Friday July 20, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Warm. Dead viscounts include Hardinge (55), and Allenby (81). I do like to keep you informed of stiff peers. Will Shinwell reach 100?

Anyway, back to Hunslet circa 1984. Spoke to Dave G. He is definitely coming tomorrow. He'll be arriving at approximately 10pm. He is aso definitely coming to Lanzarote in January. We have had confirmation of our holiday dates from Ken Gilbertson. Yippee. Silence from Horton. Nora never rings. I am an outcast, or so it seems. Today is Samuel's last Friday as a heathen, and I can tell you that this christening is costing us a damned fortune. Worth it though. Ally worked like stink _________.

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Thursday July 19, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Samuel screamed all night and we were left dead and grousy (sic) by morning. Battled on regardless, however. Worked with Margaret because Karen, our elusive barmaid, is holidaying in Bournemouth. Susie is ill. Moving house has devastated her. She has lost blood. We do worry. This evening we went to Linfood and got back here packed to the hilt at 7pm. Going to bed tonight was like heaven.

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Wednesday July 18, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot. One year ago today we began our great adventure at the Linthorpe Hotel, Middlesbrough. What a year we have had. I never would have believed one could learn so much in such a short time. This game teaches you one hell of a lot about human nature, especially human frailties. 

To Morrison's at 11 and spend £25. Saw Margaret (she has a virus) and asked her to work tonight whilst Karen is off and to enable Ally to go to the Gaston darts thing at the Brown Hare. She readily agreed. Maureen worked 12-3pm with Audrey. 

Later we went back to town and bought Susie some perfume, and for Sammy a baby alarm, a car seat, and a furry one at that. We lavish a small fortune on that boy.

Phoned Auntie Mabel and then Uncle Tony, and asked them to come for drinks on Sunday. Barbara Makin phoned to say they cannot attend the christening. Frank phoned to say Bessie is concerned that we cannot  cope with a christening party and the running of the pub, &c. Ally explained that the Moorhouse runs like the engine of a well-oiled ship and that her mother's reservations are quite unfounded. Frank offered me some assistance financially with our catering project but Ally declined to take him up on the offer. Frank says Graham has been looking at some houses, no bigger than rabbit hutches, in Alresford. 

I bathed Samuel and Ally got ready for her darts evening. Just as she was leaving Colin Black rolled up to say that Fran O'Brien cannot now come here as area manager, and says we will probably have Donna Lea. Elation. He went away and I laughed out loud. He seemed very affable and knew I'd told Roy. This is the best news I've had in ages. It's like being reprieved on death row. Upstairs I washed, peeled potatoes, &c. At 9:30 the stereo went on. Ally was back at 12. Madge had done well but had lost her nerve and came runner-up. She saw F.O'B, Colin Black, Roy, Charlie, &c.

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Tuesday July 17, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Samuel is no longer a baby. I find it hard to capture his genius and beauty in words. We marvel at his every move. He sat at the breakfast table with us. He fed himself fingers of bread and rusks - albeit messily - and then on the floor he sat unaided for a while giggling at his toys. Bright as a button he is. Ally is totally besotted with him. Isn't the maternal instinct quite incredible?

Sam in satin suit.

Out we went at 4pm to to town for an hour. It cost us £1.50 in the car park. Bought Samuel a satin-type christening suit (only £9 or so) and went to Laura Ashley where Ally bought a dress for Sunday. She found a blue, spotty off the shoulder number for £19. (I am putting down the prices to give you something to laugh at in 1996 by which time dresses will cost £3,000). A quiet night (yet again). Jane was in good spirits. She says she fancies visiting the Maldive Islands at Christmas. She is working on Saturday.

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Monday July 16, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Fun and games tonight. The slut Christine, who thinks she's Bo Derek, assaulted old Olive in the tap room and I had to forcibly eject her from the premises. However, the assailant scaled the heights of a mighty tree nearby and hid in wait in a leafy solitude for poor Olive to make her way home. Olive, who is sixty, and pissed, would stand no chance. I phoned a constable who came and drove Olive home in his motor. I knew that Christine would be trouble from the start and could kick myself for not clotching her at our first encounter, Bloody women. The few that come into our tap room are worse than all the men put together. Maureen was very helpful in terminating the fracas. Ally was oblivious to the turmoil until it was all over.

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Sunday July 15, 1984

 4th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn

To Linfood at dawn to spend £50 on frozen chips and other vital provisions. We had no cleaner in today because staff supposedly cannot work on seven consecutive days. So Ally did the swabbing out at midnight. We did steer clear of the lavatories. Nothing can persuade me to mop up other people's piss. They don't pay me enough for that. 

Watched 'Casablanca' again. My excuse was that Samuel hasn't seen it before. He giggled when I exclaimed: 'play it again, Sam', and 'here's looking at you, kid'. 

