Saturday November 9, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally and I are convinced that we have managed in these busy, toying weeks to conceive a baby. Ecstatic. We deserve some good news at the end of this hideous, nightmare of a year. _____________. The magic date is July 16, 1986. If only. The coming weeks will reveal all. No staff this lunch. Dead really. Ally went to Guiseley to see Lynn. She phoned the other day after having had a bad week. She had been to see Mum's grave with Frances and Katie. Too hideous. I made pie and peas for the Egans. Much talk of España. They spoke of the flight home. Yesterday we had tales of the flight going out. Sam was violently sick tonight ----- downstairs Chris and Liz worked together for the first time. They did well, though the till was down a fiver. It could be an error, but there again ......

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Friday November 8, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Samuel looks better and is more lively, but we are watching him closely. Poor boy. He is rarely ill. Have received a snotty letter from LG regarding his visit on Oct 24, setting out the points we were supposed to have discussed. Rubbish. No word as yet about our suspect cask of OBB. Lunchtimes are so diabolically quiet. Because of this we have to cut Audrey's hours from next week. Excitement of a gynaecological nature, though we do not want to build up our hopes. _________.It would just be the thing to be sacked and pregnant. Spent the day seething about LG. He ought to be ashamed of himself. I expect such drivel to come from the mouth of Fran O'Brien, but not from Leslie Gledhill. Perhaps he is unwell? Ally was close to tears but they held off. We have come a long way since the traumas of the Why Not. She sat stoically at the breakfast table saying she'll fight the brewery to the bitter end. What else? Oh yes, we get on much better together in a crisis, and instead of sniping at each other we attack LG instead. Postcards have gone to everyone we can think of regarding a 'party night' set for Nov 16. Hopefully it will be a big turn out. Anita Leslie has pegged out. Her obit. is enclosed herein - a kinswoman of Sir W.S.C.

Just Margaret and I downstairs tonight. She seemed a bit fed up.

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Thursday November 7, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

A restless night. Samuel, restless too, came in with us. I do not think he is 100 per cent. A slight cough. I cleaned the beer lines and got everything ready for a visit from LG, but he didn't appear. I am entirely innocent. I think I will have some T-shirts made with an appropriate slogan. 

Buried in the Court Circular it was announced that the Queen invested the Duke of Kent as a Knight of the Garter yesterday after returning from the State Opening (of Parliament). How nice. He comes in as an extra royal knight. Fancy me being able to go on about an ancient order of chivalry when I'm about to be toppled for allegedly diluting Sam Smiths OBB? Life must go on. 

Miss Collis is 33. I sent a card. She sent me one. She hasn't been here since Oct '84. 

We were visited at 8pm by the police. Just a routine visit. Lynn phoned to see how I was. She had visited the grave and has been depressed all week. Later I phoned Dad just to say 'hello'.

Poor Samuel is 'off colour'. He was sucking his thumb and required a cuddling. Such a sweet child. He plays very well on his own and is currently obsessed with his toy cars which he lines us ip traffic jams on the top of various items of furniture. Buckets too. Last night he sat in the bath with a bucket and a cloth diligently washing the tub. He was violently sick and bedtime and so was disturbed for the remainder of the evening. Crying that he was thirsty. Later, we tucked up in bed together.

Wednesday November 6, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Crisp sort of day. Blustery though. 

Dad has posted me Mum's Christmas cake recipe. It arrived today. He phoned at 9:30 to ask how I feel and discuss whether he should come. I said no. It was good of him to offer, but there's little he can do here. I am feeling much better. We went to market and came back at 10:50. Leslie Gledhill came. Whispers, whispers. We went into the tap room. He says my returned barrel was well below specification and asks if water can possibly have found its way into the barrel accidentally. I said no. Further checks are going on. He went away. It is a war of nerves. What a fucking cheek. I have a clear conscience anyway. I expected a call tonight but none came. Ah well, it's only a job. We still have each other, Sammy and Club Street, and a large loving family. Much better tonight. Ally and I had a drink. I felt like Nero playing his organ as Athens burned. Liz Melvin worked.

The State Opening of Parliament. The Queen said something about salmon fishing. She went in state to Westminster with the Princess Anne, Mrs Mark Phillips. Where is the captain?

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Tuesday November 5, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Election Day USA

The chill has gone from my stomach. At bedtime last night I drank a cup of warm milk laced with whisky. This, I think, did me some good. Ally ran around all day like a mad thing and really is a treasure. I just sprawled in front of the fire with Dickie Mountbatten whilst the pub heaved below. In two years I have never been sick. Busy with food. Uncle Peter came but I didn't go down. Sam was very good and sympathised. He kept saying 'Daddy sick', pulling a horrible face too. Ally and Sam went to Guiseley at 4 to Sue's bonfire, but were stuck in a traffic jam near the Yorkshire Post for three hours. A bomb scare. Poor buggers. They arrived at Sue's at 7:15 when the bonfire was nothing but embers. Sam was good in the car and drank pop and guzzled crisps and only cried when hailstones cracked on the roof. I went down much better at 8pm. 

