Friday March 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

L. Gledhill phoned at 8:30 and was here an hour later and we went to court in order for me to acquire a full licence. Stood in a crowded corridor full of shoplifters, child molesters and prostitutes. One fallen lady looked extremely like Jean Shrimpton, in 60s gear which hadn't been laundered since 1966. After waiting an hour we were told by an usher that I need not actually appear in person and that the licence transfer is automatic. Sod it. And there I was dressed up like a tailors' dummy too. Samuel Smiths tie, the lot. 

Back home for 11. Leslie is so easy to talk to and not lacking in humour -unlike Fran O'Brien. Ally was making pastry and looked like a flour grader (see TV advertisements circa 1970-80). 

Samuel is upset about something. His nappies and out lying clothing spattered in yellow and foaming. He grumbled anyway. Later Ally slept on her pile of cushions and I had a plumber to the gents toilets. Vandals have attempted to walk off with a cistern tank. 

Not frantic tonight because Jane worked too. It's going to be a regular thing because last week I was too exhausted working six hours flat out. Ally forgot to bank today and so we had no change. Calamity. Audrey went across to the club and found some. 

News: The miners are still out. We are told that the Princess of Wales is just as nauseated as she was in her first pregnancy. (The Prince of) Wales himself is still in Africa. 

To bed after 12.

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Thursday March 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Janice, the (fruit) machine woman came. A batch of photographs arrived mainly featuring Samuel in numerous positions. Some scantily clad. Ally left me holding the baby and bombed off to her dentist in Shipley. How did we ever manage to get through life being separated all day in our distant, grubby offices? She was back with gleaming polished pegs and no further visits until September. Busy lunches. ____________.

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