Monday October 28, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn Leeds LS11 5NQ

We woke very much regretting our late night with young Booth. To Morrison's and then back for 11:30 (Maureen opened up) and found Dad at the bar. He was expected but was earlier than anticipated. Samuel's face on seeing 'Gan Gan' was a picture. How magnetic he is to children. V. quiet at lunch. Dad and Ally stood leaning on the bar as I worked behind it. The Egans flew to "España" at dawn yesterday. Few customers. Only the dour Kentish man, bearded Brian, who ranted on and on about Stalin's daughter. Plus the man who drinks 'Rusty Nail' cocktails. Poor Dad - how brave he is. At the mention of the headstone he looks so weary and mutters: "five months now, Michael." She has been gone now longer than the entire length of her illness. Hard to believe. Dad was tired tonight and retired at 10. We did pool sandwiches but few turned out to play pool and so it was a waste of time. We have succeeded in the space of 12 months to kill our tap room stone dead. To bed at 12 with sandwiches. I am sick of John Updike.

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Sunday October 27, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

21st Sunday after Trinity

British Summer Time Ends

Up early. Samuel confused by the time difference. Pottered around and went to Guiseley cemetery at 10 to look at the stone. It was a jolt. Ally wanted to weep but held her composure. Samuel played dropping stones int the flower bowl. Mum would like this.  The stone reads:

                                                     In Loving Memory of

                                                               NORA

                                               Beloved wife of Lawrence Rhodes

                                                      Born 2 January 1935

                                                      Died 18 May 1985

On to Lynn's. No Lynn. Dave in overalls. Dad and Charlotte Nora were in the garden. It was cold. Janette was at Maria's collecting the children and John was working. We went back to Leeds for 11:30. The Leeds Marathon was running. Chicken for lunch. Visited the Sandersons afterwards. They are in a state of refurbishment and working on the lounge. Interviewed candidates. Four in all, but only one suitable. Elizabeth Melvin (?), 26. A boy called Chris is coming tomorrow at 7:30. He's only 18 though. Sue and Pete came here at 7 dropping Dave B at the Dragonara Hotel where he's attending a function. Black tie 'do' &c. Peter always refers to David as 'Shortie'. The Nasons didn't stay long enough and left at 10. We sat up until about 2:30 with Gary. It was his last night. A lonely lad despite his wild, exhausting social life.

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Saturday October 26, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

LG came on Thursday. I am forgetful. He was out of sorts and shot me down about the piano. 'Can't afford one', he said. When he sampled the ale from my cloudy barrel and blamed me for the bad management of it, which was stupid of him, and advised me not to return a single drop. Silly bugger. It was all Egans, Egans, Egans tonight. I did the parachute and the blind Irish pilot routine this afternoon, with the help of Margaret. Terry almost shit himself. Ally recovering but remains weak and washed out. Samuel, thank God, is untouched by the malady. Gary and I worked tonight. His penultimate shift. I placed an advert for staff in tonight's Evening Post and it attracted several calls. We are interviewing tomorrow. Upstairs at midnight. Saw a marvellous old film, Bette Davis/Claude Rains, &c. British Summer Time ends. We have an extra hour longer in bed. I want to go see Mum's stone tomorrow.

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Friday October 25, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally and Audrey both have red, running noses. Margaret's celebrations go on. Sandwiches and cakes tonight and floral tributes from around the globe. The Egans were quaking about the coming flight to Spain. Margaret and I joked about making a parachute for Terry at lunch tomorrow. This evening Ally stayed above. Weak knees, &c. She watched a programme on the suspicious demise of Marilyn Monroe. The Kennedys were behind it. Phoned Dad. Mum's gravestone is now erected. What can one say. _________.

