Friday August 10, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Sandy (left) and chum.

My first guinea pig, Sandy, was born 20 years ago today. Blimey, what a brain I have. What a memory.

Our christening photographs are, to say the least, uninspiring. Dull, dismal and foggy. I took them down and showed them to Bernie who thinks they are worthy of Lord Snowdon and she sat gasping in amazement. One must always be prepared for sycophants in this game. 

Christening: uninspiring, dull & foggy.

Coffee and sandwiches upstairs at 12. Bedtime reading is Burke's Peerage. How I long for the 1985 edition. If the Duke of Westminster kicked the bucket tomorrow what would happen? The dukedom would expire and the marquisate of Westminster would go first to the Earl of Wilton and at his decease to Lord Ebury. 

-=-

Thursday August 9, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Dad & Mum: June 1984.

What can they be doing at Horton-in-Ribblesdale? I feel miffed that no contact has been made since July 22. Did I say something out of place? Come to think of it Mama wasn't too jovial at the party and stayed indoors which was uncharacteristic  when all the party goers were without clutching glasses of gin, &c. I must telephone. Ally is puzzled. Mama, she says, hasn't once phoned us since we moved here. Not long ago she was always on the blower. 

Ally took Sammy to be weighed . He is 15lb 5oz. Splendid. He has never had any fat about him and where some babies look podgy and docile he is slender, ahtletic and alert. A budding Daley Thompson. A white one though. 

-=-

Wednesday August 8, 1984

Moorhouse Inn

Rumanian weightlifter.

We had eggs for breakfast with the backdrop of the Olympics on the TV. Fat Rumanian weightlifters and toast and marmalade don't mix. Later we went out with Sammy in his landau to the shops on Dewsbury Rd and bought steak and kidney and slices of plastic ham. You can now count on one hand the days in a week when I go out into the fresh air. 

Jackie Myers is 28 tomorrow. _______. We haven't seen her since she squabbled with Elaine Allinson on the subject of the Falklands crisis at Ally's birthday party in May '82. 

Arrivals: A son to the Earl and Countess of Dalkeith - a 21st century Duke of Buccleuch in fact.

Departures: Lord Monkswell, who renounced his peerage in 1964 when it was a fashionable thing to do. He is, I can safely say, the first peer to die who has renounced his title under the 1963 Peerages Act. His fellow disclaimers are Home, Sandwich, Stansgate, Hailsham, Altrincham, Merthyr, Fraser of Allander, Beaverbrook, and who else? - Durham.

-=-

Tuesday August 7, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

My poor great-uncle John Edward Rhodes was killed in action upon this day in 1918. He was a private in the Royal Fusiliers, but as to where he met his glorious end I do not know. My knowledge of the Great War is nil other than that I know it kicked off in 1914 and ran through until 1918 and that we won. Mrs Lane would be proud of me.

We had eggs and bacon with Sue and Peter and the children and hung around for the morning. Christopher slobbered over the two others in a most overpowering fashion. Kissing and cuddling like members of the England cricket team. They went at 11 leaving us surrounded by debris and devastation. Quite appropriate for the anniversary of Hiroshima. 

The sombre Karen worked solo tonight. Ally and I stood at the bar whispering together. Sweet nothings, &c. Rob Piper and his Scottish friend came in. The Scottish friend is married to a Longbottom from St James's Cresent (Pudsey). We spent an hour with them and they left at 10:20 to get back to the Butcher's Arms for last orders. Pushing it a bit. Rob has a new Italian car which Ally went out and inspected.  Old Harold told me of an encounter he had with the former Lord Lieutenant (of West Yorkshire) Brigadier Hargreaves, who he says owned all the coal mines in Leeds before nationalisation. The chap (Harold) is a crashing snob.

-=-

Monday August 6, 1984

Bank Holiday in Scotland & Republic of Ireland 

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Burton: Welsh tippler.

That old soak Richard Burton popped his clogs in Switzerland yesterday and I scowled at the Daily Telegraph, who splashed this earth shattering tragedy as its page one lead. Silly season is upon us I know but surely something somewhere in the world is of greater importance? Am I perhaps underestimating the genius and the loss of this craggy, Welsh thespian tippler? Blimey, Dame Flora Robson's recent passing barely got a mention and I doubt whether she ever touched a drop, was married eight times, or made third rate films for vast fees. 

Susan and Peter appeared with the boys at 4 o'clock. She phoned earlier and so we hurriedly booked Audrey to open up and Mavis to do 8-11. I wasn't 'on form' at all and wanted nothing but to collapse into a chair and snore, which I couldn't do. Samuel loves the company of his cousins and was glued to Christopher's every move. We went down to the bar at 8. Mavis had buggered the till. A quiet night and Ally kept going behind to assist. I discussed the pitfalls of vasectomies with Sue. Doesn't it speed the ageing process? She giggled. Peter isn't seriously considering having 'the snip'. They went to buy a Chinese take-away from near the Blooming Rose which we ate at 11. Saw a horrid, dull film 'The Amityville Horror'. Bed 1am.

-=-

Sunday August 5, 1984

 7th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn

We slept until 9am. Ally got up to look Samuel who was playing with his elephant, looking bored, but not distressed. I turned over and slept until 10. Ally called me for a full-English repast. She dislikes cooking breakfast and I cannot remember the last time I had one handed to me, on a plate, as it were. _______.

This afternoon to Guiseley to see Lynn. Dave, predictably, was playing with his erection (the ongoing extension) and we were ushered into the dismal dining room which is like the chateau d'If. Lynn was chatty and bubbly. Audrey and Henry Baker appeared from holidaying in the Lake District. She was fat and cheerful despite the crutches. Afterwards, over cups of tea, Lynn spoke of her loathing of motherhood - splutter - and that David and Peter are to have vasectomies soon. My God they've all gone mad. Called at Sue's but they are spending the day in Scarborough. Home for 5. Downstairs tonight mixing in the lounge again.

-=-

Saturday August 4, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Ally feels dreadful today but for some strange reason I am free of the usual hangover. We sat upstairs in a collapsed state this afternoon watching old films. The 1939 version of 'Goodbye Mister Chips' with Robert Donat and then 'The Titfield Thunderbolt'. A miserable wet day. Ally sprawled on the settee complaining about Robert Donat's performance. A dead evening. We sat with Albert and Kitty Taylor listening to their potted biographies. From Jamaica to Hunslet and back. Andy and Mavis worked. Stone dead. We cleared up afterwards. Totally bushed.

Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother is 84 today. We hear that she spent two days in hospital this week undergoing tests. I see in the columns of the DT that Olivia Mulholland, her woman of the bedchamber for 34 years, died on Thursday aged 82. This must be a blow to HM. We see her on the news in the drizzle at Clarence House. The crowd there gets bigger every year. We still have to idea where HM was born. Naughty Lord Strathmore told the registrar that she was born at St Paul's Walden, Herts, but this has recently been denied. 

-=-

Friday August 3, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

David G is 30 today and Janette is 20. Poor Janette. I keep thinking of her and 'mad' Jock Drysdale and her almost Dickensian childhood. As a child I was sheltered from the likes of one-eyed maniacs with murderous tendencies and considering this Janette has turned out remarkably well.

So quiet today. Few lunches. This makes Ally ill humoured. Tonight we went down and mixed with the folk in the lounge. Mixing can sometimes be tiresome. We are basically insular people. Sometimes I find it hard to walk into a room and speak to people. Still, it has to be done. Audrey, Terry, Bernadette and Frank occupy us, along with old Reg, Alice, &c. Maureen came in and at 11:30 we had a few of them back for a 'stoppyback'. All staff really apart from Bernie and Frank. A giggle. Did a bit of singing. ________. To bed at 1:30am. Ally pissed.

