Saturday May 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Feel awful. Headache, &c. A quiet afternoon. At 12:30 I went back to bed and slept until 4. Ally went to town and the delights of Leeds Market and at 5 we had eggs and bacon.

A dead night downstairs, but fun. Ally worked with Margaret and I sat with Audrey, Terry, and Bernie &c. Had a few halves. We laughed at Brian and counted the number of times he said: "when Wilf was at the Eagle". We counted at least 48 times. Brian is a lonely old fart. We had an extension until 11:30 (for the Bank Holiday) but the place was like a tomb. Terry went home pissed at 12 and I convened a staff meeting and Ally, Audrey, Margaret and her husband Dougie partook of a quiet drink in the corner of the lounge. Audrey says that (Michael) Pirie has been sacking his bar staff. The Egans are going to France on Tuesday taking Tracey.

Still no word from Susie. Will it be Samantha, James, Jennifer or Clint? The excitement is mounting. 

Sammy Bear is a pig - true.

-=-

Friday May 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Heavy rain today. Susan went in to hospital yesterday and we have heard nothing and so presume that all is well. Samuel has wailed at half hourly intervals throughout the night, and so today we are nothing but cabbages.Living dead. Can the boy be sprouting teeth or is it his digestion? Whatever it is it's bloody awful.

Miss Hodge & Andrew.

That whore __ Hodge is publishing the story that she slept with Prince Andrew when he went on holiday after coming back from the Falklands. I do hope it doesn't put Carolyn Herbert off. Jim's Daily Star has a headline 'The anguish of Lady Helen' - apparently an ex-army captian called Oakes is spilling the beans on his relationship with Lady Helen Windsor. He says she was once enraptured with him. The swine is set to reveal all. Some people will do anything for money.

My cellar is covered in a coating of oil and the boiler men are still down there at it. Deadly quiet tonight. Many people have died in an explosion at a Lancashire water works. A sub-aqua Abervan. 

Samuel was back to normal today and slept well. Last night he sounded like Maria Callas.

Shit of the Week: Arthur Scargill.

-=-

Thursday May 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

A brighter day. Queen Victoria is celebrating quietly somewhere. My Uncle Albert always referred to her as a 'bad old bitch', and he should know because he was five when she died. I told old Jim in the tap room that today is Empire Day, and surprisingly he had never heard of it. Blimey, he's 83. Wasn't the empire still going strong in the 1920s?

Men came to convert us from oil to gas. It was one long tea break. The British workman has never worked under pressure. Other than myself that is. Oily footsteps everywhere. An old man in the tap room complained that his beer is flat. He should drink it quicker then, shouldn't he?

At 4 we went to Linfood and carried Samuel around. Looking at 42 gallon jars of tartare sauce, &c. I could easily become obsessed with bulk buying. 

Took the evening off. Ally took down all the curtains and washed them. I sat and watched Sir Robin Day's 'Question Time' followed by a Scottish murder drama set in 1889. Sir George Young, Bt, MP was one of Robin's guests. His father-in-law is the sculptor Oscar Nemon. 

Ate steak sandwiches and went off to bed.

-=-

Wednesday May 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Jim's Daily Star continues to build up my hopes about Carolyn Penelope Herbert. I do hope something will come of it. The prince really needs to settle down. His public image isn't all that good. A wife will give the lad a boost, I'm sure.

An odd day because it's usually our day off. Ally took Samuel to the clinic. He weighs 13lb 4oz - perfectly average. He's fatter. All this tinned Heinz stuff. 

A good crowd appeared in the tap room after yesterdays lunatic session in the afternoon. A group of very well spoken lads came in to play darts. I assume they are trainee dentists or budding army colonels. Very polite and inspiring. The rif raf have given way to a more genteel clientel. 

Ally has had a card from the Watts family. David is moving to Goole - poor sod. We shall never see them again. Also news from Catherine Alderson who is expecting a child in November.  ________. Quiet night. Just Audrey and I.

