Thursday May 3, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Samuel is clad in his new gear. What a beauty. He had a spoon of Delrosa syrup.

Busy in the bars. Another riotous 'Giro Day'. More beer is spilled on the floor (by the customers) than consumed. The tap room looks like Lake Windermere. Ally went upstairs in a state of collapse and I battled on with Margaret and Karen. I ejected a pissed young pool payer who was infuriating everyone. For a while I thought a brawl might ensue.

The dear PM has been at the helm for 5 years today, and is said to be planning a third term from 1987/88. I think she could do it. I'd like to see her surpass Walpole. 

Andrew: out of favour?

Fuss and nonsense on breakfast TV about the Prince of Wales kissing Prince Edward when they met in Cambridge. If brothers want to kiss then why not? Kevin Keegan does it on the football pitch, so why can't yer crowned heads? Poor Prince Andrew has taken a knock. Recently in Los Angeles he sprayed photographers with paint, he says accidentally, and then back  at home for Easter he wasn't at Windsor for the church service and the gutter press claimed this is because he is out of favour with Her Majesty. In fact the prince was up in Scotland at Floors Castle standing as godfather to Lord Edward Innes-Ker, son of the Duke of Roxburghe. Such a lot of twaddle is printed about our long suffering royal house. The annoying thing is that the majority of the British public believe what they read in the newspapers.

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Wednesday May 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Mum.

To try and keep a journal, run and pub and a baby is asking the impossible. Gone is that old wit and sparkle because I have no time to think or be creative. Believe me, I am still full of humour and fun. It just doesn't come out onto these pages much. Dad and I went down early to clean the beer lines but the mild XXXX exploded and I had to phone cellar services at the brewery.The guy didn't appear until 2:30 and he casually strolled in whistling a Hoagy Carmichael number. Then the Piries arrived to talk about a court case. I ignored them and went upstairs to have lunch with the others. Mum had made beefburgers. Previously they's been out with Samuel for a walk up Dewsbury Road and had stood eyeing a microwave oven in Des Butler's window. Over lunch Mum says Billy Wright phoned her on Easter Sunday to say he would be at their pearl wedding celebrations on June 19. Have I said that they are all coming here to celebrate, about 30 of them? Should prove devastating. I must phone Dave G to give him Samuel's christening details. At 3 Mum kindly offered to babysit and Ally and I went into town to spend £20 on baby clothes at Schofield's. The lad has a fat money box. We have bought him old fashioned baby wear ~ the style made popular by Prince William of Wales. You know the sort I mean. The stuff with an elasticated embroidered front and puff sleeves. Mum and Dad went off to see Sue at 5 o'clock. We are hoping to get to Horton near Ally's birthday. I worked tonight with Karen. Not too hectic.

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Tuesday May 1, 1984

 New Moon

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Papa.

Mum and Dad rolled in at 11:30 looking tanned and happy. Dad has long grey curls and could be mistaken for Lord Lichfield any day. They brought an Easter egg for Samuel who is calm and happy today. They see a great change in him and remark on his strong resemblance to Frank D. I have a sickly headache, the kind I suffered from in my schooldays, and have taken a couple of ultra-relief pills swilled down with Mandarine Napoleon brandy. We sat for a couple of hours playing with Samuel. Poor Papa becomes very emotional looking at babies. He is a sensitive man. His eyes go damp when watching films like 'Brief Encounter' and that sort of thing. We looked at an old group photo including Uncle Albert taken in 1907. Great Uncle Oliver is on the extreme right. We dined on brisket, cauliflower cheese, and later Ally and I walked across to the Blooming Rose and had a quick drink in a half hearted way but returned to the Moorhouse for 10pm and sat with Mum and Dad. It was a quiet night in the pub. The loss of Joe Cullen has left a void which cannot be filled. We retired at 11:30 and ate chunks of cream cake. I had a cherry brandy as a nightcap. And so to bed.

