this. I find Michael Brown excellent company but prefer Ally's on my only day off of the week. I was a fool to say I'd go.

-=-

Sunday April 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Easter Day

Easter day and not an Easter egg to be seen anywhere.Poor, little deprived Samuel. Ah well, he knows nothing about such things this year. I created a gigantic breakfast and then Sue and Pete went out with Christopher and Samuel in to the park. The blossom tree near the pub is in full blossom and one wouldn't believe we are stuck in the middle of Leeds. Susan waddled away with the pram. She has the Wilson ladies 'bandy legs' and from the rear she is very reminiscent of my aunt, Eleanor Myers. Pete still doesn't have an ounce of fat on him and looks very John Cleese-ish. We took them home at 2:30. Peter having spent some time at the bar with Frank & Bernie McCarron. We drove to John's. He wasn't in. On to Lynn's to look at the foundations forn the new erection. Blenheim in the early stagers must have resembled this. The Bakers went on to see Audrey, who remains bed-bound still. Back to John's. He has the children. We showed them our wedding video cassette which followed 'Star Wars' and preceded 'The Wind in the Willows'. JPH is fatter. He and Catherine are very polite children.

Moorhouse: Jane is 26 today. Very busy at 10:30. Ally slept from 8:30.

-=-

Saturday April 21, 1984

 Birthday of Queen Elizabeth II

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot & Sunny. Her Majesty the Queen is 58 years old today. God Bless you, Ma'am. I ate my 'full-English' breakfast singing 'Happy Birthday dear Queen' which amused Christopher. 'Happy Birthday to You' is his favourite tune and Dad sings it with gusto everytime they visit Horton.

We dragged out the outside tables, umbrellas, &c. Sat in the carpark sunning ourselves and slurping. A summers day in April cannot be bad. Joe Cullen came over and told me of his sexploits with the nubile June. He is still copulating in the back seat of cars, in hedgerows and other rural settings, ~ and he's 40 years old.

Chicken salad and afternoon naps. John sauntered in at 9pm with Christopher Ratcliffe. After ten minutes they escaped to the Blooming Rose for Tetley's ale. We were so dead in the bar here. We went upstairs at closing and caught the end of a Woody Allen film. Hilarious. 

And, so to bed.

-=-

Friday April 20, 1984

 Good Friday

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

In days of old I complained , nay played hell, about the archaic licensing laws on this Holy day. Not now.

It was a quiet afternoon. A dead loss in fact. Bright and sunny though and at 2:30 we drove over to Guiseley and collected Sue, Peter and Christopher. She had a rabbit casserole and Yorkshire puddings on the table. She is big (pregnant big) but not like two years ago and is set in her mind that she is having a girl. I do hope so. Another troublesome lad would be hopeless. Christopher is becoming Peter's double. We had a few drinks with the Nasons but didn't go daft and at some reasonable hour we went upstairs for coffee. Poor Susie is like a whale. Undecided about names. They like the name James, hate Benjamin, and Samantha is high on the list.

-=-

Thursday April 19, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Maundy Thursday.

Very busy. Easter fever. Conversation with Susie. They are coming for Easter. The poor girl never goes out. They haven't had a holiday since their honeymoon in '80 and Christopher must be very trying. Spoke to our mums. Mine is busy with Easter walkers, and Ally's is worried about Frank who has another stone in a kidney. The man eats too much. 

Samuel is 14 weeks old. Frantic tonight. Tap room packed. Must be Giro night. The old man whose dog barks when I call 'time' at closing stormed out complaining about my beer. Sod him.

Had a glimpse of the Sovereign on the news. She was with Torvill & Dean - of all people. Does Her Majesty have a soft spot for these sickly ice-skating types?

-=-

Wednesday April 18, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

The siege (at the Libyan embassy) goes on and the Home Secretary has left his dinner with the Queen at Windsor to conduct the whole business personally in St James's Square. Bomb Tripoli, that's what I advise. 

Our so-called day off. We stayed here to do the lunches but only took about thirty bob in two hours which is hopeless. To Club Street, dear Club Street. The place looked very well and the garden a mass of spring flowers. I went to have a haircut and spent £5. Not my usual 'hair stylist' because he doesn't open on Wednesdays. I came back at 5:15 to find Ally at Mary's. I joined them for coffee and biscuits. It's a relief to learn that nobody has dropped dead on the street since Charles Eyden. Mary had us gripped with the further adventures of .Nutty Norman', the Club St lunatic. The man is permanently in his pyjamas. 

Back to Leeds. Watched TV. Danny La Rue on 'This Is Your Life'. A plethora of homosexuality filled the studio. They were all out in force. We sat together ~ the three of us. Ally went down at 11 to help rid the pub of the boozy clientel and came back in a rage. Some members of staff will have to go. Bed.

-=-

Tuesday April 17, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

PC Yvonne Fletcher.

A WPC called Yvonne Fletcher has been shot dead in London by some thugs from inside the Libyan embassy who now, presumably, have diplomatic immunity under the Vienna Convention. How disgusting. Send in the SAS, Maggie. Who cares about Libya anyway? Nothing more than a rat-infested pin-prick, a blob, somewhere in Africa. Surely, the severance of our relations with Libya will not affect us one tiny bit. And as for Colonel Gadaffi? He is on a par with Arthur Scargill. The PM is in Portugal but no doubt keeping an ear to the phone. The Home Secretary is dining with Her Majesty at Windsor. We dined here, bloody furious at the invasion of our streets by the (expletive withheld) fanatics disguised as diplomats.

Bessie's sister Joan has sent us a 'new baby' card, a little late, and a Mothercare suit. Samuel looks so grown up in it. He does beam brilliantly. He sleeps so well and then when he awakes he doesn't wail but waits patiently for someone to notice him.

-=-

Monday April 16, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, &c.

Ally was tired out today. I came upstairs at one point and found her sleeping on the couch like a beautiful doll, with Samuel asleep across her lap, his smooth white legs hanging like sausages. 