-=-

Tuesday May 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Carolyn Herbert.

Still tired after our adventure yesterday. Ally thoroughly enjoyed her birthday. 

In the back bar I was very excited picking up old Jim's Daily Star which announces that Carolyn Herbert is now the constant companion of Prince Andrew. The lady is blessed with a splendid pedigree. Both she and Andrew stem from Henry VII (as do Charles and Diana), and both descend from the 2nd Duke of Portland. The mother of the Queen Mother was of course a Cavendish-Bentinck. The Hon Miss Herbert seems to be very much cast in the Princess of Wales mould, and would making a cracking Duchess of York. Koo Stark, Kim Deas and Katie Rabett - never. However, by now I really should have learned not to be taken in by the 'Daily Star'. 

Jill and Tim came last night and left cards. Maureen mistook Jill for a pub landlady. Graham and Gill phoned tonight with their baby news. Siobhan will be with us on or around Samuel's first birthday. Graham says it's probably best to get all the babies over and done with speedily one after the other. Gill will be thirty in September.

Wet. The tap room was like a mad house. A mad man spewed up all over old Jim, who stood in the doorway dripping in steaming vegetables, quite speechless. I clotched three on this quiet afternoon. 'Mad Michael', the Irish lunatic had to go after I found him sleeping in the ladies toilets.

-=-

Monday May 21, 1984

 Bank Holiday in Canada

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Lord Willoughby de Broke is 88; Lord Clydesmuir 67; Lord Maxwell 65, Mr J. Malcolm Fraser 54, and Alison Mary Rhodes is 26.

We were awake early and I gave Ally her presents in bed. Samuel loves wrapping paper. She had a call from Bessie, who says Gill is expecting further issue in January, also a call from Susie. We scurried around doing our usual jobs but excited at the prospect of escaping this afternoon. It was a dull overcast sort of day. 

At 2:30 we left for Horton. I felt dog tired. At Waltergarth for 4pm. Found Mum and Dad in a jovial mood. We were joined by two peculiar hikers. One, an Irishman, padded around the house in bare feet. The other chap sat in a corner wearing headphones listening to a long tape recording of bird calls. He was a Mr Pierrepoint, but no relation of the late hangman.  We dined on sirloin and Yorkshire puddings. They are waiting for Janette to announce she is pregnant. They say it's only a matter of time. We left at midnight, and home after one. Utterly shagged out. I slept. Horton is too far away.

-=-

Sunday May 20, 1984

 4th Sunday after Easter

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Warm start, warm later, but rain. I enjoy Sundays, but got up feeling awful after last night. My throat like the bottom of a parrot's cage. I went down at let Ann in. She's 73 and still cleaning. Standing in the dark in my cool cellar did wonders for my headache. Poor Ally. She looks, and feels, like a dead fish. Breakfast on eggs and bacon. Samuel held a rusk and snacked on it. Despite her frail, wet fish-like condition Ally is jovial and beaming. It must be love.

Sunday lunchtime. Just Margaret and I. 'Big Mick's' friends and widow came in to play pool. The widow told me that she has to come out as usual or 'go mad' at home. The poor girl looked ghastly. The funeral is on Friday. I do hope she doesn't think I am going. Like the Queen I restrict my attendance at funerals to only close family members. Upstairs at 2:30. Saw crap on the TV. Look at the (Sunday) Telegraph. Sir John Betjeman, poet laureate, died yesterday aged 78. Was he having an affair with Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, Princess Margaret's lady-in-waiting? We shall see. I have never taken much of a shine to poetry. 'If I should die' by Rupert Brooke I find very touching, but Betjeman's stuff about railway stations leaves me cold. 'If I should die' is actually called 'The Soldier'. Sorry. Wrapped Ally's gifts and bathed Samuel. He shits everywhere most horribly. Ally and I both downstairs tonight. Lynn phoned to say happy birthday to Ally. She was in one of her odd, distant moods.