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Monday April 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Another warm one. At 2 in walked (Peter) Lazenby and Tony Harney (they had seen Michael Brown's poster on the back wall at the YP). Neither of them change at all. We sat at the bar in the tap room recalling the times we grovelled around Blackpool. I was always something of a celebrity of those debauched 'father's day' trips. Poor Pete asked if I knew Dave, his brother, was dead, and I muttered my sympathies. Six months on Pete still looks very moved by Dave's passing. They left at 3 promising a return visit. 

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Sunday April 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Low Sunday

Cooler today. Cousin Jill is 22. 

We held a staff meeting at 11. A congenial affair with coffee and biscuits.Samuel attended and watched the proceedings from his mother's arms. We had to give everyone the hard word about the stock problem, and scrapped the staff 10 minute break at closing and ironed out one or two minor irritations. I'm sure they all thought it was a waste of time, but Ally and I felt as though something useful had come out of it.

Tony & Geoff.

Auntie Mabel, Marlene, F, Mark & Debbie came at 1 and sat outside with Ally and Samuel. Mabel pushed Samuel in his pram through the tulips of Hunslet Moor and he wailed in his high pitched voice throughout whenever she glanced at him. His pet lip came up and tears welled in his eyes at the very sight of her. Most odd, because she is such a sweet, old thing. At 2:30 we all went in to the tap room where Frank and the kids played pool. They stayed until almost 5 o'clock.

Tonight comes Jill, Tim, Hilda, Tony, Geoff Elmer and his spouse, Margaret. They stood until after 12.

-=-
 

Saturday April 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Warmer. Summer madness in fact. From opening the doors at 11 we could sense the tension and almost hear it crackling amongst the usually placid natives. Should I go upstairs and find a gum-shield? That is the question. I was on my guard watching silly Joe Cullen, who was snarling like a mad dog at bearded Eddie, the sarcastic creep who usually stands in the lounge. At three they took their argument outside where Joe bopped Eddie and knocked him to the ground. The other brawler is currently on bail awaiting trial for molesting a 12 year-old girl. I went out and got between them once fighting commenced, and 'clotched' the pair of them. Joe had been asking for it for a while. Give a man enough rope and he'll hang himself, &c. I am splattered with blood. To escape this carnage at 3:30 we went off to see Auntie Mabel, who was watching snooker on TV in a darkened room. Samuel wailed throughout. He didn't like auntie's spectacles. Marlene, Frank anbd Debbie came and we had salmon and cucumber sandwiches and pots of tea. No news. The Harwoods were fresh back from Brid. Uncle Peter visited Mabel recently. Back to the Moorhouse for 7. A quiet evening with no visitors. Mabel and Co are coming here at lunch tomorrow.

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Friday April 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Warm. This cannot be bad. The pub smells of sun tan oil and we are faced with the sight of pink, newly burned flesh, &c. However, the heatwave is bringing the local nutters out of the trees. I stood at the door like a bouncer turning away the multitude of drunks, who then staggered off in the direction of the Junction.

Lunchtime saw the end of the pathetic London siege, and off went the murderers to a ticker tape welcome in that pin-prick of a country. So, it's all over. They are burying the poor dead WPC tomorrow in Salisbury.

Samuel has found his voice and he sings now like Kiri Te Kanawa.

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Thursday April 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Warm. The siege in London continues. Of course these barbaric Libyans will get away Scot-free. A member of the Kennedy family has been found dead from a drug overdose in a seedy hotel room. 'The Kennedy family prepares for yet another burial', says the Daily Telegraph. The Kennedys aren't exactly dropping like flies. The last one to croak was Bobby in '68, and so in fact they are long overdue a bereavement of some sort.

