Thursday February 6, 1986

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas SO21 1AS

Chillandham Cross.

Samuel had a bad night. Well, a broken night, and I was up with him every hour or so. Downstairs at 3am for orange juice. Ally got up with Samuel at 7am and she brought me my breakfast in bed at 9. Porridge and bacon sandwiches. I could hardly swallow it down worrying about how I would have to pay for this lapse into old style luxury later. But to be honest I d not like eating in bed. The crumbs get everywhere. Snow had fallen in the night. Bitterly cold. The three of us walked down Chilland Lane and over the river to Easton and then back here over the fields. Samuel walked all the way toddling through the snow covered fields. After lunch we went into Winchester and to the library where I looked at Debrett's Handbook 1984 for a reference to Major Ron Ferguson. In what way is he descended from the Stuart Kings? No sign of him in the good book. Sod it. Later, on the BBC news, we saw Miss Ferguson with the Prince and Princess of Wales at Klosters further firing speculation that a royal engagement is imminent. Prince Andrew, de facto Duke of York, goes on NATO exercises this week and so he wasn't in the skiing party. A night around the fire. Read "I, Claudius" which I've wanted to read for years. Robert Graves snuffed it recently. "Blackadder" on the TV.

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Wednesday February 5, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

The stock taker Crump came and we had a £20 surplus, that was after we took out the £90 that Ally put in the safe last night. Last weeks sheets were over-banked. Silly Ally. We waited for the Kennedys to come until almost 12. They are the young couple who were with Roy & Marie in Middlesbrough 7 months ago. We went off down the M1 and met patches of snow on the way. We stopped at a motorway café and had steak and kidney pies. It cost a small fortune. A tiny slice of lemon meringue pie cost 75p!

Bad news for dukes. Read in the Daily Telegraph that the Duke of Norfolk, 70, and the Duke of Northumberland, 71, have both had heart attacks. 

Sammy and I slept in the back of the car. To Chillandham Cross for 4:30. All well. log fires. Turkey casserole. Comfy chairs. Snoozes. To bed at 10:30. It is touching how Samuel takes to his granny and grandad Dixon considering how rarely he sees them. Ally thinks he gets 'clever' and shows off, but I don't know. Saw S. Ferguson on the telly.

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Tuesday February 4, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

This may be historic, but Prince Andrew's so-called flame, Sarah Ferguson, was mentioned in a news bulletin today. I wish I knew more of her antecedents. She is 26. Watch this space. HM The Q lunched on Andrew's ship in the pool of London today. The Princess of Wales is taking Prince William to HMS Brazen tomorrow.

Ally had one of her hunches and went to Club Street with Samuel and found a note pushed through the door from Sister Greenwood, her midwife, telling her she has a water infection and needs antibiotics. Ally went to see Dr York at 5. I went upstairs to listen to music at full throttle and I cleaned the deep fat fryers. Both Lynn and Sue phoned to wish us bon voyage. Susan has bought some patio doors for her dining room and Peter is now broke. Ally came back worn out but insisted on cleaning and packing, &c. I cannot wait to be away on holiday. Maureen worked. The place was like a mausoleum. I watched "I, Claudius". I cleaned the beer lines, bottled up and pottered around until 1am. We sat in bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Oh yes, I phoned Dad and he seemed a bit low.

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Monday February 3, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Phoned Ken Gilbertson at the brewery who told me we are having a couple here (relief managers) Mr & Mrs Kennedy, from Blyth, Northumberland. Later, Ally phoned them to discuss the catering whilst we are away. Ally also went to see Maureen about the Procter & Gamble cleaning gear, but  M isn't impressed. Maureen sprays 'Pledge' around as though she's addicted to it. Audrey came in cursing Chris. They were both supposed to work together yesterday afternoon but he didn't come in until 1pm, when he sauntered in with a bar of chocolate. His performance was poor and he left with an auntie before 2:30. He's totally useless, she says. However, Audrey tends to exaggerate. _______. Chris will have to be told. Life in the Moorhouse Inn is very much like ancient Rome.  Margaret worked tonight. She had a few problems last night with Jim Stone and Mick Marsh, who came in pissed up and looked like trouble. She refused them drink and off they went. They both returned today with their tails between their legs.

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Sunday February 2, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Sexagesima

Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

To Horton early and got to Dad's for 10:30 or so. Bless him, he had roasted a joint of beef and was mixing cheese sauce. The table was set, napkins etc, for lunch. I am always overcome by the feeling of the place. Mum is everywhere. Neighbour Frances came in for a chat. It was bitterly cold. Dad went out to 'attack' Charlie about a hideous erection he has placed on Dad's land without permission. He was furious. We ate at 12 and then Samuel went for a nap in Dad's bed. Photographs of us all hang everywhere. Ally and I drove out to the Cross Streets Inn, which was closed and then to the Gamecock at Austwick. Very homely. Dad and Mum were frequent visitors. On to the Helwith Bridge - quite busy with a warm atmosphere, though the owner is a tatty individual. Back to Dad's for 2. We sat around the fire until 10:30pm. Sam was very good and went back to Dad's bed at 7. Home to the pub for 12. 

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Saturday February 1, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A day of industry. Ally made a corned beef hash and floated chunks of pickled beetroot on her plate. A real Lancashire thing to do. Down in the cellar at 3:30 to play with the cleaning materials. Made a pack of bleach, detergents  and Brasso for Dad. He will appreciate this. Chris worked tonight and at 11:30 he went away with carry-out jugs of bitter to the value of £17 to attend a wild 21st birthday party. I reminded the boy that he is down for working tomorrow and he promised not to let me down. 

