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.

-=-