-=-

Thursday August 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Heavy rain. A miserable old sod came in and says we really need the rain because his runner beans are dry. So we all have to suffer for the sake of one vegetable patch. My headache persisted and I lay quietly moaning listening to Ray Moore on the radio. Out to Morrison's at 10. £17 on food provisions. Tonight we sat upstairs and left Margaret and Karen below. It seemed quiet enough. Karen was looking hounded and thinks we have it in for her. She is right of course. She has agreed to work next Tuesday because she wants to do it, but sniffed and looked undecided when I asked if she'd do it permanently. This is disgraceful. Roy Barnes wouldn't put up with it and give her her marching orders. I must be soft in the head. I have been reading some blurb about the Queen Mother in the Daily Express, last Tuesday's paper. Fairy stories. The Queen weeding her mother's garden at weekends because the old Queen cannot find a gardener. The Daily Express is sadly going down.

-=-

Wednesday August 1, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Lingered over breakfast. The ghastly Olympics on breakfast tv. Tiny Chinese athletes springing around on bars. Not my idea of fun. Ally though is quite sports minded. She did everything at school. You know, hockey and the likes. Ann Wilkinson is cleaning in the bar downstairs, puffing and panting as she goes. One day I'm sure she'll keel over on the job. Pushing 71 she is. __________. Andy Sanderson came at 5:15 and I showed him the ropes until 8. He did well but was as nervous as a rabbit. Or is a rabbit frightened? The place was swimming with spilled beer, but I think he'll do well. He's a very young 22 year-old. Audrey was in at 8 snapping like an old Welsh corgi. Ally worked until after 9 when Samuel woke. I had a crashing headache and climbed in to bed at 11.

-=-

Tuesday July 31, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Stocktake and dray day. Young Mick Thompson came. - Tadcaster's peroxide answer to Boy George. We have a £28 surplus, and so once again we are in the clear. However, with our new 20 ounce glasses the surplus should be greater. Ally went off at 2 for a trim. Her last perm was 'dead' and she was irritated by it. Karen Pratt is goint to have to go. She came in tonight and was hostile about giving up Wednesdays saying she enjoys working with Audrey and doesn't want to work alone. She doesn't seem to realise that she works for my benefit, not hers. Jane drove off into the night at 11 never to be seen again, and Karen left undecided but really she has no choice. She's far too cheeky for my taste. In fact she lives up to her name, and by that I do not mean Karen. Upstairs I related this to Ally and we decide to get someone else for Tuesday and cut Karen down to one night a week. Staff, what a problem they are. The bloody Olympics have started.

-=-

Monday July 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Lounge bar.

Samuel is now grown up and has moved out of our bedroom into his own vast domain. These things have to happen. He'll be going to university next I suppose, then be called to the Bar , then to Parliament and finally to Number 10. Our future daughter will of course marry Prince William of Wales. I intend spening my retirement at Buckingham Palace garden parties. We were supposed to be entertaining Sue and Pete tomorrow but she has canceled because on Wednesday they go to Horton (in Ribblesdale). Pity really because we have Jane and Karen working. Karen is going to have to switch  working to Tuesday because we are not taking Wednesday as a day off. This will put the cat among the pigeons. 

Audrey worked for Maureen tonight. _______. Felt refreshed tonight because this afternoon we went to bed for an hour. Bessie phoned but Ally was asleep and I didn't bother waking her.

News: A stray cow on a Scottish railway line has caused the death of 13 people. Thespian James Mason is no more. The Earl of Buchan, 85, is dead too. 

-=-

Sunday July 29, 1984

 6th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Temple Newsam.

The third wedding anniversary of the Prince and Princess of Wales. A relaxed day out and about. A very fine day. Mavis and Margaret did lunchtime and we stayed upstairs. The Piries came swanning in. Ugh. At 2:30 we bombed off in Mandy Metro to Temple Newsam where a band was playing in the amphitheatre. Half dressed people licking ice-creams and watching the pigs at the 'home farm' there. Sammy slept in his pushchair. We collapsed on a slope, close to the house, a fine Jacobean erection, played with the baby and took photographs. A hideous slag heap on the horizon spoiled things but generally the place is well looked after. Good old Lord Halifax gave it to (Leeds) Corporation in 1922. 

Returned to the Moorhouse hot and sweaty at 5. We stripped of our clothes and fried fish and ate naked in the flat. Jane tonight. She leaves on Tuesday. 

World News: The Democratic party in the USA have a woman candidate for vice-president. A Mrs Ferrari, or something. Sir Geoffrey Howe is sorting out the Hong Kong-China crisis. Parliament breaks up for 'end of term' on Wednesday. Lord Balerno is dead. Only a life peer.

-=-

Saturday July 28, 1984

 New Moon

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Breakfast with John and Janette. I was up early cooking bacon and eggs and generally pottering. John is very slap-dash. He should have gone to a job but decided not to bother turning in. Ally said: 'You'll never make a millionaire with this cavalier attitude.' We took Samuel downstairs at 12. Something we rarely do. We sat and had a drink in the empty lounge. Janette related her troubled life story. The daughter of 'Mad Jock' Drysdale. A murderous glass-eyed Scot who, some years ago, dropped a poor man into a fish fryer in a fish and chip shop when he failed to obtain satisfactory service. When I gasped: 'But he could have killed him', Janette took a sip of lager and said: 'Yes, he did.' John can be sick. 'Frying tonight' he exclaimed. This peeved Janette somewhat. Her mother, Jean, is a reformed alcoholic who recently remarried to a man called Muir. At this John raised doubts as to Janette's parentage, &c. Laughing, he said Jock has been 'inside' for three years when Janette was conceived. Janette went upstairs in a mad hig, and we followed for more stale (coffee) cake. What a mixed bag. Our day in disarray, jobs left undone.

Mavis worked and seems competent.

-=-

Friday July 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Samuel can now sit upon a potty and do the necessary. You know when he wants to go. His face goes bright red and a determined set jaw and bulging eyes give the game away. 

John & Janette.

Saw Mavis Ingham and arranged to 'interview' her tomorrow. Then Andrew Sanderson came in and I arranged to see him too. We are going to get our staff hours up to 95 before Donna Lea comes and knocks us back to 53. Ally and I stood in the tap room just to watch people. Big Brian joined us and then we saw John and Janette peeping through from the lounge. We went and sat together. Janette wants matrimony and has issued John with an ultimatum, but I'm sure he doesn't give a damn. They are having separate holidays in the Lakes and Scotland, &c. We sat after closing and went upstairs to listen to records, eat old, dry coffee cake, and gulp coffee. They stayed the night, but we didn't go to bed until after 3.

-=-

Thursday July 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

A warm one. Have I told you Jane is leaving? Yes, she is moving up in the optician pecking order and no longer needs the cash from us. Glad, in a way. She glides around like the Queen Mother at a bazaar and has no sense of urgency. She plays the till like Maura Lympany on her Bechstein, which is very infuriating on a busy night. We will interview Mavis Ingham, Margaret's friend. Young Andrew, the student, who hangs around with the Cult band, is also in need of employment. 

Tonight was hot. Some imbeciles came out of the woodwork. I barred 'Ginger' for life for carrying a half brick in a sock, a weapon he intended to use on an incontinent Scot with a beard. My God. How mad this place is at times.

