Monday January 19, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

Uncle Arnold.

Over boiled eggs at 9:30 Mrs Stephenson came to the cottage asking me to phone Dad immediately because "your uncle has died". Oh God. I put on my wellies and went to phone Dad at Horton. Uncle Arnold collapsed and died while shovelling snow last Thursday over in Halifax. Judith had gone to see him and was clearing the snow from his drive. He insisted on helping her but within minutes he was down and out. Dead on arrival, &c. Dad kept saying 'Poor Bill' over and over. (Arnold was always known as Bill, by his siblings). So very sad that he is gone. Dead at 54. We only saw him a week ago. The funeral is fixed for Wednesday. He is going with John and I made my excuses. Under normal circumstances I would have attended but I cannot cart the kids from County Durham to Halifax and back again. We went to Bishop Auckland. Biting cold. 

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Sunday January 18, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

2nd Sunday after Epiphany

A restful day. Ally and Samuel went into Wolsingham for newspapers and for the remainder of the day we sat by the fire playing with Lego, building cars, garages and dogs. Samuel beside himself with excitement and is a non-stop chatterer. 

The newspapers are a disgrace. The News of the World headlines: "RAT ROMY TWO-TIMES PRINCE WIMPO" - referring to Miss Romy Adlington, from Micheldever, a 20 year-old friend of Prince Edward, now labelled 'Wimpo' for resigning his commission in the Royal Marines.

The Sunday Times is full of the Guinness business. City affairs go over my head.

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Saturday January 17, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

The freeze continues. The papers are full of nonsense about Barbara Barnes leaving the Royal nursery. What a spoilt little swine Prince William is, they say. How awful. Adulation one minute and hatred the next. What a dreadful Press we have.

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Friday January 16, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Wolsingham

Sub-zero conditions continue. We drove to Crook, where Ally bought three litres of wine and Samuel attempted to do some shoplifting in Boots. Stuffing mars bars into his pockets and flashing his big brown eyes at the hard north east shopping assistant. The newspapers have stories of Barbara Barnes quitting the royal nursery. All saying that Prince William is a 'spoilt' little boy. How awful. Adulation one minute, hatred the next. What a Press we have.

Much needed books: The diaries of Sir Alan Lascelles

                                   The diaries of Hugh Dalton

                                   The complete diaries of Samuel Pepys

What is the collective noun for someone who collects other peoples diaries?

Graham phoned Mrs Stephenson at 9:30am and asked us to contact him before 10. Ally was upstairs having 40 winks. I was making breakfast. Obviously, I feared the worst that perhaps Frank had gone down into the foaming brine en route to Jersey, or some similar tragedy. Ally was similarly perturbed and she hurriedly dressed, wellies too, and down to the farmhouse she went. She returned saying Graham wanted to come here with Gill, and the boys for the weekend. We do not have room to swing a cat here. Had we been staying in a bigger place it would have been fine.

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Thursday January 15, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn &c

We went out to Wolsingham to buy a ton of provisions from a 'supermarket' unchanged since 1956. Deep snow. We went into a pub and phoned Dad. He wasn't at home. Phoned Sue to say we had arrived safely. I made lunch which took me hours. Britain is shivering in Arctic conditions. Wind, &c. Weather dominating the news makes a change from all this talk about AIDS.

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Wednesday January 14, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn DL14 0PU

Full Moon

The snow continued to fall and we were house-bound. Ally, the angel, had the good sense to bring a tin of corned beef and other provisions because no way could we have gone out. Samuel sat on a window sill watching a farmer in a tractor clearing the snow. The Stephensons have a daughter at public school in Harrogate.

