Saturday September 7, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Ally was in a collapsed state all day and did her 'Sleeping Beauty' routine on me. Poor Samuel was motherless.

A happy birthday to Queen Elizabeth I who first breathed air upon this day in 1533 at Greenwich. She once said: "Good morning gentlemen both", to a delegation of seven tailors. Sounds very Monty Python to me.

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Friday September 6, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Mary Theresa Collinson, our kitchen assistant gave her notice today. It has been brewing for a long while. We are secretly elated because the food trade is so bad we simply don't need her services. She goes on holiday to Jersey on Sunday for a week. We have the option to employ her whilst we are on holiday Sept 19-Oct 2. In recent months we have been able to slice the air with a knife in our catering kitchen. Ally is developing a complex that she cannot get on with anybody.

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Thursday September 5, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Day off. We escaped to Club Street and the domestic delights of our Bradford nest. We could never let Club Street go. If I won £48m on one Mr Maxwell's Bingo games we'd keep Club Street. Yes, we might also acquire a chateau in the Loire Valley but Ash Tree Cottage is here to stay. Samuel loves the place too and says 'cottage' when we pull up outside. The day was blustery and fine and so we went to Duckworth Lane and the Co-op where we squabbled about what to eat - eventually picking up some ridiculous Findus salmon and cod creations at a £1 each. To Cheap 'n Cheerful and then home for lunch. Ally phoned Bessie and a contractor about our damp. Yes, we have damp in both our homes. Bessie says that Simon has a lump on his back and has to go to Bristol to see a paediatrician. I had a gloomy hour sticking some of Dad's photos in an album. Only last year Mum was bouncing around all tanned  with that gleaming smile. After Sam's nap we went out for a walk, but the wind and violent rain drove us home. Sam slept in the middle of our bed and we reclined in chairs with books. A ghastly epic 'Superman III' was on TV which we only half watched (we have taken our tiny black and white portable Tv back there). We returned to Leeds for 11:30. The pub had been quiet because of a 'do' at the Canning Street Club to which the cream of Beeston society attended. Sam was restless in bed. He must be too old for this bedroom shuttle.

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Wednesday September 4, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Overcast - me and the weather. The alarm sounded at 7 but Ally switched it off for half an hour. Felt groggy and could have stayed in bed, but didn't. Graham went for a run, devoured an egg, and left for Manchester. Ally, Sam and I went to town and bought pies at the market, and a pile of birthday cards which cost me £4 - the tribulations of having so many kinfolk. Uncle Peter appeared at 12 for a Cornish pasty. I sat with him for an hour. Julie is marrying Steve on Sept 6 next year and afterwards at Norfolk Gardens, Bradford. Dad is to be invited for the whole day, but cousins are invited to the evening soiree. Tonight Ally and I worked without staff. Chippy's friend, Ian Pitts, appeared with a car key and asked me to keep it behind the bar for Chippy to collect tomorrow. Odd. Pitts said that a gang will be coming here on Friday Sept 13. Say no more.

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Tuesday September 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Graham appeared again. This time he's working in Manchester. The poor boy looks tired and is still off the cigs and jogging regularly. He came in and flopped down on our settee and slept until 10 when he came down for a few (drinks). It was dead downstairs. Paul Chalmers came in - you remember Paul - he was a much tattooed regular here last year. Anyway, his sister was a victim of the recent Manchester Airport disaster (Aug 22) when 54 bound for Corfu were fried on the tarmac. The poor buggers didn't even get in the air.

Barbara Thingy appeared on 'Name That Tune', a ghastly musical quiz on ITV. You remember Barbara - Lynn's elderly friend from her Yorkshire Light Aircraft days, who frequented Pine Tops gatherings in the halcyon days of yesteryear. 

Someone had an epileptic fit in a mini in the car park and I played the Doctor Kildare bit quite well. Had fish and chips with Graham washed down with cherry brandy - watched a lewd 'Carry On' film.