-=-

Wednesday July 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Sunshine. A frantic lunch with people chewing on salads like rabbits. We took £23.80 on food. Good. We went at 2:30 to see Rob and Kath Piper (her baby is due on February 18) and she told us that at the Butcher's (Pudsey) they take between £200 and £300 a week on food. Felt sick and slightly ridiculous. Our £23 now looks quite pathetic. We imagined we joining the Pipers for lunch, but it soon became apparent we not getting any. Kath went to buy a chicken and Rob went sweeping up outside and we left at 3:30 somewhat despondent. Hungry too. To see Jill, but she was at work, and so we went to Guiseley and sat in the garden at Fieldhead Rd with Sue. What a poky, peculiar little house it is. Margaret was next door with the aged Mrs Booker. We sat sunning ourselves sipping lager and blackcurrant. Benjamin is changed and not as quite like Jim as he was. Christopher is a bloody maniac - kissing and sucking at the babies like a vampire. Susan certainly has her hands full. On to Lynn's. Saw the completed south transept. They ate, we watched. On to Westfield fish and chip shop - Samuel sitting in his car seat. Home for 9:30. The pub was packed. Couldn't sleep for the TV at full-volume.

-=-

Tuesday July 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

A funny red-faced man called Ernie Benson staggered in and shook me gleefully by the hand and went on at length about the fun times we had together at the Linthorpe. Needless to say, I have never set eyes on him before. The chap had clearly been partaking in the consumption of alcohol. I add-libbed quite brilliantly and Ernie went away thinking I had remembered him and we were the greatest pals. He clearly is a friend of Roy Barnes, and came on his recommendation.

Don Whitfield phoned and asked me to play 'five-a-side', and the Sam Smith's 'family day' on August 14. I had to agree. I do not think I have kicked a ball since my Campsmount days in '66. Ally laughed in amazement at my agreeing to play. Dray day. The driver was called Penhaligon. No doubt a kinsman of that ghastly Liberal MP of the same name. Sammy playful. He loves the drum that Bessie has given him.

-=-

Monday July 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Mum & Samuel, July 1984.

It is good having Mum and Dad here. They do help and I can tell you we need all the help we can get. Dad has been helping with the 'bottling up', watering the dead hanging baskets and sweeping up the litter. Mum, upstairs helping with Samuel, says he is being spoiled when we pick up him up when he cries. The poor boy can only go on for so long. Ally tells me that Mum must have quite forgotten how to handle babies. They left at 12 to go see Susan. Mum isn't herself. For the first time since Dad quit the police I sense an atmosphere. She must worry about Susie _________ and is slightly 'off' guest houses and bearded Guardian reading hikers. Can't say I blame her. I'm sure it will all blow over.

-=-

Sunday July 22, 1984

 5th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn

The baptism of our son and heir. A fine day with an early start. Ally in her usual panic - flapping. The sandwiches (cut last night) were curling up. Samuel, angelic, slept until he was bedecked in his finery for the service. People gathered for 9 o'clock and we walked to St Peter's and the baptism took place midst the family service. The 1980 alternative service which I very much dislike. Terry Munro is very good and seems to be a decent chap. Vicars can be miserable buggers. I suspect he leans towards the Bishop of Durham. Sam was good to perfection. Wide awake and not a murmur. I held him throughout - Ally, myself, Lynn and D. Glynn at the font. The font is 1965 perspex. Oh dear. No other dippings. Back to the pub at 10:30. Sandwiches and sherry, &c. Dixons and Rhodeses.________. The Pudsey mob came too. People everywhere. We drifted outside. Samuel surrounded by cousins and looking perfect in his satin suit. Mum wasn't on form again. They had all gone by 7 o'clock. Knackered. Upstairs with just Mama and Papa. Bed. Bliss.

-=-

Saturday July 21, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Susie is 25 today. A whole quarter of a

with Frank & Bessie.

century since Mama gave birth in that poor house in Goldthorpe. What a struggle they must have had in the early years. I do love my parents even though they are far away and apparently oblivious of me. Oh, I am being silly. Take up the phone, Michael. We went out shopping, even at this late stage. I am knackered and may collapse at any minute. To Morrison's, &c. Graham and Gill came here at 1pm. We sat outside in the heat having waitress service from Margaret and Audrey. Frank, Bessie, Andrew and Lorraine came at 3. Gill is always calmly, and pleasantly, disorganised. She says her father, the vicar, is most indisposed to unfortunates such as transvestites. We laugh. What does the Bible have to say on this subject? Bessie was laden with gifts for Samuel. Lorraine is very young, dark, and quiet and according to Bessie hideously spoiled. They went off to Club Street leaving me to bath Samuel. Graham & Andrew & Co are staying over at Bradford. Tonight. Hot. Cutting sandwiches for hours. Dave G arrived at 10 and we went down to the tap room. Bed at 1 after frantic preparations, &c.

-=-

Friday July 20, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Warm. Dead viscounts include Hardinge (55), and Allenby (81). I do like to keep you informed of stiff peers. Will Shinwell reach 100?

Anyway, back to Hunslet circa 1984. Spoke to Dave G. He is definitely coming tomorrow. He'll be arriving at approximately 10pm. He is aso definitely coming to Lanzarote in January. We have had confirmation of our holiday dates from Ken Gilbertson. Yippee. Silence from Horton. Nora never rings. I am an outcast, or so it seems. Today is Samuel's last Friday as a heathen, and I can tell you that this christening is costing us a damned fortune. Worth it though. Ally worked like stink _________.

-=-

Thursday July 19, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Samuel screamed all night and we were left dead and grousy (sic) by morning. Battled on regardless, however. Worked with Margaret because Karen, our elusive barmaid, is holidaying in Bournemouth. Susie is ill. Moving house has devastated her. She has lost blood. We do worry. This evening we went to Linfood and got back here packed to the hilt at 7pm. Going to bed tonight was like heaven.

-=-

Wednesday July 18, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot. One year ago today we began our great adventure at the Linthorpe Hotel, Middlesbrough. What a year we have had. I never would have believed one could learn so much in such a short time. This game teaches you one hell of a lot about human nature, especially human frailties. 

To Morrison's at 11 and spend £25. Saw Margaret (she has a virus) and asked her to work tonight whilst Karen is off and to enable Ally to go to the Gaston darts thing at the Brown Hare. She readily agreed. Maureen worked 12-3pm with Audrey. 

Later we went back to town and bought Susie some perfume, and for Sammy a baby alarm, a car seat, and a furry one at that. We lavish a small fortune on that boy.

Phoned Auntie Mabel and then Uncle Tony, and asked them to come for drinks on Sunday. Barbara Makin phoned to say they cannot attend the christening. Frank phoned to say Bessie is concerned that we cannot  cope with a christening party and the running of the pub, &c. Ally explained that the Moorhouse runs like the engine of a well-oiled ship and that her mother's reservations are quite unfounded. Frank offered me some assistance financially with our catering project but Ally declined to take him up on the offer. Frank says Graham has been looking at some houses, no bigger than rabbit hutches, in Alresford. 

I bathed Samuel and Ally got ready for her darts evening. Just as she was leaving Colin Black rolled up to say that Fran O'Brien cannot now come here as area manager, and says we will probably have Donna Lea. Elation. He went away and I laughed out loud. He seemed very affable and knew I'd told Roy. This is the best news I've had in ages. It's like being reprieved on death row. Upstairs I washed, peeled potatoes, &c. At 9:30 the stereo went on. Ally was back at 12. Madge had done well but had lost her nerve and came runner-up. She saw F.O'B, Colin Black, Roy, Charlie, &c.

-=-

Tuesday July 17, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Samuel is no longer a baby. I find it hard to capture his genius and beauty in words. We marvel at his every move. He sat at the breakfast table with us. He fed himself fingers of bread and rusks - albeit messily - and then on the floor he sat unaided for a while giggling at his toys. Bright as a button he is. Ally is totally besotted with him. Isn't the maternal instinct quite incredible?

