Saturday December 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

N.A. Gadsby was born 50 years ago today. I posted a birthday card with a suitable ode inscribed within:

"For Fifty Years You have Walked this Earth,

Famed throughout from Pudsey to Perth,

Full with a Youthful Zest for Life,

Your Capacity for Industry is rife,

Your erections are admired in many places,

Look at the smiles on your clients faces,

This Nation of Our cannot go wrong,

With Tony Gadsby heading the throng".....

N.A. Gadsby in earlier years.

Awful, eh? A terrible day. Ate nothing. My tummy has gone. I do wish that the bags under my eyes would go. I look like the news reader Peter Woods. Lynn phoned to say they would come here at 3pm. This they did. David looked bored and sat buried beneath one of Samuel's fairy story books, and flatly refused offers of a drink. Lynn had two barley wines which she splashed everywhere. We had to turn them down at Thorpefields for Christmas Day morning, but invited them here on Boxing Day (along with Sue & John which we arranged yesterday). Sadly, they have to be David's parents at Pool for 3pm on that day. They left at 5. Susan says Lynn still sobs and sobs over the loss of Mum, but she buries the heartache from everyone else.

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Friday December 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

I can take anything that Friday the Thirteenth might throw at me because things cannot get any worse than the bad luck I've been hammered with already in '85.  At least the year has ended with very good news for us. Little Clementine Alice Nora Rhodes or George Tobias Albert Rhodes is on her/his way. 

Two staff PM. Chris and Liz. I expected John and Janette but they didn't materialise. So at 10pm I phoned to ask if they were on their way. John answered casually. I asked: "where the Hell are you?" He replied "I'm sat here watching the telly. Why?" Blast. Janette had failed to inform John that we had arranged to meet tonight and I felt bruised to be let down. I could have kicked myself. _______. To bed threatening to spend Christmas '86 in the Canary Islands. Sod Santa Claus. Goodwill? Bah, Humbug.

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Thursday December 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

New Moon

Karen and Steve appeared at 10:30am and stayed for lunch until 2:30. Sam and Hayley are good friends. Very alike.

One year ago today poor Mum entered Airedale Hospital 'for tests'. A year of hell and misery. The very worst year of all our lives. Feeling low, I suggested to Ally that I wanted to go out to a disco and leap around. I don't have any wild sessions anymore. I am far too busy providing wild, happy times for others. Ally has never swooned over heaving discotheques. Instead, we went over at 4:30 to Susan's. Samuel thought it was a great adventure driving in the dark. We sat in Sue's cold, little lounge. I had whisky. Christopher is a psychopathic little man, banging the TV screen with a plank of wood, and assassinating us all, in his child's mind, with a plastic gun, a gift from Margaret N. Peter was very silent. He is now into Crown Green bowling on BBC2. I always thought of Sue as being like Mum, but she isn't. Neither of Mum's daughters take after her. I drove Pete (in our car) to the Chinese takeaway. I only killed three pensioners, four dogs and sixteen hedgehogs. Mounds of food. Was home at 8. TV. Yawn. Robin Day. Yawn. Auberon Waugh. Night, night.

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Wednesday December 11, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Made a few phone calls. Janette, &c. We are fuming about Lynn and her inability to come here. Are we not good enough for the Bakers of Tranmere Park? _________.

Ally still has very sick evenings. The three of us visited Dr Sykes (he had a particularly foul smelling office). He saw no harm in Ally transferring to Bradford for maternity matters. He told her to go see Dr Duck.

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Tuesday December 10, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

We were tucking into our poached eggs at the breakfast table when Maureen shouted up that a stock taker was here. My blood ran cold. Sure enough Rob Young was downstairs. Looking at my letter from the brewery it says he was coming on 'THURSDAY December 10'. I hadn't spotted this error. He bashed on and gave us a £30 surplus. It left me feeling easier but I will not lift the staff drinks ban. A catastrophic lunch. We only took £55. Few lunches. Ally looked better. She went shopping and made a stew which we ate at 3:30. However, the meal disagreed with her and she sat with her hand clasped over her mouth for the evening.

