Thursday December 6, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

-=-

Wednesday December 5, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

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

-=-

Tuesday December 4, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

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

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

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

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

-=-

Monday December 3, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

-=-

Sunday December 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Advent Sunday

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

-=-

Saturday December 1, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

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

-=-

Friday November 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Pie and Pea Night.

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

-=-
 

Thursday November 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

-=-

Wednesday November 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

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

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

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

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

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

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

-=-

Tuesday November 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 

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

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

Phoned Mum. She is coming here tomorrow.

-=-

Monday November 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

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

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

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

-=-

Sunday November 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Last Sunday after Trinity

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

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

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

-=-

Saturday November 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 

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

Stiff nobility:-

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

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

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

Noble arrivals:-

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

-=-

Friday November 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

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

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

-=-

Thursday November 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Moor Cres, Leeds

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

-=-

Wednesday November 21, 1984

 5, Club Street

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

-=-

Tuesday November 20, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green

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

-=-

Monday November 19, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green, Bradford

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

-=-

Sunday November 18, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

22nd Sunday after Trinity

Waltergarth.

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

-=-
 

Saturday November 17, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton

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

-=-

Friday November 16, 1984

 Waltergarth, &c.

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

-=-

Thursday November 15, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

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

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

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

-=-

Wednesday November 14, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

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

-=-

Tuesday November 13, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

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

-=-

Monday November 12, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Veteran's Day Holiday, USA

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

-=-