Sam in satin suit.

Out we went at 4pm to to town for an hour. It cost us £1.50 in the car park. Bought Samuel a satin-type christening suit (only £9 or so) and went to Laura Ashley where Ally bought a dress for Sunday. She found a blue, spotty off the shoulder number for £19. (I am putting down the prices to give you something to laugh at in 1996 by which time dresses will cost £3,000). A quiet night (yet again). Jane was in good spirits. She says she fancies visiting the Maldive Islands at Christmas. She is working on Saturday.

-=-

Monday July 16, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Fun and games tonight. The slut Christine, who thinks she's Bo Derek, assaulted old Olive in the tap room and I had to forcibly eject her from the premises. However, the assailant scaled the heights of a mighty tree nearby and hid in wait in a leafy solitude for poor Olive to make her way home. Olive, who is sixty, and pissed, would stand no chance. I phoned a constable who came and drove Olive home in his motor. I knew that Christine would be trouble from the start and could kick myself for not clotching her at our first encounter, Bloody women. The few that come into our tap room are worse than all the men put together. Maureen was very helpful in terminating the fracas. Ally was oblivious to the turmoil until it was all over.

-=-

Sunday July 15, 1984

 4th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn

To Linfood at dawn to spend £50 on frozen chips and other vital provisions. We had no cleaner in today because staff supposedly cannot work on seven consecutive days. So Ally did the swabbing out at midnight. We did steer clear of the lavatories. Nothing can persuade me to mop up other people's piss. They don't pay me enough for that. 

Watched 'Casablanca' again. My excuse was that Samuel hasn't seen it before. He giggled when I exclaimed: 'play it again, Sam', and 'here's looking at you, kid'. 

Bessie phoned. She seems to think we are disorganised for next Sundays ceremonial. We never flap. Graham and Gill were lunching at Martyr Worthy just returned from the Isle of Wight. Matthew was running riot on top of the Hepplewhite. Oh God.

Dave L walked in at 7:15 for seven packs of hedgehog favoured crisps. He looked tanned after a holiday at Runswick Bay. His dog, Rowan, has just won a pound at Bolton Abbey Show and he had collected this vast sum from the hands of Lady Hartington herself, whom he described as 'looking quite as normal and your and I'. Of course she is. The aristocracy can often look extremely pedestrian. He is coming back next week when the schools break up. Life in South Elmsall is dangerous at the moment. Bricks flying with the pickets, &c. Jane again tonight.

-=-

Saturday July 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Bastile Day. Poor Louis XVI. How much more pleasant France would be with its monarchy intact. I can think of a few people here who could do with a chop from Madame Guillotine. A. Scargill to mention but a few. Dennis Skinner MP, Neil Gimmick MP, Fran O'Brien, Walter Mondale, the Rt Rev David Jenkins, Bishop of Durham, &c.

I worked today with Audrey. A dead afternoon. Audrey did this evening too, and it was similarly flat. 

Oh dear. I forgot to say last night but Jacq Sate and her brother Peter and a couple of friends came over for a few (drinks) after traveling up from the metropolis. _______. They stayed on afterwards. PC 49 came back with a clutch of elderly female relatives and a legal adviser, but I sent them packing.

-=-

Friday July 13, 1984

 Full Moon

Moorhouse Inn

Friday the Thirteenth. A very busy day. Felt greatly recovered. Energetic, in fact. I made all those niggling phone calls I've been threatening to make. Oldham Signs, the cool shelf people, plumbers, &c. Spoke to Ken Gilbertson at Tadcaster about the '85 holidays and he told me only one manager had booked for next year so we should be OK. I went about afterwards with a spring in my step dreaming of the balmy breezes and golden beaches of Lanzarote in January. We do work hard and deserve a foreign trip. Ally looks so thin these days and her face is slightly pinched. Bless her, she has coped so well with the baby and the pub. People do comment on our rigorous lifestyle.

We have yet to have a visit from Fran O'Brien and suspect he is lying low until his blushes fade. Just Jane tonight. A busy one. Sammy slept and so Ally came down.

-=-

Thursday July 12, 1984

 Bank Holiday in N. Ireland

Moorhouse Inn

Disgusting hangover at dawn. We woke at 6:30 when the cook banged on the door of our old room (No. 8). Bless her, she cooked us a breakfast of salty bacon and rubbery eggs. We ate alone and I passed everything on to Ally's plate. Felt ghastly. Left at 7 without seeing anyone. The dear Linnie - what memories. However, in the early hours I had gone up to bed, almost in tears, about Roy avoiding me. Or so I told Ally. I blame the brandy. Dancing with Marie to 'Two Tribes' by Frankie Goes to Hollywood was great fun. Back in Leeds for 8:30. My eyes like cherries. Felt awful all day. Serving food was a torture. I spewed up at 2:45 and went down with carrots in my hair to call last orders. Really shocking. Ally was angered and upset at my inability to fight off my hangover. She buzzed around as if we hadn't been up all night. Just Karen tonight. Margaret has gone to her brother's wedding in Kent. Not to chaotic.

-=-

Wednesday July 11, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

The Linthorpe.

To the Linthorpe Hotel this afternoon. We thought it had all been planned but we arrived at 4pm to find Roy in bed and Marie watching the racing on TV with a look of great surprise upon her face. She put the blame on the dog. Saxon, the ageing, vicious alsatian, is dying of a liver complaint, and William Barnes, the vicious, juvenile son, is on the loose again after assaulting Charlie. Roy came in wearing his vest and we had tea and biscuits and gossiped about LG and F.O'B. Samuel sat wide-eyed. We are told that Mags and Michael Gaskin are unofficially betrothed. We had drinks in the garden and then in the lounge. Crowded with revellers. Became quite legless. Lager and brandy do not mix. Giggled with Marie and Mags and did my usual dead miner lying on the picket line routine. Sore elbows. Ally slept with Samuel from about 11. To bed pissed after 2am. Depressed for some reason.

-=-

Tuesday July 10, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Koo Stark.

Koo Stark is engaged to the Green Shield Stamps tycoon. She looks like a little _____, and I heave a sigh of relief that Prince Andrew didn't go too bananas and marry her. The gutter press says that Prince Philip put paid to Andrew's aspiration for Miss Stark's hand. Norman Parkinson's chatty wife says that the Duke of Edinburgh's 'Germanic' upbringing is the cause of the Andrew-Koo split.  Oh dear.

Jane again. Westminster Abbey is still standing, -- but watch this space.

-=-

Monday July 9, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

York Minster has burned down early today. - No doubt an act of God following the consecration of David Jenkins as Bishop of Durham in that fine old erection last week. The place will now be covered in scaffolding for the next 300 years. On the news we saw Dr Runcie, in a tin helmet, knee deep in debris.

Liver and onions. Busy. Ally came down to the bar at 10 o'clock. Jane seemed happier but I tell Ally we'll be saying goodbye to Miss Tudor soon. 

Sammy sits on his own - his sturdy back bolt upright.  He also holds his own spoon and rubs apricot mush into his face.

-=-

Sunday July 8, 1984

 3rd Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

An afternoon at Club Street. Went to see Annie Whincup in her garden and then to Mary's. She's 70 tomorrow. Samuel sat farting upon her settee. Dog tired. Our little house looked well. We phoned people. Bessie was much happier than last week. _____. Graham has been promoted to the London area and wants to commute from Basingstoke. At least they'll be closer to Bessie. Phoned Mama and then Susie. They leave West End Terrace this week. Peter was watching Wimbledon - Connors v. McEnroe. 