Received a call from MM who says he and Marita are coming this evening with Dave L. This put a spring in my step for the afternoon. I do enjoy visitations. People always seem pleasantly surprised with our little pub. They expect the worst coming to Hunslet. (I am writing this with my son and heir upon my craggy, ageing knees). Sure enough, my visitors rolled up at 8. They arrived simultaneously with a miserable wedding party of ten or twelve. The bride had to sit down for fear of delivering her baby. It was one of those affairs where the bridegroom wore a carnation which was so big it resembled a cauliflower.  Dave L is scatty as ever. Bored again of teaching he now wants a pub. He's even considering taking on the Star & Garter, near the Duncan, on the Headrow in town. His trousers stopped at the knee. We had a busy night which surprised everyone. We didn't harp on too much about the days of yore, which tends to upset Dave. MM and Marita are seeking a new venture. They are bored of selling three piece suites and rolls of Axminster and have considered a sandwich shop in town. Money is to be made in food. Upstairs at 11 for coffee and beefburgers. They are all a little amazed that Ally and I have achieved our aim in life so early.To bed quite knackered after one, or was it two?

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Wednesday April 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot and sunny. Dray day. 

Ally is tetchy and grumbly and complains she is feeling tired. She does look pale and needs some sort of tonic, if you ask me. People in public house management are denied sleep. Nowhere is sleep discussed in the management contract. Neither is sex. We stayed upstairs in the flat in a quandry of indecision. Eventually we decided that Ally should sleep and I would do 'the ironing'. Samuel wanted to play and we re-enacted scenes from the Battle of Britain. I ran around the room with Samuel held aloft. He was an aeroplane of course. His giggles are exceptional. Ally slept on in our flat, cum laundry. Bessie phoned. They are coming here next Tuesday when Frank is seeing someone in Burnley. But that is our 'Ossett night'. At 8 Frank phoned back to say he's in Kings Lynn on Tuesday and so they will come here on Sunday May 6. Mama phoned too. They are coming here next week. She says she doesn't want Samuel growing up without knowing his grandmama. I am sure we wouldn't let him.

High society news: Earl Jermyn is engaged. The premier baronet of England, Nico Bacon, received an heir on St George's Day, and so did Viscount Melville.

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Tuesday April 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Bernie McC.

Another warm, bright day. 70 degrees. Early start. Mick Thompson came at 8:30 with a bacon sandwich tucked under his arm. We have a £25 stock surplus. Thank God. I fail to understand this stocktaking business, but I suppose life has to have its ups and downs. Rob Piper at the Butcher's in Pudsey was £200 down on his last stocktake. Phoned LG who seemed dour. We are to go ahead with a staff meeting and he suggests we order 20 ounce glasses and be ever vigilant for the viper within. Ally worked with Audrey and I sat in the carpark with Samuel, who snoozed in his pram. Ally scampered around Hunslet Moor collecting our beer glasses and tidying up. Bernie McC (pissed) came and peeped in at my son and declared with much laughter that I cannot be the father, but that he is most definitely Ally's son. A long evening. No enthusiasm. Ally and Jane ran things and I stood with 'Mad Peter', a gay cockney, who insists he owns a stud farm in Eire, when in fact he lives on his weekly Giro on Beeston Hill.

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Monday April 23, 1984

Bank Holiday in the UK

St George's Day

Harry, England and St George, &c. Will HM fill the Garter vacancies? The Duke of Beaufort croaked, but who else? The Earl of Westmorland will collect the KG one day, and I had hopes for Johnny Spencer but they have faded. They'd never tolerate Raine in St George's Chapel. Perhaps she should send the star and garter to Colonel Gadaffi, and place nitrogycerin in the case?

The Libyan embassy siege continues. It was a hot, steaming day. Samuel's first bank holiday Monday. We took him outside in his pram and Archie played at Nanny Barnes. Quite touching that men who are childless seem obsessed with them. A quiet afternoon. Few customers. They are all in Blackpool or Brid.

Moping all night with nothing to do. Maureen worked. Michael Brown phoned and suggested we do a pub crawl in Holbeck on Wednesday. Ally wasn't too happy about this and so I'll cancel, nay postpone, this. I find Michael Brown excellent company but prefer Ally's on my only day off of the week. I was a fool to say I'd go.

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