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Monday September 2, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The tap room today is like a fading, rural cinema. Old John, Joan and I watching Basil Rathbone in the ancient version of The Hound of the Baskerville's. Janet worked. Stone dead. I kept a stealthy eye on J's activities. Ally came down at 10 to sit with Geoff and Phyllis. Later toasties in bed. Still reading Ridley's Henry VIII. It's poor - I'd say.

Horribly wet. Quiet here. Speculation all day as to who has been axed from the Cabinet. The BBC and ITV reported just who had been promoted or dismissed before any news came out of No. 10. Everything is leaked nowadays. Leon Brittan is Secretary of State, DTI. Douglas Hurd becomes Home Secretary. Poor Tom King goes to Ulster. Peter Rees and the sports minister are sacked, and so is Patrick Jenkin. The new employment secretary is Lord Young. No recall for Cecil Parkinson's Disease. Thank God. What a smarmy little spiv he is without doubt. No big changes at the top. Willie (Whitelaw), Geoffrey (Howe) and Quentin (Hailsham) remain in place. Is this the team that will lead us to victory in 1987/88? Watch N.B. Tebbit. He is party chairman and Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster but he's the one at Margaret (Thatcher's) heels if you ask me.

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Sunday September 1, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Two staff came in at 12. I was supposed to be hideously hungover and dying but felt very good considering. We sat waiting for Marlene and Frank to come but they didn't show. Little Sammy behaved so well yesterday. Debbie did look wan to say the least and I think Sam gave her one of his operatic performances. The poor girl handled him though. Last night he was still awake at 9:30 and Jacq gave him a tour of all the rooms in the house to calm him. He must have thought we had abandoned him.

Mum was so missed yesterday. I felt dejected. I do this at family gatherings now. Dad did very well. It must have been painful. Mum and Dad were married at St Lawrence Church 31 years ago. 

Today is the birthday of dear Roy Barnes and Martyn Cole.

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Saturday August 31, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Hilda: blue.

Wet day. The marriage of Diane Gadsby and Paul Anthony Edwards at Pudsey St Lawrence. Ally went off at 8:30am to have her hair trimmed whilst Sammy and I walked to the park to play on the wet fixtures. The slide was especially fast and Sam went down like the launching of the Queen Mary. Over to Pudsey at 11:30 to deposit Samuel with Debbie. Then to the Butchers Arms to be joined by Lynn, Dave, Sue & Pete. Saw Rob. The girls say that Dad disapproves of visiting the pub before the church, and has gone on to the parish church alone. Oh dear. We went to Mabel's to park the car and then we walked over to the church. A touching service. Diane in an off-the-shoulder number. Lots of wind. A tortuous wait afterwards whilst the photographer pratted around in the park with the happy couple. We all stood around like plums. Eleanor was wearing a black hat and today I could see Mum in her. Hilda in blue. To the reception at the Baron, Idle, with Marlene, Frank and Mabel. Charlotte Nora attended with John & Janette. Poor Hayley, a bridesmaid, was overcome by it all, and wailed throughout. An intermission followed the food. We came home at 6, or 7, after visiting Wilsby briefly. Jacq and Ian came to babysit. We left them gin, ale, prawns, chocs, &c. Returned to the Baron. A discotheque, but with a slow bar. There was a swimming pool, supposedly barricaded off , but an obvious target for youthful, drunken revelry if ever I saw one. Needless to say at midnight the bridegroom was submerged. Dad, in a corner, had a weep with Mabel. Home to see Jacq and Ian at about 1am.

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Friday August 30, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Full Moon

Stocktake. The nameless, idiot stocktaker appeared at 11 and stayed until 3. What a pillock. M.R. Dalison is his name. Ally loathes him. He was wearing a wide 3ft 6ins velvet tie. Incompetence abounded. We ended up with a £99 surplus, but didn't feel happy. Sam Smiths must be insane employing this chap.