Tonight: Jane was morose.

-=-

Saturday July 7, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot. They (the mad punters) were all out in force. Didn't go downstairs in the afternoon and Audrey and Margaret ran around like idiots. Our busiest night tonight. 

News: The miners stroke goes on. Matthew Dixon (the alcoholic Scot who hails from Blairgowrie) says that Scargill is ordered by Russia to disrupt British industry. He (Scargill) won't get the better of Mrs T, I'm sure. Dixon says he was the 'under gardener' for Lady Fitzwilliam but resigned in a fit of boredom. 

Deceased: Lord Adam Granville Gordon, KCVO.

-=-

Friday July 6, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Too hot. Worked flat out all day and in the tiny gaps in between we sat panting upstairs. A girl posing as a police woman, we've seen her before, came in tonight causing trouble. Undoubtedly a lesbian. Fisticuffs on the moor, &c. She will have to go.

-=-

Thursday July 5, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Excessive heat. Stocktake by Ronnie. We have a £41 surplus, but Ronnie says it should be more now that we have the smaller pint glasses. Samuel screamed all day and we were frantic with lunches. The kitchen was like an inferno. Our customers were all sat around naked outside. The grass on Hunslet moor is all dead, &c. We read of drought and famine in the Daily Telegraph. Ronnie the stocktaker doubled as a babysitter during the mad furore over the lunch period. He says that the brawl last week is now common knowldege at brewery, and that both will be reprimanded. Oliver (Smith) has been informed. He thinks I will come out of it badly because I know too much, but Ally disagrees. FO'B was 'nice as pie' at the meeting at the brewery on Monday. We shall see. 

To the dentist at Rawdon at 4. No treatment necessary again. Yippee. On to Sue's afterwards to discuss Lanzarote. She was very agreeable. Benjamin, overdressed, was sweltering in his pram. Lynn and Dave go to Wales tomorrow with Chris and Julie. Home at 6:30 Busy. Karen phoned in sick. Ally came down to work too. Samuel flat out after yesterdays nightmare.

-=-

Wednesday July 4, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

John & Sheila.

Hot. To Horton we go this afternoon to see Mama, Papa, John & Sheila. They are the same as ever, but Mum was in a queer mood, and antagonistic at times. No amount of persuasion will make Mum fly. Sheila tells us she'll be 47 on August 16. We told them we want to go (to Lanzarote) in January and John says he has a good villa near the beach at Puerto Del Carmen. How about January 17? Dad went into his 'clown mode' which entertained his brother, but annoyed mother. He isn't a clown by nature, and really should be an MP instead. It's Charlotte (Smith) birthday and of course American Independence Day. Think of Ios in '81. We dined at 8 after an afternoon in the garden. Chicken salad and meringue with strawberries. Hikers staying at Waltergarth were watching TV and I pretended that they were disturbing me. Sheila says that I am sensitive. Home very late. Samuel was disturbed and refused to sleep, and was awake until dawn.

-=-

Tuesday July 3, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

LG phoned again to discuss the incident of last Thursday. He says he has every confidence in me and that we could do the job standing on our heads. I told him that I regret losing him. He says we will meet again. Very Vera-Lynnesque. 

Completely dead. The pub that is. Jane is a miserable little tart. Can't think why we ever employed her. Big Brian was in. Frank refers to him as a 'shit-pusher', which I take to mean homosexual. Come to think of it Brian is always in with spiky haired youths barely out of school. It's been very hot, but obviously not hot enough to give the buggers a thirst.

-=-

Monday July 2, 1984

 Bank Holiday in Canada

Moorhouse Inn

Very hot. Brewery meeting. I decided to keep a low profile and despatched Ally instead. Ordinarily I'd have gone with Rob (Piper) but he's in Portugal. Ally went off at 5 and came back at 9:30. It was the usual event. Ally was placed between Colin Black and Fran (O'Brien). She says F.O'B was disgustingly cheerful. No sign of LG. We are blessed with a pay rise. I now get £7,440 per annum. The group adjourned to the Angel and White Horse where Ally was stuck with Pirie and Chris Wills. She was back at 9:30 cheerful and 'full of it'.

-=-

Sunday July 1, 1984

 2nd Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Club Street.

Diana is 23. News: Prince Andrew has been eating in a kinky restaurant where the waitress 'spanks' naughty customers. What a novel idea. The Bishop-elect of Durham has decided that Jesus was not the son of God. I suppose this had to happen. By 2063 we'll have our first Soviet, atheist pope. 

To Club Street at 3. We dug the garden and cleaned the car and gave Samuel a push around Lidget Green. Eat salad. Very relaxing and a change from 'living over the shop'. Ally spoke to Bessie who was 'off hand' with her and complaining about the christening. I think that she thinks we are not getting on with the organising. Graham and Gill were at Martyr Worthy for the weekend. Home at 7 to the hurly burly of pub life in Hunslet, Leeds.

-=-

Saturday June 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Phew. Oliver Smith didn't phone. Mind you, I steered well clear of the telephone all day. Ally, looking dinky in dungarees, opened up at 11 and I didn't see her until 2pm. She was merry-making with the customers whilst I fed Samue,l and played with him. He now enjoys throwing toys onto the floor and he sucks everything. He is a cheerful little soul and chuckles heartily. What a joy he is. 

We went at 3:30-ish off we went to Otley market. We bought nothing. On to Number 23 (West End Terrace) to see Susie and Benjamin who came home today. They are moving into Jim's on Fieldhead Rd next when Jim & Margaret go to Pamela's at Shipley. What chaos. The midwife came and so we went to Lynn's. The girls were eating in the dark, prison-like dining room with the blacked out windows covering David's extension. Lynn was like a ferret on hot bricks and ironing whilst we talked. A bag of nerves. She saw Benjamin for the first time today. Back to Leeds for 7.

-=-

Friday June 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Roy Barnes phoned me at dawn reeling about the LG-F.O'B brawl. I had to relate to him the smallest detail. He ruckled down the line. We are going to Middlesbrough on July 11. He wants us to stay the night at the Linthorpe, but this might be awkward. Later, Leslie Gledhill phoned and seemed distressed. He says the news has been leaked to the brewery. I feel very low because I told him that my lips have been sealed, and yet I have already blabbed to Rob and to Roy. If you want my opinion, Fran O'Brien has been telling everybody at Tadcaster so to discredit poor Les. At 5:30 David Tyne was on the phone asking for the whole story. I did my very best to be kind to LG and show him in a favourable light and when Tyne asked if F.O'B was 'provocative' I said a definite 'yes', and when he asked if either of them had been drinking I said a definite 'no'. He left saying that the the episode was 'disgraceful' and that he could 'knock both their heads together', but then added 'No, Knock both their heads off'. Tyne instructed me not to speak to Oliver Smith or to Mr Askew until I have first spoken to him again. Blimey, I'm at the centre of a major earth-shaking drama which could brings the Sam Smith empire crashing down. Bloody Hell.

The health visitor visited Sammy at 3:30 and pronounced that he is a perfect specimen.