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Thursday October 24, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn Leeds LS11 5NQ

United Nations Day

Margaret: 40

Busy. The 40th birthday celebrations of Margaret Milne though the auspicious anniversary doesn't actually fall until tomorrow. Margaret and a group of friends filled the lounge tonight, hitting the hard stuff. Joined by Audrey and Maureen, &c. They chattered about our lack of staff and suggested possible candidates, i.e. Margaret's niece, Ann. (Our staff hours are of course ruled by the brewery). John and Janette appeared at 9pm with George and Jayne Waite. Janette giggled and asked whether I'd seen the item of news on 'Calendar' about George's joinery business burning down. The expression on George's face revealed all. _______. (sensitive redaction). All the Scots stayed on afterwards 'for one'. Charlotte Nora is to be christened at Esholt and I am to be the godfather. Deeply flattered and pleased. John was puzzled. It was the first he'd heard of it.

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Wednesday October 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Susie.

To a piano shop in Kirkstall where we saw a battered old thing for £189 which might please LG. I think it would go down well in our back bar. On to Guiseley. We haven't seen Susie for yonks. She looked very well and frequent scans reveal a healthy, kicking embryo. The kids, as usual, went berserk. Even Samuel looks possessed after only ten minutes with the bouncing Christopher. Sue is really hoping for a girl.

Tonight: Gary Booth came in and gave his notice. He has sold his house and is now a man of some means. We sat the bar waiting for LG, who didn't materialise. I sampled the Diet Pils and had six and a half pints. Fell about pissed. Everything is blank.

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Tuesday October 22, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Nothing much to report. It was the usual mausoleum in the bar downstairs this lunchtime punctuated only by the arrival of Uncle Peter in his overalls. I gave him a pork pie and we stood leaning on the bar. He recently bumped into Hilda in ASDA. He can be very naughty about our relations. Beverley, he says, wants to be a policewoman but failed the test by three points but can re-apply in 6 months. Late dray delivery. The saga of our sensitive 'Skivvy' glass washing machine continues. I tried to get hold of Les Gledhill without success, but eventually Ally succeeded. He was out of sorts and grumpy and said he would come to inspect the barrel of OBB tomorrow, which is our evening off. Never mind.

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Monday October 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally and I are back on a peaceful ship on a calm sea after several stormy weeks. Don't get me wrong. It was nothing serious. We sometimes have disagreements. My wife can become inflamed so very easily and can make a squabble out of anything:- Tomatoes, the price of fish, an untidy room, a misplaced newspaper, &c. Very wound up. I wish she could unwind more. Yesterdays royal interview was well received in the Press. Good egg. I have a rotten barrel of Old Brewery Bitter to return (36 gallons). Pity. I have had so much look with the 18 gallon casks. Phoned Horton. Lynn and the girls and Thomas are staying with Papa. Picnics, &c. I think she said today they'd been to Hardraw Scar. Our barmaid Marjorie Murphy has left to work at a greeting cards shop in Leeds Market. Poor buggers.

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Sunday October 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

20th Sunday after Trinity

Bitterly cold. Auntie Mabel phoned as I was emerging from the cellar for breakfast. She has been on holiday. Somewhere south, and visited Windsor. A pleasant day at home. Off from 2:30. I sat with a Cornish pastie and tuned into a ghastly John Wayne film. What an incredibly boring actor he was. Samuel has been leaving puddles everywhere. We have a soggy carpet.

Read the Sunday Telegraph. Nancy Mitford's harrowing end. Hodgkinson's disease (sic). Or is it Hodgkin's? Or Patrick Jenkin disease? Oh, I don't know. 

The Waleses with Burnet.

This evening Sir Alastair Burnet interviewed the Waleses at Kensington Palace. Diana came over excellently and seemed self-confident though she hasn't shaken off that shy look. The prince fought off the rubbish about vegetarianism, spiritualism and all the other uncomfortable 'isms', but on the whole I think it was the princess who did the best. Saw the children assaulting a piano. It was followed by a play 'Trelawny of the Wells' by Arthur Wing Pinero. Excellent. Ally giggled. To bed.

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Saturday October 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Thomas John.

