Thursday February 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We went to Guiseley to dine out with Sue and Peter. She has complained that she has not been wined and dined since Benjamin was but a twinkle in Pete's eye, and so it was high time we indulged. Sue suggested the Damn Yankee at White Cross but we went to the White Cross pub at 7:30 and then to the Fox & Hounds, Menston, where we ate in a secluded corner. Obviously, Mum was the main topic of conversation but we did try to remain cheerful. Susan is Mum's replica. We all had T-bones except Sue who had a steak and prawns. £22 per couple, not bad. Back to Thorpe Lane at 11. They are so proud of No. 21 _____ Sue is now an expert stripper, of varnished doors and fireplaces that is.

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Wednesday February 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Ash Wednesday

You would think that the journal of a thriving Hunslet licensee would be more riveting that the foppish drawl of a spotty newspaper librarian, but this is not so. Ally puts this down to my vivid imagination. The crux of the thing is time. In days of old I had the time to sit and dwell over my journal, often for hours, but now the best I can do is a mad, frantic scribble, and much of the zest, humour and sharp comment is missed. Andy Bowden's Boy George look-alike girlfriend has kept a daily journal since Jan 1 1974 and we have found we share very similar views. Our journals are compulsive stuff. To ignore our pens for even a few days gives us such great feelings of guilt. I am relieved that I am not the only one tormented so.

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Tuesday February 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Shrove Tuesday

Dad went back to Horton today to make sure no further leaks have sprung. He came back satisfied.

The Prince Andrew is twenty five today, and somewhere on the high seas. I had hoped that Carolyn Herbert would snare him - you know, Porchy Carnarvon's daughter. So suitable. 

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Monday February 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Washington's Birthday Observance

Driving lesson at 9am with the not so Greenham Common Karen Hudson. She is a very relaxing person to motor with. I feel competent and far from the bungling buffoon of '75. I have a letter confirming my driving test is fixed for August 14. Mum looked very distant when I told her the date and I could clearly see that she was thinking August is too late for her.

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Sunday February 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Quinquagesima

We want another child. Samuel will be two before long and it would be so good to have two babes of similar age. Two angels. I feel strangled by emotion. My mother is dying and I cannot write objectively about her any more. (Redaction).

A pub crawl. The Menston Arms, Station Hotel, Emmott Arms and the Butcher's at Pudsey. Rob sent Ally upstairs to see the expectant Kath, who is now sick of waiting.

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Saturday February 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Waltergarth.

To Horton. It was a fine, crisp day but our peace was shattered on arriving at Waltergarth by the sound of running water - a furious torrent in fact. A downpour coming through the kitchen ceiling and the whole bungalow was awash. It was to be expected really because recent temperatures have been in the minuses. Dad didn't panic or fluster and was very casual about the disaster. Why worry? Frances (neighbour) caem dashing in and found us a plumber who fixed the pipe in the loft and I spent the afternoon drying the kitchen and emptying the cupboards of damp, soggy food. Dad was soaked to the skin and blue with cold. Frances took us in for hot soup and a warm which was a God send. She really is a thoughtful lady. I phoned Ally and spoke to Mum about the leak. She said: "I wish I could sell the bloody place." Home in the dark to a glum reception. We had Chinese food.

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Friday February 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Andrew is 21 today and is celebrating quietly with Lorraine. Will she be Mrs Dixon soon? It has been discussed.

I have to go to York next week on a hotel and catering training board course, Don Bywater presiding.  It's a three-day event from Feb 26, and I do not relish the idea. Rob (Piper) attended the course last year and was subjected to a series of humiliating games and tests. No point in dodging though because I will only have to do it at a later date. It looks like I will have to stay over in York too. Ally quakes. We will miss each other so. 

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Thursday February 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Valentine's Day

Mum and Dad went to Guiseley to visit the girls. Mum ate a large fish from Harry Ramsden's which disagreed with her somewhat. It was something called a 'special'.

Received some books in the post from our book club. Princess Margaret by Christopher Warwick, and Elizabeth II by the Countess of Longford and a picture book of the Churchills by their daughter Lady Soames entitled 'Winnie and Clem'. I do love new books.

It is old Reg Scott's birthday. He's 85. That's if he's still with us. Muriel Rawnsley's birthday too. We are told that poor old Jim (Rawnsley) had a successful gall bladder op last year. He'd been yellow too before his surgery. Lynn recently saw Muriel who was distressed to hear about Mum and sent her best wishes adding that she is praying to God.

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Wednesday February 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Our first anniversary here. Cold. We went shopping. Bought Valentine's day cards and peered into shop windows. Ally took her watch into Samuels but it is beyond repair.

Evening deathly quiet. George and Debbie Bailey (Hollywood Days, &c) and Paul and Jenny (the Duncan) came here and we had a communion of Sam Smith managers central Leeds area. Like a general synod sort of thing. Paul is a great mimic, a natural comedian. Jenny somewhat sullen. George is a frustrated footballer with a (Kevin) Keegan perm. Debbie blunt and endearing. Something of a alcohol fuelled evening, though no vomit like last week.

