Tuesday July 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We had a rough passage through the hours of darkness with Samuel who kept us awake until dawn. Ally ended up sleeping with him in his room. At 7:15 Sam and I had boiled eggs whilst Ally slept for another hour. Breakfast TV: President Reagan was operated on for a cancerous polyp on Saturday but stands a fifty per cent chance of making a full recovery they say. However, if I was George Bush I'd start packing my bags. 

Ally went off Maestro-watching at 1pm leaving me. Sam in his bed, and I with cook in the kitchen. A quiet lunch really. I have borrowed a crate of barley wine from the Station pub. Tim is on holiday from there and a slovenly relief manager was propping up the bar.

Maureen was sobbing into her mop bucket this morning. Carol and Sam have split it seems and he has run home to his mum and Carol has landed at the McNicol residence with baby Teresa. Such a pity. People seem to give up so easily. Marriage has to be fought for and worked at. Some people do not realise this is the case.

John and Janette met Ally on (illegible) Canal Rd and looked at an A registered Maesto. £3,900. One or two bruises but they'll be fixed on purchase. John seemed happy. I saw the car at 4:15, but you know me. A car is a car. Engines leave me cold. I cannot tell a spark plug from a contraceptive. 

Ally tired and washed out again. Very pale. Janet worked. Very quiet. Ally remained upstairs.

Jack Collett told me that on June 10 this year he celebrated 20 years as a bigamist.

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Monday July 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Phoned Donna Lea early to discuss the missing diet pils but she was in the middle of a choking fit and not giving me her undivided attention. She did say that they are 'looking into it' at their end. She asked me whether I went down into the cellar with the 'two Ronnies' on June 13. I told her that our car had just been pranged outside on Admiral St and that sadly I hadn't. 

The Moorhouse Inn.

We have a postcard from Papa in Tenby. I do miss him. He seems to have been away for ages. Sue phoned. We are going (to Guiseley) on Sunday night to celebrate her 26th (birthday). Later, Ally took Samuel to Guiseley and he came back looking like a coalface worker. I think Christopher is a bit of a tease. Ally called in at Albert Farnell's garage in Guiseley re the purchase of a Maestro. Nothing doing. She also called at Appleyard's on Manningham Lane and saw a car. _______. Phoned Hilda and asked her to (baby)sit for Samuel on Sunday. She seemed very pleased to be of some use. 

Tonight I drank a few diet pils with Jack Collett. In the lounge bar Harold Wilkinson was celebrating his 74th birthday and June had baked a large, sticky blue and silver cake. Pleasant evening. Ally washed out. Bed. Read Henry VIII.

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Sunday July 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

6th Sunday after Trinity

The Maestro.

We overslept. Ally wanted to go to Linfood, but we were too late. Margaret returned from Blackpool. It was a quiet lunch. This afternoon we went out to look at Maestro cars. We nipped out at 4pm yesterday too to do likewise, but forgot to mention it. Car salesmen? Aren't they the lowest form of life? Something from the primeval swamp. We cannot be conned. They must think we look stupid. Today however we did look almost like Romany types. Ally with her T-shirt hanging out. Very Sir Robert Geldof GCVO, PC, in fact. Samuel was a handful to say the least and he kicked and screamed on garage forecourts and I had difficulty looking at any of the vehicles. Ally knows what she is doing. Frank will have to be consulted re a loan.

Roast beef at 5pm. Ally cried watching a slushy film about ice-skaters who fall in love. 

A very busy last hour in the bars tonight. Me and Gary. Ally upstairs. Ran out of OBB at 10pm. This also occurred on June 30. Dear me, what a hopeless manager I am.

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Saturday July 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We thought Margaret M was due back from Blackpool today, but she cannot start work until tomorrow. I phoned Gary and he came in at 12 looking weary. He blames the sex. "I never thought I'd say no to a bird, but last night I couldn't manage any more. I just had to sleep." Young Booth is 21, with no feeling, care or sensitivity. Perhaps he'll change one day when the right 'bird' comes along.

Fret about the stocktake. Even the Why Not at it's blackest wasn't as bad as this. To be ripped off and know that you can do little about it is dreadful.

Clapton at Live Aid.

Live Aid. Have you heard of it? Gangs of pop stars queuing up at Wembley Stadium and simultaneously in Philadelphia singing to raise a possible £50m for Ethiopia. Live TV coverage from this morning until 4am tomorrow. Bob Geldof is the pushing force. Perhaps I should say Bob Geldof, OBE, though the honour does seem inadequate for master minding this event. People get the OBE for mucking out toilets. Perhaps Bob Geldof, CH? Quiet in the pub. Marjorie worked. What a nattering barmaid she is. We watched Eric Clapton at 1am and then went to bed. Samuel slept for the first time in his own single bed. Thunder at 4am and the patter of tiny footsteps put paid to that and he appeared in our room for a cuddle. Already by 2am he'd fallen out of bed and we found him underneath in a crouched position. Angel he is.

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Friday July 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Horrific day. Stocktake at 10:30. We accept these events as routine and do not worry about them. The Why Not pub days are gone. But aarrgghh. ... We had a £300 defecit today. Gallons of Diet Pils are missing. The equivalent of five 9 gallon casks. Some sick joke, surely? We suspect Ron Brooks. Were the containers full when he returned them on June 13? Which ever way you look at it I am in deep shit. It's the sack probably. We cannot accept that a member of staff is giving away the lager from under our noses. No, it's Ron Brooks or a thieving dray team. I am angered to Hell. Our evening ruined. I spoke to Donna (Lea) who put on her serious voice, but isn't remotely Fran O'Brien-ish. The annoying thing is that it makes us look like crooks. The deficit also comes off my 1986 bonus. What an evil blow. The stocktaker is going to see Ronnie Simpson today and ask him to recal his visit here on the morning of June 13 with R. Brooks in the cellar. It's futile now. The deficit is £357.62. Ugh.

John was saying last night that private health care had done nothing for Mum and she might as well have been 'done' on the NHS. This is not so. For the few remaining months she had she was at ease with Mr Hall, and Armitage. She never endured a public hospital ward surrounded by hysterectomies. That could not be contemplated.

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