-=-

Thursday June 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

A most traumatic day. Leslie (Gledhill) and F.O'Brien came here at 7 o'clock and the tension and the sense of over hanging evil became immediately apparent. Fran O'Brien was his usual gloating arrogant self and Leslie quite the opposite looked quite sad as we went around inspecting the pub. LG obviously shocked by FO'B's attitude. Ally and I are of course quite used to it. The little shit even inspected the contents of our fridge. Poking around in the blocks of cheese and slices of gammon. Downstairs the two area managers disagreed over the price of our Planter's Dry Roasted Nuts and FO'B, still gloating, accused LG of fiddling. That was the final straw. LG hit the roof and grabbed Fran by the throat and dragged him outside onto to the green. I stood open mouthed, aghast at the brawl. They came back in afterwards and LG bought a lager for me and downed one himself. Fran stood near the clock like a frightened rodent. They then left separately. Rob (Piper) walked in and I told him of the fracas. He was gleeful. I shouldn't have told anyone. He says Kath is pregnant. Later I spoke to Roy Barnes and told Marie of the events of the evening. LG phoned me at midnight to apologise. 'Two wrongs don't make a right', he said. He added that we have a good pub and are good managers and that Fran O'Brien will not get away with treating him in such a way. He seemed half cut.

-=-

Wednesday June 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Bright sun. The third anniversary of our marriage. At 7am my phone was ringing and my head was aching. It was Mum to say Sue is in labour. Today's the day. Back to bed - alone - for a bit more eye shut. (Auntie) Mabel phoned at 9 to say happy anniversary. By now I was supping coffee and shoveling paracetamols. Ally is awake and cheerful. The call came again at about 12:30 in the middle of lunches. Mum says Sue had a baby boy at 12:12pm  weighing 8lb 8oz, and he is Benjamin James. How fabulous. Later we went to Guiseley but found nobody at home. Shopping in Yeadon and Guiseley. To West End Terrace tonight. Mum continues to be tetchy and I suspect  she has had a difference of opinion with Lynn, though nothing was said. Peter was quiet as ever. They all baby sat at 7 and Ally and I took Peter to Leeds and had an hour with Sue and Benjamin, a clone of Christopher and every inch a Nason. ___ Afterwards we went to the Emmott Arms, plush yet lifeless. We were spotted by the relief manageress, a Diana Dors look-alike. On to the Station Hotel. Back at No. 23 (West End Terrace) the place was packed with Rhodeses and Nasons. David B in his suit. No Lynn. Samuel was fed and then Ally and I - just the two of us - went to the Hare & Hounds. What a day.  Home late.

-=-

Tuesday June 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

F.O'B phoned to ask about our Gaston competition and Ally aksed him when he intends to come and he replied Thursday evening. Good. Now it won't be a shock and we can look prepared. Today was the day my tap room mob saw me as a human alcoholic with murderous tendencies. Yes, we went in a mini bus to the Red Lion with Taffy at the wheel. Seventeen of us. What fun. Not one driving licence between us, but we survived. It was all in aid of a pool competition, but I took little notice of it. Our man, Cliff Wise, won. I was pissed. Brandy, brandy, brandy. The hideous Elaine said she'd swap Les Gledhill for F.O'B any day. Silly cow. Back very late. Poor Ally. All alone at the Moorhouse. Samuel screamed blue murder and I hiccoughed my way in and took the poor mite in hand whilst Ally escaped to the spare bedroom, at her wits end. Alcohol took hold and I slept.

-=-

Monday June 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Waiting. We expect Baby Nason and Fran O'Brien any day and the expectancy is eating away at us. I am permanently on guard and on the look-out for F.O'B, and the place is like a new pin. Poor Leslie. We shall miss him and his casual approach. He has given us such help since we left the Why Not.

-=-

Sunday June 24, 1984

 1st Sunday after Trinity

Midsummer Day

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Midsummer Day. Didn't see much of it. Marlene and Frank appeared at lunch with Mabel fresh from Eastbourne. They sat outside and Ally joined them with Samuel and they coo over him. Back to the Clarendon Wing we found Mum and Dad, Peter and Christopher at the bedside. Samuel played for them on the bed and pulled Christopher's hair. Susie is bigger and more weary, __ We gave Mum the top tier of our wedding cake to take to Mrs Rusby at Guiseley - to re-ice it as Samuel's christening cake. 

Saturday June 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Catherine, my niece, is 5. _______. It's five years then since Ally and I were in bed at Pine Tops when John phoned with the news.

To hospital this afternoon with Samuel to see Susie. Baby slept on the bed to the screams of delight from the other 'inmates'. Susan was well, but bored. She doesn't read anything. Surely, this is our last visit?

Michael Brown was here at luncheon with his father. They were supping mild and complaining about the colour of the Old Brewery bitter. I made a quick exit. These real ale drinkers are as temperamental as ballerinas.

-=-

Friday June 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Rella Fawbert is 129 and Paul Edwards is 20. Sue is still hanging on. 

Talk to drunken Matt in the tap room. He is an authority on the Iran-Iraq conflict. The Falklands War was a 'tea party', he added and concluded with 'perhaps we should take on China.' Mad as a hatter.

Princess Margaret and the Duke of Westminster have appeared on 'the Archers'. Whatever next? The Duchess of Kent an agony aunt on TV-am? The Queen Mother on 'Crossroads'? I disapprove of such goings on. I am not of this century. 

-=-

Thursday June 21, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Prince William of Wales is two today. Baby Nason remained firmly in the comfort of his mother's womb. Dad is good. He helped 'bottle up' and kept Christopher permanently engaged in play. What a wonderful way he has with kids. All the grandchildren look upon Dad as something really special. Christopher is full of character and not a bit naughty. He sings 'blue, blue my arse is blue' but really wants to sing the right words. Such a giggle. This place is so roomy we can all live together and not feel suffocated. 

-=-

Wednesday June 20, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Mum and Dad seem happier now than ever before. This is what love is all about. It should be nurtured to grow into a tree. Bodies disappeared into cars and taxis. I didn't feel too bad considering. Uncle Bert recalled the death bed of his great-grandmother (Sarah Ann Upton 1864-1936). 'You know how sentimental Roman Catholics become when they are dying', he drawled. He described the old lady propped up in bed in the parlour gasping: 'Let this cup pass from me'. By noon Bert had gone. With Mum, Dad and Christopher to see Sue, who was looking disgustingly well and no nearer bringing Benjamin James or Samantha Kate into the world. This waiting eats away at Mum's nerves.

-=-

Tuesday June 19, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Mum & Dad's Pearl wedding anniversary, somewhat spoiled by Susie's absence, and the expected baby. Ally and I were in town at 5pm looking fo white shoes. It's the sort of thing we used to laugh at Maria doing. Dave G and Billy walked in at 6pm as we were blowing up balloons. _____ A table was set up downstairs at 7:30, and people drifted in too numerous to list here. Mostly family, and a few friends. Lynn looking fat and tanned. David studious and quiet. I became intoxicated and staggered around. Tim and Jill full of talk of Spain, &c. Hilda was dull because she's on a diet consisting of drinking nothing but bitter lemon. We all went upstairs at 10:30 after Billy's cabaret, and the party went on until dawn. Bodies, bottles, and black pudding everywhere.

-=-

Monday June 18, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Waterloo Day. Jennie Rawnsley's birthday. She has no doubt now reached puberty. What a clever child she was. No developments from Susie. You won't believe this, but we have had a letter telling us that Leslie Gledhill is ceasing to be our area manager, and to be replaced by guess who? Yes, not Colin Black. Not Donna Lea, but by Fran O'Brien. We both could be physically sick. This has really knocked the stuffing out of our cushions , or wind out of our sails, or whatever it is they say. To Leeds market at 9am. We saw Fran O'B on the doorstep at the Duncan, but he didn't arrive at the Moorhouse. Uncle Bert staggered out of a taxi at 10:30. Vague and dry as ever. We had a chicken and mushroom pie and watched Ursula Andress in 'She'. Mum, Dad and Christopher arrived at 4 o'clock. We passed an evening in the lounge bar. Bert and Papa always go off on some unanswerable debate which can be boring. I refused to be drawn into the banter about A. Scargill, public schools and Mrs Thatcher, though I do fear for the prime minister's future if papa mirrors public opinion. Dad voted Tory in '79 and '83, and now thinks Mrs T is unyielding and could be more compassionate, &c. Is this a turning point for Maggie's fortunes? Bed late. Bert, poor soul, suffers from a vast inferiority complex. We must, he says, be earning as much as £100 a week. Oh, dear.

