Monday October 8, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Columbus Day, USA / Thanksgiving Day Canada

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

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

-=-

Sunday October 7, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

16th Sunday after Trinity

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

-=-

Saturday October 6, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

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

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

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

-=-

Friday October 5, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

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

-=-

Thursday October 4, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Sir Horace Seymour.

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

-=-

Wednesday October 3, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

-=-

Tuesday October 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

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

-=-

Monday October 1, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The Angel & White Horse.

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

-=-

Sunday September 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

15th Sunday after Trinity

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

Pete, Sue & Christopher.

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

-=-

Saturday September 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

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

-=-

Friday September 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Sammy has made his very first attempt to crawl. He toppled over on to his tummy and and proceeded to heave and push away with all his might only to find himself going in a backwards direction. What a cheerful, pleasant disposition he has. 

The Jack Higgins book 'Solo' is excellent. Quite gripping in fact. Even more gripping than Coronation Street which has been enthralling in recent days. Poor Mavis Riley jilted Derek on the wedding morning. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth, &c. Not a dry eye in the house on Wednesday.

We went down and stood with Bernie (McCarron). Margaret and Mavis were working. _________.

-=-

Thursday September 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Back to town this afternoon to browse in Austicks again. Sammy was in a better mood and allowed us to drift around. How many shopping days to Christmas, I wonder? 

The Prince of Wales was reading his story (Lochnagar) on Jackanory yesterday. He is such a good all rounder.

Love autumn and the golden foliage. Warm crumpets by the fire, &c. I do love autumnal activities and we will be able to indulge them to the full for three weeks from Oct 29. Just four weeks to go.

-=-

Wednesday September 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Walter Pidgeon

Damp and autumnal. We went to town at 3:30 with Sammy to look at books in the new Austicks. We say a nice book 'Alphabears', and I gloated over George V by Kenneth Rose. I'd love it in hard back. There was a book sale at the old Austicks and we bought two Jack Higgins novels, and 'Mr American' by the guy who wrote the Flashman novels. 

'Famous Acor Dead' say the billboards throughout town. Who can it be? Not Roger Moore, surely? John Gielgud is an octogenarian, isn't he? No, it's a Walter Pidgeon, 86, who apparently made a film in 1943 which was very well received. 

Uneventful evening. We both worked with Audrey. A pissed-up tramp in the lounge received his marching orders. We of course haven't heard from Mum. I think Ally will suggest going up to Horton Sunday, but it's only a guess. We do not want frosty relations.

-=-

Tuesday September 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

John shares his birthday with F.M. Gill (65), Sir Robert Muldoon (63), Sir Colin Davis (57), Mr Ronnie Barker (55), and Mr Leon Brittan, QC, MP, PC (45). Is the Home Secretary jewish? He certainly looks the part. 

Shit of the Week: The Bishop of Durham. (This is going to be a regular Tuesday feature).

Those who have left us:-

(after a gripping look at the obits)

Sir Denis Blundell (77), Lord Granville-West (80), Marie La Guardia (89), 'Dusty' Rhodes (74), Mrs Mark Herbert (89) widow of a Bishop of Norwich who, incidentally, baptised Diana Spencer in 1961.

World News:-

Her Majesty has flown to Canada with the D of E. The gutter press says that Prince Philip has yet to meet his new grandson. He doesn't look like a baby-lover, if you know what I mean. They say it's because he's Teutonic. 

Read a feature in the Daily Telegraph on a Frederick Nason, who has a big store in Canterbury. I must tell Peter of this.

-=-

Monday September 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

I am disgusted. We had to post Samuel's birth certificate to the passport office at Liverpool and it has been returned torn, and stuck together with cellotape, and wrinkled. I treasure my family documents and regard this as a disgrace. Samuel is only eight months old and already his personal documents resemble the Dead Sea Scrolls. I am going to compose a snotty letter. 

I am not going to bore you with the details of life here at the Moorhouse Inn on this September morn. All I will say is that it is busier. Tonight we had a good response from the pool playing people and think we'll have some success. John is 28 tomorrow. Will he make a honest woman of Miss Drysdale? He certainly could do a lot worse. His card is in the post. I will soon require £246 from him for Lanzarote.

-=-

Sunday September 23, 1984

 14th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn

A wet start. Sammy brought me to my senses at 7:30 and we went to play with toys in front of the gas fire in the sitting room. Then, like Fanny Cradock, I concocted a splendid cooked breakfast and went to wake Ally who was far from appreciative. She complained about the smell from the frying, and then said I had made too much! Women! Downstairs I took Sam with me to fill the Tampax machine in the ladies loo. 