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Tuesday January 13, 1987

Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn, Wolsingham, Bishop Auckland

I went out snow shovelling this morning. Will we be able to make it to Wolsingham? The relief managers came, named Golding & Jones, from Birmingham. Golding & Jones? Sounds like a Tamla Motown  singing duo. The are not married. Does Humphrey Smith know they are living in sin? He is bearded and fat. She has peroxide hair and looks shifty. Poor Moorhouse. The stock taker, Crump, a cold, odd man, brought no machine with him and so we left at 1pm without a stock result. I will not worry, but I would have preferred to leave with a result. Heavy snow. A precarious journey north. Up the A1, which was clear of snow, and we turned off at Piecebridge, where the road became steadily worse. Ally wanted to drive and I was in the back clutching a snoring Clementine. Sam, watching from his car seat, became perturbed and was was convinced we were going to collide with another car. Our drive took us to West Auckland and past Raby Castle. All new scenery to me. Treacherous conditions when we arrived at Wolsingham. A Mrs Stephenson was waiting for us showering great praise on Ally's motoring prowess. Later, the road leading to Alston, was closed. Our place, Granary Cottage, is a converted granary (surely not?), and looks better from the outside. It's too 'new'. A real coal fire though. The bedrooms are no bigger than cupboards, but oh the peace and quiet. Ecstasy. A night watching the snow fall, bathing the children, sipping whisky and watching TV. Wednesday was similar.

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Monday January 12, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Our little Samuel is three today. He bounded into our room early for presents and cards. We didn't go berserk with gifts - so soon after the Christmas excesses - mainly clothes, but good clothes. He knocks around in shirts and pants more expensive than mine. He had a party at nursery today - a cake and buns with Dermot and the Ladybirds. He came home at 4 wearing a large hat and with chocolate all over his face. Oh, to be 3. Heavy snow tonight. It was bitterly cold. Gabrielle worked and only just made it here in the blizzard. Clemmie was squealing away and so Ally brought her downstairs. The pub was dead but Clemmie entertained Jack Collett, Tommo and Pam. We go on holiday tomorrow. Bliss.

-=-

Sunday January 11, 1987

Samuel (1987).

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

1st Sunday after Epiphany

Samuel's party. Pub packed. Snow. Guests came at 2pm. Karen, Jill, Tim, Steve, Hayley, Thomas, Sue, Pete, Christopher, Ben, Mantha, Dad, who brought Arnold, Janet, Judith, Roger, Dorothy - thin and old - Les, and Guy. Graham Rhodes followed on later. Our lounge upstairs was packed and flowing with Liebfraumilch. Sadly, the children's party was pushed a bit into the background with the influx of a plethora of aged adults, but a cake was lit and a tea party atmosphere persisted. The aunts and uncles left after an hour or so. We did have a quick chat with Judith and Roger. The Sandersons stayed until after 9.

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Saturday January 10, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Samuel is having his third birthday party tomorrow and in a routine phone call to Papa he announced that Dot, Les, Arnold and Janet, and Guy Holland are staying at Horton and he probably won't make it to the soiree. Such disappointment. He was also supposed to be bringing Sue, Pete and Co from Guiseley. We fume. Dad doesn't see that we want him to be with us in his capacity of much loved grandfather. Samuel will be disappointed. I phoned Susie and offered to pick her up at 11 tomorrow. Ally hates diversions to our plans.

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Friday January 9, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

It's all fixed. We are going to County Durham next Tuesday for 2 weeks. A converted granary at Bradley Burn, Wolsingham, Bishop Auckland. Everyone thinks we are mad. Durham in January. Why not Capri or Benidorm? Oh, no. Life isn't so cut and dried. We just need the rest. Four walls, a bed and no hand pumps, bar staff, or Joe Public. To me Durham sounds like heaven. Snow is coming too, ony let us get to our retreat first. Madge appeared with £15 cake arrears for June.

-=-

Thursday January 8, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Railway Inn.

Last night we the quiz team went to Spofforth with a coach load of our lounge types to the Railway Inn (Miss Anne Revell). We won. I was in the team. Ally a scorer. Such a popular night. Beware: I have promised to dine with Doreen and Terry in February. ____________.

The Earl of Macduff, a direct legitimate descendant of King Edward VII, is engaged.

-=-

Wednesday January 7, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Prince Edward quits marines.

Cop a load of this about Prince Edward. Obviously it means curtains for the armed services and I back HRH all the way. Why should all the males of our Royal House always have to give such a macho image? Leaping from planes and running with Gurkhas, &? Why is it always a military career for 10 years or so? Princess Anne went straight from school into the royal routine, and just look at the Duke of Gloucester. He even wears spectacles. He doesn't give a sod.

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Tuesday January 6, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Obituary. Viscount Lifford.

Epiphany

Feast of the Epiphany. We Three Kings of Orient Are, &c.

