Saturday August 4, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Ally feels dreadful today but for some strange reason I am free of the usual hangover. We sat upstairs in a collapsed state this afternoon watching old films. The 1939 version of 'Goodbye Mister Chips' with Robert Donat and then 'The Titfield Thunderbolt'. A miserable wet day. Ally sprawled on the settee complaining about Robert Donat's performance. A dead evening. We sat with Albert and Kitty Taylor listening to their potted biographies. From Jamaica to Hunslet and back. Andy and Mavis worked. Stone dead. We cleared up afterwards. Totally bushed.

Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother is 84 today. We hear that she spent two days in hospital this week undergoing tests. I see in the columns of the DT that Olivia Mulholland, her woman of the bedchamber for 34 years, died on Thursday aged 82. This must be a blow to HM. We see her on the news in the drizzle at Clarence House. The crowd there gets bigger every year. We still have to idea where HM was born. Naughty Lord Strathmore told the registrar that she was born at St Paul's Walden, Herts, but this has recently been denied. 

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Friday August 3, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

David G is 30 today and Janette is 20. Poor Janette. I keep thinking of her and 'mad' Jock Drysdale and her almost Dickensian childhood. As a child I was sheltered from the likes of one-eyed maniacs with murderous tendencies and considering this Janette has turned out remarkably well.

So quiet today. Few lunches. This makes Ally ill humoured. Tonight we went down and mixed with the folk in the lounge. Mixing can sometimes be tiresome. We are basically insular people. Sometimes I find it hard to walk into a room and speak to people. Still, it has to be done. Audrey, Terry, Bernadette and Frank occupy us, along with old Reg, Alice, &c. Maureen came in and at 11:30 we had a few of them back for a 'stoppyback'. All staff really apart from Bernie and Frank. A giggle. Did a bit of singing. ________. To bed at 1:30am. Ally pissed.

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Thursday August 2, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Heavy rain. A miserable old sod came in and says we really need the rain because his runner beans are dry. So we all have to suffer for the sake of one vegetable patch. My headache persisted and I lay quietly moaning listening to Ray Moore on the radio. Out to Morrison's at 10. £17 on food provisions. Tonight we sat upstairs and left Margaret and Karen below. It seemed quiet enough. Karen was looking hounded and thinks we have it in for her. She is right of course. She has agreed to work next Tuesday because she wants to do it, but sniffed and looked undecided when I asked if she'd do it permanently. This is disgraceful. Roy Barnes wouldn't put up with it and give her her marching orders. I must be soft in the head. I have been reading some blurb about the Queen Mother in the Daily Express, last Tuesday's paper. Fairy stories. The Queen weeding her mother's garden at weekends because the old Queen cannot find a gardener. The Daily Express is sadly going down.

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Wednesday August 1, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Lingered over breakfast. The ghastly Olympics on breakfast tv. Tiny Chinese athletes springing around on bars. Not my idea of fun. Ally though is quite sports minded. She did everything at school. You know, hockey and the likes. Ann Wilkinson is cleaning in the bar downstairs, puffing and panting as she goes. One day I'm sure she'll keel over on the job. Pushing 71 she is. __________. Andy Sanderson came at 5:15 and I showed him the ropes until 8. He did well but was as nervous as a rabbit. Or is a rabbit frightened? The place was swimming with spilled beer, but I think he'll do well. He's a very young 22 year-old. Audrey was in at 8 snapping like an old Welsh corgi. Ally worked until after 9 when Samuel woke. I had a crashing headache and climbed in to bed at 11.

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Tuesday July 31, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Stocktake and dray day. Young Mick Thompson came. - Tadcaster's peroxide answer to Boy George. We have a £28 surplus, and so once again we are in the clear. However, with our new 20 ounce glasses the surplus should be greater. Ally went off at 2 for a trim. Her last perm was 'dead' and she was irritated by it. Karen Pratt is goint to have to go. She came in tonight and was hostile about giving up Wednesdays saying she enjoys working with Audrey and doesn't want to work alone. She doesn't seem to realise that she works for my benefit, not hers. Jane drove off into the night at 11 never to be seen again, and Karen left undecided but really she has no choice. She's far too cheeky for my taste. In fact she lives up to her name, and by that I do not mean Karen. Upstairs I related this to Ally and we decide to get someone else for Tuesday and cut Karen down to one night a week. Staff, what a problem they are. The bloody Olympics have started.