It is Frank Harwood's fortieth birthday. The man himself phoned at 11 to say they may come over. Ally went to work with Mavis and I played with Samuel upstairs. The Harwoods came minus Debbie at 1 o'clock. They left after 4. Mark is working at Lidget Green. We both worked tonight with Mavis. Ally was expecting a visit from Lynn but nothing came of it. 

-=-

Saturday September 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Two String to her bow.

Ally went off early to Linfood leaving me to give Samuel breakfast. It was a wet but bright morn and we stood at the window waving goodbye to mummy. I went downstairs. Maureen, wearing her hair curlers, was cleaning and singing 'Unchained Melody'. I gave Samuel breakfast, then lunch, then washed my hair and dried with a hair dryer which was a mistake because afterwards I walked around looking like Countess Spencer. Ally came back at 12:30 in a downpour and had a cheeky grin on her face. She sent me to the car where she said I would find something of interest on the back seat. The sweet pet had bought two old pictures from 'Cheap 'n Cheerful' - 'Two Strings to her Bow' and 'To be or not to be', prints of 1894 paintings by C. Haig Wood. Very splendid. I hung them in the sitting room and showed them to Samuel who seemed to approve. Margaret is in Scotland and so I worked this afternoon with Audrey. The place was dead. Bernie suggested that we should have a collection for old Mrs Edith Mollett, 91, who last came into the Moorhouse in September, 1918. No way. Later I found Bernie sat weeping. Her daughter Anne is pregnant with her second _______. Oh dear. We worked after closing. Ally cleaned until 12:30 and I did the tills. The Sunday cleaner is having her eyes done in St Jimmy's. 

News: The horrid Bishop of Durham says Ian MacGregor should attack the government for not accepting a compromise. Mrs T should de-frock the old bugger. He's an atheist anyway.

-=-

Friday September 21, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Is it the autumn equinox today? Not long ago I could have told you. Bright at times, but drizzle too.  One of our deep fat fryers is on the blink and we are reduced to cooking with one. Audrey casually asked if Karen has left us. Obviously a rhetorical question. Ally has decided to phone Mum and clear the air. She cannot put up with this continuing 'Cold War' any longer. We should all dwell in peace and harmony, &c. I went out at 3:30 to post birthday cards to Lily Glynn and Frank, both celebrating on Sunday. I left Ally and Samuel asleep in an armchair. How snuggled and comfortable they looked. Peas in a pod.

HM The Q has returned from Balmoral.Prince Henry Charles Albert David's birth was registered by the P of Wales today. Harry's NHS number is LSCVT275. The prince gave his occupation as 'prince of the United Kingdom'. I would dispute this. It is a rank, not an occupation. Is my occupation 'Mister of the United Kingdom'? What would the great constitutional expert L.G. Pine say on this subject?

A busy, fun night. The tap room swarmed as never before and looked like the Roxy ballroom by 10:30 with couples clutching each to themselves as though Mr Chernenko had just launched his long expected attack upon us. Jean was dancing with Jimmy, and this thoroughly annoys Vicky. Bernie was in pissed up.

-=-

Thursday September 20, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

I am miffed by Mum's attitude yesterday. They thought we were rude and unfriendly on Sunday 9th (September), disappointed that we didn't create a sumptuous dinner as we usually do. We thought a take-away would make a nice change. Obviously, this was not so. 

Peerage news: arrivals - a son for Lady Fairfax of Cameron and a daughter for Countess Alexander of Tunis.__ Departures: Lord Clitheroe, KCVO. His daughter is the Hon Lady Worsley, of Hovingham.

-=-

Wednesday September 19, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

I gave Sammy his bottle of milk. Ally was gnashing her teeth beneath the quilt. By 8am she was chopping 15lb of raw meat and was stood in the kitchen pale, spattered with blood, like the Laitner murderer. Felt queasy watching this from over my porridge. At 9 Mum and Dad walked in at the same time as Maureen. __________. They had taken Sue to St Jimmy's with Ben where they determined that the boy has a tiny hole in his heart. But nothing serious. Sue, Dad and Ben came back here after the hospital visit and we had a drink in the bar. MM and Marita came in and we all had lunch together. The conversation drifted from Yugoslavia to childbirth. Samuel sat wide-eyed watching Christopher assaulting his baby brother. The lad does have Yorkshire miner-like tendencies. They all left at 4. ___________. Donna Lea appeared at 8. She is under 30 and Ally thinks she is very much a Graham Smith type. You know the sort - university, Monty Python whoopie cushion, showjumping, beagle, Liebraumilch type. Easy going. Saw 'Minder' after plying Donna with lager upstairs. Bed after 11. Didn't go down.