Excuse the news cuttings (glued herein). It is the new lay-out of my 1987 journal. Better than nothing. Starved of my Burke's Peerage I'll glue appropriate cuttings here from the Daily Telegraph. I've been too bust to keep an old style diary since the arrival of Clementine. Life's been so frantic and running at a fast pace. Will I see 32? 

Leslie Gledhill came in beaming & joyful. Our Christmas takings were fantastic.

-=-

Monday January 5, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Clementine cannot find contentment at all and lays scratching and writhing pitifully. We are taking her up to the doctor tomorrow. She had another jab at the clinic today and screamed . A doctor inoculated her in the thigh. Surely, buttocks are best? I picked up Samuel from the nursery and joined Ally at the clinic where Sam played on a battered rocking horse, the walls covered in AIDS posters. Poor boy. What will the world be like when he is my age?

News: The 1st Earl of Stockton was buried at Horsted Keynes, Sussex, at noon. His grandson, bearded and looking delighted with himself, announced that the former PM's last words were: "I think I'll go to sleep now."

-=-

Sunday January 4, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

3rd Sunday after Christmas

Not too hungover. I avoided beer and lager and stuck faithfully to drinking 'shorts'. Up for 10. Yes, 10. Ally had taken Bev to work at 8 and brought me my morning tea. We had two staff 12-2 and so Ally and Sam went to bed and I sat reading about 'Supermac' in the Sunday Times. My God, the former PM isn't even buried yet and already they are beginning to print all sorts of claptrap. I slept from 1:30 to 3pm and then did a roast lamb lunch. The children were particularly vociferous. The lamb was a £3.60 joint. Clementine, the little treasure, knows just how to wail that bit too much.

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Saturday January 3, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Picked up the phone and it was Katie Davina - four today - talking from Kilmacolm. A sweet little girl. Tonight at 9 Ally and I went over to the Stone Trough at Rawdon for Chris Ratcliffe's annual (sic) bash, where I thoroughly and unexpectedly enjoyed myself. Pissed of course. Saw John, Janette, MM, Marita, Chris, Andy and Linda Graham, Carol Smith, Christine Dibb, Laura and Dave Pattison, Jacq, Ian, Tony and Margaret Brotherwood, Martyn and Fay Cole &c. Back to Chris's on Canada Rd (or drive). All stripped pine, and cottage-like. I did my usual 'ice bucket down the trousers' routine, much to Ally's chagrin. Ally sank a fair few Martinis. We dropped the Matthewses at home at 3am.

-=-

Friday January 2 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Bank Holiday in Scotland

Dad enters the 54th year of his age looking well, with fresh complexion, but almost white hair. Everyone says he looks years younger (my customers say that but they are debauched, wrinkled, town-dwellers. Dad kept going until 5am on New Years Day and the women flock to him. Mary Knight would have him tomorrow. No, today, in half an hour. We found a bottle of Asti spumante and had it with our boiled eggs for breakfast. Dad stayed until lunchtime and then went on to Guiseley. Tonight he went out with Sue, Pete, John & Janette to the Indian restaurant at White Cross. _________.

-=- 

Thursday January 1, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

New Years Day - Bank Holiday in UK

I now attempt to revive my limp journal which began on January 1, 1973, and only ceased in August, 1986, when the author, over-worked and flattened, laid down his pen. It has not been easy. I have looked at those blank, white pages and have suffered pangs of torment. So here goes. This day is lost in a painful stupor, an alcoholic haze. The New Years Eve party - a Bacchanalian orgy no less - dispersed at 7:30am.  We'd seen Phyllis Dean's tits. Joe House's knees, &c. I deserted Margaret Milne this afternoon and returned to bed. Fizzy Andrews Liver Salts my only nourishment and then Julie Andrews in 'Mary Poppins'.

-=-

Wednesday December 31, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

New Moon

Ally: flapper.

A New Years Eve fancy dress thrash here. V. successful. Dad brought Sue, Pete and Co this afternoon. A full house. Ally in shimmering pink. A flapper girl. I was in loud stripes and a boater. Up until dawn. Riotous. Janette went to Maria's and John came here alone. Oh God. __________. Phyllis stripped to nowt and then fell over and did her eye in. Joe House, 75, batted until 7:30am.

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