The brewery.

I phoned Rob Piper at the Butchers and scrounged a lift to Cadtaster (sic). He came at 5 and sat in the car blowing the horn. We drove to the brewery talking about staff and stocks. He has it all sewn up. He does no work and yet has the same staff hours as me. Where am I going wrong? We saw Fran O'Brien in the car park. He is a creeping bastard. We all went into the dull Regency-style room, where LG interviewed us last year, and we sat around a large table covered in a green cloth. Like a billiard table without the holes. About a dozen of us. I was sat between Don Whitfield, and a man with spectacles called Littlejohn-Scott, from the Hansom Cab where he says the clientel are 'heathens'. He looked like Dr Crippen or the murderer Christie. Colin Black is in love with Colin Black. He is about 3ft 6ins tall and suffers from the Napoleon syndrome. LG was his usual self. Dear Donna went through the minutes of the last liaison  committee meeting. Nobody ever says a word. We have eight new beers to sell from next month. David Tyne bought us all a drink in the pub next door and Rob and I left after ten minutes. LG took me on one side and told me that he has put a letter to me in the post re our stocktakes, and I inmmediately thought to myself: 'Aye aye, it's the bloody chop'. What a queer old business this is. It's worse than ancient Rome. Back to the Moorhouse. Ally was coping nicely. Maureen says I look pissed. After two halves of Sam Smith's bitter? Not bloody likely.

-=-

Sunday April 15, 1984

 Palm Sunday / Full Moon

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, &c

Tommy Cooper: dead.

Tommy Cooper dropped down dead on the TV at 8:40pm. I suppose that is how he would have wanted to go. The audience roared with laughter as he went and thought he was clowning around. Poor man. 

It was a good afternoon in the pub. Ally didn't come down and roasted a joint of beef. It was deliciously pink. We ate at 3 and watched Badminton on the TV. 'Horsy' Badminton, not shuttlecock Badminton. Lucinda Green won (again). The Sovereign was sat with the new Duke of Beaufort. Read the Sunday papers, &c.

Palm Sunday, eh? Looking at some of my customers, as I did tonight, one would think they are getting crucified next week too. My God. Miserable buggers.

-=-

Saturday April 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Sunshine. Dawn rise and a 'full-English breakfast' en masse around the table. Katie splattered breakfast cereal everywhere. They went off at about 11, the girls waving regally from the car. Ally went into the tap room and stood drinking with old Archie. I went to find Samuel and played with him for an hour or so. What a doddle it all is.

Oh, yes. LG came in yesterday and immediately switched off the till in the back bar saying someone  had been tampering with it. He said I would have to sack all the bar staff if the stocks remain in the doldrums. He left saying he would come back today, but he didn't materialise. I have a letter from the brewery asking me to attend a meeting on Monday. No doubt I'll see his Lordship at that gathering of managed house elite.

No sign of John tonight. When is he paying me a birthday visit? Quiet tonight. No visitors. And so, dear reader, to bed.

-=-

Friday April 13, 1984

 

Dave & Lynn.

Moorhouse Inn

Friday the Thirteenth. Busy as usual. Awaiting the arrival of the Bakers. They came at 7. Ally worked from 5:30pm whilst I bathed Samuel and when he drifted off to sleep I changed and listened to a few records. Lynn came up and reported the pub was packed and we went down to find the place busy and Ally working flat out. She has a slender, waspish waist looking divine in a peppermint Laura Ashley number.

We dined with the Bakers upstairs while the barmaids battled below. Lynn and Dave are putting an extension on Thorpefields. The erection will stick out from the back of the dining room. They do this sort of thing on Tranmere. We went down to the lounge at 9 and had a few swift ones. Ally was drinking 'Nourishing Strong Stout'. Some ruffians came in but left after only one pint. We sat until after 2am supping Mandarine Napoleon brandy and various assorted liqueurs. They were very chatty. Lynn was thrilled when we asked her to be Samuel's godmother. David was touched at this because I think he is quietly devout. We gave them a guided tour of the cellars and went up to bed after coffee and Nat King Cole.

-=-

Thursday April 12, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

I played Hercule Poirot tonight and stood at the bar in the tap room mixing with the Hunslet folk and observing the staff. Talked to Kevin, a mechanic, who went on and on about the metro. As you know, cars do nothing for me. Karen and Margaret were working. ______. To bed with Noel Coward (diaries) but I cannot get past 1955. Diaries reveal so much.

-=-

Wednesday April 11, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Samuel was awake at 5 and fed and he squealed again at 6:30 and I got up and changed his soggy clothes. He beams with such a glow. Mick Thompson, the stocktaker, was here at 8 and he gave us a £55 defecit. Ridiculous is this. It's a case of think of a number and halve it, or do I mean double it? This Thompson person might be competent but he's only about 16 (or at least he only looks like a teen). Ally refuses to worry because she says it's all just guess work. I agree with her. Ally tried to phone LG but got nowhere. These people must hide behind the furniture at Tadcaster. 

After lunch we escaped to Club Street and Ally went over the carpet with a vacuum cleaner and I went out to buy some fish and chips and sniggered at the vociferous fish fryer who was lambasting Nigel Lawson. A letter in the Daily Telegraph says Caligula, in ancient Rome, introduced VAT on takeaway food.

Back to the pub for 8:30 and installed the stereo in the flat. Ally played a Bob Marley LP and jigged around. The sound was exquisite after weeks of the dismal thud of the juke box below. To our beds late after listening to Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald and Grace Jones, &c. We shared a pint of Guinness.

