Monday August 26, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Bank Holiday in UK (except Scotland)

The usual Bank Holiday blues. A complete flop. Ally went over to Lynn's to Thomas's birthday party which commenced at 2:30. Others there included Sue's boys and Pam kids, and the Riddells from next door, &c. I lay on the bed for an hour, consulting this tome and watching 'The Making of Superman III'. Ridiculous. They even make films about making films now. I opened at 7pm. Quiet, except for the fact that Jacq , Ian and Trixie rolled in at 9:30 and stayed until after 2am. Trixie is such a 'good time dancing girl' as they say. She recently lost her driving licence and was fined £400. A bit steep, don't you think? Jacq and Ian are to marry at Seacroft Church with some panoply on March 22 next, and afterwards at the Mercury, Garforth. Jacq will become Mrs Cawood. We stood at the bar after time. Trixie says she can smell fertiliser, but we put it down to the fresh cellar paint. _________.

-=-

Sunday August 25, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

12th Sunday after Trinity

Lashings of rain. Busy lunch. Donna Lea appeared casually attired. Her husband she says is 'shooting in the hills' and so she is left snooping around her pubs in Leeds. We are the busiest in town today, she says. Upstairs we ate a big mince and onion pie and watched TV. Laugh at Leslie Phillips fully clothed in a shower holding a hot pressure cooker. Hilarity. The film was 'The Seven Deadly Sins' or something. We have planned a holiday and I haven't told you about it. It came into fruition yesterday. From Sept 19 to 21 we are going to Coleford and the hospitality of Graham and Gill, and then from Sat Sept 21st we go to Cotleigh, Devon, for a week of peace and tranquillity. It's near Honiton and Beer. Then on Sat Sept 28 we go to Frank & Bessie's for a few days. It is F & B's 33rd wedding anniversary on Sept 27. Can't wait. Pub life is good, but Oh, the holidays.

-=-

Saturday August 24, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

They say the Earl of Avon died from Aids. The killer disease prevalent in homosexuals. The peer shared a London  flat with an antique dealer.

Dad went to Guiseley at 11:30. He has been such a great help this week. It is always so touching to see him disappear down Dewsbury Rd in his little car, quite alone. _______.

To Sainsbury's at Moortown. Gary and I tonight in the bar. Ally has had a mad cleaning spree. Jill and Tim appeared. Jill is enormous now, but not wanting the baby to come before next week's wedding. A surprise to see them. Both Karen and Di go on holiday on 2/9/85 and it seems the whole family will miss the Elmer accouchement. Very quiet night. Upstairs for 1am. ________.

-=-

Friday August 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad was padding around at 3am switching off the lights. The place was flood-lit like the Eiffel Tower. Ally banged around but I refused to get up until almost 11am. Violence in the tap room. Brian Millar and his hyper-active, nymphomaniac ex-fiancée, Helen, had a "domestic" which erupted into a brawl. All were ejected. I wasn't feeling particularly athletic.  Dad painted our kitchen.

The Daily Telegraph diary mentions that Lord Avon died last week. It's the first I've heard. Wasn't he a government minister? Of course he was the son of Anthony Eden and was only 54. A gay bachelor.

-=-

Thursday August 22, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The Woolpack, Yeadon.

Dad and I spent the day in the cellar splashing paint around. Ally came down plying us with ale and by 2pm we were tipsy and nostalgic. Uncle Peter dropped in at lunchtime and came down to inspect our daubing. Later Dad offered to babysit and give us a night out. Ally, not feeling up to it, said no, and so I sat sulking watching 'Top of the Pops'. She then appeared looking very dressed up and had obviously relented. We went to the Woolpack at Rawdon. Shocking beer. Then to the former Peacock at Yeadon. It's now called 'Images'. Then, to the Drop in Guiseley. Met Chippy (now to be addressed as Gerald), looking like Tom Selleck, the thespian. He was with a boy called Ian. We went on at 11 to the former Wikis, now Beau Brummels. Became very pissed on strong bottled lager. We squabbled in the car coming home. Ally had not enjoyed it, and had not wanted to come out in the first place. I went to bed. God knows where Ally slept.

