Monday October 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Columbus Day, USA - Thanksgiving Day Canada

Old Red Lion.

A very silly day. I climbed out of bed very early leaving my loved ones slumbering and I sat pondering the desperate situation I am in re the shortage of casks of mild and Sovereign (beer). I phoned around Leeds in search of supplies and wasn't very successful. Only the Old Red Lion can oblige with Sovereign. "I can let you have an eighteen, Luvvie". Oh dear. Subsequently, two poofs, heavily bejewelled, appeared in a van at 3:30. The decorator outside, brush in hand almost fainted when one of the gays exclaimed: "I bet this is the first time a couple of poofs have delivered your beer." Quite a giggle. I gave them a drink for their trouble and off they went. I am told that Monday is 'Denim and Leather' night at the Old Red Lion. What can that mean? We went to Leeds market with Sam looking cheeky with a recently cut fringe. The poor boy was done in because he had refused to take a lunchtime nap. M.C. Cole came in with a colleague and I took Samuel down to get him from under Ally's feet. Dad phoned at 7 o'clock. He is going to Harrogate tomorrow to lunch with the Grunwells and he will visit John at his site (the Royal Baths renovation) and is staying the night with him at Menston. He may come here Thurs/Fri. Quiet night. Just Ally and I. Pleasant though. Janet phoned to say she is leaving us. I was forewarned yesterday when Vince told me she plans to transfer to the Broadway. Good riddance.

-=-

Sunday October 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

19th Sunday after Trinity

Charlotte Nora.

The much maligned lady the prime minister is 60 years old today celebrating quietly at Chequers. Sam and I sang 'happy birthday' over our boiled eggs. I do hope she follows the example set by the US president and goes on to lead the nation to well into her eighth decade. That would be so comforting. I cannot see her going up to the Lords just yet. There are still lots of 'wets' to be flushed out. Peter Walker really is an old woman. I do not have time to read the Sunday Telegraph, that's 35p down the drain. A pleasant afternoon in the pub. We debated Mrs Thatcher's appearance - her being sixty and all that. Several customers suggested birthday presents. None of them suitable for a mention here. Upstairs. Burgers and chips. (Ooh, the saturated fat). Eastenders omnibus. Janette phoned and invited herself here. They appeared at 4 with JPH, Catherine and little Charlotte Nora. Baby is very like Janette. We all went over to the park and played on the slide and swings. ____________. JPH is a lovely child. He came over and plonked himself on my knee for a cuddle. He is so endearing. Catherine has been given a very short hair cut. Good, well behaved children though.

-=-

Saturday October 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Sunshine and warmth. I feel groggy. Tired and headache. Ally went off with Samuel and walked into town with the pushchair. Leeds was heaving with shoppers and a plethora of buskers. A bloody noisy nuisance they are. I stayed here and sat upstairs looking at the ceiling. __________. Ally came back and I was wallowing in a state of misery. Not good really. She wrongly assumes that at times like this I am unhappy with her. Of course I am not. We played at making the lounge look like Ypres, the battle. That is Samuel and I. He is into demolition in a big way. So good. He is out of nappies for most of the time and is dry, but occasionally, at times of great excitement, puddles appear. A quiet pub. Just Gary and I tonight. 

-=-

Friday October 11, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Sunny. Busy afternoon here. Did lots of lunches and took almost £22. I rushed about with sweated brow as in days of yore. Samuel and I went up the road and bought frozen sausages and bin liners and came back to find a plumber farting around with our skivvy glass wash. Hopeless. The British workman is quite washed up. To the bank. Later, watched the prime minister's speech to the Tory conference. It was rapturously received but all the commentators say it was insipid, tepid, lukewarm, &c. What do they expect a PM to say six and a half years into office and with no credible opposition? More sun. Sam and I went out at 4 to buy cream buns and play on the swings. What a case he is. _______. Stone dead below (in the pub). Ally came down at 8 but was gone by 9:30 and was totally 'done in'. Phoned Dad. He has five guests in tonight. This is excellent. He has also taken bookings for November and December.  Up at 11:45. Did the tills, ate a sandwich and watched a film. To bed at 1:15am.

-=-

Thursday October 10, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Our day off, but it's stupid to call it so because we were here until 2:30 doing the few meagre lunches. Later to Bradford and Club Street which always has such a relaxing effect on us. Ally and Sam went to dig in the garden and I racked some demijohns of wine, untouched since June, 1983, before we departed for Middlesbrough. Ally phoned Bessie who is still battling with a cold. They are coming up to Windermere at the end of the month, but not coming here. This must upset Ally, but she always takes it quite well. Phoned Dad, but the line was engaged. Watched bits of the Tory conference. News: Yul Welles and Orson Brynner have both keeled over and died in the US of A. Not a murmur of Aids in either case. An Italian cruiser has been hijacked off Egypt with Brit and US passengers. This has caused the usual rumpus. Poor old Ronald Reagan staggers about contradicting himself and he has inadvertently recognised the PLO on NBC news which he later corrected. Oh dear. Sam was bathed and put to bed until 11 o'clock. We drank shandy and had fish and chips and chocolate. Such stodginess. We just lazed upon the settee until darkness fell. Ally looked washed out. She doesn't like too much attention. _________.

-=-

Wednesday October 9, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Slept until 8:30 when the Schweppes delivery man woke us. Much chaos. To market after a frugal breakfast. Ally explained we have no money and that our pantry is positively Ethiopian. Ally is currently grumpy, morose and cruel, &c. Pub life is getting her down. We have had a two year slog now, with the addition of Samuel, and it must be too much. God only knows what we will do back in the outside world. I am unemployable. I might become a hermit. 

The Tory conference is so civilised after the last month of infighting and back-stabbing with the SDP turncoats and Labour. Surely, the PM will win again in Oct '87? It is always so interesting to speculate as to who will succeed and who will fail. Douglas Hurd has moved rapidly up the tree. He's a bit Heath-like though. Peter Walker is so wet he leaves a slimy patch wherever he's been. No, the future lies with Norman Tebbit or Nigel Lawson.

No staff tonight. A good night. Ally relaxed.

-=-

Tuesday October 8, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Cold. One of the tabloids says Prince Andrew has a new love in the shape of theatrical assistant Mandy Gough, 24.

Tebbit: skeletal.