--=-

Sunday June 17, 1984

 Trinity Sunday

Father's Day

Moorhouse Inn

Extremely warm. Samuel, in bed, gave me a card and a yellow silk tie. Ally says she wouldn't allow him to spend much on me. Quite right. At 2:30 Ally, Sammy and I went out on to the moor, or whatever it is you call the park thing surrounding the pub, and we sun bathed for an hour or so on a grassy embankment. Of course we had an audience from the high rise flats. I slept soundly for an hour until a discarded 'Sunday People' blew onto my face. Litter louts. Samuel's eyes looked puffy and he was itching to sneeze.. Is he perhaps like us? Sproggy, &c. I do hope not. I have always like fur and feathers but they have never liked me. Back to the Moorhouse thirsty at 5 o'clock. What a lovely Father's Day. Phoned Horton. The clan were assembled there, minus Susie, who went back to the Clarendon wing at 2:30. Mum says (Uncle) Bert is arriving at Leeds tomorrow.

-=-

Saturday June 16, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

The Birthday Honours list is gazetted. Nothing startling, and once again, I'm excluded. Mrs Thatcher has nominated no new life peerages. I always go straight to the Royal Victorian Order - I'd have a GCVO. 

Downstairs we dutifully watched the Trooping the Colour.  Prince William made a balcony appearance. The Queen Mother was in a carriage with the Princess of Wales, and for the first time in many years - no Duke of Beaufort. 

To Linfood and spent £90 on Pearl wedding party nosh. Drove away heavily laden.

This afternoon. Bought Samuel a pushchair and pushed him around sticky Leeds. Bought Edinburgh cut glass tumblers - four - for £18. John will go halves. Steered clear of Laura Ashley. A costly day.

-=-

Friday June 15, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Warm and balmy. Late tonight while clearing up I saw Audrey and Terry and Co sitting in a pissed clique outside the Egan residence. Maureen, on her way here, was flat out on their garden path, swearing like a trooper. In fact, she'd make a trooper look like Barbara Cartland. Pam was out there too. Ken (Newton) is playing with the Bachelors at Eastbourne, where Auntie Mabel is holidaying for the coming week. Ally stayed behind to do the tills and when I was coming home at 12:30am I found her coming downstairs with the intention of partying too. Instead we went to bed. Too hot. Sammy was hot, sweet and restless.

-=-

Thursday June 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

David Lawson is 29. I fear for David's sanity and don't suppose he'll be pleased at todays anniversary. A Peter Pan to be sure.

This journal is proving tiresome. I have no time. Shopping, shopping, shopping. It's a hideous task looking for a pearl wedding gift. It will have to be cut glass. It is a pity we children did not club together for the gift. Dad wants a pub table, but they are £90.

The Press refers to Lord Althorp as 'loutish'. Evidently the aristo attempted to 'de-bag' Tony Blackburn in a London restaurant. Jolly good show, Charlie. Diana must giggle.

-=-

Wednesday June 13, 1984

 Full Moon

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Dreary and wet. We were up at dawn to clean the beer lines, polish the brasses, &c. We left Samuel asleep and spent an hour downstairs. At 8:30 we had a cooked breakfast. (Samuel on mashed bananas). Belly laughs at 'Private Eye'. Despite my nationalistic and patriotic bent I do have a great love of irreverence and naughtiness. Even jokes about the Queen. 

Sue phoned. She had a few aches and contractions in bed during the night, but isn't doing anything at the moment. The poor girl is niggly and cannot be far off delivery. David, cheerful as ever, called in to collect Ally's summery maternity gowns for Lynn to try on in readiness for Tuesday. He asked: "are we just meeting here (at the Moorhouse) and then going on somewhere afterwards?" Bloody Hell. The pearl wedding party here will be the height of the 1984 social season. The top in Hunslet's social calendar. Poor David. I think he's going funny in the head. On at 3 in the rain to town to buy a present for Mum and Dad. In Laura Ashley Ally bought a little black dress for £19. With white beads and bracelets she'll look superb. I do love her dinky body.

Ally says it's John Pinder's birthday. She is quite oblivious to how old her ex is. Pinder Nason? I think not.

-=-

Tuesday June 12, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The dray came in the middle of the night, or that's what it felt like at 7 o'clock. Day two of the new pub menu. A marked improvement. We sold one beef curry and one shepherd's pie. Samuel had the special of the day mushed up in a bowl and he wolfed it down. The gas men working on the council estate boosted our takings but they like to linger with dominoes until 3:30. They've been installing central heating in Albert & Kitty's house for nine days. One could plumb the entire globe in half the time, surely.

Arrivals: a son to David and Lady Carina Frost. Departures: Lord Glenavy, the brother of Patrick Campbell, the deceased, spluttering TV personality (I should have said stuttering); Gabrielle Rowley-Conwy, 106, mother of Lord Langford; and Earl Howe, 75.

The news showed Prince William racing around the garden at Kensington Palace. The prince is two and looks a little cracker. They say he called the P of W 'daddy'. They usually say 'papa' in the royal family. I only hope Diana isn't 'mam'. Watched the PM giving a party political broadcast on the coming European election. Churchillian from top to bottom. It's now a year since the general election triumph. Let us hope and pray she will stop Neil Gimmick in '87.

-=-

Monday June 11, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Day one of the a la carte menu. Obviously, nobody took advantage of our culinary delights, but eventually I'm sure we'll knock some sense into them. Audrey sniffed at the typed pages listing pâté, mackerel salad, and chocolate gateau. 'They've all tried this before', &c. Ally was in a collapsed state and slept from 2pm. I bathed Samuel and went down covered in suds, etc, at 5:30 to serve ale to the great unwashed. Or in this case to the few unwashed, because the place was dead. Still, one must battle on. 

Peerage news: Lord Glasgow is pushing up the daisies and so too is Viscount Lymington, a Wallop, and a kinsman of Carolyn Herbert. Lady Rupert Nevill's brother, no less.

Samuel now plays with squeaky things and uses his initiative more. Every day we see him doing more and more and the changes in him are too numerous to record. I cannot write about him adequately. He is just perfection. It, and by it I mean parenthood, is the greatest gift bestowed upon us mortals. Those who have not experienced children have not lived. 

Dr Glass has sent Susan home for a week but if nothing happens this week he wants her back in on Sunday. Her D-Day is June 20. Susan always has 12 month pregnancies. Mum and Dad are flitting between Horton and Guiseley burning petrol as if there is no tomorrow. Like blue-arsed flies, no less.

-=-

Sunday June 10, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Whit Sunday

We are putting out a new menu tomorrow. We will be equal only to the Savoy Grill. Ally typed a menu, and Samuel bashed at the keys. A budding Harold Robbins? Luncheon saw the arrival of Uncle Peter, cousin Julie, Stephen Dean, and Beverley, who celebrates her birthday today. I was too busy to spend much time with them but took them upstairs to see the sleeping babe. They gasped at the size of the flat. Afterwards we went to see Susie. A baby boy today would have to be Philip. The Duke of Edinburgh is 63. He is a national institution. Imagine Britain without Philip? Frightening, eh? Mum, all edgy and expectant, was at the bedside with Papa, Peter and Christopher. The lad was ransacking the ward and they cannot understand it because he has been an angel at Horton. It is Peter's influence. They all came back here at 4 for a couple of hours. Mum was in a fluster and not herself. They left and I opened up (the pub) tired and groggy. Ally cooked curry, lasagne, steak and kidney for tomorrow's menu. 