-=-

Tuesday April 10, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Overcast. Up at 7 for a bowl of Weetabix with my piglets. Breakfast TV trundles interminably on. I went down to clear the beer lines ~ a process which went on until 10. Hung around waiting for the dray which didn't come until about 1. I fear I have ordered too much of everything. Clutching my Mandarine Napoleon as if it's the last bottle on earth. Ally, in a fine bossy mood asked Audrey to wash the shelves which she did with a long, unsmiling face. A bearded pain in the neck was stood in the bar irritating me, but we do have some good little characters. We ate ploughman's lunches. Saw the TV at lunch. The Badminton Horse Trials with HM clad in a headscarf and mac in a ploughed field. Good old Lord Lane has quashed the Tisdall girl's appeal, and rightly so. String 'em up, Maggie, that's what I say. 

Knackered. The Piries came over from Ossett, with a team, and we beat them at everything. She is a surly, Australian cow bag. It was a busy tap room because of this soiree, and many regulars abstained including dear Edna Wibley (?) I mean Wilby and old consumptive John. Ally was furious with the Piries who were ignorant to a fault. Jane coped. _______.

Saw the Princess of Wales on the late news at the state banquet for the Emir of Bahrein. She waddled into the Waterloo Chamber looking like a giant sloth.

-=-

Monday April 9, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, &c.

Samuel woke for a feed at 4am. He hasn't done this for a while and we went back to sleep sluggish and heavy. Sunshine. I played in the cellar and continued mucking out the fryer. Ally went off to Morrison's at 10.

I forgot to say that on Friday Frank H brought us their old settee and armchair - brown, 'velvety' -- it will do until some Louis XIV cast offs from Versailles turn up. Anyway, this afternoon I collapsed on our new item of furniture. Ally disapproves of me sleeping anywhere but in bed and grumbled as I lay, open mouthed, dreaming of a land free from industrial turmoil and where the likes of Arthur Scargill are incarcerated in psychiatric hospitals. 

LG turned up at 7:30 and Ally was looking especially lovely to brighten his evening. He wasn't violent about the stock horror but was understanding and helpful. He tapped away on his pocket calculator and had us quite baffled. Rob is coming back on Wednesday to give us a quick check stock. Maureen worked. I escaped for ten minutes to see Mrs Thatcher on 'Panorama' - interviewed by Sir Robin Day. What a level headed excellent woman she is. Bed at 12.

-=-

Sunday April 8, 1984

 Passion Sunday

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds.

Lay long in bed. We get worse. Ally is of the opinion that we should pretend we are in our old office jobs and emerge at the same time every morning as in the days when the alarm clock always sounded at 6:44. It is a difficult thing to do though. Scrambled eggs and baked beans. The Sunday Telegraph, &c. Read Al Haig's Falklands reminiscences.

Samuel has said goodbye to many of his baby ways already. Ally went to the bar and worked with Margaret at 12. I played with Samuel and he eventually fell asleep in my arms. I went down briefly to see the darts lads about Tuesday's fiasco, but the team leader is away in Bridlington. Taffy was snooping around.

Later watched Erroll Flynn and Flora Robson in 'The Sea Hawks'  and Ally made fish for lunch. Spent the remainder of the afternoon cleaning the deep fat fryers. A revolting job. Watched the Tv but we tend to use it as a backcloth to our chattering. Ally opened up again at 7 and stayed down until after 9. I went down from 9. Looked at snapshots of the recent wedding of Frank and Bernie's daughter. We saw the vicar who said yes to July 22 though it is the date he expects to become a grandfather and so he may be nervous and jittery. We don't want him dropping Samuel in the font. Bed at 12.

-=-

Saturday April 7, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, &c.

Ally was thoroughly exhausted today, and except for emerging to see to our son and heir at his feeding and changing she remained firmly entrenched in our vast bed. I stayed upstairs playing with Samuel. One cannot leave him awake and alone. He has changed these past few days. Taking more notice, giggling louder, and looking at his fingers.

Will John come today? ______. Ally slumbered on into the afternoon and I persuaded her to get up and eat at 4. Then, when I opened up at 7, it was back to bed. Just Margaret and I. A quiet night. Had cheese toasties (again) and after closing I watched a dull Dracula film. Finally I got a chance to look at the Daily Telegraph. Marshal of the RAF Sir Arthur 'Bomber' Harris is no longer with us. So too goes Sir Mark Milbank, Bt, former Master of the Royal Household. 

And so, to bed, dear reader.

-=-

Friday April 6, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Frances is three today. She spoke sweetly to me yesterday on the phone and sounded so grown up. She is a difficult child to get to know and seems morbid and petty at times but is a gentle thing. Received cards from Sarah and Jacq. 

Prince Andrew has been banished to St Helena, no doubt because of Koo Stark and Katie Rabett. He is making a stout Hanoverian prince and will not retain his good looks for very long.

John Wilson (1853-1920)

We expected John with trepidation. Ally would do anything to get a good night's sleep and fears another late night.The hours ticked by and he didn't appear, but then in walked Hilda and Tony, Jill and Tim. All very cheerful and happy. Hilda gave me three old family photos to copy. One of Rella (Fawbert), one of John Wilson (1853-1920) and a group, a seaside shot of Uncle Albert with his niece, Edith Annie Horsfall (who was of a similar age to her uncle), and two unknown boys. The photo of John Wilson was taken circa 1910, when he was in his 60s but he looks like a 98-year old propping up a chair.  Edith Annie was the only child of Mary Wilson (1874-1974), my great-aunt. I remember visiting Auntie Mary at her home in Manningham Lane, Bradford, in 1972. She converted Mum to using tea bags. 

Someone was sick in the porch. Carrots abound. Why does veg feature so much in vomit? Upstairs with the relatives at 11. They all peeped in on Samuel. Bed late after I made beefburger suppers all round.

-=-

Thursday April 5, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

My 29th birthday. Up at 7 feeling awful. Sitting in bed Ally gave me a pink and blue tie and a card with a frog on the front. A card - to 'Daddy from Samuel' - brought a lump to my throat. 