Rose at 7. The decorators who arrived yesterday are battling on outside. It has been in an unfinished state since they first came in June. The British workman is no more. Lunch. Watched Norman Tebbit's speech at the Tory conference. V. good. Standing ovation, &c. The PM seemed to grimace somewhat at his endless attacks on the opposition. Margaret never seems to resort to personal attacks as other leaders seem to do. Norman seems very skeletal and has list some vigour. Viscount Whitelaw is like an eighteenth century squire. Like Lord North. Rob Piper came here. Pale. Full of cold. Moaning about the Butcher's (pub). He fancies a move. Things there are stale. He has been at Pudsey for two years yesterday. Ally weak at the knees and near to collapse. We played with Samuel this afternoon. I went down (to work) at 5:30 and came back at 11 to find my wife abed and out cold. Did the tills and watched the Tory conference on 'News Night'. The PLO have hijacked an Italian cruiser and are sailing for Port Said. It's too complicated to even think about.

-=-

Monday October 7, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Ducal jailbird.

Horribly quiet. A furore about Sara Keays sniping. More importantly a PC was stabbed to death in Tottenham last night during one of those ludicrous riots. The locals are inflamed by Trots and Marxists, &c. Shoot the swines, say I. Sir K. Newman was on the news, looking pale, saying he may have to use plastic bullets. My God. Any European police force would have used CS gas and water cannon long ago. What a mess we are in. Enoch Powell wasn't entirely misplaced in his outburst in 1968. The Duke of Manchester is probably going to become the first ducal jailbird since the days of the Wars of the Roses when his court case comes to an end. 'Ermine at the Scrubs' ~ a good title for his future memoirs. We went with Dad to Lynn's at 4. No mention of Davis's 'snip'. I think she thinks I have strong views on the subject. Absolutely not. David Baker's testicles are his own affair. We left at 4:45. Dad to Sue's for the night. Ally worked the bar 5:30 to 8pm. I bathed Sam and did the Barbara Barnes routine.

-=-

Sunday October 6, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

18th Sunday after Trinity

Rain. That pleasant snatch of Indian summer has gone. How lucky we were. Dad, Sam and I went to the cellar after breakfast to 'bottle up'. Dad singing loudly throughout. Afterwards I stuffed the chicken and looked at the Sunday Telegraph. The ghastly Sara Keays is publishing her memoirs next week to coincide with the Tory conference at Blackpool. The bitch. How evil can you get? You would think that because she has a little daughter she would want the whole sordid, sorry mess to be forgotten. The strumpet that she is. However, the PM was right in not re-calling Cecil Edward (Parkinson). Perhaps in '87 after the third victory? A book review of Nancy Mitford's biography. I wonder why they didn't get Aids in the 1930s? They were all as bent as nine bob notes. Sir William Heseltine is to become the Queen's private secretary from April, 1986. He's been the deputy since '77. An Aussie, no less. Robert Fellowes moves up from assistant to deputy. This afternoon I watched the 'omnibus' edition of 'Eastenders' much to Dad's chagrin. He isn't a soap opera buff by any means.  We had roast chicken at 3:30 washed down with a cheeky wine. Ally looks washed out and no doubt __________. An evening upstairs with a steaming TV. Watched a play ('Thunder Rock') which bored the pants off Ally and then watched Melvyn Bragg interview Sir Alec Guinness, that retiring yet genius thespian. Dad wasn't morose. Sam is captivated by him. To bed.

-=-

Saturday October 5, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Against our better judgement we drove over to Guiseley at 3:30 knowing full well that Papa was due to come here and that our cars might pass on the way. We stopped at Grandways in Horsforth for a 5lb chicken and took a bunch of pink carnations to the cemetery where I stood looking blankly at that mound of un-turfed earth holding Mum's remains. ____ There is plaque (temporary) proclaiming 'Nora Rhodes'. We arranged the flowers and Samuel took handfuls of green marble chippings from another grave and scattered them. Ally was cross, but I explained that the long-dead occupant of the grave wouldn't mind at all. Poked at the earth and came away with dirty finger nails. To Lynn's. No mention of David's 'snip'. Sue is working at Harry Ram
sden's. To Leeds at 5. Dad was in the carpark reading the Daily Telegraph in the car. We went in and had a stodgy, fried tea. We looked at holiday snaps. In the bar tonight we were joined by Geoff & Phyllis. Much talk of organs (the musical variety). Dad is so sad. He actually said that when the low flying jets come over Horton-in-Ribblesdale he prays that one will come down on Waltergarth and finish him off. He cannot see how he can go on living alone. Awful.

-=-

Friday October 4, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The Moorhouse

Now we are back it's as if we have never been away. Nobody ever tells us anything about the activities of Mr Brook, and a curtain of secrecy descends. Who cares? Just had a chuckle at 'Private Eye'. Auberon Waugh's Diary is a wheeze. The so-called 'leg over' situation between Princess Anne and her randy personal detective features. Mrs Thatcher should set up a royal commission to inquire into this important matter immediately, he says. They do say that 'Private Eye' isn't well received at Buckingham Palace, where 'Punch' is in favour. I cannot see why. Phoned Papa. He was decorating the 'pink room' and immediately he became choked and overcome with emotion. I was left holding a silent phone. These sudden attacks of desperation sweep over him and cannot be controlled or anticipated. He can be in a supermarket queue, on a muddy playing field, or watching TV. Poor Dad. What can we do to help him? He is coming here tomorrow after calling on Susie and Lynn.

-=-

Thursday October 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

White slob in a hole.

I am rapidly sinking towards corpulence. Gone is that sylph-like figure of yesteryear. The adonis is no more. Looking at our holiday snaps it was a shock to see a large white slob smiling up from a hole on the beach and having to admit 'God. It's me'. Something will have to be done. It is a hideously unhealthy 20th century. We live in one of the most unhealthy countries in the world. People bulging everywhere. More fibre is what we need. Wholemeal flour and apples and fresh vegetables. I blame the rise of the supermarket. A dreadful killer. We are still reeling from David's vasectomy shock horror. Dad was very non-committal about it and almost embarrassed when I phoned last night. 

Rose at 7am. To the cellar. Light breakfast at 8 and then up to Grandways with Samuel on foot at 9:30. We stood and laughed at the window display at the wool shop on Dewsbury Rd which had a clockwork grandma knitting in a rocking chair as a window piece. Such a giggle. How delightful toddlers are. So innocent and amusing. Totally priceless. These days should never be forgotten. Last week at Budleigh Salterton an OAP approached Sam and I on the cliffs , and gasping with tears in his eyes he said: "treasure these days, my love, for these are the best days of your life". _____. Quiet lunch. Ally ironing. Nothing on the TV but Neil Kinnock. Poor Auntie Hilda and Kinnock have the same birthday. How awful.

-=-

Wednesday October 2, 1985

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

A glossy holiday snap.

