Wednesday September 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Walter Pidgeon

Damp and autumnal. We went to town at 3:30 with Sammy to look at books in the new Austicks. We saw a nice book 'Alphabears', and I gloated over George V by Kenneth Rose. I'd love it in hard back. There was a book sale at the old Austicks and we bought two Jack Higgins novels, and 'Mr American' by the guy who wrote the Flashman novels. 

'Famous Actor Dead' say the billboards throughout town. Who can it be? Not Roger Moore, surely? John Gielgud is an octogenarian, isn't he? No, it's a Walter Pidgeon, 86, who apparently made a film in 1943 which was very well received. 

Uneventful evening. We both worked with Audrey. A pissed-up tramp in the lounge received his marching orders. We of course haven't heard from Mum. I think Ally will suggest going up to Horton Sunday, but it's only a guess. We do not want frosty relations.

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Tuesday September 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

John shares his birthday with F.M. Gill (65), Sir Robert Muldoon (63), Sir Colin Davis (57), Mr Ronnie Barker (55), and Mr Leon Brittan, QC, MP, PC (45). Is the Home Secretary jewish? He certainly looks the part. 

Shit of the Week: The Bishop of Durham. (This is going to be a regular Tuesday feature).

Those who have left us:-

(after a gripping look at the obits)

Sir Denis Blundell (77), Lord Granville-West (80), Marie La Guardia (89), 'Dusty' Rhodes (74), Mrs Mark Herbert (89) widow of a Bishop of Norwich who, incidentally, baptised Diana Spencer in 1961.

World News:-

Her Majesty has flown to Canada with the D of E. The gutter press says that Prince Philip has yet to meet his new grandson. He doesn't look like a baby-lover, if you know what I mean. They say it's because he's Teutonic. 

Read a feature in the Daily Telegraph on a Frederick Nason, who has a big store in Canterbury. I must tell Peter of this.

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Monday September 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

I am disgusted. We had to post Samuel's birth certificate to the passport office at Liverpool and it has been returned torn, and stuck together with cellotape, and wrinkled. I treasure my family documents and regard this as a disgrace. Samuel is only eight months old and already his personal documents resemble the Dead Sea Scrolls. I am going to compose a snotty letter. 

I am not going to bore you with the details of life here at the Moorhouse Inn on this September morn. All I will say is that it is busier. Tonight we had a good response from the pool playing people and think we'll have some success. John is 28 tomorrow. Will he make a honest woman of Miss Drysdale? He certainly could do a lot worse. His card is in the post. I will soon require £246 from him for Lanzarote.

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Sunday September 23, 1984

 14th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn

A wet start. Sammy brought me to my senses at 7:30 and we went to play with toys in front of the gas fire in the sitting room. Then, like Fanny Cradock, I concocted a splendid cooked breakfast and went to wake Ally who was far from appreciative. She complained about the smell from the frying, and then said I had made too much! Women! Downstairs I took Sam with me to fill the Tampax machine in the ladies loo. 

It is Frank Harwood's fortieth birthday. The man himself phoned at 11 to say they may come over. Ally went to work with Mavis and I played with Samuel upstairs. The Harwoods came minus Debbie at 1 o'clock. They left after 4. Mark is working at Lidget Green. We both worked tonight with Mavis. Ally was expecting a visit from Lynn but nothing came of it. 

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Saturday September 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Two String to her bow.

Ally went off early to Linfood leaving me to give Samuel breakfast. It was a wet but bright morn and we stood at the window waving goodbye to mummy. I went downstairs. Maureen, wearing her hair curlers, was cleaning and singing 'Unchained Melody'. I gave Samuel breakfast, then lunch, then washed my hair and dried with a hair dryer which was a mistake because afterwards I walked around looking like Countess Spencer. Ally came back at 12:30 in a downpour and had a cheeky grin on her face. She sent me to the car where she said I would find something of interest on the back seat. The sweet pet had bought two old pictures from 'Cheap 'n Cheerful' - 'Two Strings to her Bow' and 'To be or not to be', prints of 1894 paintings by C. Haig Wood. Very splendid. I hung them in the sitting room and showed them to Samuel who seemed to approve. Margaret is in Scotland and so I worked this afternoon with Audrey. The place was dead. Bernie suggested that we should have a collection for old Mrs Edith Mollett, 91, who last came into the Moorhouse in September, 1918. No way. Later I found Bernie sat weeping. Her daughter Anne is pregnant with her second _______. Oh dear. We worked after closing. Ally cleaned until 12:30 and I did the tills. The Sunday cleaner is having her eyes done in St Jimmy's. 

News: The horrid Bishop of Durham says Ian MacGregor should attack the government for not accepting a compromise. Mrs T should de-frock the old bugger. He's an atheist anyway.

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Friday September 21, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Is it the autumn equinox today? Not long ago I could have told you. Bright at times, but drizzle too.  One of our deep fat fryers is on the blink and we are reduced to cooking with one. Audrey casually asked if Karen has left us. Obviously a rhetorical question. Ally has decided to phone Mum and clear the air. She cannot put up with this continuing 'Cold War' any longer. We should all dwell in peace and harmony, &c. I went out at 3:30 to post birthday cards to Lily Glynn and Frank, both celebrating on Sunday. I left Ally and Samuel asleep in an armchair. How snuggled and comfortable they looked. Peas in a pod.