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Tuesday February 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Lincoln's Birthday

Who cares that it's Lincoln's birthday? Men from the brewery cellar services came and installed Diet Pils at 89p a pint on draught. Donna Lea breezed in at five, what an Ophelia she is, here to increase our beer prices. Bitter is now up 3p to 63p a pint, lager up 3p to 75p a pint. Crafty of the brewery because Nigel Lawson will slap a further 2p on ales in the budget next month. Ally dealt with Donna and stayed to open at 5:30 gleefully to observe the reaction of the customers. She's cruel that way. Grumbling old men exclaiming that the increases are disgusting and equally share the blame between me and Margaret Thatcher. Irish Brian mournfully announced that he will take up home brewing. So boring of them all. We sat with Jack Collett promoting the newly installed Diet Pils. Ye olde Merrie England and Ye Olde Moorhouse Inn.

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Monday February 11, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Clive Ponting, the General Belgrano mole, has been acquitted at the Old Bailey of offences under section two of the Official Secrets Act. What a mess this nation of ours is in. The man will not even lose his job and will receive back-pay to August. 

On a lighter note this morning at 9am I began driving lessons again under the tutelage of one Karen Hudson (very Greenham Common/Lib-Lab looking if you ask me). I took to the open road like a duck to water. After some research I can say I last took a driving test on November 20, 1974 in the days when Harold Wilson and Lord Lucan dominated the news and when petrol was 43p a gallon. I did quite well and have some confidence. Dad is very pleased at this.

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Sunday February 10, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Sexagesima

The Bakers came at 3:15 and stayed to tea. Well, the girls did. Frances and Katie are somewhat greedy. Frances gobbled two Mr Kipling apple pies. Looking at Mum she told her not to worry because she would soon be better. The noise and bustle soon proved too much for Mum, and the magic of being surrounded by children is now lost to her. It is all too horrible. Lynn is always on edge. They left and later we had veal in mushroom sauce for dinner and watched TV. Roundheads & Cavaliers, &c, and the mundane 'Last of the Summer Wine'. Mum has been eating better but didn't enjoy the veal.

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Saturday February 9, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The escape to Bradford and to Linfood, and then on to Club St, Cheap 'n Cheerful, &c. Snow. 

Lord Trevelyan, KG, died today. I keep a list of Knights of the Garter but think a couple of deaths may have escaped me. Have Sir Richard Hull and Sir Cennydd Traherne now passed over to that place where rank and nobility hold no distinction?

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Friday February 8, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Absolutely ghastly. I woke up at 7:30 ____________. Ally told me that I am a pig. I vaguely recall asking the Baileys to attend a thrash here next Wednesday. Hollywood Days & Hollywood Nights is a disco and yet it isn't, and has had £50,000 spent on lighting and music centres.

A day spent in a twilight existence. I went to vomit with frequency throughout the lunchtime session and left Audrey until after 2pm. Ally showed no sympathy. Not that I expected any. 

Dad went to Horton with John but they could do nothing with the roof at Waltergarth because of the ice and frost. 

This evening I walked out out and bought fish and chips leaving Ally propping up the bar with Archie. A bitterly cold evening. Later I sat watching Victoria Wood, a comedienne of growing distinction. Pub quiet.

The dear PM has been leading the (Tory) party for ten years on Monday. Who would ever have thought that she could have held such a powerful grip?

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Thursday February 7, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Watery rabbit stew of all things. 

Mum went to see our Dr Danks at 6pm at Beeston Hill Medical Centre. It was just a case of them having a little chat. Mr Hall, the surgeon who operated on Mum, is ill and incapacitated until March. Mum also visited the optician and is having new frames made and stronger reading glasses.

Uncle Peter appeared at lunch but didn't ask to go up and see Mum and instead gave me his phone number and said he would bring Jean at the weekend to see her.

Ally took me out at 4, supposedly to go shopping, but instead took me to the medical centre to see a SRN called Marr who talked to us about dealing with cancer victims and coping with Mum. It was all Ally's idea. Marr is a comforting little woman who sees dying people by the hour.

The General Elliot.

On to market feeling low. Cobblers, &c. Then the two of us went out on the tiles leaving Samuel with Mum and Dad. To the Duncan at 8. Seedy to say the least. Then to the General Elliot and Hollywood Days, Hollywood Nights. We were joined by Paul from the Duncan, and the relief manager from the (General) Elliot, &c. A piss up. Joined by George and ______Bailey. I supped gallons of bitter. Up until now we have managed to avoid the clutch of Sam Smith managers in central Leeds. We were very late home. After 1. Horribly pissed.

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Wednesday February 6, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Charles II

Thirty three years ago today Elizabeth Alexandra Mary ascended the thrones of these islands. May God bless her. 

A ghastly day. Frosty atmosphere all day. Worked with Audrey tonight. Since coming back from Pudsey Mum has improved to the extent that I haven't seen her weep. Her appetite has improved too.

Watched an interesting programme on BBC2 on the life of Charles II who it seems died 300 years ago today in somewhat different circumstances to George VI. Charles's last words: "Let not poor Nellie starve", &c. To die suddenly in ones sleep denies one the opportunity of uttering poignant and meaningful last words. George VI's final utterance was probably: "Pass the cocoa, Evans."

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Tuesday February 5, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Full Moon

Ally is most certainly not pregnant. She had a night upstairs.

Mum and Dad to Sue & Peter's for the day.

I was visited by the landlord of the New Inn at Gildersome, and pissed friend, a manager with Tetley's, who complained about my beer and offered me advice, &c. They left at 10:30 and Andy and I had a couple of pints afterwards discussing breweries and catering, &c. It was 1 o'clock when I went up to bed. _______.

I am to resume driving lessons after ten years, starting on Monday. When did I last take a driving test?  '74 or '75. This requires research.

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