Up at 7. Planted two rose trees with Sam's assistance. One was called 'Elizabeth of Glamis'. I suppose it's a small podgy flower that waves regally in the wind. On to the Moorhouse for 9 o'clock. Ron Brook, in a crimson track suit, looking like a bag of nerves. The stock take gave him a £35 deficit. LG came and we checked everything. Les has diarrhoea and cannot sample the ale. Ally and I went shopping and did the pub lunches afterwards. The place is stone dead. We are determined to turn over a new leaf and be organised. Sam and I went out for a walk at 3:30 while Ally sorted the place. We escaped the Labour party conference on the BBC to go to the park and investigate the motorway bridge. Later we collected two of our holiday films. Glossy snaps of blue skies and Sam on a pebbled carpet. What a good time we had. Memories that will last forever. Sam, out of his high chair, ate jammy sandwiches watching the six o'clock news. The BBC theme tune is a particular favourite of his. Kinnock, Kinnock, Kinnock, &c. Some upstart called Derek Hatton dominates. Rock Hudson has died from Aids at 59. Dickie Henderson died of cancer last week aged 62 _______. Quiet evening. Margaret worked. No major news here. It is Andrea's birthday. Poor Scottish Dave (or was it English Dave?) was buried on Monday, three weeks after his tragic, early demise. Phoned Dad. He's coming at the weekend.

-=-

Tuesday October 1, 1985

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

Sam and his toy car.

Woke feeling hot and groggy. I could quite easily have stayed in bed. I have bought a new paperback 'The Witches of Eastwick' by John Updike. I do hope it won't be too intellectual for my small , insignificant and child-like grey matter. Just boiled eggs at breakfast time. The three of us went down to the river. Samuel more interested by the drains than the ducks. A load of old mallards. Back at Ch. Cross Bessie was pale and shivery, but sat outside with us. Hot. You would never believe it's October. Ally did a bit of packing. Very depressing. We sat in the sun, Sam nude from the waist down following a dreadful accident. The shit oozed out all over my knees. Ally like a large, brown warthog. Little JPH was nine yesterday. We delayed leaving because Ally didn't want to travel in the blazing sunshine. We left at 4 and got home to Club St for 8. Sam was perfection in the car and he played with his new toys and sang 'Happy Birthday' loudly and with gusto. In the house we ate cheese and drank wine, whilst Samuel gave a recital on the piano. Phoned Dad who told me that Susie is ten weeks pregnant and it has been confirmed by a scan and she has seen Mr. Glass. Baby is alive and kicking and all is well. Dad was making wine and had no other news but a note of mystery crept into his voice when he said "please phone Lynn too", and he went off giggling. We immediately phoned Lynn but she had no news whatsoever. She must be waiting to see us in person to make some sort of announcement. Phoned Sue who was overjoyed. The baby is due April 28, 1986. This of course means March, April or May. Or even July. I asked her if Lynn has any happy news and she giggled and says not but added that David B had a vasectomy on Friday. He's been 'snipped'. How nauseating. It's his choice. Ally is stunned. We thought they were going for four, 2 of each, &c. Saw Kinnock on the news giving a roasting to the Left. Hopeless though. He's a puppet. Simone Signoret is dead from cancer at 64. Bed after wine at 11:30. The three of us slept together in the double bed. Sam in his posh, grown-up pyjamas.

-=-

Monday September 30, 1985

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

Andrew and Sam.

The warm spell continues. There's a mist at first, but probably from the River Itchen. Frank, an early riser, woke Sam early and he shouted us from his cot. His conversation has greatly improved since we came away. Another change is his hair which is beautifully blond, no doubt from the sun. Samuel and I took our constitutional down to see the ducks and we encountered a cat and a dog with whom he could converse quite clearly. He loves fauna. At the rate he's going he'll make St Francis Assisi look like a blood sports enthusiast. Looked at the Sunday (news)papers. Was too busy to do so yesterday. The diary of Sir Jock Colville covering the period 1939-55 has been published. He was WSC's private secretary and of course he was private secretary to the then Princess Elizabeth from 1947, until re-joining Churchill in '51. I must buy the volume when it appears in our book club. I love the journals of other people. Mine is quite daft really. We went into Winchester with B and spent £35 on Sam's autumn wardrobe. B bought toys galore for him. What a lucky child he is. This afternoon, while Sam was taking a nap, Ally and I went to Alresford and had a quick one in the Horse & Groom. Browsed in the books shops. Ally bought Sam a Beatrix Potter book 'The Tale of the Fierce Rabbit'. Tonight: Bessie felt off colour. A cold developing. Had an enormous dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire puds. Saw TV. Adrian Mole. Panorama dwelt on Neil Kinnock. Say no more. Ally was in Frank's study sorting some finances. Insurance, &c. Very depressing. Bed at 11.

-=-

Sunday September 29, 1985

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

Full Moon

17th Sunday after Trinity

Tree felling with Frank.

Very hot and very busy. I helped Frank in the garden felling trees and logging them. We worked from 10am until dusk and sweated heavily from our labours. Ally, Bessie and Sam sat in the sun with ice-creams and the paddling pool. Sam avoided me - put off by the chainsaw. Made several trips to Alresford tip with Frank. Usually a man of few words he chatted as we drove along, dressed in his overalls with twigs poking out of his pockets and ears. He is going to Kings Lynn on Tuesday and the races at Newmarket on Wednesday. He longs for the day he can retire - just two years to go. Cleverly, I have arranged for us - the four of us - to go out tonight. I fixed it with Andrew for him to babysit with Lorraine. F thinks it's an excellent idea. We went out at 8:30 to Alresford, but everywhere was closed, and we ended up in Mister Pitkins in Winchester, in the upstairs restaurant. A cosy dinner and Frank insisted on paying the bill which wasn't too steep - £36 for the four of us. Me steak au poivre, Ally beef stroganoff, Bessie sole, Frank chicken and asparagus pie. Back at 11. Lorraine had left and Andrew was in bed. To bed feeling full and sleepy.

-=-

Saturday September 28, 1985

 South Wood Farm, Cotleigh, Devon

South Wood Farm.

Out of bed bright and early. Another sunny day. What a week we have had. Ally did the packing. I wouldn't know where to begin. Sam and I went to look at Lady, the horse, and the white pony. Farmer Williams told me that we have been lodging in the 'new' part of the farm and he took me to his back door and showed me a beam supposedly erected in 1500. I am always so very moved by history. Rubbing my hand over that ancient, battered old beam one could almost feel the past coming back. Flodden Field. Good Queen Bess. The Civil War 1642-49. Roy Jenkins, &c. Poor Farmer Williams is under the impression that everybody in Leeds is black, unemployed and suffering from Aids. 

