Friday June 1, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Dismal and wet. Out of bed sluggish at 8. I concocted a fried repast for my slumbering partner in crime. We spent a couple of hours just sat the the breakfast table watching Samuel with his egg and 'gurkhas'. I prefer gurkhas to soldiers. Particularly when the bread is brown.

The boiler men have finished the central heating conversion and went away leaving the heat belting out and with thermostats fixed and out of control. The place is positively tropical. Perhaps the heat will help sell more ale. It has been a bad week for food. Nobody wants to eat at bank holiday time. Pathetic.

Ally and I went down at 8:30 and sat with Audrey and Terry. Both are making the best of Sharon's departure and seem to think she won't stick it and will be back. Terry went home pissed at 10:30. Big Brian was in again talking about 'Wilf at the Eagle'. We had no visitors. Later saw a French film about Louis XIV but fell asleep just after the arrest of Fouquet. The buzzing of the TV woke me at 1am.

Read in the DT that the Prince of Wales has been criticising the architecture of today. I agree. Most of it is monstrous. What names will go down in history for creating buildings of beauty in the 20th century? Bugger all. Come back William Kent, Inigo Jones, Sir John Vanbrugh, &c. Lutyens, now he is probably the only decent builder of this century. Blocks of glass and concrete do nothing for me. Good old Wales. You tell 'em.

-=-

Thursday May 31, 1984

 Ascension Day

Moorhouse Inn

Sun, but windy. Breakfast. Samuel sucking his brown bread fingers in egg yolk, but he doesn't touch the white.

Arthur Scargill's arrest dominates the news. It is what he has been waiting for of course. The man loves telling us that we live in a police state and the coverage of his arrest only gives the publicity he craves. Mrs T is behaving admirably and will not become involved in the coal dispute - yet.

The Queen Mother is in Guernsey. The Princess of Wales has now finished her last public engagements before the birth of her September baby.

Lunchtime was busy. Just Margaret and I. Ally did food of course. Maureen opened up at 5:30 and I slept on the sofa like Stan Ogden of blessed memory. Or is he still with us? A domestic evening. Ally did some ironing and we watched 'Crossroads', 'Emmerdale Farm' and 'Top of the Pops', &c. The sound of cracking pool balls from the tap room below, the slapping of naked flesh and raucous, drunken wails. One becomes accustomed to it after a while.

Samuel's bathtime has become an increasingly wet experience and so tonight we put him in the big bath. To bed with toasties. 

-=-

Wednesday May 30, 1984

The Moorhouse Inn.

 New Moon

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

More sun. A partial eclipse of the sun this evening, but it avoided doing it over Leeds. Slept until almost 8am. Felt awful. Samuel had wailed throughout the night and found no solace whatsoever. Ally like a mad woman. I forgort to report - we had a stocktake yesterday. A £48 surplus. This is good. Mind you, I do worry about young Thompson, the stocktaker. He has gone platinum blonde and there he was bending over the beer barrels doing his count looking very much like the late Diana Dors.

Dray day. Got next to nothing because I ordered too much last week. The dray men told me tales of the insane landlord at the Red Lion, Leeds. The boiler men are still in the cellar, but say they might finish tomorrow. 

A warm, summers afternoon. Ally took Samuel across the park to the shops. He lay in his pram with his tubby legs wide apart and slept throughout. He is sitting watching me now (as I write) with dinner all over his face, spreading his naked toes, no flexing them, in the afternoon breeze wafting through the open window. What a beautiful thing is a child.

Just Karen worked tonight. Maureen McNicol, our dear cleaner, is 44 today. People bought her endless vodkas. She got into a slanging match with Edna's estranged son-in-law and blows were almost exchanged. I was told to fuck off. Dear me. 

News: Arthur Scargill has been arrested outside a steelworks. Shoot the bugger. That's what I say. Lord Glamis, heir to the Earl of Strathmore, and scion of the house of Bowes Lyon is betrothed to a certain Isobel Weatherall. Is she perhaps a younger sister of Catherine Weatherall now Mrs Nicholas Soames? 

Tuesday May 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Sunshine. A hot, cloggy day. Samuel has had a boiled egg with soldiers for breakfast and sipped from a cup. He held the toasted fingers himself and sucked them into pulp. He does love to squeal. Ought we to discourage this? The modern way is to discourage nothing, I suppose. 

Surprise, surprise. In walked Mum, Dad, Sue, Pete, Christopher, Jim, Margaret and Julie, full of fun and looking for a party. Sue is brown and fat and showing no signs of bringing forth her latest offspring. Christopher is bigger. It's funny to see a child with teeth and hair. We are so used to Samuel's gummy baldness. 

Dave Howard's card ....

I helped Margaret in the bar. We all dined downstairs after closing at 3:30. What terror and chaos are we in for on June 19? Sue's very latest scan says baby is due on June 6. Isn't that the 40th anniversary of D-Day? Winston Eisenhower Dunkirk Nason? Ally and I are shattered and I was not the best company. We spent about £20 on booze. They all paid for their lunches. It was a shipping order. 

Quiet night. Just Jane. Sharon Egan is leaving home. Nourishing Strong Stout drinker David (Howard) has lost his printing business in an arson attack. He looked sick.

