Thursday July 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

A warm one. Have I told you Jane is leaving? Yes, she is moving up in the optician pecking order and no longer needs the cash from us. Glad, in a way. She glides around like the Queen Mother at a bazaar and has no sense of urgency. She plays the till like Maura Lympany on her Bechstein, which is very infuriating on a busy night. We will interview Mavis Ingham, Margaret's friend. Young Andrew, the student, who hangs around with the Cult band, is also in need of employment. 

Tonight was hot. Some imbeciles came out of the woodwork. I barred 'Ginger' for life for carrying a half brick in a sock, a weapon he intended to use on an incontinent Scot with a beard. My God. How mad this place is at times.

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Wednesday July 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Sunshine. A frantic lunch with people chewing on salads like rabbits. We took £23.80 on food. Good. We went at 2:30 to see Rob and Kath Piper (her baby is due on February 18) and she told us that at the Butcher's (Pudsey) they take between £200 and £300 a week on food. Felt sick and slightly ridiculous. Our £23 now looks quite pathetic. We imagined we joining the Pipers for lunch, but it soon became apparent we not getting any. Kath went to buy a chicken and Rob went sweeping up outside and we left at 3:30 somewhat despondent. Hungry too. To see Jill, but she was at work, and so we went to Guiseley and sat in the garden at Fieldhead Rd with Sue. What a poky, peculiar little house it is. Margaret was next door with the aged Mrs Booker. We sat sunning ourselves sipping lager and blackcurrant. Benjamin is changed and not as quite like Jim as he was. Christopher is a bloody maniac - kissing and sucking at the babies like a vampire. Susan certainly has her hands full. On to Lynn's. Saw the completed south transept. They ate, we watched. On to Westfield fish and chip shop - Samuel sitting in his car seat. Home for 9:30. The pub was packed. Couldn't sleep for the TV at full-volume.

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Tuesday July 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

A funny red-faced man called Ernie Benson staggered in and shook me gleefully by the hand and went on at length about the fun times we had together at the Linthorpe. Needless to say, I have never set eyes on him before. The chap had clearly been partaking in the consumption of alcohol. I add-libbed quite brilliantly and Ernie went away thinking I had remembered him and we were the greatest pals. He clearly is a friend of Roy Barnes, and came on his recommendation.

Don Whitfield phoned and asked me to play 'five-a-side', and the Sam Smith's 'family day' on August 14. I had to agree. I do not think I have kicked a ball since my Campsmount days in '66. Ally laughed in amazement at my agreeing to play. Dray day. The driver was called Penhaligon. No doubt a kinsman of that ghastly Liberal MP of the same name. Sammy playful. He loves the drum that Bessie has given him.

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Monday July 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Mum & Samuel, July 1984.

It is good having Mum and Dad here. They do help and I can tell you we need all the help we can get. Dad has been helping with the 'bottling up', watering the dead hanging baskets and sweeping up the litter. Mum, upstairs helping with Samuel, says he is being spoiled when we pick up him up when he cries. The poor boy can only go on for so long. Ally tells me that Mum must have quite forgotten how to handle babies. They left at 12 to go see Susan. Mum isn't herself. For the first time since Dad quit the police I sense an atmosphere. She must worry about Susie _________ and is slightly 'off' guest houses and bearded Guardian reading hikers. Can't say I blame her. I'm sure it will all blow over.

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Sunday July 22, 1984

 5th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn

The baptism of our son and heir. A fine day with an early start. Ally in her usual panic - flapping. The sandwiches (cut last night) were curling up. Samuel, angelic, slept until he was bedecked in his finery for the service. People gathered for 9 o'clock and we walked to St Peter's and the baptism took place midst the family service. The 1980 alternative service which I very much dislike. Terry Munro is very good and seems to be a decent chap. Vicars can be miserable buggers. I suspect he leans towards the Bishop of Durham. Sam was good to perfection. Wide awake and not a murmur. I held him throughout - Ally, myself, Lynn and D. Glynn at the font. The font is 1965 perspex. Oh dear. No other dippings. Back to the pub at 10:30. Sandwiches and sherry, &c. Dixons and Rhodeses.________. The Pudsey mob came too. People everywhere. We drifted outside. Samuel surrounded by cousins and looking perfect in his satin suit. Mum wasn't on form again. They had all gone by 7 o'clock. Knackered. Upstairs with just Mama and Papa. Bed. Bliss.

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Saturday July 21, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Susie is 25 today. A whole quarter of a

with Frank & Bessie.

century since Mama gave birth in that poor house in Goldthorpe. What a struggle they must have had in the early years. I do love my parents even though they are far away and apparently oblivious of me. Oh, I am being silly. Take up the phone, Michael. We went out shopping, even at this late stage. I am knackered and may collapse at any minute. To Morrison's, &c. Graham and Gill came here at 1pm. We sat outside in the heat having waitress service from Margaret and Audrey. Frank, Bessie, Andrew and Lorraine came at 3. Gill is always calmly, and pleasantly, disorganised. She says her father, the vicar, is most indisposed to unfortunates such as transvestites. We laugh. What does the Bible have to say on this subject? Bessie was laden with gifts for Samuel. Lorraine is very young, dark, and quiet and according to Bessie hideously spoiled. They went off to Club Street leaving me to bath Samuel. Graham & Andrew & Co are staying over at Bradford. Tonight. Hot. Cutting sandwiches for hours. Dave G arrived at 10 and we went down to the tap room. Bed at 1 after frantic preparations, &c.

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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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