We left at 11 and went via Dorchester to Bournemouth and up to Martyr Worthy for 2pm. Traffic bad in Dorchester. Ally was swearing and cursing. Found Frank and Bessie in the garden cutting the beech hedge. We immediately took to the deckchairs and the sweet trolley came trundling out. Samuel didn't approve of his accommodation and he wept until 9pm. Very unusual. We dined on roast lamb and watched TV. To bed with 'Lupe'. I couldn't put it down until the bitter end.

-=-

Friday September 27, 1985

Afternoon tea.

 South Wood Farm, Cotleigh, Devon

Hot. To Honiton to buy two trout, dried dill and crushed peppercorns for tonight's feast in the wok. On to Branscombe Bay. National Trust. Very picturesque. Pebbles. Old cottages, some for sale, and I can see Ally's brain ticking over. I know what she's thinking. She wants to buy a thatched wobbly walled place and festoon it with Laura Ashley blinds &c. One day maybe. To Beer where we lay on the pebbles again. Wasps. The hysterical slapping of raw flesh. We had a cream tea later at a road side café with red umbrellas. How Mum would have approved. I am ashamed to say I bought a Daily Mail. Trash about the Waleses published in the USA by Tina Brown. Once again no solid facts. Just tittle tattle. Trout cooked in the wok at 10pm. Ally in her little black off the shoulder number.

-=-

Thursday September 26, 1985

 South Wood Farm, Cotleigh, Devon

We left early today but still managed to go for an inspection of the farm animals. We went across country to north Devon and Woolacombe, another of Ally's childhood holiday spots. Hot. A vast yellow beach with a ribbon of blue sea miles away in the distance. Salmon and cucumber sandwiches. Seclusion. Sam and I dug a big hole in the sand and played at jumping in. The boy doesn't tolerate sand castles and demolishes them as  soon as I turn them out. Ally slept and Sam and I went into the sea. He clung to me like never before as the waves lapped against us. He was very uneasy. Later, wet and muddy, we walked to the tiny village where I bought 1lb of fillet steak costing £4.20 and a bag of frozen prawns. Well, we are on holiday. We sat on a grassy hill overlooking the bay, and Samuel slept in his pushchair. We are both semi moderately bronzed for the first time since Ios in '81. We didn't get in until after dark and Sam was exhausted. Posh dinner tonight at 10.

-=-

Wednesday September 25, 1985

 South Wood Farm, Cotleigh

Hot again. We ventured to Torquay  which we had expected to resemble Blackpool but without the tower, but we were pleasantly surprised. Down on the beach we sat near a nice little multi-racial family. Lovely tinted babies. Samuel immediately dashes to other children and Ally and I might as well be invisible. What bores we must be. He stole a little girls bucket and rubber ring and made a general nuisance of himself. Just a white vest and genitals. Babies are so unselfconscious and beautiful. Why we have to grow up to develop the thousands of hang-ups, God knows. All part of life's twisted, wicked pattern. From Torquay we went to Teignmouth where we walked around a Co-op and paraded on the Esplanade to be attacked by wasps. Samuel, naked, assaulted a Lhasa Apso (a small hairy dog), belonging to a burly Lancashire couple. Once again we giggled a good deal. Ally has relaxed this week and it has done her a lot of good. Today John is 29. We did a lot of singing 'Happy Birthday'.

-=-

Tuesday September 24, 1985

 South Wood Farm, Cotleigh, Devon

Duller. To Lyme Regis with a box of sandwiches which we ate in the carpark overlooking pebbles - yes pebbles - and awful beach huts. Ally in (undecipherable) form and looks beautifully tanned. Did you know that William Pitt spent his youth in Lyme Regis? We inspected the shops and bought sausages and posed for photos before an ancient cannon. It's very hilly. Like Pudsey, but with sea. We went to Charmouth afterwards, where Ally stayed as a child. She found it unchanged. It was cold and almost misty but we sat on the pebbles and ate enormous soft ice creams. Sam lapped it up. 

Prince William of Wales began his schooldays today at a kindergarten close to Kensington Palace. HRH arrived with his parents clutching a Postman Pat vacuum flask. Bless him. We saw this on the six o'clock news. We all dined on fish in plastic bags. Samuel's favourite. TV and bed. 'Lupe'.

-=-

Monday September 23, 1985

 South Wood Farm, Cotleigh, Devon

Still hot. To Budleigh Salterton and Exmouth. The latter was sandy, and the former wasn't. At BS Ally was flat out on the pebbles. How many on the beach, I wonder? Samuel and I stoned the Cormorants and inspected geological specimens. Later, we went to the Co-op for 'Thousand Island' dressing, HP sauce and brown 'baps'. Samuel was very good minus his nappy, but I was worried throughout expecting a deluge (urine). Exmouth was sandy, as I've stated, and we played in the sea and came away wet but jolly. Home to Cotleigh passing a sign post for Powderham Castle, home for a thousand years of the Courtenays. The Earl of Devon's sister, Lady Evelyn, shook a seven on Saturday, according to the Daily Telegraph obituaries. Adrian Mole on the telly.

-=-

Sunday September 22, 1985

Southwood Farm

 Southwood Farm, Cotleigh
, Devon

16th Sunday after Trinity

Positively tropical. We cannot believe our luck. Samuel and I went to look at the animals whilst Ally made breakfast. He loves his 'walkies'. Afterwards we drove to Sidmouth. Very sedate, pebbly and picturesque. We stripped Samuel off and played on the seashore. We ate large ice creams and paddled in the sea. Samuel succumbed to his first mouthful of sea water. The poor boy has had no experience on the sun or the sea and we are determined to make this week in Devon a good one. We sat for a long time lobbing pebbles into the sea while Ally sprawled out. Not easy laying on pebbles. Reminiscent of some ancient form of torture from the east. Drove to Beer Head. Then to Seaton. Very low here - socially I mean. Roast turkey tonight. Ally and I dressed for the occasion. The only thing missing was Santa Claus.

Samuel with the cows.

Sam on the pebbles.

The Sunday papers are full of nonsense about Princess Anne and her former personal detective. What rot they publish. No actual facts. All speculation. It all shrieks of 'Love in the Saddle', the hilarious Private Eye series from 1973.

Saturday September 21, 1985

 Coleford, Gloucestershire

We left Graham and Gill at 11am or so and drove down to Taunton. Was it the M5? Quick anyway. We went into an Asda and bought some provisions including a 10lb turkey. To Honiton, Devon, for 2pm. Hot afternoon. Four miles from Honiton we found Southwood Farm, erected in 1656. Olde Worlde charm, &c. Peace, tranquillity - blissful repose. We are housed in a wing partitioned off from the farmer Mr Williams, his wife and three children, and the noise permeates through to us, but not disturbingly so. Samuel's little face on seeing cows, horses, and dogs was a sight to behold. We went to Honiton to look at the shops and returned after 6 after phoning Dad. He says its heavy rain in Horton and he and the Harwoods were snuggling around the coal fire. We dined on lamb chops and watched tv until bedtime. You have no idea what a treat this is. Gill has given me a thriller - 'Lupe' by Gene Thompson(?), and describes it as a book about 'a ten year-old with a huge willie.' Most entertaining. We read in bed. Ally reading Dornford Yates but isn't enamoured.