HM The Q has returned from Balmoral.Prince Henry Charles Albert David's birth was registered by the P of Wales today. Harry's NHS number is LSCVT275. The prince gave his occupation as 'prince of the United Kingdom'. I would dispute this. It is a rank, not an occupation. Is my occupation 'Mister of the United Kingdom'? What would the great constitutional expert L.G. Pine say on this subject?

A busy, fun night. The tap room swarmed as never before and looked like the Roxy ballroom by 10:30 with couples clutching each to themselves as though Mr Chernenko had just launched his long expected attack upon us. Jean was dancing with Jimmy, and this thoroughly annoys Vicky. Bernie was in pissed up.

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Thursday September 20, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

I am miffed by Mum's attitude yesterday. They thought we were rude and unfriendly on Sunday 9th (September), disappointed that we didn't create a sumptuous dinner as we usually do. We thought a take-away would make a nice change. Obviously, this was not so. 

Peerage news: arrivals - a son for Lady Fairfax of Cameron and a daughter for Countess Alexander of Tunis.__ Departures: Lord Clitheroe, KCVO. His daughter is the Hon Lady Worsley, of Hovingham.

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Wednesday September 19, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

I gave Sammy his bottle of milk. Ally was gnashing her teeth beneath the quilt. By 8am she was chopping 15lb of raw meat and was stood in the kitchen pale, spattered with blood, like the Laitner murderer. Felt queasy watching this from over my porridge. At 9 Mum and Dad walked in at the same time as Maureen. __________. They had taken Sue to St Jimmy's with Ben where they determined that the boy has a tiny hole in his heart. But nothing serious. Sue, Dad and Ben came back here after the hospital visit and we had a drink in the bar. MM and Marita came in and we all had lunch together. The conversation drifted from Yugoslavia to childbirth. Samuel sat wide-eyed watching Christopher assaulting his baby brother. The lad does have Yorkshire miner-like tendencies. They all left at 4. ___________. Donna Lea appeared at 8. She is under 30 and Ally thinks she is very much a Graham Smith type. You know the sort - university, Monty Python whoopie cushion, showjumping, beagle, Liebraumilch type. Easy going. Saw 'Minder' after plying Donna with lager upstairs. Bed after 11. Didn't go down.

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Tuesday September 18, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Ally is impossible at times. She bangs around and carries on like one of those maniacal, black African generals after a successful coup d'etat. Samuel and I sat wide-eyed over breakfast listening to her rumblings. Dray day. X-L crisps, &c. I was utterly done in so much so that at 5:30 Ally went below to do the first bash and no doubt let off steam and vitriol on the OAPs in the tap room. I went down at 8 and tried to phone Horton. No reply. Rob (Piper) came in with Brenda Longbottom's husband again. He cannot understand why I do not have any little 'fiddles' on the go. He says that on my barrelage I should be making £30 a week for myself. I really do not want to be sacked. It just isn't my style. They sold me a watch for £1.50. A large black, rubber Jacques Cousteau digital time piece. What a fool I am.

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Monday September 17, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

As you can see I have discovered a bottle of Quink ink. It cost me 75p. Horribly wet. Samuel woke me at 6 o'clock and I found him upside down in his cot with his head crushed between the bars. He soon brightened on seeing me and I removed his soggy nappy and gave him a bottle of milk in our bed. Ally was refusing to get up. She regretted it later and ran around.  We went to Leeds market and the bank, &c. Bessie phoned on the subject of our forthcoming holiday again. It sounded as though she has been tossing and turning all night long. What a women. Felt exhausted. 

The Daily Telegraph is full of the new prince. I do like Henry. So solid. Will he be christened on the Prince of Wales's birthday (Nov 14)? Godparents? Lord Tollemache? A Parker Bowles? 'Kanga' Tryon? (not a hope), one of the Herberts of Highclere? Harry Herbert even? Sarah Armstrong-Jones?

Ally slept with Samuel this afternoon and I looked in at the devastation in the kitchen and closed the door. I am not very methodical. We all had tea together and watched 'Blue Peter' and then I wernt down to spend the night in my bustling pub. A pool knock-out. Karma Singh won. Big Brian had spent the weekend at Ribblehead. Ally made delicious food for the pool guys - it was much appreciated. to bed at 11:55.

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Sunday September 16, 1984

 13th Sunday after Trinity

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

I was up at 7am cleaning the deep fat fryer and roasting a chicken for luncheon.

One year ago today we went to the Why Not? Praise be to God for our safe deliverance. Over porridge (again) at breakfast we speculated as to what names the infant prince will be given. You might not believe this but I said that Henry goes very well with William, and I can see the princess (Diana) calling her son "Harry". Ally went down to clean and I entertained Samuel with his toys. I heard on the radio that the Prince of Wales with Prince William had visited St Mary's and that the baby is probably going home this afternoon. The TV reveals that the baby is to be Henry Charles Albert David, but known as 'Harry' to the family. Very pleased. The last royal Henry was HM's uncle, the Duke of Gloucester (1900-74). You cannot beat old names. I really should have placed a bet at William Hills. At 2;25 the royal couple left the Lindo Wing with a white bundle and drove to Kensington Palace. An hour later the prince drove off to play polo. I suppose Di was tucked up in bed.

We had chicken for lunch. ______. Later Bessie phoned and put Ally in a foul mood regarding our holiday plans. They are going to Windermere on Oct 29 for three or four days apparently. Grumpily to bed.

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