-=-

Wednesday August 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dick the Shit (i.e. Richard the Turd)

Dray. The anniversary of the coming to power of the Tudor dynasty and the fall of poor 'Dick the Shit' at Bosworth field - the 500th anniversary no less. I have great reservations about the whole affair. Surely, Richard III was more trustworthy than the cunning old Welsh chappie who usurped him? 

We worked pm alone. Dad remained upstairs with the Daily Telegraph.

-=-

Tuesday August 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad paints. He came down to the bar this evening and found himself in the company of old Donald MacGregor, the cynical and twisted Scot. Dad will allow most things to wash over him but cynicism, never. I can be cynical, because I am young, says Dad. But Donald MacGregor is old enough to know better. Many topics were discussed from mourning, to charitable bodies, and the starving millions in the world. Dad put on his political MP-like face and would not be coaxed away from old Donald, who sweated profusely and who swore more and more violently as the night wore on. Others in the bar chuckled. For three nights this week we are working without staff. Aren't we a diligent little pair?

-=-

Monday August 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad still painting. I phoned Donna (Lea). She promised to come with more white paint later in the week. The three tins I have here will go nowhere. Rob (the stocktaker) phoned to say our stocktake planned for tomorrow is now cancelled because of a 'rush job'. That's another manager for the chop, by the sound of things. The transportation dept from the brewery also phoned to say the dray will be here on Wednesday, instead of tomorrow. What a carry on. Has Tuesday been cancelled? Samuel has received an invitation to the birthday party next Monday of his cousin, Thomas. Dad is puzzled by this because he asked Lynn what festivities were planned for Thomas's birthday to be told 'none'. Lynn blamed the bank holiday. Poor Thomas. He goes almost unnoticed because he is so very quiet. Just like a small doll. _____.

-=-

Sunday August 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

11th Sunday after Trinity

Dad came in at lunchtime laden with decorating tackle and set about the cellar. He disappeared below just before 2pm clad in white overalls and wellington boots. At 3 I started painting the hallway and staircase leading up to the flat. The bloody place looks like a convent - white emulsion everywhere. I got to the foot of the stairs and my paint ran dry at 8pm. Ally opened up, and Gary came in at 8. We dined on a chicken and a bottle of Litre vin. Dad came down to the bar for a drink tonight - a well deserved one.

-=-

Saturday August, 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

I feel weak, but battle on. Ally went off to Linfood. I opened up at 11 but escaped when Margaret came in. Tonight - no staff - Janette phoned at 9 to say they are coming to see us with the baby and two of her sisters, Marie and Jackie. They arrived at 10pm but we didn't speak to them until 11:30 when we'd cleared the place of the over enthusiastic bog-hoppers of the McCarron family. Jackie and Marie are two opinionated young Scottish ladies, who are attempting to talk Janette out of breast-feeding, and they sat extolling the virtues of 'spoiling' children and of refraining from any form of corporal punishment. Let's hope that Janette will see sense and breast feed little Charlotte. John lets everything wash over him. Jackie, 22, has a 12 year-old step-daughter, two others 'steps' and is expecting one of her own in March '86. They are both so like Janette. Phoned Dad at 8pm. I chose a bad time to call. He was sobbing down the line, and my first three ten pence pieces dropped into the call box without a word spoken. My God.

-=-

Friday August 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad is coming on Sunday to begin painting the cellar. Unfortunate, because I feel shocking. I am wrapped in a pullover shivering like buggery. Undoubtedly, an attack of 'flu. At the bar tonight I sat drinking brandy and port which warmed me a good deal, but did little else. I really should have been in bed but you know how  Ally disapproves of illness. She had to suffer on Wednesday, and so I have to suffer today. I phoned Jacq Sate and also spoke to Ian. I asked them if they could babysit on the night of Diane and Paul's wedding which they readily agreed to do. I joked and said I would leave them some milk and digestive biscuits. Poor Sammy. I do not think he will wake up. You see, he's never met Jacq and it would be disconcerting for him to wake up and be confronted by a strange lady watching Daddy's TV. 

-=-