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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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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