A traumatic birthday really. Rob, the stocktaker, came at 8:30, and LG at 9 with the new optics. We have a £142 defecit which was something of a body blow. The loss is in the draught bitter and lager. Mum and Dad went off to Guiseley at 3 and we sat wearily. I worked all evening like a zombie. Margaret bought me a brandy for my birthday and at 10:30 I was heartily glad to go upstairs. John phoned to say 'happy birthday' at 10:45. Poor Ally says I have had an awful birthday but I am contented. I have a son who is beautiful beyond belief and a wife who is an angel.

-=-

Wednesday April 4, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Out into town at 9 with Samuel. The boy despises head gear and kicks and struggles when Mummy dresses him. Crisp and sunny. Ally headed straight to Laura Ashley. We dumped the pram near the curtain fabrics and went upstairs. An elderly spinster, very plain and very large, was trying on a wedding frock and looked like Mount Kilimanjaro. We hurried back and found Mama and Papa upstairs. They helped with the lunches and we had a few drinks afterwards. The Mandarine Napoleon came out. They say John has made an offer for a house on Back Lane. We had no idea he wanted to move.The house that Sue wanted on Moorland Crescent is no longer on the market, and they are going to look elsewhere. We drank in the bar until Maureen came in at 5:30 and we went upstairs. I was furious when Maureen told me later that the Piries had called in after arranging a darts and dominoes evening here on April 10. The bloody cheek of it. I wasn't consulted.

Samuel was niggly and playing up. He must know that we want to go out and leave him. He was in bed for 9pm and at 9:45 we hurried into town and the bistro on Commercial Street (it is the former Betty's Tea Rooms). A disappointing dinner. I had veal in horrible cooking sherry - so sweet. It was supposed to be veal marsala. I didn't let on to Ally that I was disappointed. She also had veal, but in a mushroom sauce. I was pissed and staggered out stripping down the stairs. Ally looking beautiful in a peppermint striped Laura Ashley creation purchased today. Back to the Moorhouse for 11:30. Samuel had been awake until 11 and was now sleeping peacefully. We went down to the empty pub and sat in the lounge. My God, I enter my 30th year tomorrow. To bed after 3am.

-=-

Tuesday April 3, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Busy with food. Dray day. All banked. Bloody Hell, it's all go. 

News: The President of Israel had lunch at Windsor yesterday. Marvin Gaye, the Tamla (Motown) personality, has been killed by his disgruntled Dad. Wasn't Marvin fraternising with Lady Edith Foxwell? 'Heard it Through the Grapevine' will soon be back at number one, no doubt. Almost nine in ten families have some sort of social service assistance. A frightening statistic, eh? 

Jane (Tudor) worked tonight. Old Harold says she is a calming influence on the tap room rowdies. She is slow but I'm sure she's reliable. 

-=-

Monday April 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Pisses down. Albert Tatlock is dead. Joan Parkinson left and went without the theatricals I was expecting. I was kissed goodbye, which was nauseating. 

Balderdash in the papers about the Princess of Wales expecting twins. Rot.

Are people taking drugs in our tap room? The ever watchful Edna insists they are. I must admit that a certain element of the clientel are very 'Dylanish' and look like renmants of the long gone hippie era. Will I go down if the beloved CID raid the bar? Dad will have to be consulted. I do not want to be running a den of iniquity.

Samuel beams. He's sturdier. Looking very much like Frank but Ally giggles and says it's only because they are both bald with sticking out ears.

This Gary Hart person is frightening. He's been going everywhere in the US telling everybody he's Irish. They say he's taking the rise out of the Kennedys. Blimey, he'll be drowning his secretary next. Modale is a spineless fart.

To bed relieved at Joan's departure. Knackered.

-=-

Sunday April 1, 1984

 4th Sunday in Lent

Mothering Sunday

New Moon

Sunny, bright, &c. Smothering Sunday. All Fool's Day. Busy. Rob came and so too did the ghastly Piries and Marisa. Uncomfortable to say the least. I now know how George VI felt when the Duke of Windsor kept flitting back to London after his abdication. Sadly, I cannot banish Pirie to France with a dukedom.

Ally suddenly proclaimed: 'Let's go to Horton' and so off we went arriving at 4:30 to find everyone. All the grandchildren except Hannah. A frantic hour. Silly really. We arrived back in Leeds at 7:20 to find a crowd waiting on the doorstep, grumbling. Opening late is dreadful. Jane came in at 8. She brings to mind Vivien Leigh. Busy. Glenfiddich-swilling David ('such a gentleman') _______. Ally's first Mother's Day. What joy.

-=-

Saturday March 31, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

My name went up over the door in letters today. The Grand National. Watched the race. One horse dropped dead afterwards. Rain. I took Samuel down to the tap room where all the old men gave him money. He has a piggy bank like the Aga Khan. Ploughman's lunches. Michael Brown and Harold came. Such witty folk. Poor M is spending a week at Butlin's in May.

I went out with Samuel in his pram and bought an aspidistra, flowers and chocolates, &c. All for Mother's Day tomorrow. It was cold out.

The Aspidistra: forty years on.

Quiet in the bar. Ally downstairs with Margaret (Milne). I retired upstairs. Noisy Olive came in to the back bar. Edna, sitting in her usual spot upon a bar stool, says that the offensive Olive has 'had more prick than a second hand dart board'. Such fun. 

Toasted cheese sandwiches. A Vincent Price epic. Poor Edgar Allan Poe. Bed.

Note: (The Aspidistra lives on today in Samuel's possession, 2024).

-=-

Friday March 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

We are having a stocktake and having metred optics installed on my birthday. Sod it. Mum phoned to confirm that they are coming here on Wednesday to stay over night and babysit when Ally and I go out to dine. Just where we will go I do not know. Mum says that Michelle Myers, the 17 year-old bride of my cousin Stephen, gave birth to a daughter, Gemma Louise (?) at the BRI last night. Bloody Hell, I can recall Stephen's christening as though it was yesterday. I sat with Uncle Albert who was talking to cousin Derek about fishing rods. That was back in '65 or '66. The family are all meeting at Waltergarth for 'Smothering' Sunday. We'll never find the time to go. 

