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.

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