Thursday February 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We went to Guiseley to dine out with Sue and Peter. She has complained that she has not been wined and dined since Benjamin was but a twinkle in Pete's eye, and so it was high time we indulged. Sue suggested the Damn Yankee at White Cross but we went to the White Cross pub at 7:30 and then to the Fox & Hounds, Menston, where we ate in a secluded corner. Obviously, Mum was the main topic of conversation but we did try to remain cheerful. Susan is Mum's replica. We all had T-bones except Sue who had a steak and prawns. £22 per couple, not bad. Back to Thorpe Lane at 11. They are so proud of No. 21 _____ Sue is now an expert stripper, of varnished doors and fireplaces that is.

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Wednesday February 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Ash Wednesday

You would think that the journal of a thriving Hunslet licensee would be more riveting that the foppish drawl of a spotty newspaper librarian, but this is not so. Ally puts this down to my vivid imagination. The crux of the thing is time. In days of old I had the time to sit and dwell over my journal, often for hours, but now the best I can do is a mad, frantic scribble, and much of the zest, humour and sharp comment is missed. Andy Bowden's Boy George look-alike girlfriend has kept a daily journal since Jan 1 1974 and we have found we share very similar views. Our journals are compulsive stuff. To ignore our pens for even a few days gives us such great feelings of guilt. I am relieved that I am not the only one tormented so.

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Tuesday February 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Shrove Tuesday

Dad went back to Horton today to make sure no further leaks have sprung. He came back satisfied.

The Prince Andrew is twenty five today, and somewhere on the high seas. I had hoped that Carolyn Herbert would snare him - you know, Porchy Carnarvon's daughter. So suitable. 

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Monday February 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Washington's Birthday Observance

Driving lesson at 9am with the not so Greenham Common Karen Hudson. She is a very relaxing person to motor with. I feel competent and far from the bungling buffoon of '75. I have a letter confirming my driving test is fixed for August 14. Mum looked very distant when I told her the date and I could clearly see that she was thinking August is too late for her.

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Sunday February 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Quinquagesima

We want another child. Samuel will be two before long and it would be so good to have two babes of similar age. Two angels. I feel strangled by emotion. My mother is dying and I cannot write objectively about her any more. (Redaction).

A pub crawl. The Menston Arms, Station Hotel, Emmott Arms and the Butcher's at Pudsey. Rob sent Ally upstairs to see the expectant Kath, who is now sick of waiting.

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Saturday February 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Waltergarth.

To Horton. It was a fine, crisp day but our peace was shattered on arriving at Waltergarth by the sound of running water - a furious torrent in fact. A downpour coming through the kitchen ceiling and the whole bungalow was awash. It was to be expected really because recent temperatures have been in the minuses. Dad didn't panic or fluster and was very casual about the disaster. Why worry? Frances (neighbour) caem dashing in and found us a plumber who fixed the pipe in the loft and I spent the afternoon drying the kitchen and emptying the cupboards of damp, soggy food. Dad was soaked to the skin and blue with cold. Frances took us in for hot soup and a warm which was a God send. She really is a thoughtful lady. I phoned Ally and spoke to Mum about the leak. She said: "I wish I could sell the bloody place." Home in the dark to a glum reception. We had Chinese food.

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Friday February 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Andrew is 21 today and is celebrating quietly with Lorraine. Will she be Mrs Dixon soon? It has been discussed.

I have to go to York next week on a hotel and catering training board course, Don Bywater presiding.  It's a three-day event from Feb 26, and I do not relish the idea. Rob (Piper) attended the course last year and was subjected to a series of humiliating games and tests. No point in dodging though because I will only have to do it at a later date. It looks like I will have to stay over in York too. Ally quakes. We will miss each other so. 

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Thursday February 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Valentine's Day

Mum and Dad went to Guiseley to visit the girls. Mum ate a large fish from Harry Ramsden's which disagreed with her somewhat. It was something called a 'special'.

Received some books in the post from our book club. Princess Margaret by Christopher Warwick, and Elizabeth II by the Countess of Longford and a picture book of the Churchills by their daughter Lady Soames entitled 'Winnie and Clem'. I do love new books.

It is old Reg Scott's birthday. He's 85. That's if he's still with us. Muriel Rawnsley's birthday too. We are told that poor old Jim (Rawnsley) had a successful gall bladder op last year. He'd been yellow too before his surgery. Lynn recently saw Muriel who was distressed to hear about Mum and sent her best wishes adding that she is praying to God.

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Wednesday February 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Our first anniversary here. Cold. We went shopping. Bought Valentine's day cards and peered into shop windows. Ally took her watch into Samuels but it is beyond repair.

Evening deathly quiet. George and Debbie Bailey (Hollywood Days, &c) and Paul and Jenny (the Duncan) came here and we had a communion of Sam Smith managers central Leeds area. Like a general synod sort of thing. Paul is a great mimic, a natural comedian. Jenny somewhat sullen. George is a frustrated footballer with a (Kevin) Keegan perm. Debbie blunt and endearing. Something of a alcohol fuelled evening, though no vomit like last week.

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Tuesday February 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Lincoln's Birthday

Who cares that it's Lincoln's birthday? Men from the brewery cellar services came and installed Diet Pils at 89p a pint on draught. Donna Lea breezed in at five, what an Ophelia she is, here to increase our beer prices. Bitter is now up 3p to 63p a pint, lager up 3p to 75p a pint. Crafty of the brewery because Nigel Lawson will slap a further 2p on ales in the budget next month. Ally dealt with Donna and stayed to open at 5:30 gleefully to observe the reaction of the customers. She's cruel that way. Grumbling old men exclaiming that the increases are disgusting and equally share the blame between me and Margaret Thatcher. Irish Brian mournfully announced that he will take up home brewing. So boring of them all. We sat with Jack Collett promoting the newly installed Diet Pils. Ye olde Merrie England and Ye Olde Moorhouse Inn.

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Monday February 11, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Clive Ponting, the General Belgrano mole, has been acquitted at the Old Bailey of offences under section two of the Official Secrets Act. What a mess this nation of ours is in. The man will not even lose his job and will receive back-pay to August. 

On a lighter note this morning at 9am I began driving lessons again under the tutelage of one Karen Hudson (very Greenham Common/Lib-Lab looking if you ask me). I took to the open road like a duck to water. After some research I can say I last took a driving test on November 20, 1974 in the days when Harold Wilson and Lord Lucan dominated the news and when petrol was 43p a gallon. I did quite well and have some confidence. Dad is very pleased at this.

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