Wednesday November 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The deputy high commissioner in Bombay, Percy Norris, has been assassinated on his way to the office. Nobody is safe these days. Topically, Archie has just told me a joke:

Fred: "How do you fit six people in a mini?"

George: "Go on. Tell me. How do you get six people into a mini?"

Fred: "Two in the front. Three in the back, and Mrs Gandhi in the ashtray."

Awful, but amusing. Mum and Dad came here at 5. She is still very yellow, but looks better. Ally came down wearing a black and gold creation and looked amazing. It is the Sam Smith's annual dinner dance, of course. We went down to the bar at 6:30 with Mum and Dad. A coach came to collect us and we joined a motley crew and headed to the Buckles Inn, York. We were on a table next to the ghastly band with Chris Barlow and Enid Holden (?), the wines and spirits buyer. Steak on the menu. Boring presentations and then drinkies. Ally was in good spirits and she dragged Roy Barnes on to the dance floor. As usual I was drawn to the charms of dear Marie. R_____P spend the evening stealing cigars from all the tables, no doubt to help his stocks. Chris Wills took all the prizes, as usual. We didn't even go into the draw for the best kept cellar. Enid and I danced to a jazzed up Christmas carol. Really awful.

These evenings go by so very quickly and you know how my memory leaves me after alcohol. Ally did look chic though. Home on the coach singing furiously. My rendering of 'Oh God Our Help In Ages Past' brought tears to Mike Walker's eyes. A clutch of Leeds landlords left the coach at the Brown Hare to go to the loo, and a few were puking up in the carpark. It is Don Whitfield's birthday too. Home for 3. We went in to see Mum and Dad. Samuel had wailed only at 1:30 but was at peace again. To bed giggly and pissed.

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Tuesday November 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 

Yer usual sort of day. Andy Bowden started work at 8 and seems to be a level headed sort of chap. No tattoos or dyed green hair. He replaces Karen Pratt and he'll give us cover for the coming Christmas chaos. We have enjoyed Tuesdays without staff, but all good things come to an end. I had lengthy social intercourse in the tap room. The place was barren. Just Jim and Archie. Ally made sure that Andy was kept running around. 

The beast William Hamilton is to retire from the House of Commons. They say he is going to write another book. The first was very entertaining.

Phoned Mum. She is coming here tomorrow.

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Monday November 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

I expect a visit from Colin Black any day now and I prowl around trying to look useful which can be very time consuming and hard work. Please don't get me wrong. I am not an idle time waster, but feel edgy at the coming visit of our new area manager. We've had them all in the past six months. Despite this anxiety we were up early and out to the market, to Morrison's and God knows where. Back here for coffee at 10. Samuel scampered everywhere and is drawn to the hideous gas fire and wants to touch it. Little bugger.

Pool match tonight. These events have really taken off. Jim and Archie are organising a pool team. We're to join the Hunslet league in five months they say. I am all for it. Pool sandwiches, &c. Ally came down at 10 to assist because Maureen and I were dashing about like blue-arsed flies. 

Neil Pillock (sic) is in Moscow offering to wave the white flag. The tanks will be rumbling down Whitehall by Christmas.

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Sunday November 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Last Sunday after Trinity

Up early and out to Linfood at Bradford making our usual drop in at Club St afterwards. Back here for 12 o'clock heavily laden. Surprisingly we had no family visitors today. I suppose they will all be hanging on until Christmas. Is it Kathleen Rainford's birthday today?

We dined on roast chicken and Yorkshire puds at 4 o'clock. Samuel ate like a horse, and obsesses over Yorkshire puddings like his dear Papa. Later he went to bed and I assisted Ally with cooking for tomorrow's lunches. Lasagne, curry &c. 

At 7:15 we sat down with a coffee to watch the ghastly Royal Variety Performance in the presence of the Queen Mother, the P and Pcss of Wales, and Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones. Lady Sarah is slimmer, drawn, and willowy. She was 20 last May.  The show was hideous, as usual, and I do feel for the dear Queen Mother who must have sat through about fifty of them. To bed at 11 after a loutish sort of day.