I phoned a plumber about the continuing saga of the dripping Club Street radiator. Evans, for that is his name, will inspect the damage on Tuesday. Ally is going to have to be in Bradford for 8am.

Later we stood around in the bar looking like idle pub managers. Talked to David (Howard?) with the pipe. Ally looked like a doll in her Laura Ashley number. Beverley Pirie came in draped in a fur coat and was overheard saying she was 'slumming it'. The cow. We ignored her.

-=-

Thursday March 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Swapped roles. Ally, clad in her Laura Ashley number, went down to the bar to work with Audrey, and I cooked the pub lunches upstairs. Petal looked gorgeous and slim. I stood turning out pork pies with mushy peas and spied Kathleen creeping past heavily camouflaged. Silly girl. Give a woman the best years of your life and this is how she repays you. 

Laughed at a copy of the Daily Star which suggests that the Princess of Wales will have her second baby in Scotland, because the Royal Family are always at Balmoral in August. No, it will be back to Paddington, I fear.

Busy early doors. L. Gledhill came in with a sign which will display my name over the door of this establishment. He bought half a bitter and held it up to the light. Swine. Doesn't he realise that to do such a thing causes panic to run through the beer swilling customers? He announced that Elaine Wills gave birth to a son, David Christopher, just after noon today. I told him I want lights on my cool shelves and he mumbled favourably and went away laughing at Edna. 

Karen and Margaret worked. They pretended not to know that Joan is quitting.

-=-

Wednesday March 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Our so-called day off. Silly really. I do more work on Wednesdays than on any other day. We were up at dawn and in town for 9am. Ally bought a rich full, red skirt and a dress from Laura Ashley. She floated out of the changing rooms like a debutante. Samuel, pushed everywhere, slept throughout. He wore a helmet and looked like Biggles. 

Back to the Moorhouse to do the lunches. We needn't have bothered. Then back into town and on to Club Street. We found Mary (Moore) bereaved. A boyfriend, aged 91, died last Tuesday. We called in at the Red Lion and saw dear Enid. The pissed bus driver was in drinking. Elaine (Wills) went in today (to give birth) and Chris was with her at the BRI. Back to the Moorhouse. Ally plonked Samuel upon a table in the lounge bar and people peeped in on him. We had a few drinks and went to the fish and chip shop - silly really when we have so much fish on the premises. Hung a big red lampshade. Bed.

(Jane worked for Audrey who was at a 'leaving do' at the Metropole).

-=-

Tuesday March 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Why I write so much I do not know. Bloody Hell, I must be so boring. Tuesday is of course 'dray day'. The delivery came at a reasonable hour and I check everything so very carefully now. They won't swindle me out of Bacardi again. 

Samuel loves playing. He sat riding me knee as I sang 'Galloping Major'. Where have I got this from? Somewhere in the past dear Papa must have done similar to me and it has laid dormant all these years. Samuel squealed as I bounced him around. He is all gummy.

Ally opened up again and I bathed the lad after which he conked out and slept until 7. I think his bath water was too hot. He emerged like a lobster.

Joan Parkinson-disease phoned and announced her resignation because she says she is 'getting trouble from all sides' and wants no ill-feeling at work. I am gleeful because she is a barmaid I have wanted to see go. _______. Jane tonight. I sat with Reg (who was born Feb 14, 1901). Poor man.

-=-

Monday March 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

I ignored the alarm clock and lingered in bed until 9 o'clock. Wind, rain, &c. Phoned Ken Gilbertson at the brewery about the TV ariel which blew off the roof on Saturday morning. He put me on to a Bradford firm. Bacon sandwiches and pots of tea. Played with Samuel. He does giggle a lot. 

News: The Queen arrived in Jordan today with, supposedly, a SAS crack unit. The royal plane has avoided the Lebanon and Syria. Edwina Hicks, daughter of Lady Pamela, married Jeremy Brudenell in Oxford on Saturday. HM and the duke attended. I had no idea she was engaged. The Press singled out Edwina for the hand of the P of W in about 1980 - until Diana came on the scene. 

It was a dead afternoon in 'the trading rooms' as F.O'B would say. Just Audrey and three old, dying men. Very sombre. Ally and I sat upstairs and had lunch watching a snowy TV - Miriam Stoppard discussing babies. At 3:30 Ally climbed into the bath and I pushed Samuel up the road in his pram. Dark clouds came over and the rain poured down on us. I went to the post office and bought a large Mother's Day card from baby to Ally. Her first Mothering Sunday. What a lucky child he is. 

_______. Ally went down to 'open up' and I bathed Samuel and changed him and expected him to scream for food only to have him collapse in my arms.

The news: Hysteria about the Queen's Jordan visit which is going to pass off peaceably. The Tisdall girl is going to appeal. ________.

-=-

Sunday March 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

British Summer Time begins

3rd Sunday in Lent

Bacon sandwiches and the Sunday Telegraph. Fuss about the Queen's visit to Jordan tomorrow. King Hussein is reported to have said that Amman is safer than London. I would agree. Her Majesty flies out with Exocet detectors attached to the royal Tristar, and Mrs T has held an emergency meeting at Chequers, &c. All silly. We do not want the sovereign wrapped upm and cocooned from the outside world.

A quiet Sunday pub. Oh yes, one of The Bachelors (an early 20th century Irish vocal group) held court in the lounge last night. People greased around him as though he was Julio Iglesias or perhaps Des O'Connor. 

Veal for lunch. Doris Day film. Torvill and Dean nausea. They got 48 million perfect sixes in Ottawa. He really should make a honest woman of her. Ate chocolate and laughed at 'Bonanza'. Everyone had rabies.