-=-

Saturday June 9, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Sunshine. To Linfood at dawn with Sammy Bear. Spend £39. Ally opened up and then we went to Morrison's, Leeds market and on to the Clarendon Wing covered in grime and sweat bearing a limp, dying plant for Sue who we find enjoying the rudest of health, looking fat, tanned and idle. She is in a large ward quite alone and thumbing through a copy of the December 1983 Cosmopolitan, and a tatty Women's Own. Samuel, good as gold, played on the bed. Sue has set her heart, foolishly, on having a girl. I hope she will not be disappointed. A daughter will be Samantha Kate. Tonight I felt vicious and yelled at a toothless hag who came in at five to eleven. Shook with rage, in fact. Ally stayed upstairs with Bear.

-=-

Friday June 8, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Susie went off to the Clarendon Wing and is on the top floor laying and waiting. Phoned Mama at 3:30. They had just given Christopher lunch and were eating ice cream on the lawn. Later I phoned Peter who said they won't bring the baby early and Sue will have a week in bed first. Young Nason is obviously waiting until Mum and Dad's Pearl wedding extravaganza. Today is the birthday of Papa's sister, Dorothy. It's also the Duke and Duchess of Kent's wedding anniversary.

Eric Morecambe has been planted in Hertfordshire. Or was he burned? To me Ernie Wise doesn't look as upset as he should be. The Reagans are in London dining with Her Majesty and visiting Prince William at Kensington Palace. They have bought HRH a wooden horse from Carolina. Let's hope Caspar Weinberger isn't inside. Inside the horse, that is. You know, like the Troy business.

-=-

Thursday June 7, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The papers are full of d-Day slush. I suppose they are all fussing about this particular anniversary because in ten years time the veterans will all have passed on to that great beach head in the sky. To think they gave everything to save this land for the likes of Arthur Scargill.

Sue rang. We had been to town and had sauntered in the market carrying a hot, snotty Samuel, and I was standing in the bar screwing up a light fitting showering plaster everywhere. Sue told us they are putting her in bed at the Clarendon Wing tomorrow and will leave her in this horizontal position until she delivers her baby. This could go on for weeks. The poor girl is very brave and good humoured. Christopher is going to Horton for the duration. 

John came at 8:30 with a big bearded bloke called Joe. Both looked soiled. We stood in the tap room talking about Keith Jessup, the HMS Edinburgh salvage millionaire and a friend of Joe. John is back in favour with George Q. Waite, also on his way to a vast fortune. John says JPH has laryngitis. Ally and I feel throaty too. They left at 10:30. Karen and Margaret moaning about how busy it's been. What are they here for if not to be busy? Staff - what trouble they are.

-=-

Wednesday June 6, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

D-Day and Derby Day. HM has missed the Derby for the first time since her coronation to go to Normandy. Our so called day off. We spent the morning watching TV coverage of the 'allies' gathering on the French beaches. Very touching. Especially the sight of little grey haired war widows stumbling upon the graves of their husbands for the first time. 

We packed the car (including the TV) and went off at 2. Visited more pine shops and found some little pieces on Burley Rd. On to Bradford and we settled down at Club St to tranquil domesticity. Saw the Queen, Uncle Ron, Queen Beatrix, King Baudouin, King Olav, President Mitterrand, Pierre Trudeau, &c. Knee deep in sand and nostalgia. Not a German in sight - obviously. Prawn curry and pots of tea. We want Samuel to know Club Street. I think we shall never sell it. 

Back for 11:15 to find I have won £5 on the tap room Derby sweep. Didn't see the race, but it was a photo-finish.

-=-

Tuesday June 5, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

We went on a little expedition today looking in the junk shops on Kirkstall Road and Burley Rd. Ally, in a buying mood, wants more pine furniture. We saw quite a lot but couldn't reach a decision. Bingley was too far away and so we went to Cheap 'n Cheerful, full of nice things already sold and awaiting collection. Bought an old picture called 'Anchored', knocked down from £17 to £11. Ally doesn't like it, and thinks I'm mad to have purchased it. A woman in the shop told us that Samuel is too pretty to be a boy. 

Tomorrow is the anniversary of D-Day. They seem to be making a big fuss about it. The Prince of Wales is in Normandy today and HM sails to Caen tomorrow in Britannia.

-=-

Monday June 4, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Bank Holiday in the Republic of Ireland

Cold and wet. Poor Samuel is snuffling and wheezing, and with a runny nose. He is drowsy and exceptionally cuddly. Wisps of hair on top of his head. He looks like a duck.

An awful breakfast. Ally burned the eggs and sulked. I hid behind the Daily Telegraph.

Lady Joanna Knatchbull is engaged to Baron Hubert de Breuil, of Paris. Diana's cousin, Lord Annaly, has wed for the third time. Ronald Reagan and Nancy come here from Eire today. He has been back to his Irish roots, and whenever I caught sight of them on the telly today they were wailing and sobbing in true Hollywood tradition. Ally, not usually a cynic, says he is just a very good actor. Later, we saw them arriving in London to kisses from the prime minister and a greeting from the poor Duke of Gloucester, who looks very un-royal. Richard looks more like a bank clerk. However, it is good to see that Reagan is so enamoured of the PM. The last close relationship twixt a PM and US president was Macmillan and Kennedy. Just imagine what damage Neil Kinnock could do?

Quiet night. Samuel was awake until 10:30.

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Sunday June 3, 1984

 Sunday after Ascension

Moorhouse Inn

Still wet. We slept late and were disturbed by the phone at 10. It was Lynn saying they would be with us in half an hour for a coffee. Ally, on the warpath, flew round the flat putting on clothes and clearing away last night's debris. They came for an hour bringing the two pink girls. Lynn doesn't look big and we deduce that she must be having a third daughter. They had no news. David has found an old Victorian fireplace. Supped coffee. Katie remains imobile.

Had a 'breakfast' at 2pm. Eggs, bacon, &c. Saw a bit of 'The Maltese Falcon' and 'The Longest Day' a film about D-Day. It seems that John Wayne has to be in every movie. Ally went off to polish the pine chest in the bedroom.

Heaving with people tonight. Jane and I very busy. Rob and Kath came in with some friends from London. It was too busy for social intercourse. Something is wrong here, surely? The Pipers are never at work. Samuel was up late. We suspect he's getting a cold. Poor mite.

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Saturday June 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Dismal and wet. Up at 8. Indecisive today. I went out for a quick walk and bought a birthday card for Bessie. She is 62 on Monday. Ally opened up in the bar for an hour and half at 11 and Samuel and I danced and sang, and we posted grandmama's birthday card. Music is important for the development of babies, right? He slept soundly after listening to Boy George and Rachmaninov. What will that tuneful combination do to him? 

At 1pm we buggered off to Bradford and called on Chris and Elaine at the Red Lion. Elaine was upstairs ironing like a character on Coronation Street with lank, streaky hair. A female Michael Foot, in fact. (Who is he? You ask). The flat looked tiny after the roomy magnificence of the Moorhouse. The baby David _______. Not a bonnie baby by any means. To town and dear Club St and then home. 

Marlene and Frank came tonight for an hour or two He had a bad headache (daft that. Can one have a 'good' headache?). I do like Marlene. Caught the end of 'For Pete's Sake' - a Streisand comedy.

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