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Saturday November 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 

Home news: Ally has been inspecting the Christmas decorations. We had tomato soup at tea time and put up posters advertising the Moorhouse Yuletide lunches at £3 per head. Not bad eh? The awful Piries charged £3.50 last Christmas.

Stiff nobility:-

The 18th Duke of Somerset died recently aged 74. He is the second senior duke after Miles Norfolk and the dukedom dates back to Henry VIII. Queen Jane Seymour was a sister of the 1st duke.

Lord Maelor has died in a Welsh fire. A life peer, aged eighty-ish.

Viscountess Gormanston , Polish-born wife of the senior viscount in the peerage of Ireland, has died of a drugs overdose. Or if she isn't dead already, she's due to pop off any day now.

Noble arrivals:-

I love the Daily Telegraph birth announcements. A daughter for Viscountess Head.  Someone called Georgina Rashleigh-Belcher has been delivered of a child. What a splendid surname. Very Evelyn Waugh.

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Friday November 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Cousin Sam is now firmly on the scene again and he's been a regular visitor since our departure. Archie accused me, albeit jokingly, of employing him as a spy to observe during our holiday. He does look peculiar with his short cropped hair, no beard, and hobnail boots. Bit of a skinhead look. __________.

Ally remained upstairs looking into our finances. We have £10 to last us until mid-December. I fully expected to be 'in the red' and so it isn't as catastrophic as one might think. Ally laughed when I said that Sam now looks like Jilly Cooper with the gap in his new teeth. The poor boy certainly has some smelly, cloggy nappies of late and we put it down to his teeth. Pub life continues on its steady course but I have nothing to report on the subject. On Saturdays we tend to idle around upstairs with Samuel ignoring the fact that a pub lies below.

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Thursday November 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Moor Cres, Leeds

Wet. Rose at 6:44. Phoned the brewery with a Yuletide spirit order and pondered over it a great deal. Samuel was in a vicious temper all day, screaming like a little Maria Callas. I blame his teeth, but Ally says it's just naughtiness. (A first top tooth appeared on Nov 14 and since then it has been joined by another, and the two front bottom teeth are ready. The only news Audrey has for us after three weeks is the death of Peter, her 14 year-old budgerigar. My cousin Sam appeared tonight with short cropped hair, no beard, and tells me he has enrolled at the (Leeds) Polytechnic to do 'A' level mathematics. He is a humorous, yet lonely lad. I didn't see him leave, and feel quite sad about it. We were busy. It's odd having a relation as a regular customer. Am I expected to entertain him every night? I gave him a couple of pints anyway. _______. Jane Fletcher phoned from the brewery to ask if we are going to the dinner dance. We told her yes. Phoned Mum. She was out. She then phoned me later to say she is having an X-ray on her gall bladder at 10:30 on Monday Nov 26 at Skipton, but she isn't seeing her doctor again until Dec 6. She is going to have to be brave if an operation is called for. You know how squeamish she is. She really should take a leaf out of Sue's book. God bless her anyway. Upstairs for 11:10. Ally was counting the money until 11:52. Sandwiches in bed.

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Wednesday November 21, 1984

 5, Club Street

Here we go. Back to the hurly burly of public life. Now I know how our dear Queen feels like on the culmination of her Sandringham break. Heavy rain. Up at dawn. Much industry in the packing department. I did the pack-horse bit to and from the car. Left at 9:30 and was back at our dear tavern for 10:15. Ronnie was in a furious mood because he came to do the stocktake at 7:30 and has had to wait for us. The place looked tidy and the relief manager escaped in a taxi after 10 minutes. He said little about his three weeks stay other than that he enjoyed it and for the remainder of the day I have the feeling that I have never been away. The staff do not mention Richard Tully and I can only guess at what a time they have all had together. I know only too well from my relief days at the Red Lion how the absent manager is slurred, blackened and lampooned by the bar staff in his absence. We went back to Club St at 2 to finish packing. I have a message to phone Fran O'Brien and he invites us to the 'grand re-opening' of the General Elliot in town, Vicar Lane, tomorrow at 11:30am. Obviously, we cannot go. Cleaned out the murky friers (fryers?) this evening. Maureen has done a very good job catering for us and took £170 after buying in. A figure beyond our wildest dreams. We gave her £80 cash tax free. Down to the bar at 8 for social intercourse with our enfeebled, geriatric inmates. Audrey worked with Mavis, and worked excellently together.