-=-

Friday September 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Woke feeling awful. Gill felt the same and as soon as breakfast was consumed she announced she was going back to bed. Ally and I were left with three riotous boys and a dog on heat who decided to spew up on the 'mushroom' hall carpet. Simon is enormous. Ally is really taken with him. Gill remained abed until after 1 when we all went to Coleford and the park. Tonight a babysitter was found and we went to the White Horse Inn at Staunton. The food wasn't exceptional and a large spoilt poodle insisted on climbing up on to Ally's chair. Unhygienic. Home for brandy. Samuel had been up at 9:30 but was no bother.

-=-

Thursday September 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Jolly holidays are upon us. The stock taker Rob came in and we had a good time demolishing that Dalison chap, who apparently makes a general balls up of wherever he goes. Ron Brook came, wearing red trousers, looking like a maniacal golfer, and spent hours on the phone after bring in all his luggage. Twenty three suits and a tie rack worthy of the Duke of Windsor. Silly bugger. We left after 12. Very low key. Said goodbye to nobody. We had a stock deficit of £35 or so. We knew we would. The last stock take was £99 up and the imbecile made a cock-up then. Ally is blissfully resigned to ignoring stocks. I worry more.

Down the M5 to Coleford. I made Samuel giggle so much that he was sick all over himself just as we crossed the border into Wales. Ally was cross. I think I was holding my nose and making ridiculous noises at the time. To Mile End for 4:30. The house was very pleasantly chaotic. The children, the dogs and Gill all look well. ______. Graham came in and the two of us went to Coleford and the Angel Hotel for a few bevvies. Needless to say the Gloucestershire air took hold of me and I returned to the house quite pissed and hiccoughing. Samuel came down doing his Placido Domingo routine and Ally went upstairs to get the boy settled and didn't come back. Similarly, Graham went for a wee wee and was never seen again. Gill and I were left with a bottle of Chateau Mablethorpe. Our conversation ranged from Aids to church dogma. And so to bed.

-=-

Wednesday September 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

A spate of particularly bad child murders dominate the news. __________. Phoned Dad and Marlene, but not in that order. Marlene didn't know I'd phoned last week. Debbie didn't pass on my message. Dad seemed choked, but was OK. He mentioned the anniversary of leaving the police - three years since Giovanni's and the Fox. Three years since Mum gave us all a delightful cheque. What a big generous heart. We miss her.

-=-

Tuesday September 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Leslie Gledhill came here at 9 to look at our weekly sheets and staff rota, and went away unable to find any fault, and instead talked about Guy Watsons (?) and Bordeaux. Our staff hours are set at 70. We have been dithering around with this figure for a while and so it wasn't a blow. LG thinks as we do about Ron Brook and promises to come here on the day we get back from holiday and says he may even drop in on Thursday evening. He does look after our interest. Walked with Samuel again.

-=-

Monday September 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

It is the third anniversary of Dad leaving the police force. Only Ally and I worked tonight. Three old ladies came in to the bar at the same time and panic ensued over the bottles of light ale. Food busy. Everybody had fish and chips. Mrs Collinson phoned to say she won't cook whilst we are on holiday. Silly cow. _____.  Samuel and I have been taking long afternoon walks over Hunslet Moor and across the motorway bridge. A pony was tethered and Samuel went into raptures. Samuel seemed to enjoy the walk more than the sliding and swinging experience in the park. This is reassuring. Parks are such dull, childish places.

-=-

Sunday September 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

15th Sunday after Trinity

Frank's birthday today spent on the island of Jersey whilst the builders do great things at Chillandham Cross.

To Horton early-ish. The Bakers were in attendance. ________. Lynn spoke of joining us at Bessie's on Sept 28 - quite uninvited. Frances is into ballet and she leapt and twirled everywhere. Katie is into a witch called Esmerelda. We had a cold, dismal buffet. Poor Horton. Dad is using Mum's 'priceless' china from the cabinet. She'd squeal if she knew. Poor Dad. We left at 6:30. Dad waving us off was a tear-jerking experience. To the pub. Sat upstairs. Juke box booming up through the floor. Watched Sherlock Holmes on the TV. Dreadful.

-=-

Saturday September 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

New Moon

It was an early rise because of our darling son and heir, who had no qualms about getting his drunken Papa out of bed to provide him with a 'full English' breakfast. The guests from last night had stayed over and they all ate too. Some in a shocking state of undress. Gerry in his canary yellow y-fronts. We watched cartoons on the telly and giggled at Maggie Philbin, or is she Philpotts? They all left at 11. Pitts had collapsed on the loo and we found him with his pants around his ankles amidst the choking fumes. Ally was green. At 12 we returned to bed for a few hours, and Samuel caught up on some beauty sleep. Little else to say. Phoned Dad. We are going to Horton tomorrow.

-=-

Friday September 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Hayley is two. Ally went to a birthday party at the new Sanderson pile on Crawshaw Rise (or is it Drop?).

Tonight, as planned, Chippy (now suave, and known as Gerry Ash) and a gang consisting of Ian Pitts (normal) and a red headed 24 year-old bank clerk with a frustrative personality, and his Mexican-like silent brother. A long evening of debauchery. They were drinking the Diet Pils and became hopelessly intoxicated. I drank Campari and was the height of sophistication all evening.

-=-

Thursday September 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Lunchtime. Ally and Sam went with Papa to the Clarendon Wing to see Thomas John Elmer. There was a very good 'turn out' and a multitude surrounded Jill's bed.

(I can write no more because I have spilt some wine on the page and made it wet. Sorry).

-=-

Wednesday September 11, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

John and Janette have registered Charlotte. Marlene is 40 today and celebrated by going to play Bingo.

club Street.

We went to Bradford at 3 after doing the lunches. To Duckworth Lane Co-op, Oxfam, &c. On to Club Street and met Dad. He was in the garden. We pottered around pruning the foliage, and had cheese and bread for lunch. It was the first time that Dad had set foot here since May 6, when Mum left for Horton. Our sense of loss now passes in silence. It is unspeakable. Fish & chips tonight and 'Minder' on the telly. Sam slept in our bed after a playful bathtime. We all came back to the Moorhouse at 11:30pm. Phoned Marlene and spoke to Debbie. M was of course 'bingoing'.

-=-

Tuesday September 10, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Baby Thomas John.