-=-

Tuesday September 18, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Ally is impossible at times. She bangs around and carries on like one of those maniacal, black African generals after a successful coup d'etat. Samuel and I sat wide-eyed over breakfast listening to her rumblings. Dray day. X-L crisps, &c. I was utterly done in so much so that at 5:30 Ally went below to do the first bash and no doubt let off steam and vitriol on the OAPs in the tap room. I went down at 8 and tried to phone Horton. No reply. Rob (Piper) came in with Brenda Longbottom's husband again. He cannot understand why I do not have any little 'fiddles' on the go. He says that on my barrelage I should be making £30 a week for myself. I really do not want to be sacked. It just isn't my style. They sold me a watch for £1.50. A large black, rubber Jacques Cousteau digital time piece. What a fool I am.

-=-

Monday September 17, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

As you can see I have discovered a bottle of Quink ink. It cost me 75p. Horribly wet. Samuel woke me at 6 o'clock and I found him upside down in his cot with his head crushed between the bars. He soon brightened on seeing me and I removed his soggy nappy and gave him a bottle of milk in our bed. Ally was refusing to get up. She regretted it later and ran around.  We went to Leeds market and the bank, &c. Bessie phoned on the subject of our forthcoming holiday again. It sounded as though she has been tossing and turning all night long. What a women. Felt exhausted. 

The Daily Telegraph is full of the new prince. I do like Henry. So solid. Will he be christened on the Prince of Wales's birthday (Nov 14)? Godparents? Lord Tollemache? A Parker Bowles? 'Kanga' Tryon? (not a hope), one of the Herberts of Highclere? Harry Herbert even? Sarah Armstrong-Jones?

Ally slept with Samuel this afternoon and I looked in at the devastation in the kitchen and closed the door. I am not very methodical. We all had tea together and watched 'Blue Peter' and then I wernt down to spend the night in my bustling pub. A pool knock-out. Karma Singh won. Big Brian had spent the weekend at Ribblehead. Ally made delicious food for the pool guys - it was much appreciated. to bed at 11:55.

-=-

Sunday September 16, 1984

 13th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

I was up at 7am cleaning the deep fat fryer and roasting a chicken for luncheon.

One year ago today we went to the Why Not? Praise be to God for our safe deliverance. Over porridge (again) at breakfast we speculated as to what names the infant prince will be given. You might not believe this but I said that Henry goes very well with William, and I can see the princess (Diana) calling her son "Harry". Ally went down to clean and I entertained Samuel with his toys. I heard on the radio that the Prince of Wales with Prince William had visited St Mary's and that the baby is probably going home this afternoon. The TV reveals that the baby is to be Henry Charles Albert David, but known as 'Harry' to the family. Very pleased. The last royal Henry was HM's uncle, the Duke of Gloucester (1900-74). You cannot beat old names. I really should have placed a bet at William Hills. At 2;25 the royal couple left the Lindo Wing with a white bundle and drove to Kensington Palace. An hour later the prince drove off to play polo. I suppose Di was tucked up in bed.

We had chicken for lunch. ______. Later Bessie phoned and put Ally in a foul mood regarding our holiday plans. They are going to Windermere on Oct 29 for three or four days apparently. Grumpily to bed.

-=-

Saturday September 15, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Sat eating porridge at 7:30am I switched on the radio to hear the news that the Princess of Wales is at the Lindo Wing awaiting the birth of the royal baby. We had no plans for the day and so decided to hold a vigil by the TV. We were in need of a good day of relaxation and these royal landmarks are always such an excuse. News bulletins say the baby is coming 10 days early, as did Prince William. Poppycock. The palace never reveals the due dates of royal babies. We had lunch still discussing the activity at the Lindo Wing. The royals traditionally have a boy then a girl. The Queen did. So did Margaret, Anne, Richard of Gloucester, the Duchess of Kent, Michael of Kent, Alexandra & Angus, &c.

At 5:30 it was announced that the princess had given birth to a son at 4:20pm weighing 6lb 14oz. How splendid. The House of Windsor is now firmly secured in the male line. How reassuring. Sammy Bear did not appreciate these momentous events. Saw the baby leaving hospital at 7pm. Of course people will say they wanted a princess. 