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Tuesday November 20, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green

Samuel was awake from 5am and I entertained him on the bedroom floor until 8 when I heard father padding around. The three of us went down to eat porridge and laugh at the traffic on Cemetery Road. "Queueing up to go to work" mocked Dad. We both despise the rat race. Lynn phoned at 9 to say they have had a good night. The bout of sickness must have passed as quickly as it came. Bloody annoying it is. Ally is a treasure, having slept all night flat out on a cold floor, and today she looks a million dollars. Mum and Dad went back to Sue's to assist. Peter only took one day off for the move. Naughty of him. Samuel was tired out and went back to bed until 12:05 and I went shopping. Ally, always full of good ideas, suggested a 'bar snack' and so off we went to the Rock & Heifer somewhere near Wilsden. We sat in a quiet corner, Samuel chewing the menu. Ally had a steak & kidney pie and I had roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. £5 is a bit steep but we had a pleasant lunch on our last day of freedom until 1985. It is only eight weeks until our next holiday extravaganza in Lanzarote. Onward to town - Bradford - the shops and then on to see Catherine Alderson. She gave birth to a son, Peter James, weighing 7lb 17oz on November 5. The boy has an enormous nose just like his father. We should have leapt into action this evening, but just sat. Ally is the packer. I rely on her for so much.

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Monday November 19, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green, Bradford

Susan & Peter's moving day. Bright and dry. We went to Guiseley at 10am to investigate 21, Thorpe Lane. It is a substantial, attractive family home. Sue & Pete have done so well to get it. I am reminded very much by the late, lamented Pine Tops. Susie beside herself with excitement. ________. Ally unpacked cases and Samuel sat with poor, yellow Mum and Benjamin, who could be Sam's brother, though fatter. I travelled back and forth with Dad and Pete to Fieldhead Road moving furniture. Sadly, no Hepplewhite. The previous owners of no. 21 possessed a cat and I was streaming and slobbering everywhere. I returned to Bradford in a temper but I couldn't breathe. Mum and Dad had intended staying at Lynn's _______ but they came over to Club Street at 8 because of a sudden and dubious bout of sickness had struck the Baker children rendering the Baker residence a no-go area. We sat close to the fire eating fish and chips. Poor Mum has no appetite and retired to bed early because Dad was exhausted. When I say early I mean 11pm. They had our bedroom and we slept in Sam's room, in a heap next to his cot, beneath a king-sized duvet which Ally had bought in Settle on Friday. Samuel was a little beggar and he squealed all night rendering sleep on my part impossible. We took him into our 'bed' and he assaulted her by pulling her hair and so she found a turban and slumbered beneath the duvet looking like a deceased Sikh.

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Sunday November 18, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

22nd Sunday after Trinity

Waltergarth.

John and Janette were up at the crack of dawn to go to Guiseley to collect JPH and Catherine. They are just going to go back to the flat to watch videos. Dear me, the life of the modern child. We went to see Mama in her feminine bedroom, which she herself decorated. Mum's constantly changing hue is a phenomenon. Bright orange eyes, &c. Samuel had a few belly laughs which made everyone dissolve. We took our son out in his pushchair and wheeled him around the churchyard. Ally was heavily pregnant on our last visit to this bleak, ancient burial ground. Samuel whimpered for his luncheon and so we made our way back to Waltergarth. After salad sandwiches we packed and left at about 4 o'clock. Dad looked particularly touched on saying goodbye to Samuel and afterwards Mum said he sat in silence for hours. No doubt in a state of shock. On to Lynn's. Dave was decorating his erection. The lad is obsessed with dark, wood panelling. Lynn was bathing Frances and Katie and then came down for a coffee. We hadn't seen the Bakers for seven weeks. __________. Back to Club Street. Samuel was exhausted and we didn't get him into bed until 9. Well, he is on holiday. We dined on fish in boil in the bags. Our holiday is almost over.

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