-=-

Saturday May 19, 1984

A warm, gentle day. Ally and I took off to town with Samuel at 1pm. We didn't take the pram and I carried baby for two hours, by the end of which he was like a lead weight. To Laura Ashley where Ally bought a frock for £26 and a pair of shoes (£9.99). I went to Greenhead's and bought 'Adele & Co' by Dornford Yates and then to Thornton's for a box of chocolates. Very sensibly I have decided that clothes form the bulk of Ally's birthday presents. No jewels, furs or trinkets this year. Back at 5. Lasagne and orange juice. Ally worked tonight and was bubbling with fun. I sat drinking with Bernie. After (at 12) Ally and I drank £7.03 worth of booze (Malibu, shakers (?), port, &c. and went to romp upstairs until 3am. _______.

-=-

Friday May 18, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

'Big Mick' the pot bellied darts player with Hells Angel tendencies went to bed last night and died. His wife regularly babysits for Maureen. The tap room was a sad place this afternoon and all the darts team appeared wearing black as a mark of respect. It must have been Big Mick's ticker. Marie Barnes and Mags called in. It was a joy to see them. We are going to the Linthorpe to see them in a few weeks. Jane and Margaret worked tonight. Edna, perched at the bar, has a face like a wet weekend. 

Daily Trivia: a son has been born to Lord and Lady Ralph Percy, a male heir for the dukedom of Northumberland. The eldest son (of the current duke) is unmarried and weird looking. Sadly, two dukedoms are on the cards to expire by about 1990. Portland and Newcastle. Such a pity. Perhaps Mrs T will end her days as Duchess of Grantham. She will soon have won four general elections on the trot. Not even Disraeli managed that. 

-=-

Thursday May 17, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Bert.

Cold. The over enthusiastic woman from Kenmar (fruit machines) bustled in and talked none stop for half an hour about gas boilers. Yawn. Mum phoned with news of the Uncle Bert saga. They waited for him to arrive at Horton, but he didn't appear. Eventually they phoned Nottingham and he was there. It seems he came by train to Leeds, but was late, and so made his way to Guiseley and the Station Hotel where he phoned every Baker in the phone book, to speak to Lynn, without success. After an hour he hobbled back to Leeds and took the train back home to Nottingham. She says he was very angry and 'more or less put the phone down on me'. He spent £17 on rail fares. What a cock up. 

At 3:30 we went to Linfood Cash & Carry and spent £40 on gigantic jars of tartare sauce, &c. Bulk buying is fun. To Club Street for half an hour where we ate bars of chocolate and sipped lemonade. Samuel, sitting on my knee, smells like an old sheep. He had eaten braised lamb splodge for lunch. Such a cute boy he is. Back to the Moorhouse for 6:30. Dog tired. I could sleep for a week. One needs the stamina of an ox in this game.

-=-

Wednesday May 16, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Overcast day. Phoned Susan. Mum is on her way to us, she says, with a surprise visitor they are collecting at the station. It's Uncle Bert. They arrived at 2:30 having agreed to collect Bert at Leeds Railway Station but as usual paths were crossed and Bert is still at large, wandering the streets on his artificial limb. We had a traditional Mandarine Napoleon. Dad bounced Samuel on his knee and flew him through the air like a bird. They went at 5 to find Bert and take him to Horton. Somehow I cannot see this visit having a satisfactory conclusion. 

Marita.

We dressed hurriedly, packed baby into the car and went to Horsforth and MM and Marita's for dinner. Immediately, Samuel decided he didn't like the plush refinements of 12, Rawdon Road, and began to bawl. He cried like he was in pain, and yelled through the stuffed peppers, watercress soup, turkey in brandy sauce and trifle. He had lucid intervals but hysterics for four hours. It was a pleasant night despite Samuel's Maria Callas impersonation. They are going to Yugoslavia again this summer. They regularly buy cut glass in Dubrovnik. We left at 12, or so.

-=-