Warm and sunny. Leslie Gledhill appeared at breakfast time. I had been up since 7am in the cellar cleaning the beer lines, and he appeared as I was tucking into some tea and toast. Samuel was delighted and played with Les's musical calculator. LG asked if we fancy a move. He is obsessed with moving managers around, and assumes we are bored with the place now. He agrees that the overall appearance of the place is disgusting and squalid, and John Newband was spoken of in very unflattering terms. We discussed our peculiar stocks of late and M.R. Dalison, the stocktaker. He went off like a tornado. The dray came at 12. Ally went out shopping and at 2:45 Samuel and I went out for one of our regular walks over the motorway bridge and to the park. We inspected a large, black pony. Samuel is a delight. Back at 3:30 for a makeshift tea. Poor Ally was weak at the knees (gynaecological redaction). Downstairs at 5:45 Hilda phoned to say Jill had a son, Thomas John, at 4pm, by Caesarian section. He weighs 8lb 8oz. Poor Jill was out cold and missed the whole thing, but both are well. Hilda says she'll feel better after visiting at 7pm. _____. Spoke to Papa tonight. He has been at Menston. The tension there has eased. John is registering Charlotte with his surname tomorrow. He and Janette plan to marry, but J is vague about a date. They are a contrary pair.

-=-

Monday September 9, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Leslie Gledhill came in at 11:57am. The price of our ales are increased. Old Brewery Bitter is now 69p (was 65p), lager now 81p (was 77p), Pils 96p (was 91p), Mild 66p (was 62p), &c. &c. All very amusing really. The customers become so unruly about it, and I am on the receiving end. Poor Dave Florey collapsed and died at 11:30am en route here. He was a little pain, but a jester in the Archie mold. A good lager drinker too, and only 43.

Lynn and David plighted their troth seven years ago today down at Esholt. I phoned them tonight but they were out celebrating. Dad answered. He was sitting watching TV holding Frances by the hand. He says how grown up Franny is and that she wanted to sit with her grandad for a short while.

(Large redaction too sensitive to publish)

-=-

Sunday September 8, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

14th Sunday after Trinity

Susan and Peter came with the boys. Susie tells us that she is 'washing up' at Harry Ramsden's three nights a week. I have a rush of pity. My poor sister having to go out and do greasy dishes, &c. My God it will be a change for her. ___________. Doesn't Maria also work at Harry Ramsden's?

Old Harold Wilkinson is reading a book, supposedly serious, that explains how Pope John Paul I was 'done in' in 1978. These RCs are a right bunch, aren't they?

-=-

Saturday September 7, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Ally was in a collapsed state all day and did her 'Sleeping Beauty' routine on me. Poor Samuel was motherless.

A happy birthday to Queen Elizabeth I who first breathed air upon this day in 1533 at Greenwich. She once said: "Good morning gentlemen both", to a delegation of seven tailors. Sounds very Monty Python to me.

-=-

Friday September 6, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Mary Theresa Collinson, our kitchen assistant gave her notice today. It has been brewing for a long while. We are secretly elated because the food trade is so bad we simply don't need her services. She goes on holiday to Jersey on Sunday for a week. We have the option to employ her whilst we are on holiday Sept 19-Oct 2. In recent months we have been able to slice the air with a knife in our catering kitchen. Ally is developing a complex that she cannot get on with anybody.

-=-

Thursday September 5, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Day off. We escaped to Club Street and the domestic delights of our Bradford nest. We could never let Club Street go. If I won £48m on one Mr Maxwell's Bingo games we'd keep Club Street. Yes, we might also acquire a chateau in the Loire Valley but Ash Tree Cottage is here to stay. Samuel loves the place too and says 'cottage' when we pull up outside. The day was blustery and fine and so we went to Duckworth Lane and the Co-op where we squabbled about what to eat - eventually picking up some ridiculous Findus salmon and cod creations at a £1 each. To Cheap 'n Cheerful and then home for lunch. Ally phoned Bessie and a contractor about our damp. Yes, we have damp in both our homes. Bessie says that Simon has a lump on his back and has to go to Bristol to see a paediatrician. I had a gloomy hour sticking some of Dad's photos in an album. Only last year Mum was bouncing around all tanned  with that gleaming smile. After Sam's nap we went out for a walk, but the wind and violent rain drove us home. Sam slept in the middle of our bed and we reclined in chairs with books. A ghastly epic 'Superman III' was on TV which we only half watched (we have taken our tiny black and white portable Tv back there). We returned to Leeds for 11:30. The pub had been quiet because of a 'do' at the Canning Street Club to which the cream of Beeston society attended. Sam was restless in bed. He must be too old for this bedroom shuttle.

-=-

Wednesday September 4, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Overcast - me and the weather. The alarm sounded at 7 but Ally switched it off for half an hour. Felt groggy and could have stayed in bed, but didn't. Graham went for a run, devoured an egg, and left for Manchester. Ally, Sam and I went to town and bought pies at the market, and a pile of birthday cards which cost me £4 - the tribulations of having so many kinfolk. Uncle Peter appeared at 12 for a Cornish pasty. I sat with him for an hour. Julie is marrying Steve on Sept 6 next year and afterwards at Norfolk Gardens, Bradford. Dad is to be invited for the whole day, but cousins are invited to the evening soiree. Tonight Ally and I worked without staff. Chippy's friend, Ian Pitts, appeared with a car key and asked me to keep it behind the bar for Chippy to collect tomorrow. Odd. Pitts said that a gang will be coming here on Friday Sept 13. Say no more.

-=-

Tuesday September 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Graham appeared again. This time he's working in Manchester. The poor boy looks tired and is still off the cigs and jogging regularly. He came in and flopped down on our settee and slept until 10 when he came down for a few (drinks). It was dead downstairs. Paul Chalmers came in - you remember Paul - he was a much tattooed regular here last year. Anyway, his sister was a victim of the recent Manchester Airport disaster (Aug 22) when 54 bound for Corfu were fried on the tarmac. The poor buggers didn't even get in the air.

Barbara Thingy appeared on 'Name That Tune', a ghastly musical quiz on ITV. You remember Barbara - Lynn's elderly friend from her Yorkshire Light Aircraft days, who frequented Pine Tops gatherings in the halcyon days of yesteryear. 

Someone had an epileptic fit in a mini in the car park and I played the Doctor Kildare bit quite well. Had fish and chips with Graham washed down with cherry brandy - watched a lewd 'Carry On' film.

-=-

Monday September 2, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The tap room today is like a fading, rural cinema. Old John, Joan and I watching Basil Rathbone in the ancient version of The Hound of the Baskerville's. Janet worked. Stone dead. I kept a stealthy eye on J's activities. Ally came down at 10 to sit with Geoff and Phyllis. Later toasties in bed. Still reading Ridley's Henry VIII. It's poor - I'd say.

