Saturday August 31, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Hilda: blue.

Wet day. The marriage of Diane Gadsby and Paul Anthony Edwards at Pudsey St Lawrence. Ally went off at 8:30am to have her hair trimmed whilst Sammy and I walked to the park to play on the wet fixtures. The slide was especially fast and Sam went down like the launching of the Queen Mary. Over to Pudsey at 11:30 to deposit Samuel with Debbie. Then to the Butchers Arms to be joined by Lynn, Dave, Sue & Pete. Saw Rob. The girls say that Dad disapproves of visiting the pub before the church, and has gone on to the parish church alone. Oh dear. We went to Mabel's to park the car and then we walked over to the church. A touching service. Diane in an off-the-shoulder number. Lots of wind. A tortuous wait afterwards whilst the photographer pratted around in the park with the happy couple. We all stood around like plums. Eleanor was wearing a black hat and today I could see Mum in her. Hilda in blue. To the reception at the Baron, Idle, with Marlene, Frank and Mabel. Charlotte Nora attended with John & Janette. Poor Hayley, a bridesmaid, was overcome by it all, and wailed throughout. An intermission followed the food. We came home at 6, or 7, after visiting Wilsby briefly. Jacq and Ian came to babysit. We left them gin, ale, prawns, chocs, &c. Returned to the Baron. A discotheque, but with a slow bar. There was a swimming pool, supposedly barricaded off , but an obvious target for youthful, drunken revelry if ever I saw one. Needless to say at midnight the bridegroom was submerged. Dad, in a corner, had a weep with Mabel. Home to see Jacq and Ian at about 1am.

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Friday August 30, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Full Moon

Stocktake. The nameless, idiot stocktaker appeared at 11 and stayed until 3. What a pillock. M.R. Dalison is his name. Ally loathes him. He was wearing a wide 3ft 6ins velvet tie. Incompetence abounded. We ended up with a £99 surplus, but didn't feel happy. Sam Smiths must be insane employing this chap.

Fun and games here. At the end of the evening the highly-pitched singing concubine of the George Cole look-alike, Ron (tap room) decided to faint prostrate upon the floor, spilling ale, and causing a wave of excitement among the regulars. There she was, wide-eyed, apparently suffering from respiratory problems. I had to use my head and act quickly. "Outside and on to the moor" said I, not wanting a stiff on the premises at 11:15pm. So, outside she went to lay 'in state' upon one of the picnic tables, and waiting for the arrival of an ambulance. I shut up shop and retired. ____.

Thursday August 29, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

John called in this evening with Peter Mather, of all people, and they had a few (drinks) in the bar discussing days gone by. Peter is very unchanged. He still lives with Donald and Vera and shows no signs of forming a permanent heterosexual relationship. His sister, Lynne, is heavy with child and due on Oct 2. Blood pressure, &c. Donald and Vera still struggle to accept her aged, divorced husband. The man has money though. They spend six months in New Zealand and six months in Ilkley, &c. He is, as they say, into sheep. Or is it wool? They left at 11. The news is that the PM is going to re-shuffle the government next week. Will Leon Brittan succeed Quintin (Hogg) as Lord High Chancellor of Gt Britain? Poor old Q is 77.

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Wednesday August 28, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dray day. I was dropped an 18 gallon of cider short  and so I phoned transportation immediately and was told they would come back to me, but didn't. This put me in a foul mood on my so-called day off. We went to Bradford at 11 and lunched at Club Street. We went to the Paris boutique at Rawdon where Ally spent £35. Shopped in Bradford. Ally bought pink shoes and accessories for Saturday (wedding). On at 3:30 to Hilda's with crockery for Diane and Tony's polypin (36 pints for £22). All subdued. Tony was busy working. Ally had a coffee with Hilda and I took Samuel into the garden to play with the dog. I think of all the generations of Wilson descendants who have played in this garden. Samuel was very sweet and played with a bag of clothes pegs and sat upon the old swing. Diane came in at 5:45. Back to the Moorhouse for tea. Janet is back from Ballykelly, near Mullaghnmore. _____________.

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Tuesday August 27, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Abominably quiet. Les Gledhill and Donna Lea appeared at 12:30 for the silly area manager handing over ceremony, which passed off smoothly. No fisticuffs over the salted peanuts as at the last historic handing over of power. LG is a sarcastic old dog, and should be ignored. He must think we are doing well, or he would have come down on us sharpish.

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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. _________.

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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.

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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. ________.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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