Phoned Mama. She gave me a list of dates when they can visit for Samuel's christening. July 1 or July 22. Ally has spoken to Bessie. Her conversation was interrupted by Lady Atkinson, 'wife of that man involved in shipping', knocking on the door and asking for money for the local Tories. She must be the wife of Sir Robert Atkinson. Other neighbours, those across the lane, are called Napier and 'he's line line to have a title'. We have several Napier baronets and Lords Napier of Magdala and Napier & Ettrick. The latter is Princess Margaret's private secretary, but his heir is only a boy.They recently met the Earl of Strafford at the Hargreaves residence. Talk about 'high society'. Bessie isn't remotely interested in all this and isn't a snob, but knows of my interest in the peerage. Am I a snob?

The husband of the (Yorkshire) Ripper's second victim Emily Jackson came in the pub tonight. Tart mad he is.

-=-

Saturday March 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Extremely wet. Slept in. Maureen came in and found me in my lemon karate-style dressing gown. Did I spy a hint of lust beneath those old, mud-spattered spectacle frames? I lay abed with my wife, son and Daily Telegraph. The Tisdall girl who pinched a document from Michael Heseltine's office and passed it on to the ghastly Guardian has gone down for six months. There's an outcry at the harsh sentence! She wouldn't see the light of day again if I had been the judge.I am deliriously right-wing. Mike Brown says, and I'm sure I've repeated this before, that I am to the right of Genghis Khan.

Breakfast late. Went out at 10 and bought £10 of copper from the Post Office. Coming back I spied the vicar in his study preparing his sermon, and I called in to tell him that May 20 (for Samuel's christening) is quite out of the question. So, back to the drawing board. Apparently it requires a dispensation from the bishop to have Samuel baptized mid-afternoon. What hideous bureaucracy. 

Quiet afternoon. Ally and I sat in the bar with Terry (Egan). Ally and I have decided that we are perhaps too critical of bar staff. They are bloody good really, but living with people on a daily basis does highlight their faults. John phoned. They are not coming. Janette is going out and he is babysitting for Lynn and Dave.To Morrison's and spent £32. 

-=-

Friday March 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

L. Gledhill phoned at 8:30 and was here an hour later and we went to court in order for me to acquire a full licence. Stood in a crowded corridor full of shoplifters, child molesters and prostitutes. One fallen lady looked extremely like Jean Shrimpton, in 60s gear which hadn't been laundered since 1966. After waiting an hour we were told by an usher that I need not actually appear in person and that the licence transfer is automatic. Sod it. And there I was dressed up like a tailors' dummy too. Samuel Smiths tie, the lot. 

Back home for 11. Leslie is so easy to talk to and not lacking in humour -unlike Fran O'Brien. Ally was making pastry and looked like a flour grader (see TV advertisements circa 1970-80). 

Samuel is upset about something. His nappies and out lying clothing spattered in yellow and foaming. He grumbled anyway. Later Ally slept on her pile of cushions and I had a plumber to the gents toilets. Vandals have attempted to walk off with a cistern tank. 

Not frantic tonight because Jane worked too. It's going to be a regular thing because last week I was too exhausted working six hours flat out. Ally forgot to bank today and so we had no change. Calamity. Audrey went across to the club and found some. 

News: The miners are still out. We are told that the Princess of Wales is just as nauseated as she was in her first pregnancy. (The Prince of) Wales himself is still in Africa. 

To bed after 12.

-=-

Thursday March 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Janice, the (fruit) machine woman came. A batch of photographs arrived mainly featuring Samuel in numerous positions. Some scantily clad. Ally left me holding the baby and bombed off to her dentist in Shipley. How did we ever manage to get through life being separated all day in our distant, grubby offices? She was back with gleaming polished pegs and no further visits until September. Busy lunches. ____________.

-=-

Wednesday March 21, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Springtime, &c. Slept late and Ally was in a temper about it because she wanted to be in town and shopping by 9. I was wallowing in the bath at this time. I told her frankly that we cannot rush or adhere to a strict timetable with Samuel. Eventually we went to Leeds at 10 and pushed the baby around in his pram breathing in the fresh, unpoluted air, and peering in shop windows. Bought very like. I looked at shoes.

Back for 12 to do the lunches. It was a busy few hours. Afterwards we took our son and heir to the clinic and had him weighed. 11lb 8oz. He behaved well midst the screaming multitude and for the most part he sat wide eyed and silent. A poor child there, from a mixed race liaison, had black and white patches all over his little face. He looked like a chessboard. The mother looked to be no older than 16. 

Back for 3:30. Lazed around and later snoozed in a chair. Made a fish pie, but Ally moaned that my messing around in the kitchen took too long. Saw 'Minder' and then the news. Mrs T is giving them jip in Brussels. At this rate we'll be out of the EEC by Christmas.

-=-

Tuesday March 20, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Peter N is 26 today. We left a present for him with John on Saturday. It's a shirt. I do like Peter Nason. You always know just where you stand with him. After ten years he hasn't changed in any way. 

Ally made it to the bar at 5:30 and did some cleaning. The place is a pigs breakfast and hasn't been touched properly in years. Filthy Piries.

Samuel is a bulky, stocky little thing. We are having him weighed tomorrow and are placing bets as to what he'll weigh in at. Ally says 11lb 9oz, and I say 11lb 13oz. His hair is coming back and will be dark.

Dead downstairs tonight. Jane stood around like a pound of wet cod. Things seldom hot up until the last half hour. Mike Brown and David Parry came in. We discussed non-consummation of marriage. What is non-consummation? Is it failure to penetrate or failure to ejaculate?

News: the dear PM goes to Brussels to sock it to the EEC sumit.

-=-

Monday March 19, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Another stocktake. Rob came at 8:30, and I staggered around with him, my eyes like piss holes in the snow. Felt most unrefreshed from my six hours in the Land of Nod. A good stock. A £30 surplus no less. Colin Black was upon us at 10:30 with Barry Jones who re-programmed the tills. Nigel Lawson's budget alterations now mean that Old Brewery bitter is 57p a pint , lager 69p, Sovereign bitter 60p, mild 56p, &c. Very good prices in comparison with Tetley's and the others.