Horribly wet. Quiet here. Speculation all day as to who has been axed from the Cabinet. The BBC and ITV reported just who had been promoted or dismissed before any news came out of No. 10. Everything is leaked nowadays. Leon Brittan is Secretary of State, DTI. Douglas Hurd becomes Home Secretary. Poor Tom King goes to Ulster. Peter Rees and the sports minister are sacked, and so is Patrick Jenkin. The new employment secretary is Lord Young. No recall for Cecil Parkinson's Disease. Thank God. What a smarmy little spiv he is without doubt. No big changes at the top. Willie (Whitelaw), Geoffrey (Howe) and Quentin (Hailsham) remain in place. Is this the team that will lead us to victory in 1987/88? Watch N.B. Tebbit. He is party chairman and Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster but he's the one at Margaret (Thatcher's) heels if you ask me.

-=-

Sunday September 1, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Two staff came in at 12. I was supposed to be hideously hungover and dying but felt very good considering. We sat waiting for Marlene and Frank to come but they didn't show. Little Sammy behaved so well yesterday. Debbie did look wan to say the least and I think Sam gave her one of his operatic performances. The poor girl handled him though. Last night he was still awake at 9:30 and Jacq gave him a tour of all the rooms in the house to calm him. He must have thought we had abandoned him.

Mum was so missed yesterday. I felt dejected. I do this at family gatherings now. Dad did very well. It must have been painful. Mum and Dad were married at St Lawrence Church 31 years ago. 

Today is the birthday of dear Roy Barnes and Martyn Cole.

-=-

Saturday August 31, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Hilda: blue.

Wet day. The marriage of Diane Gadsby and Paul Anthony Edwards at Pudsey St Lawrence. Ally went off at 8:30am to have her hair trimmed whilst Sammy and I walked to the park to play on the wet fixtures. The slide was especially fast and Sam went down like the launching of the Queen Mary. Over to Pudsey at 11:30 to deposit Samuel with Debbie. Then to the Butchers Arms to be joined by Lynn, Dave, Sue & Pete. Saw Rob. The girls say that Dad disapproves of visiting the pub before the church, and has gone on to the parish church alone. Oh dear. We went to Mabel's to park the car and then we walked over to the church. A touching service. Diane in an off-the-shoulder number. Lots of wind. A tortuous wait afterwards whilst the photographer pratted around in the park with the happy couple. We all stood around like plums. Eleanor was wearing a black hat and today I could see Mum in her. Hilda in blue. To the reception at the Baron, Idle, with Marlene, Frank and Mabel. Charlotte Nora attended with John & Janette. Poor Hayley, a bridesmaid, was overcome by it all, and wailed throughout. An intermission followed the food. We came home at 6, or 7, after visiting Wilsby briefly. Jacq and Ian came to babysit. We left them gin, ale, prawns, chocs, &c. Returned to the Baron. A discotheque, but with a slow bar. There was a swimming pool, supposedly barricaded off , but an obvious target for youthful, drunken revelry if ever I saw one. Needless to say at midnight the bridegroom was submerged. Dad, in a corner, had a weep with Mabel. Home to see Jacq and Ian at about 1am.

-=-

Friday August 30, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Full Moon

Stocktake. The nameless, idiot stocktaker appeared at 11 and stayed until 3. What a pillock. M.R. Dalison is his name. Ally loathes him. He was wearing a wide 3ft 6ins velvet tie. Incompetence abounded. We ended up with a £99 surplus, but didn't feel happy. Sam Smiths must be insane employing this chap.

Fun and games here. At the end of the evening the highly-pitched singing concubine of the George Cole look-alike, Ron (tap room) decided to faint prostrate upon the floor, spilling ale, and causing a wave of excitement among the regulars. There she was, wide-eyed, apparently suffering from respiratory problems. I had to use my head and act quickly. "Outside and on to the moor" said I, not wanting a stiff on the premises at 11:15pm. So, outside she went to lay 'in state' upon one of the picnic tables, and waiting for the arrival of an ambulance. I shut up shop and retired. ____.

Thursday August 29, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

John called in this evening with Peter Mather, of all people, and they had a few (drinks) in the bar discussing days gone by. Peter is very unchanged. He still lives with Donald and Vera and shows no signs of forming a permanent heterosexual relationship. His sister, Lynne, is heavy with child and due on Oct 2. Blood pressure, &c. Donald and Vera still struggle to accept her aged, divorced husband. The man has money though. They spend six months in New Zealand and six months in Ilkley, &c. He is, as they say, into sheep. Or is it wool? They left at 11. The news is that the PM is going to re-shuffle the government next week. Will Leon Brittan succeed Quintin (Hogg) as Lord High Chancellor of Gt Britain? Poor old Q is 77.

-=-

Wednesday August 28, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dray day. I was dropped an 18 gallon of cider short  and so I phoned transportation immediately and was told they would come back to me, but didn't. This put me in a foul mood on my so-called day off. We went to Bradford at 11 and lunched at Club Street. We went to the Paris boutique at Rawdon where Ally spent £35. Shopped in Bradford. Ally bought pink shoes and accessories for Saturday (wedding). On at 3:30 to Hilda's with crockery for Diane and Tony's polypin (36 pints for £22). All subdued. Tony was busy working. Ally had a coffee with Hilda and I took Samuel into the garden to play with the dog. I think of all the generations of Wilson descendants who have played in this garden. Samuel was very sweet and played with a bag of clothes pegs and sat upon the old swing. Diane came in at 5:45. Back to the Moorhouse for tea. Janet is back from Ballykelly, near Mullaghnmore. _____________.

-=-

Tuesday August 27, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Abominably quiet. Les Gledhill and Donna Lea appeared at 12:30 for the silly area manager handing over ceremony, which passed off smoothly. No fisticuffs over the salted peanuts as at the last historic handing over of power. LG is a sarcastic old dog, and should be ignored. He must think we are doing well, or he would have come down on us sharpish.

-=-

Monday August 26, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Bank Holiday in UK (except Scotland)

The usual Bank Holiday blues. A complete flop. Ally went over to Lynn's to Thomas's birthday party which commenced at 2:30. Others there included Sue's boys and Pam kids, and the Riddells from next door, &c. I lay on the bed for an hour, consulting this tome and watching 'The Making of Superman III'. Ridiculous. They even make films about making films now. I opened at 7pm. Quiet, except for the fact that Jacq , Ian and Trixie rolled in at 9:30 and stayed until after 2am. Trixie is such a 'good time dancing girl' as they say. She recently lost her driving licence and was fined £400. A bit steep, don't you think? Jacq and Ian are to marry at Seacroft Church with some panoply on March 22 next, and afterwards at the Mercury, Garforth. Jacq will become Mrs Cawood. We stood at the bar after time. Trixie says she can smell fertiliser, but we put it down to the fresh cellar paint. _________.

