Saturday February 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

To the Butcher's (Arms) at Pudsey. A poster announced the birth of a son, weighing 7lb,  yesterday at 5am. He is named Ryan Edward. Rob was visiting Kath at St James's and so we left Pudsey fully informed of the Piper's joyful news. Kath had hoped to deliver a daughter. Not sure about the name Ryan. Sounds a bit like a Hollywood movie star, but most people find the name Samuel repulsive too - we can't all have the same tastes, can we?

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Friday February 22, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Donna Lea glided in at 2:45 and went over our takings and praised us upon our performance. We are down on barrels compared with last year but we show an overall profit. However, our wage bill is too high, she says, and she knocked us down from 95 to 78 staff hours. Oh shit. _______. Donna says that next week Frank Marshall, newly installed at the Horse & Jockey, is motoring to and from the course, and suggested I might give him a call and scrounge a lift. This I did, and he came across as amiable. Phew, at least I can come home in the evenings and not stay over in York.

HRH The Duchess of Kent is 52 today. Private Eye says that she is 'ailing'. Is she? She has always looked anaemic and we all know she went slightly ga-ga after a miscarriage in (silver) jubilee year followed by the death of her mother Lady Worsley, which brought on depression. I thought she had since been rehabilitated. Do we blame 'Boy George' St Andrews for the decline?

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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 17, 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) came 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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