-==

Monday May 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Bank Holiday in the UK & USA

I awoke at 8:30 to find Samuel watching me. Ally was nowhere to be seen and she came in ten minutes later after 'bottling up' downstairs. Yawning, I staggered to the lounge and switched on the TV. Eric Morecambe is dead. He was 58. He's gone to join Tommy Cooper, Diana Dors and Sir John Betjeman. Oh, and Lady Gweneth Cavendish, 98. Ernie Wise was on the news trying to look sad. He always seems so false. Am I misjudging the man?

It's the nastiest, coldest Whit since 1954 say the weather boffins and subsequently nobody wants to drink cold ale. Jane worked. (Audrey is on holiday this week). No word from Sue. If she gives birth today to a son he will have to be Eric Morecambe Nason, so let's hope she'll hang on until tomorrow.

Later. We lounged until 7. It's the thing to open late when we have an extension at the end. The 6 o'clock news reveals that Reginald Bosanquet is dead too. He had cancer. Eric Morecambe Bosanquet Nason?

Jill, Tim, Karen and Steve came in. Steve bespectacled. A stoppyback. Jill, in great form. We drank Tia Maria with fresh cream floated. Naughty but nice. We climbed around on buffets and other pub furniture. The Sandersons left earlier, but Jill and Tim stayed until daybreak at 4am. Aaarrgghhhh!

-=-

Sunday May 27, 1984

 Rogation Sunday

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Pissed down all day. Quiet. What is Rogation Sunday? Do we all rogate? Lasagne for lunch. Alice in Wonderland on the TV. Hate it. Played with Samuel and we bathed him at 5 o'clock. Why does he always wake up in such a panic? Read about Jean Shrimpton in one of the Sunday magazines. She has a hotel in Cornwall now.

-=-

Saturday May 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Feel awful. Headache, &c. A quiet afternoon. At 12:30 I went back to bed and slept until 4. Ally went to town and the delights of Leeds Market and at 5 we had eggs and bacon.

A dead night downstairs, but fun. Ally worked with Margaret and I sat with Audrey, Terry, and Bernie &c. Had a few halves. We laughed at Brian and counted the number of times he said: "when Wilf was at the Eagle". We counted at least 48 times. Brian is a lonely old fart. We had an extension until 11:30 (for the Bank Holiday) but the place was like a tomb. Terry went home pissed at 12 and I convened a staff meeting and Ally, Audrey, Margaret and her husband Dougie partook of a quiet drink in the corner of the lounge. Audrey says that (Michael) Pirie has been sacking his bar staff. The Egans are going to France on Tuesday taking Tracey.

Still no word from Susie. Will it be Samantha, James, Jennifer or Clint? The excitement is mounting. 

Sammy Bear is a pig - true.

-=-

Friday May 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Heavy rain today. Susan went in to hospital yesterday and we have heard nothing and so presume that all is well. Samuel has wailed at half hourly intervals throughout the night, and so today we are nothing but cabbages.Living dead. Can the boy be sprouting teeth or is it his digestion? Whatever it is it's bloody awful.

Miss Hodge & Andrew.

That whore __ Hodge is publishing the story that she slept with Prince Andrew when he went on holiday after coming back from the Falklands. I do hope it doesn't put Carolyn Herbert off. Jim's Daily Star has a headline 'The anguish of Lady Helen' - apparently an ex-army captian called Oakes is spilling the beans on his relationship with Lady Helen Windsor. He says she was once enraptured with him. The swine is set to reveal all. Some people will do anything for money.

My cellar is covered in a coating of oil and the boiler men are still down there at it. Deadly quiet tonight. Many people have died in an explosion at a Lancashire water works. A sub-aqua Abervan. 

Samuel was back to normal today and slept well. Last night he sounded like Maria Callas.

Shit of the Week: Arthur Scargill.

-=-

Thursday May 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

A brighter day. Queen Victoria is celebrating quietly somewhere. My Uncle Albert always referred to her as a 'bad old bitch', and he should know because he was five when she died. I told old Jim in the tap room that today is Empire Day, and surprisingly he had never heard of it. Blimey, he's 83. Wasn't the empire still going strong in the 1920s?

Men came to convert us from oil to gas. It was one long tea break. The British workman has never worked under pressure. Other than myself that is. Oily footsteps everywhere. An old man in the tap room complained that his beer is flat. He should drink it quicker then, shouldn't he?

At 4 we went to Linfood and carried Samuel around. Looking at 42 gallon jars of tartare sauce, &c. I could easily become obsessed with bulk buying. 

Took the evening off. Ally took down all the curtains and washed them. I sat and watched Sir Robin Day's 'Question Time' followed by a Scottish murder drama set in 1889. Sir George Young, Bt, MP was one of Robin's guests. His father-in-law is the sculptor Oscar Nemon. 

Ate steak sandwiches and went off to bed.

-=-

Wednesday May 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Jim's Daily Star continues to build up my hopes about Carolyn Penelope Herbert. I do hope something will come of it. The prince really needs to settle down. His public image isn't all that good. A wife will give the lad a boost, I'm sure.

An odd day because it's usually our day off. Ally took Samuel to the clinic. He weighs 13lb 4oz - perfectly average. He's fatter. All this tinned Heinz stuff. 

A good crowd appeared in the tap room after yesterdays lunatic session in the afternoon. A group of very well spoken lads came in to play darts. I assume they are trainee dentists or budding army colonels. Very polite and inspiring. The rif raf have given way to a more genteel clientel. 

Ally has had a card from the Watts family. David is moving to Goole - poor sod. We shall never see them again. Also news from Catherine Alderson who is expecting a child in November.  ________. Quiet night. Just Audrey and I.

-=-