Saturday February 1, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A day of industry. Ally made a corned beef hash and floated chunks of pickled beetroot on her plate. A real Lancashire thing to do. Down in the cellar at 3:30 to play with the cleaning materials. Made a pack of bleach, detergents  and Brasso for Dad. He will appreciate this. Chris worked tonight and at 11:30 he went away with carry-out jugs of bitter to the value of £17 to attend a wild 21st birthday party. I reminded the boy that he is down for working tomorrow and he promised not to let me down. 

Baby names: Undecided between William and George.

Boys: William, George, Joshua, Aaron, Jacob, Edward, Tobias, Oliver

Girls: Clementine, Alice, Nora, Lucy, Mary, Eliza, Sophie, Levinyer, Amelia.

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Friday January 31, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Marita is 31. I sent her a birthday card picturing football boots and a pint of beer. This afternoon we went out 'en famille' to the YEB to pay for our new space-age vacuum cleaner. We pottered around the shops but were nithered with cold. Blue extremities, &c. W.H. Smith's, Boots, the building society, Greenhead's, Mothercare, &c. Samuel, in his yellow suit, raised a few smiles toddling through the Bond Street Centre. He sat in one of those small trains wherein one inserts 10p, but he was forced out after one go by a mob of ______ hooligans. I love book shops, but Samuel prevents any serious browsing. The letters of Ann Fleming look like a good publication. Published letters and diaries are really my scene. Ann Fleming is of course a Charteris, sister of Laura Duchess of Marlborough, and a former wife of  the late Viscount Rothermere, and then widow of Ian Fleming. 

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Thursday January 30, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Cold, but no more snow. My bloody driving test. Went out with Ally this morning. Silly really as I've been a capable driver for years. We went to Harehills where to my horror and dismay I am told that the test has been cancelled due to the bad road conditions. What a let down. Totally deflated. I suppose I should have phoned. My test is now postponed until July

We went on to Linfood and Club Street (see yesterday's entry).

We returned to the Moorhouse at 11:30pm Samuel, wide-eyed, wrapped in a tartan rug. 

How is this for a disgusting complement? "I'd use her shit for toothpaste". I heard a customer say this in the back bar while looking at the TV personality Anneka Rice. He then took a sip of his ale and said: "I'd let her shite on my chest just to see the flaps of her arse working." Nice.

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Wednesday January 29, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Shuttle, Shuttle, Shuttle. But it makes a change from Westland. To Linfood again. Some snow on the ground but nothing drastic. On to Club St at tea time for fish and chips. I bathed Samuel and he slept in our bed. We sat watching TV. I phoned Dad and Ally phoned Bessie. We have had details of some pubs for sale in today's post. The Helwith Bridge for £90,000 ono, and the Cross Streets Inn, Austwick, for £125,000. Dad says the latter is a big barn of a place inhabited only by gipsy-like fairground men. He has only been in once with Mum, and she was uncomfortable and wanted to leave even before they had a drink. Dad thinks it grossly over-priced. Our cottage is so peaceful and homely. So better to be here on an evening off and not sitting above the pub with the thudding of the jukebox coming up through the floorboards. I sat with my feet up reading about the naughty Borgias. We now have a substantial library. 

(Oh shit. Everything I have written today should have been written tomorrow. Today I worked all day. Ah, well. Snow falls.)

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Tuesday January 28, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

We have been thinking about the future. We do this occasionally. We asked Dad if he fancied taking a 'free house' with us. He was largely silent and would not commit himself but it prompted Ally to phone a few auctioneers and asked to be added to their mailing list. Oliver, Kitchen & Flynn, and Dacre Son & Hartley, &c. We await news of some free houses with anticipation. We would like a place in the country, in some sleepy Yorkshire dale.

Dad left after breakfast to take Susie and Christopher to the Clarendon Wing for C's genital inspection. _________. They didn't come back here. We had a wedding reception in the lounge for a heavily pregnant Linda and a moustachioed Tom. Semi-Irish. A buffet, &c. A doddle. 

Tragedy. Watching TV at 5pm a newsflash interrupted the children's programme announcing the explosion and destruction of the 25th Space Shuttle mission with the loss of seven crew. Horrible scenes of the relatives of the dead watching the launch followed by the blast a minute after take-off. NASA called it a 'malfunction'. 

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Monday January 27, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Took an early cup of tea in for Dad and he looked bog eyed. Samuel is totally captivated leaning over the side of his cot and 'Gan Gan'. Breakfast was a repeat of the conversation we had last night which Dad had blocked from his mind. He told us, again, of the details of Guy's wedding and Uncle Leslie 'dog-house', a self-contained cell within the Blackpool guesthouse. 

A rush this afternoon. I went upstairs at 3:30 and instead of getting ready for the summit at the Emmott Arms I sat listening to Mrs T's speech on BBC2. She made a few apologies and insisted she had  not known of any leak (the Solicitor General's letter to Heseltine), and later Leon Brittan got her off the hook when he admitted that everything was his fault. The vote gave the government a massive majority but the PM's stature must have taken a knock. We left Dad, looking very sleepy, with a buoyant Samuel and went over to the Emmott Arms for probably the most long-winded meeting of managers I have ever experienced. A Mr Bullock from Huntley & Palmer's, no, Procter & Gamble, gave a deliriously lengthy oration on the wonders of his cleaning agents, and Don Whitfield and others slept in the cosy chairs. LG tried to conceal his giggles, but all in all it was drab, drab, drab. Ally and I went on to the Station Hotel, Guiseley, the Menston Arms and the Barge at Rodley. Ally's back and legs ached and wasn't receptive to the balmy atmosphere of the various hostelries. She though that because I wore a brewery tie that all eyes were upon us. Home at 11:15. Dad was abed.

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Sunday January 26, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Septuagesima

Full Moon

Cold. Some bright sun though. We devoured a roast chicken at luncheon before a smouldering, crackling Cary Grant film. It was a repeat of last Sunday but without the hysteria and Mussolini-like demonstration by Ally. We lounged around this afternoon and I wrestled with Samuel, who is rapidly becoming a hooligan. He is also, sadly, keen on TV snooker and claps along with the audience at the mindless antics of the likes of Stee Davis. He shouts "Balls, balls". I tend to agree.

Dad came in at 8pm popped up. He tottered in from a rum drinking session at John's pulling faces and squinting _______. I really do not like observing someone drunk when I am stone cold sober. Ally gave him coffee and later a pile of sandwiches. Dad joined me downstairs from 9 o'clock. Liz worked. Dad stood with Davis Howard talking about the sun and the colours to be found in the firmament above. Later we took a drink upstairs and Ally stayed up for an hour. Dad pulled out a tiny purse and gave me Mum's wedding ring. Tears rolled down his face. Lynn has the engagement ring and Sue her eternity ring. Janette is have Mum's watch.

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