Merde Alors! The vacuum cleaner has exploded. Ally's world has come crashing down. The vacuum cleaner - what a foul contraption. We are resolved to throw another 'party night' on Nov 16 before our next holiday. I must see Les Gledhill about half price whisky.  A quiet lunch. I phoned Tim at Pudsey and invited ourselves over there. We went at 4pm calling at Woolworth's to buy an offering for Thomas John. To Valley Rd to view my half cousin who I have decided is very much like Timothy. The baby is to be baptised at Pudsey on Nov 3. Pepper, the dog, is visiting there whilst Hilda and Tony are in Norfolk and the thing was yapping like hell behind a glass door. Samuel spent an hour tormenting the Yorkshire terrier. He can be naughty in confined spaces. We would love another baby, and soon. Busy evening. No staff after last nights cock up when we had two.

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Friday October 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn LS11 5NQ

That bloody stupid stock-taker came at 10:30 and mucked around supposedly taking stock. We laughed at his tie. At least eight inches in width, and brown velvet to boot. My God, what a pillock. He was all finished within an hour and off he tootled leaving us with a £20 surplus. Phoned Lynn and asked them to come here tonight (we have 2 staff). They came at 8:30 and we stood in a corner. Lynn told me of David's vasectomy and seemed to think I'd show some disapproval. Does she perhaps think I'm the Pope? David's snip is no concern of mine. We had a very enjoyable evening but it passed too quickly. They didn't stay late and used Dad babysitting as an excuse to leave. Lynn pulled her horrible Tranmere friends to pieces and says none of them know how to bring up children, &c. A reunion with the Allinsons seems likely. To bed pissed. Samuel woke and was troublesome.

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Thursday October 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

No staff. Just Ally and me.

James Callaghan.

Old James Callaghan is to retire as an MP at the next general election. He will be 85. I do hope that he will be recommended for an earldom and that HM (the Queen)  will confer the Garter upon him. Earl Callaghan of Cardiff, KG. What an old buffer he is. He isn't a patch on the current PM and his voice carries as much clobber as a three week old lettuce, but all the same he is a former 1st Lord of the Treasury and deserves something better than a life peerage. Looking back to those days of his premiership 1976-79 one remembers little. Indeed, many of the people today under the age of 30 will have difficulty remembering the man at all. Those earnest Labour grandees of the 60s tend to merge into one blob - the Roy Jenkins-John Stonehouse-George Brown clones. Poor E.R.G. Heath (who?) is now the only former PM not to have been bestowed with a title. Will he be Earl of Bexley one day? Oh, shut up you old fool.

Note: Callaghan ended his days as Baron Callaghan of Cardiff, KG. A life peer.

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Wednesday October 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Overcast and quiet. Samuel slept with us all night because Graham banging around disturbed him and he wouldn't go back. Graham left early because he is having a working breakfast at the Windmill Hotel. He is about to seal a contract with Marks & Spencer, which will be sensational. We went over to dear Club Street at 2:30 via Duckworth Lane. We deposited a pile of old clothes onto the counter at the Oxfam shop. Visited several building societies before going on to the cottage. The garden was muddy but we let Samuel dig around. Ally went for a trim (hair). I had my haircut in Hunslet yesterday. I'm like Al Pacino again. Our dusky "barperson'" Miss Janet Samuels has resigned and defected to the Broadway (pub), that large barn of a place up Dewsbury Road. We are so gleeful. _______. A usual evening of repose and solitude. Samuel slept in our bed and we watched TV and ate bars of chocolate. Watched a good documentary on Queen's College, Cambridge. We returned here to Ye Olde Moorhouse Inn at 11:30pm. Ton bed with books. Just who is this John Updike? His book (The Witches of Eastwick) is a deep, heavy experience, and he is either stoned out of his mind or a genius. He's a Melvyn Bragg sort if you ask me.

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Tuesday October 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Rose at 7am. Pitchy black outside. Pottered in the cellar and returned for eggs at 8:15 after sitting on the loo with the Daily Telegraph. The gnome-like David Stevens, of United Newspapers, has bought the Daily Star. In other news, the Queen is to visit China next year. Lord Diplock has pegged out and died. He was a silly old judge. Over breakfast the phone rang. It was the brewery saying our delivery will be late - tomorrow even. Fuck it. We are almost dry now. Soldier on regardless. By 11:30 the mild was gone and we only have 28 gallons of Old Brewery Bitter. ________. Graham appeared at 10 and he stayed the night. We had fish and chips. _______.

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