Fun and games here. At the end of the evening the highly-pitched singing concubine of the George Cole look-alike, Ron (tap room) decided to faint prostrate upon the floor, spilling ale, and causing a wave of excitement among the regulars. There she was, wide-eyed, apparently suffering from respiratory problems. I had to use my head and act quickly. "Outside and on to the moor" said I, not wanting a stiff on the premises at 11:15pm. So, outside she went to lay 'in state' upon one of the picnic tables, and waiting for the arrival of an ambulance. I shut up shop and retired. ____.

Thursday August 29, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

John called in this evening with Peter Mather, of all people, and they had a few (drinks) in the bar discussing days gone by. Peter is very unchanged. He still lives with Donald and Vera and shows no signs of forming a permanent heterosexual relationship. His sister, Lynne, is heavy with child and due on Oct 2. Blood pressure, &c. Donald and Vera still struggle to accept her aged, divorced husband. The man has money though. They spend six months in New Zealand and six months in Ilkley, &c. He is, as they say, into sheep. Or is it wool? They left at 11. The news is that the PM is going to re-shuffle the government next week. Will Leon Brittan succeed Quintin (Hogg) as Lord High Chancellor of Gt Britain? Poor old Q is 77.

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Wednesday August 28, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dray day. I was dropped an 18 gallon of cider short  and so I phoned transportation immediately and was told they would come back to me, but didn't. This put me in a foul mood on my so-called day off. We went to Bradford at 11 and lunched at Club Street. We went to the Paris boutique at Rawdon where Ally spent £35. Shopped in Bradford. Ally bought pink shoes and accessories for Saturday (wedding). On at 3:30 to Hilda's with crockery for Diane and Tony's polypin (36 pints for £22). All subdued. Tony was busy working. Ally had a coffee with Hilda and I took Samuel into the garden to play with the dog. I think of all the generations of Wilson descendants who have played in this garden. Samuel was very sweet and played with a bag of clothes pegs and sat upon the old swing. Diane came in at 5:45. Back to the Moorhouse for tea. Janet is back from Ballykelly, near Mullaghnmore. _____________.

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Tuesday August 27, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Abominably quiet. Les Gledhill and Donna Lea appeared at 12:30 for the silly area manager handing over ceremony, which passed off smoothly. No fisticuffs over the salted peanuts as at the last historic handing over of power. LG is a sarcastic old dog, and should be ignored. He must think we are doing well, or he would have come down on us sharpish.

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Monday August 26, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Bank Holiday in UK (except Scotland)

The usual Bank Holiday blues. A complete flop. Ally went over to Lynn's to Thomas's birthday party which commenced at 2:30. Others there included Sue's boys and Pam kids, and the Riddells from next door, &c. I lay on the bed for an hour, consulting this tome and watching 'The Making of Superman III'. Ridiculous. They even make films about making films now. I opened at 7pm. Quiet, except for the fact that Jacq , Ian and Trixie rolled in at 9:30 and stayed until after 2am. Trixie is such a 'good time dancing girl' as they say. She recently lost her driving licence and was fined £400. A bit steep, don't you think? Jacq and Ian are to marry at Seacroft Church with some panoply on March 22 next, and afterwards at the Mercury, Garforth. Jacq will become Mrs Cawood. We stood at the bar after time. Trixie says she can smell fertiliser, but we put it down to the fresh cellar paint. _________.

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Sunday August 25, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

12th Sunday after Trinity

Lashings of rain. Busy lunch. Donna Lea appeared casually attired. Her husband she says is 'shooting in the hills' and so she is left snooping around her pubs in Leeds. We are the busiest in town today, she says. Upstairs we ate a big mince and onion pie and watched TV. Laugh at Leslie Phillips fully clothed in a shower holding a hot pressure cooker. Hilarity. The film was 'The Seven Deadly Sins' or something. We have planned a holiday and I haven't told you about it. It came into fruition yesterday. From Sept 19 to 21 we are going to Coleford and the hospitality of Graham and Gill, and then from Sat Sept 21st we go to Cotleigh, Devon, for a week of peace and tranquillity. It's near Honiton and Beer. Then on Sat Sept 28 we go to Frank & Bessie's for a few days. It is F & B's 33rd wedding anniversary on Sept 27. Can't wait. Pub life is good, but Oh, the holidays.