Bessie and Frank have been to Cyprus. Today is Frank's 57th birthday. We watched Grandstand all afternoon. Even the racing results. Today the St Leger was run at Doncaster. It was quiet downstairs. Archie was roaring drunk on Bacardi (again). He was peeved that the infant prince wasn't born in Scotland.

Ally cleaned the place from top to bottom because Annie, the sabbath cleaner, is going into hospital tomorrow for an eye op. 

-=-

Friday September, 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Woodbine Lizzie.

Hungover again. I was horrible but Ally was quite composed and up and counting money reasonably early. People came in gloating at the 'failure' of our fancy dress evening but we certainly do not consider it to have been a failure and fully intend throwing another such extravaganza in the coming weeks. At 10:30 last night Karen stepped out of line with Ally and walked out in the following rumpus. Good riddance. It was a comical sight because Ally, clad in her hideous gear, looked just like 'Woodbine Lizzie' the renowned eccentric Leeds character. Alison Rhodes is not to be crossed. and Karen Pratt did it once too often. The staff tonight were subdued. Sometimes one needs a good sacking to keep them all to heel. Dave the Grave denies theft and went away red faced.

-=-

Thursday September 13, 1984

Edna at the bar.

with Marlene and Frank

Jayne and Janette

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Our Tramps Convention fancy dress party. A busy bustling day. We went out late this afternoon to a Spastics Society charity shop on Boar Lane and bought Ally a revolting shimmering green dress for £1. She is going to be a particularly well-heeled tramp. We had Sammy Bear tucked up in bed for 5:30 and I dressed in vagrants gear and went down to amuse Maureen and the trio in the tap room.

Tramps: with George and John.

    We stood around sipping Blue Bols and lemonade waiting for more tramps, but they proved very scarce. Edna and Tracey looked splendid but nobody else suitably garbed appeared until John, Janette, George and Jayne, Jacq and her latest boyfriend Philip came in wearing old overcoats spattered with driend mud. Howls of laughter, &c. MM and Marita came too - but dressed up to the nines, fresh back from Yugoslavia. We awarded the first prize to Edna, but sadly Dave the Grave ripped us off and disappeared with the raffle money, or at least £5 of it. He is another one who will have to go. Marlene and Frank came in covered in dirt and stick on boils. We sold fish and chips in newspaper. They didn't go down well and we only four people bought them - miserable bastards. A late night followed. No customers. Just family and the Waites and a volatile couple who kept slapping each other like frenzied animals. MM and Marita looked on aghast. It was good to see Jacq with a young man. Later on he too was walking around in a state of undress and the general state of everyone can only be described as debauched. John had a greasy head of hair and in his old overcoat he resembled Clark Gable or Gary Cooper from some '30s movie. The party fell apart at 2am when George went into a coma. John was, of course, driving. We are told the Waites are contemplating divorce.

-=-

Wednesday September 12, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The new secretary of state for Ulster (sic) is poor Douglas Hurd. What can she (Thatcher) have against this little Foreign Office mandarin? A new appointment is David Young who becomes minister without portfolio, a privy counsellor and a life peer. He is to get the unemployed back to work - poor bugger. He doesn't stand a cat in hell's chance. The Earl of Gowrie becomes chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. I think that this government has more peers in its make up than any other government since before the Great War. I do admire Mrs T. The pathetic SDP are meeting at Buxton - and oh God you should hear them droning on. A bloody pantomime. They are on the fast train to oblivion. Nobody takes them seriously or sees them as a threat. As for Dr David Owen - Ugh!

Lord Geoffrey-Lloyd is dead. A peculiar obit in the Daily Telegraph says: "he never married but he had for many years, a close entirely platonic friendship with Leeds Castle." You couldn't have much else with an ancient monument, could you?

-=-

Tuesday September 11, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Another flat night. Karen worked. Money for old rope, &c. Ally was trapped in a conversation with 'FA' and his dotty wife. (He's called FA for his unfortunate sticking out ears - he resembles the FA Cup). I found myself in the tap room sitting with the three inmates of that derelict room watching Mel Brooks's 'High Anxiety' - first saw it years ago at the cinema with Jacq Sate. Still hilarious. Ally not happy with Karen. The girl has to be directed at every customer. We should perhaps club together and buy the girl a labrador and a white stick.

The PM has seen the Queen and announced a re-shuffled cabinet. Ally tells me that the new secretary of state for Northern Ireland is a Denis something or other. Could it be Denis Thatcher?

-=-