Wednesday September 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Walter Pidgeon

Damp and autumnal. We went to town at 3:30 with Sammy to look at books in the new Austicks. We say a nice book 'Alphabears', and I gloated over George V by Kenneth Rose. I'd love it in hard back. There was a book sale at the old Austicks and we bought two Jack Higgins novels, and 'Mr American' by the guy who wrote the Flashman novels. 

'Famous Acor Dead' say the billboards throughout town. Who can it be? Not Roger Moore, surely? John Gielgud is an octogenarian, isn't he? No, it's a Walter Pidgeon, 86, who apparently made a film in 1943 which was very well received. 

Uneventful evening. We both worked with Audrey. A pissed-up tramp in the lounge received his marching orders. We of course haven't heard from Mum. I think Ally will suggest going up to Horton Sunday, but it's only a guess. We do not want frosty relations.

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Tuesday September 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

John shares his birthday with F.M. Gill (65), Sir Robert Muldoon (63), Sir Colin Davis (57), Mr Ronnie Barker (55), and Mr Leon Brittan, QC, MP, PC (45). Is the Home Secretary jewish? He certainly looks the part. 

Shit of the Week: The Bishop of Durham. (This is going to be a regular Tuesday feature).

Those who have left us:-

(after a gripping look at the obits)

Sir Denis Blundell (77), Lord Granville-West (80), Marie La Guardia (89), 'Dusty' Rhodes (74), Mrs Mark Herbert (89) widow of a Bishop of Norwich who, incidentally, baptised Diana Spencer in 1961.

World News:-

Her Majesty has flown to Canada with the D of E. The gutter press says that Prince Philip has yet to meet his new grandson. He doesn't look like a baby-lover, if you know what I mean. They say it's because he's Teutonic. 

Read a feature in the Daily Telegraph on a Frederick Nason, who has a big store in Canterbury. I must tell Peter of this.

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Monday September 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

I am disgusted. We had to post Samuel's birth certificate to the passport office at Liverpool and it has been returned torn, and stuck together with cellotape, and wrinkled. I treasure my family documents and regard this as a disgrace. Samuel is only eight months old and already his personal documents resemble the Dead Sea Scrolls. I am going to compose a snotty letter. 

I am not going to bore you with the details of life here at the Moorhouse Inn on this September morn. All I will say is that it is busier. Tonight we had a good response from the pool playing people and think we'll have some success. John is 28 tomorrow. Will he make a honest woman of Miss Drysdale? He certainly could do a lot worse. His card is in the post. I will soon require £246 from him for Lanzarote.

-=-

Sunday September 23, 1984

 14th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn

A wet start. Sammy brought me to my senses at 7:30 and we went to play with toys in front of the gas fire in the sitting room. Then, like Fanny Cradock, I concocted a splendid cooked breakfast and went to wake Ally who was far from appreciative. She complained about the smell from the frying, and then said I had made too much! Women! Downstairs I took Sam with me to fill the Tampax machine in the ladies loo. 

It is Frank Harwood's fortieth birthday. The man himself phoned at 11 to say they may come over. Ally went to work with Mavis and I played with Samuel upstairs. The Harwoods came minus Debbie at 1 o'clock. They left after 4. Mark is working at Lidget Green. We both worked tonight with Mavis. Ally was expecting a visit from Lynn but nothing came of it. 

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Saturday September 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Two String to her bow.

Ally went off early to Linfood leaving me to give Samuel breakfast. It was a wet but bright morn and we stood at the window waving goodbye to mummy. I went downstairs. Maureen, wearing her hair curlers, was cleaning and singing 'Unchained Melody'. I gave Samuel breakfast, then lunch, then washed my hair and dried with a hair dryer which was a mistake because afterwards I walked around looking like Countess Spencer. Ally came back at 12:30 in a downpour and had a cheeky grin on her face. She sent me to the car where she said I would find something of interest on the back seat. The sweet pet had bought two old pictures from 'Cheap 'n Cheerful' - 'Two Strings to her Bow' and 'To be or not to be', prints of 1894 paintings by C. Haig Wood. Very splendid. I hung them in the sitting room and showed them to Samuel who seemed to approve. Margaret is in Scotland and so I worked this afternoon with Audrey. The place was dead. Bernie suggested that we should have a collection for old Mrs Edith Mollett, 91, who last came into the Moorhouse in September, 1918. No way. Later I found Bernie sat weeping. Her daughter Anne is pregnant with her second _______. Oh dear. We worked after closing. Ally cleaned until 12:30 and I did the tills. The Sunday cleaner is having her eyes done in St Jimmy's. 

News: The horrid Bishop of Durham says Ian MacGregor should attack the government for not accepting a compromise. Mrs T should de-frock the old bugger. He's an atheist anyway.

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