Saturday January 25, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Grandfather.

The fortunes of our dear PM are at their lowest ebb in the whole of her six years tenure of office. That is of course if the Press is to be believed. She is to make a speech in an emergency debate on Monday which could save or sink her. Leon Brittan, tail between his legs, has returned to his constituency. Paul Channon is the new Secretary of State, DTI. He is of course 'half a Guinness' - son of 'Chips' Channon and Lady Honor Guinness. Midas rich to boot. In comparison Michael Heseltine is like Stan Ogden (deceased).

Ally went shopping and bought tons of provisions. Samuel slumbered upstairs. Chris worked at lunch and Margaret and Liz worked together this evening. Atrociously quiet. I stood at the bar with a glass of lager talking to Jack Collett and his Glenda Jackson look-alike daughter, Sandra Woodcock. I gave them a plate of black pudding. Well, it is Burns Night. Albert Rhodes, my semi-rehabilitated grandfather was given life this day in 1901. I say rehabilitated because he was the father of my own father and more and more I hear Dad's fond memories of his father. He has spoken more of him since Mum's death. ______.

I am taking another driving test on Thursday January 30, 1986. Oh God.

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Friday January 24, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Poor Leon Brittan has had to resign from the cabinet because of this silly Westland helicopter business. The fire is getting very close to Mrs Thatcher. I had a sleepless night tossing and turning imagining a nation without Margaret Hilda at the helm. Shudders of horror. Taffy, the all-knowing Welsh punter, came in and we speculated about Tory fortunes, peering into an imaginary crystal ball. Taffy insists that Margaret will go before the next election. This isn't so. She will go on to a historic third term. We do agree however that N.B. Tebbit will be the next Tory leader. Taff says Norman Tebbit will get the sympathy vote now that Mrs Tebbit is confined to a wheelchair. A ramp up to the front door of No. 10, perhaps? One thing is certain, the Heseltines, Parkinsons and sadly now the Brittans of this world will not see high office again. I went down tonight and mixed. Sat on a stool in the tap room observing the antics of the customers there.

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Thursday January 23, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally phoned Saint Street Clinic at dawn and went for an anti-natal inspection, taking Samuel along. As she was inspected he played with buckets and swabs. ________. She was back at 4pm, feet up, for cups of tea.  We are so pleased that where our baby is going to be born has now been resolved. Another little Bradford chap. Tired and hungry. Maureen worked from 7pm, and I walked up Dewsbury Rd for fish and chips at 8:30. Ally, slumped in an armchair, watching 'Minder'. Maureen must really hate me. What with the scrapping of tip sheets (remember them?) and the supping of ale whilst working, I now have a reputation far worse than Ivan the Terrible and Genghis Khan rolled into one. I love it.

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Wednesday January 22, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

We went to Bradford after closing at 3:30 to dear little Club St. Lucy told

us that Mary (Moore) is in hospital. Samuel slipped on the slippery path and banged his head. Ally went to her hairdresser and later Samuel and I walked out for our haircutting. It was Sam's first professional haircut. His baby looks are gone, but he looks very angelic. At 5 we went to see Dr York. Ally loathes him. We are accepted back into the practice without any questions but the evil receptionist asked "where is the little boy going to be treated?" as we have only handed over our medical cards. When we responded that Samuel is under another GP she whined: "Do not expect us to come and see him when he is ill". She didn't express this with concern, but with a twisted malice. The doctor had a prod at Ally's tummy and he too, like Dr Sykes, said he though she was bigger than 15 weeks and said that her continuing sickness could point to twins. Doctors will say anything. We went triumphantly back to the cottage confident that Ally is now a patient under Dr Duck (who returns at the end of February) and will not have to endure the indignities of St James's. Cattle market. Lasagne by the TV. At the cottage Ally snored in our bed. A twenty minute back to the pub at 11:30pm.

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Tuesday January 21, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Awfully quiet here. Ally was worn out and in bed after 10am in Samuel's room, in his bed, whilst he languished in his cot. Liz worked this evening and I went upstairs at 8:30 to read the DT to be called back down to see Leslie Gledhill and Colin Black. A good humoured twosome just having a nosy around the Leeds hostelries. LG says that everywhere he has been this week my name has cropped up. A reference to Monday's trip around North Yorkshire. They are curious and decide between themselves that I am looking for a move. The baby was also brought up and Colin said: "I suppose it's a girl? Where will she sleep?" How ridiculous. Samuel and the baby do not require separate bedrooms until at least 1996 and his bedroom is bigger than at least three Tay Homes and a Barratt house rolled into one. I did not bring up the Menston Arms but will do so next Monday at the managers' meeting (held at the Emmott Arms, would you believe). They said the Moorhouse had had a very good Christmas (takings). LG, laughing, asked me to sniff his hand, and asked me to guess where he had been. His fingers stank like the proprietor of a Turkish brothel. When I expressed puzzlement he said: "I've been to see your friend Michael Radford at the Old Red Lion. He speaks very highly of you." Oh dear. Much hilarity. We discussed Aids, homosexuality, and the size of the Old Brewery Bitter glasses at the Harewood Arms, &c, and away they went. Ally slept all night in the single bed. I spoke to Dad who told me that he has applied for a job as a deputy registrar of births, marriages and deaths in Skipton. This came out of the blue. He wants more money and a needs a new car. His business is so unpredicatable. B & Bs aren't regular income.

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