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Monday November 4, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

I woke up feeling well and truly whacked. Ice-cold tummy, weak knees, &c. Slumped around all afternoon like a dying man. Ally thought I was giving one of my Olivier routines, but I was genuinely knackered and in some pain. I am blaming the sausage rolls from the freezer which I foolishly consumed last night whilst glancing at 'Mountbatten' by (Philip) Ziegler. Was violently sick at 3pm and thereafter took to my bed until 8 o'clock when I went below to see poor Ally, who was really good, and realised the gravity of my situation.

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Sunday November 3, 1985

22nd Sunday after Trinity

Ally better. Graham John Dixon is 30. Thomas Elmer was christened at Pudsey Parish Church. After a roast beef lunch and 'Eastenders' omnibus we went to Pudsey. Jill invited us last week to the after party. Eleanor had been invited to the ceremony because Hilda says that auntie has fallen hook, line and sinker for the vicar of St Oswald's Guiseley, who conducted the ritual. Cousin Stephen came in with his 2 year-old daughter, Gemma. Back at 6 to open up. Chris Mawson started work. My God, he's an old 18.

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Saturday November 2, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Another hideous day. Ally can be so very unreasonable at times. Elizabeth worked tonight. Ally didn't come down. _____________. Upstairs after closing I devoured 2 Cornish pasties and watched a late film. Ally and Sam were asleep together and so I moved him to his own suite of rooms.

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Friday November 1, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

One shit of a day. Ally was in a foul mood from the start and I was feeling hellish. Then L. Gledhill phoned to say the barrel I returned recently is out of specification, whatever that means, and off he went leaving me hanging in mid-air. I bashed around in the bar threatening resignation. Blood, sweat, toil and tears, &c. We walked to the local 'play group' but they have an eight year waiting list. Poor Samuel will have pubic hair and tattoos before he can join. 

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Thursday October 31, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Hallowe'en

All Hallows Eve. The new girl Elizabeth Melvin started. She will pick it up, I do suppose. All Crimplene and no finger nails. She lives with her boyfriend and 15 month-old daughter, Clare Louise, and saving to buy a house. She will only take £10 a week from us. In contrast the Daily Telegraph has a stunning photo on the front page of the Waleses waltzing around an Australian ballroom. The princess wearing a priceless emerald and diamond necklace , but as a headband. It is reported to be a gift from HM. Diana never fails to stun the public with her little fashions coups. The Royal Yacht has sailed into Grenada. Isn't that the place the US invaded a couple of years ago at the invitation of the government? I have given up on John Updike. I only ever read exceptional works of fiction, and The Witches of Eastwick isn't one. Don't get me wrong. It will be hailed as a 20th century classic. Twentieth century writers are few and far between. N. Coward, E. Waugh, G. Greene, D. Du Maurier, C. Cookson, J. Collins, &c. (That's enough authors -Ed.)

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Wednesday October 30, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn Leeds LS11 5NQ

Dad went off at lunchtime to Settle via Guiseley and then stonemason. He has withdrawn £280 from his TSB account to pay for the stone. He has of course provided for this. I have been feeling very low. I could scream and bang my head against a wall. What is the bloody point of our existence? Ally phoned Bessie to enquire about the proposed weekend there with Lynn & Dave. Oh, no. The weekend in question is the Rose Growers dinner in Jersey and they'll be away. Never mind. Bessie was gloomy. Andrew and Lorraine have announced that they are buying a house and setting up home together in the New Year - a union sealed only by an engagement ring. F & B are both livid and say they are "old fashioned". Odd, eh? They were not old fashioned in the past with other family events _________ (sensitive redaction). I do not mean to be unkind. Just Ally and I tonight. A women's choir came in. I recognised a face. It was Margaret Edwards from my old Benton Park days. What a frumpy thing she looks, but on chatting with her she most certainly isn't. 

Other news: An inquiry into the recent spy trial has been ordered. Less said. The future Sir Lester Piggott had his last race yesterday. He has ridden 3,349 winners. Charles Douglas-Home, editor of 'The Thunderer' died yesterday. He was a nephew of Sir Alec Douglas-Home, and was heir presumptive to the heir apparent to the Earldom (of Home), and a first cousin of John, Earl Spencer, MVO.

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