Baby names: Undecided between William and George.

Boys: William, George, Joshua, Aaron, Jacob, Edward, Tobias, Oliver

Girls: Clementine, Alice, Nora, Lucy, Mary, Eliza, Sophie, Levinyer, Amelia.

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Friday January 31, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Marita is 31. I sent her a birthday card picturing football boots and a pint of beer. This afternoon we went out 'en famille' to the YEB to pay for our new space-age vacuum cleaner. We pottered around the shops but were nithered with cold. Blue extremities, &c. W.H. Smith's, Boots, the building society, Greenhead's, Mothercare, &c. Samuel, in his yellow suit, raised a few smiles toddling through the Bond Street Centre. He sat in one of those small trains wherein one inserts 10p, but he was forced out after one go by a mob of ______ hooligans. I love book shops, but Samuel prevents any serious browsing. The letters of Ann Fleming look like a good publication. Published letters and diaries are really my scene. Ann Fleming is of course a Charteris, sister of Laura Duchess of Marlborough, and a former wife of  the late Viscount Rothermere, and then widow of Ian Fleming. 

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Thursday January 30, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Cold, but no more snow. My bloody driving test. Went out with Ally this morning. Silly really as I've been a capable driver for years. We went to Harehills where to my horror and dismay I am told that the test has been cancelled due to the bad road conditions. What a let down. Totally deflated. I suppose I should have phoned. My test is now postponed until July

We went on to Linfood and Club Street (see yesterday's entry).

We returned to the Moorhouse at 11:30pm Samuel, wide-eyed, wrapped in a tartan rug. 

How is this for a disgusting complement? "I'd use her shit for toothpaste". I heard a customer say this in the back bar while looking at the TV personality Anneka Rice. He then took a sip of his ale and said: "I'd let her shite on my chest just to see the flaps of her arse working." Nice.

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Wednesday January 29, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Shuttle, Shuttle, Shuttle. But it makes a change from Westland. To Linfood again. Some snow on the ground but nothing drastic. On to Club St at tea time for fish and chips. I bathed Samuel and he slept in our bed. We sat watching TV. I phoned Dad and Ally phoned Bessie. We have had details of some pubs for sale in today's post. The Helwith Bridge for £90,000 ono, and the Cross Streets Inn, Austwick, for £125,000. Dad says the latter is a big barn of a place inhabited only by gipsy-like fairground men. He has only been in once with Mum, and she was uncomfortable and wanted to leave even before they had a drink. Dad thinks it grossly over-priced. Our cottage is so peaceful and homely. So better to be here on an evening off and not sitting above the pub with the thudding of the jukebox coming up through the floorboards. I sat with my feet up reading about the naughty Borgias. We now have a substantial library. 

(Oh shit. Everything I have written today should have been written tomorrow. Today I worked all day. Ah, well. Snow falls.)

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Tuesday January 28, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

We have been thinking about the future. We do this occasionally. We asked Dad if he fancied taking a 'free house' with us. He was largely silent and would not commit himself but it prompted Ally to phone a few auctioneers and asked to be added to their mailing list. Oliver, Kitchen & Flynn, and Dacre Son & Hartley, &c. We await news of some free houses with anticipation. We would like a place in the country, in some sleepy Yorkshire dale.

Dad left after breakfast to take Susie and Christopher to the Clarendon Wing for C's genital inspection. _________. They didn't come back here. We had a wedding reception in the lounge for a heavily pregnant Linda and a moustachioed Tom. Semi-Irish. A buffet, &c. A doddle. 

Tragedy. Watching TV at 5pm a newsflash interrupted the children's programme announcing the explosion and destruction of the 25th Space Shuttle mission with the loss of seven crew. Horrible scenes of the relatives of the dead watching the launch followed by the blast a minute after take-off. NASA called it a 'malfunction'. 

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Monday January 27, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Took an early cup of tea in for Dad and he looked bog eyed. Samuel is totally captivated leaning over the side of his cot and 'Gan Gan'. Breakfast was a repeat of the conversation we had last night which Dad had blocked from his mind. He told us, again, of the details of Guy's wedding and Uncle Leslie 'dog-house', a self-contained cell within the Blackpool guesthouse. 

A rush this afternoon. I went upstairs at 3:30 and instead of getting ready for the summit at the Emmott Arms I sat listening to Mrs T's speech on BBC2. She made a few apologies and insisted she had  not known of any leak (the Solicitor General's letter to Heseltine), and later Leon Brittan got her off the hook when he admitted that everything was his fault. The vote gave the government a massive majority but the PM's stature must have taken a knock. We left Dad, looking very sleepy, with a buoyant Samuel and went over to the Emmott Arms for probably the most long-winded meeting of managers I have ever experienced. A Mr Bullock from Huntley & Palmer's, no, Procter & Gamble, gave a deliriously lengthy oration on the wonders of his cleaning agents, and Don Whitfield and others slept in the cosy chairs. LG tried to conceal his giggles, but all in all it was drab, drab, drab. Ally and I went on to the Station Hotel, Guiseley, the Menston Arms and the Barge at Rodley. Ally's back and legs ached and wasn't receptive to the balmy atmosphere of the various hostelries. She though that because I wore a brewery tie that all eyes were upon us. Home at 11:15. Dad was abed.

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