Pork chops at 2. Audrey loves taking every opportunity to creep upstairs and peep into our little world. ____. Afterwards we all slept in a heap by the gas fire (Ally on a pile of cushions), me nursing Samuel, as 'Blue Peter' twittered in the background. 

Went downstairs at 5:30. Old Reg says he will go blind in six months. All were grousing at the price rises, but they will all have forgotten by next week. Joan glided in at 8 looking like she had just stepped out of the Savoy Grill. Immediately she mucked up the till and to avoid strangling her I adjourned upstairs where bathtime was just complete and Samuel lay sucking and giggling.

Harry and Marion Miller came in and I took them up to Ally after 10 minutes to avoid a drunken Irishman who was going on and on about Lord Mountbatten's assassination. Later I threw him out for signing Irish rebel songs. Harry Miller goes on and on but his heart is in the right place.

We got rid of Joan in a taxi. The Millers left at 11:30.

-=-

Sunday March 18, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

2nd Sunday in Lent

No leisurely day abed for me. I was up at 8:30 and cleaned the beer lines. Ally came down and wiped shelves. The very old cleaner Anne doesn't always see the dirt. 

Old diaries came out last night and we re-lived ___________.

Dead to the world. Headache. Ally made a beautiful lunch. Veal, &c. We ate at 3 and collapsed for a couple of hours afterwards watching a hopeless film. We bathed Samuel at 5:30. He takes such notice of us nowadays. 

Ally went down at 7 with every intention of opening for the first hour but no sooner was she downstairs when Samuel awoke in howls and she had to come back up for the duration. It was busy later. Jane, mysterious Jane. She holidayed in the Bahamas last year. Just what dark secret does she harbour? Ally says she is recovering from a broken romance. Bed late. Read Noel Coward.

Takings: (B) £143.48, (L) £167.90

-=-

Saturday March 17, 1984

 St Patrick's Day

I went down at 11, without Secret Service cover, and waited for 'Lurch' to return and tear my head off. Obviously, he didn't appear. It was supposed to be a Michael Brown Saturday, but he didn't come either. I propped up the bar in the lounge and did little work. At 3 we drove to Guiseley and found Lynn and Susan out. Went to see John and found the Bakers at the flat. Katie has begun to talk, and seems to have 'come on' as Lynn would say. Frances was tatty. They looked like 'ragamuffins' in fact. That's something my mother says. What are ragamuffins? Janette delights in visitors and made us tea and cake. Samuel, in blue and white stripes today, looks edible. He is Ally's double.

I opened at 7. Had a quiet night. Margaret (Milne) joined me at 8. Marlene and Frank came in with another couple (he was heavily tattooed). Frank drank Mandarine Napoleon brandy, and they left at 10. Debbie enjoyed the holiday in Austria, but Mark hated it.

Ally and I had a long, in depth chatter about children. We are in agreement on everything.

Takings: (B) £178.16, (L) £198.82

-=-

Friday March 16, 1984

 Frantically busy. Today is my grandfather Wilson's birthday _________. Christine Braithwaite also celebrates today, as does Tony Brotherwood.

We have been putting up with a psycopathic drug-pusher who makes regular appearances in the tap room with a batttered lady friend with lank hair and a mock leather coat. The guy appears to be about seven feet tall and looks like a character from a Peter Cushing Hammer film. Tonight he annoyed me, and stepped out of line, throwing a dart behind the bar which speared a packet of nuts and was immediately 'clotched' as they say in Leeds. He left without a struggle but threatened to come back tomorrow at 11am to 'tear my head off'. Evil Edna was very chuffed at this very public 'clotching'. The man was a nuisance.

Up late. Ate currant tea cakes and watched a late 60s film. Ally delicious. Samuel slept well.

Takings: (B) £227.12, (L) £189.81

-=-

Thursday March 15, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Greville: Puff?

Stayed in bed until 8. I am resassured to read in the Daily Telegraph that since the budget N. Lawson is now a serious contender for the Tory leadership after Mrs T's resignation in 1995. I am of the same opinion. How long will Margaret go on? If she is defeated in 87/88 then it will be curtains, but a third term will see the PM in her late 60s and surely heading to retirement.  Interesting. 

Samuel, wearing his new clothes, did a lot of giggling. He now has fat knees and pudgy hands, and I cannot begin to describe the joy I feel when he looks upn at me - his father. I could weep. 

A volume of Noel Coward's diaries arrived in the post. An excellent volume. Why are almost all diarists with the exception of Samuel Pepys, homosexual? Is it an effeminate thing for a man to do? Were Greville and Creevey both poofs? And how about that Sassoon chappie? I can assure you that I am not sat here in a Hardy Amies creation with pink finger nails and string of pearls. Actually I look very respectable. Grey pants, blue shirt and a red tie. Every inch a publican. 

Lunch was a mad rush. Lots of food orders. Barely had time to eat afterwards. ______. Busy until 8. Went upstairs when Margaret and Karen came in. Watched the news. The Queen Mother was at the races watching the Cheltenham Gold Cup bringing a bit of light relief to the miners' crisis and the Labour furore about poor Mark Thatcher's Oman deal. Too pitiful. Alison was ironing until 10. The boom of the juke box below was infuriating.

Takings: (B) £208.92, (L) £154.42

-=-

Wednesday March 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Stock take. Ronnie came and left at about 10:30. However, we have a defecit of about £40. Ally drove Dave to the station. He left giving us £20 for Samuel's bank account. How good of him. I told him to come here on June 19. We'll see. Our so-called day off. Did the lunches and then went out to town at 3 to buy Samuel masses of clothes. Did a good deal of window shopping. Returned somewhat wind-blown and exhausted. Blame the fresh air. Upstairs Samuel was restless and grouchy. He must be a Dixon. The staff down below didn't  bother us and we sat in front of the TV eating ploughman's lunches and nodding off. Watched 'Minder' and the news. The miners are holding the country to ransom yet again. Thank God we have Margaret Thatcher and not that weakling Heath. The Irish have attempted to kill that nauseating IRA MP whose name escapes me. Bed at 11:30 or 12. Michael Brown phoned and canceled our night out.