Bessie phoned. She seems to think we are disorganised for next Sundays ceremonial. We never flap. Graham and Gill were lunching at Martyr Worthy just returned from the Isle of Wight. Matthew was running riot on top of the Hepplewhite. Oh God.

Dave L walked in at 7:15 for seven packs of hedgehog favoured crisps. He looked tanned after a holiday at Runswick Bay. His dog, Rowan, has just won a pound at Bolton Abbey Show and he had collected this vast sum from the hands of Lady Hartington herself, whom he described as 'looking quite as normal and your and I'. Of course she is. The aristocracy can often look extremely pedestrian. He is coming back next week when the schools break up. Life in South Elmsall is dangerous at the moment. Bricks flying with the pickets, &c. Jane again tonight.

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Saturday July 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Bastile Day. Poor Louis XVI. How much more pleasant France would be with its monarchy intact. I can think of a few people here who could do with a chop from Madame Guillotine. A. Scargill to mention but a few. Dennis Skinner MP, Neil Gimmick MP, Fran O'Brien, Walter Mondale, the Rt Rev David Jenkins, Bishop of Durham, &c.

I worked today with Audrey. A dead afternoon. Audrey did this evening too, and it was similarly flat. 

Oh dear. I forgot to say last night but Jacq Sate and her brother Peter and a couple of friends came over for a few (drinks) after traveling up from the metropolis. _______. They stayed on afterwards. PC 49 came back with a clutch of elderly female relatives and a legal adviser, but I sent them packing.

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Friday July 13, 1984

 Full Moon

Moorhouse Inn

Friday the Thirteenth. A very busy day. Felt greatly recovered. Energetic, in fact. I made all those niggling phone calls I've been threatening to make. Oldham Signs, the cool shelf people, plumbers, &c. Spoke to Ken Gilbertson at Tadcaster about the '85 holidays and he told me only one manager had booked for next year so we should be OK. I went about afterwards with a spring in my step dreaming of the balmy breezes and golden beaches of Lanzarote in January. We do work hard and deserve a foreign trip. Ally looks so thin these days and her face is slightly pinched. Bless her, she has coped so well with the baby and the pub. People do comment on our rigorous lifestyle.

We have yet to have a visit from Fran O'Brien and suspect he is lying low until his blushes fade. Just Jane tonight. A busy one. Sammy slept and so Ally came down.

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Thursday July 12, 1984

 Bank Holiday in N. Ireland

Moorhouse Inn

Disgusting hangover at dawn. We woke at 6:30 when the cook banged on the door of our old room (No. 8). Bless her, she cooked us a breakfast of salty bacon and rubbery eggs. We ate alone and I passed everything on to Ally's plate. Felt ghastly. Left at 7 without seeing anyone. The dear Linnie - what memories. However, in the early hours I had gone up to bed, almost in tears, about Roy avoiding me. Or so I told Ally. I blame the brandy. Dancing with Marie to 'Two Tribes' by Frankie Goes to Hollywood was great fun. Back in Leeds for 8:30. My eyes like cherries. Felt awful all day. Serving food was a torture. I spewed up at 2:45 and went down with carrots in my hair to call last orders. Really shocking. Ally was angered and upset at my inability to fight off my hangover. She buzzed around as if we hadn't been up all night. Just Karen tonight. Margaret has gone to her brother's wedding in Kent. Not to chaotic.

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Wednesday July 11, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

The Linthorpe.

To the Linthorpe Hotel this afternoon. We thought it had all been planned but we arrived at 4pm to find Roy in bed and Marie watching the racing on TV with a look of great surprise upon her face. She put the blame on the dog. Saxon, the ageing, vicious alsatian, is dying of a liver complaint, and William Barnes, the vicious, juvenile son, is on the loose again after assaulting Charlie. Roy came in wearing his vest and we had tea and biscuits and gossiped about LG and F.O'B. Samuel sat wide-eyed. We are told that Mags and Michael Gaskin are unofficially betrothed. We had drinks in the garden and then in the lounge. Crowded with revellers. Became quite legless. Lager and brandy do not mix. Giggled with Marie and Mags and did my usual dead miner lying on the picket line routine. Sore elbows. Ally slept with Samuel from about 11. To bed pissed after 2am. Depressed for some reason.

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Tuesday July 10, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Koo Stark.

Koo Stark is engaged to the Green Shield Stamps tycoon. She looks like a little _____, and I heave a sigh of relief that Prince Andrew didn't go too bananas and marry her. The gutter press says that Prince Philip put paid to Andrew's aspiration for Miss Stark's hand. Norman Parkinson's chatty wife says that the Duke of Edinburgh's 'Germanic' upbringing is the cause of the Andrew-Koo split.  Oh dear.

Jane again. Westminster Abbey is still standing, -- but watch this space.

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