-=-

Sunday August 25, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

12th Sunday after Trinity

Lashings of rain. Busy lunch. Donna Lea appeared casually attired. Her husband she says is 'shooting in the hills' and so she is left snooping around her pubs in Leeds. We are the busiest in town today, she says. Upstairs we ate a big mince and onion pie and watched TV. Laugh at Leslie Phillips fully clothed in a shower holding a hot pressure cooker. Hilarity. The film was 'The Seven Deadly Sins' or something. We have planned a holiday and I haven't told you about it. It came into fruition yesterday. From Sept 19 to 21 we are going to Coleford and the hospitality of Graham and Gill, and then from Sat Sept 21st we go to Cotleigh, Devon, for a week of peace and tranquillity. It's near Honiton and Beer. Then on Sat Sept 28 we go to Frank & Bessie's for a few days. It is F & B's 33rd wedding anniversary on Sept 27. Can't wait. Pub life is good, but Oh, the holidays.

-=-

Saturday August 24, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

They say the Earl of Avon died from Aids. The killer disease prevalent in homosexuals. The peer shared a London  flat with an antique dealer.

Dad went to Guiseley at 11:30. He has been such a great help this week. It is always so touching to see him disappear down Dewsbury Rd in his little car, quite alone. _______.

To Sainsbury's at Moortown. Gary and I tonight in the bar. Ally has had a mad cleaning spree. Jill and Tim appeared. Jill is enormous now, but not wanting the baby to come before next week's wedding. A surprise to see them. Both Karen and Di go on holiday on 2/9/85 and it seems the whole family will miss the Elmer accouchement. Very quiet night. Upstairs for 1am. ________.

-=-

Friday August 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad was padding around at 3am switching off the lights. The place was flood-lit like the Eiffel Tower. Ally banged around but I refused to get up until almost 11am. Violence in the tap room. Brian Millar and his hyper-active, nymphomaniac ex-fiancée, Helen, had a "domestic" which erupted into a brawl. All were ejected. I wasn't feeling particularly athletic.  Dad painted our kitchen.

The Daily Telegraph diary mentions that Lord Avon died last week. It's the first I've heard. Wasn't he a government minister? Of course he was the son of Anthony Eden and was only 54. A gay bachelor.

-=-

Thursday August 22, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The Woolpack, Yeadon.

Dad and I spent the day in the cellar splashing paint around. Ally came down plying us with ale and by 2pm we were tipsy and nostalgic. Uncle Peter dropped in at lunchtime and came down to inspect our daubing. Later Dad offered to babysit and give us a night out. Ally, not feeling up to it, said no, and so I sat sulking watching 'Top of the Pops'. She then appeared looking very dressed up and had obviously relented. We went to the Woolpack at Rawdon. Shocking beer. Then to the former Peacock at Yeadon. It's now called 'Images'. Then, to the Drop in Guiseley. Met Chippy (now to be addressed as Gerald), looking like Tom Selleck, the thespian. He was with a boy called Ian. We went on at 11 to the former Wikis, now Beau Brummels. Became very pissed on strong bottled lager. We squabbled in the car coming home. Ally had not enjoyed it, and had not wanted to come out in the first place. I went to bed. God knows where Ally slept.

-=-

Wednesday August 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dick the Shit (i.e. Richard the Turd)

Dray. The anniversary of the coming to power of the Tudor dynasty and the fall of poor 'Dick the Shit' at Bosworth field - the 500th anniversary no less. I have great reservations about the whole affair. Surely, Richard III was more trustworthy than the cunning old Welsh chappie who usurped him? 

We worked pm alone. Dad remained upstairs with the Daily Telegraph.

-=-

Tuesday August 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad paints. He came down to the bar this evening and found himself in the company of old Donald MacGregor, the cynical and twisted Scot. Dad will allow most things to wash over him but cynicism, never. I can be cynical, because I am young, says Dad. But Donald MacGregor is old enough to know better. Many topics were discussed from mourning, to charitable bodies, and the starving millions in the world. Dad put on his political MP-like face and would not be coaxed away from old Donald, who sweated profusely and who swore more and more violently as the night wore on. Others in the bar chuckled. For three nights this week we are working without staff. Aren't we a diligent little pair?

-=-

Monday August 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad still painting. I phoned Donna (Lea). She promised to come with more white paint later in the week. The three tins I have here will go nowhere. Rob (the stocktaker) phoned to say our stocktake planned for tomorrow is now cancelled because of a 'rush job'. That's another manager for the chop, by the sound of things. The transportation dept from the brewery also phoned to say the dray will be here on Wednesday, instead of tomorrow. What a carry on. Has Tuesday been cancelled? Samuel has received an invitation to the birthday party next Monday of his cousin, Thomas. Dad is puzzled by this because he asked Lynn what festivities were planned for Thomas's birthday to be told 'none'. Lynn blamed the bank holiday. Poor Thomas. He goes almost unnoticed because he is so very quiet. Just like a small doll. _____.

-=-

Sunday August 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

11th Sunday after Trinity

Dad came in at lunchtime laden with decorating tackle and set about the cellar. He disappeared below just before 2pm clad in white overalls and wellington boots. At 3 I started painting the hallway and staircase leading up to the flat. The bloody place looks like a convent - white emulsion everywhere. I got to the foot of the stairs and my paint ran dry at 8pm. Ally opened up, and Gary came in at 8. We dined on a chicken and a bottle of Litre vin. Dad came down to the bar for a drink tonight - a well deserved one.

-=-

Saturday August, 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

I feel weak, but battle on. Ally went off to Linfood. I opened up at 11 but escaped when Margaret came in. Tonight - no staff - Janette phoned at 9 to say they are coming to see us with the baby and two of her sisters, Marie and Jackie. They arrived at 10pm but we didn't speak to them until 11:30 when we'd cleared the place of the over enthusiastic bog-hoppers of the McCarron family. Jackie and Marie are two opinionated young Scottish ladies, who are attempting to talk Janette out of breast-feeding, and they sat extolling the virtues of 'spoiling' children and of refraining from any form of corporal punishment. Let's hope that Janette will see sense and breast feed little Charlotte. John lets everything wash over him. Jackie, 22, has a 12 year-old step-daughter, two others 'steps' and is expecting one of her own in March '86. They are both so like Janette. Phoned Dad at 8pm. I chose a bad time to call. He was sobbing down the line, and my first three ten pence pieces dropped into the call box without a word spoken. My God.

-=-