Takings: (B) £166.39, (L) £126.91

-=-

Tuesday March 13, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

When did Samuel begin to smile and gurgle like a proper baby? This seems to have crept upon us and I have no accurate record of his very 'firsts'. A lengthy breakfast with Ally and Dave. The usual cereals and fried sausages. A spider plant in the middle of the dining table was hanging in the butter and jam. 

Lawson: narrow money?

Dray day. Budget day. It was Nigel Lawson's first budget and as I sat upstairs watching it dawned on me that he might one day succeed dear M (Thatcher). A good budget. Only 2p on beer which will make our Sam Smith's bitter 56p. Other breweries sell ale at 66p or even 70p. Dave and I were puzzled about the chancellor's statement on the subject of broad and narrow money. 'It all looks the same to me', said Dave. Beef curry. Dave slept in the chair and I went down and opened up at 5:30. Ally and Dave joined me later. Jane worked. A dead night. Drank Manderine napoleon liqueur brandy afterwards and asked Dave to stand as a sponsor at Samuel's baptism - whenever that might be. We get on so well, the three of us. To bed late.

Takings: (B) £124.44, (L) £104.04

-=-

Monday March 12, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Dave G came carrying his large bag of belongings and looking very much the same as when I last saw him. We had roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. At 5:30 he came down with me to the dead bar and stood until closing time watching me work and laughing at Joan, who quite went to pieces on seeing the new tills. Ally came down __________. Later we had pie and peas then went off to bed.

Takings: (B) £137.14, (L) £108.65

-=-

Sunday March 11, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

1st Sunday in Lent

A jolly old Sunday. Sausages and eggs with Graham and Gill. Then they went off to look at Anthony's flat. Apparently he has an eight foot glass topped dining table with stainless steel legs. The tarty Mandy came back, but missed seeing them. 

Rob (Piper) from the Butcher's Arms, came here. Just back from a horrible three-day event at Tadcaster, which involved play acting, role playing call it what you will, for Mike Walker at the brewery. It sounds quite hideous but we all have to go through it. I ran out of lager (I blame Graham's friend Mandy) and I had to borrow 18 gallons from the Station just down the road. The landlord there is a tenant and looked as if he was just returned from Mustique. Anthony came back at 2pm minus his Arabian 'bed mignon'. Gill tells us that Anthony's bedroom is all mirrors. It all shreiks of Lord Astor and Christine Keeler. Leather masks too. Graham and Gill returned to Coleford at 2:30.

Maurice Macmillan, recently styled Viscount Macmillan, son of 'Supermac', is dead, causing another by-election, this one in Surrey. No doubt it will kill off old Harold. The new heir and new Viscount is Alexander, Supermac's grandson. 

Walter Mondale's campaign appears to be wilting. A Kennedy clone by the name of Hart is sweeping in front in the caucuses. A president named Gary. Whatever next? Jane (Tudor) tonight. Samuel slept from 7pm until dawn and Ally came down for a couple of hours. 'Evil' Edna (as I call her) who sits at the bar in the tap room warned me about drugs in the back bar. She has eyes everywhere. Oh dear. Glynnie phoned. He's coming tomorrow.

Takings: (B) £116.34, (L) £183.88

-=-

Saturday March 10, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Riotous breakfast. Matthew ate toast while attempting hand stands against the kitchen wall. The Dixons went off shopping to Habitat and came back at 1. Graham and I had a few drinks in the tap room. Another Matthew Dixon, a Scottish alcoholic, joined us. At 3 Philip and Carol Middlebrough came with baby Thomas, who is a mass of blond curls, and resembles Harpo Marx. Graham worked in the bar with me tonight until 9 when they went off for a pizza with the Middlebroughs. Karen, Steve, Di and Paul came.

The Prince Edward is twenty today. He is reported to be knocking about with a certain Romy Adlington, daughter of a Hampshire wine importer. Royal princes seem to practice on these busty, middle class, actressy blondes. One day Edward will mary a Marquis's willowy daughter, you mark my words. Katie Rabett has gone the way of Davina Sheffield, because of a seedy past.

Sir Hugh Fraser, MP is deceased. Another by-election. 

Takings: (B) £195.53, (L) £246.52

-=-

Friday March 9, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Graham and Gill arrived here with Matthew. We thought she might announce that she's pregnant, but she didn't. Matthew looks very much like the Lynn family and is full of spirit. I think we thought they expected the Moorhouse to be something of hovel, but they inspected the place with approving looks upon their faces. At 5:30 an acquaintance who work at Formwood came to see them. The wife is called Mandy ______. They stood at the bar until 11pm and she grew steadily louder from the constant flow of lager. I frequently spend my evenings watching people become horribly pissed. It is a strange ritual isn't it? Graham was a bit breathless and sounds very much like Sir Robin Day when he's had a few. But very amusing. Their old friend the actor Anthony ____ came at 11. He grows more and more effeminate with the passing years. He shares a flat in Roundhay with a homosexual arab friend. He works at Lloyd's bank when not treading the boards, and earns only £5,000 p.a. Ridiculous. He drank Bols Parfait Amour liqueur, but he switched to pints of 'butch' Old Brewery bitter. Bed after 2am. Knackered.

Takings: (B) £208.00, (L) £213.93.

-=-

Thursday March 8, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Wintry day. Did my order for the brewery. Mum and Dad cannot tear themselves away from Samuel. They have been such a great help, and went off to Guiseley at 3. They say that next time they will babysit and let us go out for dinner. Karen didn't work and so I did a stint with Margaret. Sarah and Trevor appeared at 9. She was wearing leather trousers. I took them upstairs to see the baby, but I was far too busy to talk to them. The toilets flooded and people were were paddling around in urine. Gill phoned to say they are coming tomorrow. Jolly good.

Takings: (B) £177.82, (L) £162.76.

-=-