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Monday July 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Lounge bar.

Samuel is now grown up and has moved out of our bedroom into his own vast domain. These things have to happen. He'll be going to university next I suppose, then be called to the Bar , then to Parliament and finally to Number 10. Our future daughter will of course marry Prince William of Wales. I intend spening my retirement at Buckingham Palace garden parties. We were supposed to be entertaining Sue and Pete tomorrow but she has canceled because on Wednesday they go to Horton (in Ribblesdale). Pity really because we have Jane and Karen working. Karen is going to have to switch  working to Tuesday because we are not taking Wednesday as a day off. This will put the cat among the pigeons. 

Audrey worked for Maureen tonight. _______. Felt refreshed tonight because this afternoon we went to bed for an hour. Bessie phoned but Ally was asleep and I didn't bother waking her.

News: A stray cow on a Scottish railway line has caused the death of 13 people. Thespian James Mason is no more. The Earl of Buchan, 85, is dead too. 

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Sunday July 29, 1984

 6th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Temple Newsam.

The third wedding anniversary of the Prince and Princess of Wales. A relaxed day out and about. A very fine day. Mavis and Margaret did lunchtime and we stayed upstairs. The Piries came swanning in. Ugh. At 2:30 we bombed off in Mandy Metro to Temple Newsam where a band was playing in the amphitheatre. Half dressed people licking ice-creams and watching the pigs at the 'home farm' there. Sammy slept in his pushchair. We collapsed on a slope, close to the house, a fine Jacobean erection, played with the baby and took photographs. A hideous slag heap on the horizon spoiled things but generally the place is well looked after. Good old Lord Halifax gave it to (Leeds) Corporation in 1922. 

Returned to the Moorhouse hot and sweaty at 5. We stripped of our clothes and fried fish and ate naked in the flat. Jane tonight. She leaves on Tuesday. 

World News: The Democratic party in the USA have a woman candidate for vice-president. A Mrs Ferrari, or something. Sir Geoffrey Howe is sorting out the Hong Kong-China crisis. Parliament breaks up for 'end of term' on Wednesday. Lord Balerno is dead. Only a life peer.

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Saturday July 28, 1984

 New Moon

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Breakfast with John and Janette. I was up early cooking bacon and eggs and generally pottering. John is very slap-dash. He should have gone to a job but decided not to bother turning in. Ally said: 'You'll never make a millionaire with this cavalier attitude.' We took Samuel downstairs at 12. Something we rarely do. We sat and had a drink in the empty lounge. Janette related her troubled life story. The daughter of 'Mad Jock' Drysdale. A murderous glass-eyed Scot who, some years ago, dropped a poor man into a fish fryer in a fish and chip shop when he failed to obtain satisfactory service. When I gasped: 'But he could have killed him', Janette took a sip of lager and said: 'Yes, he did.' John can be sick. 'Frying tonight' he exclaimed. This peeved Janette somewhat. Her mother, Jean, is a reformed alcoholic who recently remarried to a man called Muir. At this John raised doubts as to Janette's parentage, &c. Laughing, he said Jock has been 'inside' for three years when Janette was conceived. Janette went upstairs in a mad hig, and we followed for more stale (coffee) cake. What a mixed bag. Our day in disarray, jobs left undone.

Mavis worked and seems competent.

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Friday July 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Samuel can now sit upon a potty and do the necessary. You know when he wants to go. His face goes bright red and a determined set jaw and bulging eyes give the game away. 

John & Janette.

Saw Mavis Ingham and arranged to 'interview' her tomorrow. Then Andrew Sanderson came in and I arranged to see him too. We are going to get our staff hours up to 95 before Donna Lea comes and knocks us back to 53. Ally and I stood in the tap room just to watch people. Big Brian joined us and then we saw John and Janette peeping through from the lounge. We went and sat together. Janette wants matrimony and has issued John with an ultimatum, but I'm sure he doesn't give a damn. They are having separate holidays in the Lakes and Scotland, &c. We sat after closing and went upstairs to listen to records, eat old, dry coffee cake, and gulp coffee. They stayed the night, but we didn't go to bed until after 3.

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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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