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Saturday August 24, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

They say the Earl of Avon died from Aids. The killer disease prevalent in homosexuals. The peer shared a London  flat with an antique dealer.

Dad went to Guiseley at 11:30. He has been such a great help this week. It is always so touching to see him disappear down Dewsbury Rd in his little car, quite alone. _______.

To Sainsbury's at Moortown. Gary and I tonight in the bar. Ally has had a mad cleaning spree. Jill and Tim appeared. Jill is enormous now, but not wanting the baby to come before next week's wedding. A surprise to see them. Both Karen and Di go on holiday on 2/9/85 and it seems the whole family will miss the Elmer accouchement. Very quiet night. Upstairs for 1am. ________.

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Friday August 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad was padding around at 3am switching off the lights. The place was flood-lit like the Eiffel Tower. Ally banged around but I refused to get up until almost 11am. Violence in the tap room. Brian Millar and his hyper-active, nymphomaniac ex-fiancée, Helen, had a "domestic" which erupted into a brawl. All were ejected. I wasn't feeling particularly athletic.  Dad painted our kitchen.

The Daily Telegraph diary mentions that Lord Avon died last week. It's the first I've heard. Wasn't he a government minister? Of course he was the son of Anthony Eden and was only 54. A gay bachelor.

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Thursday August 22, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The Woolpack, Yeadon.

Dad and I spent the day in the cellar splashing paint around. Ally came down plying us with ale and by 2pm we were tipsy and nostalgic. Uncle Peter dropped in at lunchtime and came down to inspect our daubing. Later Dad offered to babysit and give us a night out. Ally, not feeling up to it, said no, and so I sat sulking watching 'Top of the Pops'. She then appeared looking very dressed up and had obviously relented. We went to the Woolpack at Rawdon. Shocking beer. Then to the former Peacock at Yeadon. It's now called 'Images'. Then, to the Drop in Guiseley. Met Chippy (now to be addressed as Gerald), looking like Tom Selleck, the thespian. He was with a boy called Ian. We went on at 11 to the former Wikis, now Beau Brummels. Became very pissed on strong bottled lager. We squabbled in the car coming home. Ally had not enjoyed it, and had not wanted to come out in the first place. I went to bed. God knows where Ally slept.

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Wednesday August 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dick the Shit (i.e. Richard the Turd)

Dray. The anniversary of the coming to power of the Tudor dynasty and the fall of poor 'Dick the Shit' at Bosworth field - the 500th anniversary no less. I have great reservations about the whole affair. Surely, Richard III was more trustworthy than the cunning old Welsh chappie who usurped him? 

We worked pm alone. Dad remained upstairs with the Daily Telegraph.

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Tuesday August 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad paints. He came down to the bar this evening and found himself in the company of old Donald MacGregor, the cynical and twisted Scot. Dad will allow most things to wash over him but cynicism, never. I can be cynical, because I am young, says Dad. But Donald MacGregor is old enough to know better. Many topics were discussed from mourning, to charitable bodies, and the starving millions in the world. Dad put on his political MP-like face and would not be coaxed away from old Donald, who sweated profusely and who swore more and more violently as the night wore on. Others in the bar chuckled. For three nights this week we are working without staff. Aren't we a diligent little pair?

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Monday August 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad still painting. I phoned Donna (Lea). She promised to come with more white paint later in the week. The three tins I have here will go nowhere. Rob (the stocktaker) phoned to say our stocktake planned for tomorrow is now cancelled because of a 'rush job'. That's another manager for the chop, by the sound of things. The transportation dept from the brewery also phoned to say the dray will be here on Wednesday, instead of tomorrow. What a carry on. Has Tuesday been cancelled? Samuel has received an invitation to the birthday party next Monday of his cousin, Thomas. Dad is puzzled by this because he asked Lynn what festivities were planned for Thomas's birthday to be told 'none'. Lynn blamed the bank holiday. Poor Thomas. He goes almost unnoticed because he is so very quiet. Just like a small doll. _____.

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