Every year on this date my thoughts go down to Clarence House where, 42 years ago, the poor Duchess of York, laid low with influenza, rose up as Queen Elizabeth on the dreadful abdication of Edward VIII. Little old Leeds men, my customers, seven now go on about 'the Prince of Wales' in the 1930s  as if he was one of them. I've witnessed it here in our tap room in 1985.

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Monday December 9, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Up feeling groggy at 8:30. Much too late. Had a headache until evening. Cold out. The Sunday Telegraph was frozen solid on the doorstep, and had been there since yesterday. The writer Robert Graves has pegged out aged 90. A good innings. Ally was a lot better. She got some ironing out of the way and was up and about more. She is beautiful. My wife has gorgeous hair and particularly stunning eyes. She can melt anything with those peepers. Later I used the downstairs phone and sat by the lit Christmas tree. Lynn was infuriated that we might not be going to see them at Christmas. She cannot come and see us here tomorrow because she is 'nipping out to Morrisons' and similarly on Wednesday she is 'nipping over to Macro with Pam'. It seems we have come second to frozen veg and packets of Typhoo tea. Phoned Sue. They will probably come here on Boxing Day - all of them - and might stay the night. She has morning sickness too. She cannot walk into a butcher's shop without throwing up. Phoned Dad. He has had a liquid lunch with Arnold which had carried on into the evening. Good for him. Phoned Hilda & Mabel, but in reverse order, to tell them of our baby news which had already been leaked by Papa. Hilda seemed low. Thomas, she says, 'has a funny neck'. Mabel spoke of Mum. It being December and all that, and the theme of her sermon was 'because you have a wife and almost two babies to consider.' She did mean well. 'We will all miss her' she concluded. Liz worked. It was quiet. Ally was poorly tonight. Even at midnight she was bilious and propping up the bathroom sink.

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Sunday December 8, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

2nd Sunday in Advent

Samuel loves his Advent calendar. Today it was a owl, or was it a donkey?  Do donkeys sit by moonlight in the branches of trees? Oh, I don't know. Ally was particularly bad today. She didn't get up until 2:30 and then lolled around on the settee threatening to be violently ill. Everything she eats smells and tastes funny. I also smell quite dreadful. She says it's the cigarette smoke and stale beer on my clothing. Bloody hell. Did the lunches alone. Went very well. Took £116 and kept nobody waiting. Heavy fog. Watched TV until 9pm (Mags opened up at 7). I was lethargic too and could have stayed upstairs by the fire. Margaret still supping glasses of iced water. We have more or less decided to keep the staff drink ban indefinitely. _____.

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Saturday December 7, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Dismal. Ally awful. Nausea, &c. Chris Wills came in and spent the afternoon with Audrey & Terry. I hid behind a customer at one point and listened as Audrey launched into a ridiculous and scandalous tirarde against me. I was shaking with amusement mingled with rage. She was complaining that I leave her every afternoon to clean up and lock up at 3:30. What she failed to say that at 3 o'clock on most afternoons three old men is a crowd. I shouldn't allow her to annoy me, but she does. I put in more working in hours in this place than any of the previous managers, I'm sure. We now have only 50 staff hours. The Piries had 150 at least in December, 1983. I went down at 7. Chris and Liz in working. I propped up the bar and had a lager or two. Just to show I am the boss and can do as I please. The door opened at 7:30 and in came Sarah (Collis) and Trevor (Abbott) just for half an hour. They were heading to Trevor's yuletide 'do' at the Cambrian Hotel on Nineveh Street (Greer Garson?). Quiet. Much social intercourse. To bed, quite done in, at 1am.

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Friday December 6, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Dad went home at lunchtime via Guiseley. Samuel went to bed for his afternoon nap. He dotes on his grandad, who calls him "my little mate." Ally is a funny old thing. For two days she has appeared much better and she herself told Dad the he must think she's a fraud, but as soon has he had gone in his rusty old motor she had a relapse, was violently morning sick, and wobbly. The weather prevented me taking Sam for a walk. Fog, in fact. We ate those fish steaks in plastic bags - Ally's favourite at the moment. Steak and kidney is out. I was supposed to be adorning the pub with more Christmas decor, but couldn't be bothered. I am something of a Scrooge at the moment. Margaret worked tonight, drinking glasses of iced water, would you believe, and a bit sulky following my booze ban. 

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