Sunday January 1, 1984

 (New volume)

1st Sunday after Christmas ... New Year's Day

Waltergarth, Station Road, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

New Year's Day saw the Rhodes clan gathered at Waltergarth in the township of Horton-in-Ribblesdale, in the County of North Yorkshire. The first New Year's Day for many years, for me, spent without a crashing head since the distant days of my innocent childhood. Yet, sadly however I am succumbing to a chill. I sneezed throughout and looked blotchy and feverish. Poor mother too is 'chesty' and wrapped in a woollen cardigan by the fireside. 

We had a staggered breakfast again. Just toast and tea and as soon it was decently possible we went out leaving the children with granny and grandad and walked to the Crown for the first shot of alcohol in 1984. I bought a round costing £6.50, but forgot Janette's Creme de Menthe. David, poor boy, had to borrow 50p to buy us all a drink . I am sure the Bakers are destitute since joining the Guiseley elite on Thorpe Lane. I found the draught Guinness most pleasurable. Janette is nervous about tomorrow's flight (they go to Majorca for a week with the Ettenfields) and I attempted to reassure her. 

Waltergarth.

Mum cooked a 20lb turkey for lunch this afternoon and once again it was a 'running buffet'. We all gathered around the log fire (could this be responsible for my dry throat and flowing mucus?). South Pacific nauseates on the TV. John and Janette went off with the Nasons at 4 and we packed the Baker girls off to bed after which all conversations were held in a whisper, &c. The TV droned on in the background. Lynn revealed all about childbirth ___________. We sat up until 12 and sang 'Happy Birthday' to Mum and Dad, but went to bed straight afterwards. Father is now 50 years old.

-=-

Saturday December 31, 1983

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Bitterly cold. Breakfast was in relays because we all got out of bed at different times. Ally and I were last up. Just toast. Mum refuses to cook a 'full English' at the festive season. The cold wind and rain didn't prevent us wrapping up and heading down the lane leaving Mum wrestling with a leg of pork . Ally and Dad looked like sherpas. Christopher came too. We looked at the church and inspected the tomb stones and stood on the bridge watching the grey waters crashing beneath. Sue and Pete took Christopher back and we went into the Crown for a quick one. John and I had Guinness and Dad had lager showing his contempt for Matthew Brown's ale. When we returned home Mum complained. It seems that Dad can go nowhere without her. 

Them.

Us.

We de-frosted in front of a smouldering TV. Dad is becoming more and more anti-telly, and says he could easily put the contraption outside at this time of year. Lynn and Dave arrived with the girls and dusk and the party was complete. Frances and Katie have a very rigorous time-table and once they are in bed we all have to speak in a whisper, and strain to listen to the drone of the TV so not to disturb them. A quiet, yet happy gathering. Sue is a comedienne and delights us. Lynn insisted we watch Barbra Streisand in a sloppy epic, and by 11:30 everyone was drinking coffee. Before midnight I went out into the dark of Horton to await the New Year. Surely enough it arrived and I went in carrying a lump of coal (supposedly to bring good luck) and Dad cracked open four bottles of Italian bubbly. I went out again to let in the New Year at Frances & Bryan's down the lane and she gave me an enormous whisky and equally enormous kiss. She had knocked back three glasses of sherry, more than enough to make her merry. I brought them back to Waltergarth. 

It was Janette's first 'Hogmanay' outside Scotland, and a quiet one by our previous records. I can say with hand on heart that I was sober. How many times have I seen in the New Year without the blur of alcohol upon my eyes? The neighbours left after a glass of plonk and we sat until after 2am. Our child is one of '84 and not '83. Ally so relieved to have got through Christmas intact. Dad crept to bed at 3 and so did the others. I did the washing up with Mum. Mountains of Royal Albert. We had the pink suite. Ally uncomfortable. Baby is pressing down on her ________. And so endeth another year. A year of joy, upheaval and progress. Peace be with you all. Amen.

-=-

Friday December 30, 1983

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Found some sleep at dawn and then slept until almost 11. Ally was ironing downstairs. She wants everything to be in order when the time comes. I went out for my ritual early walk for a newspaper. Perhaps I should order one to be delivered and save my legs. 

Princess Caroline of Monaco is on the front page with her Italian husband. Prince Rainier has grown a beard. I told Ally that the Grimaldi family will now lapse into their debauched, bohemian ways of old now that Princess Grace is no more. She had a firm hand I suspect. It is now only a matter of time before Rainier marries a nightclub singer with a taste for gin. You mark my words. 

Ally has canceled the milk delivery for tomorrow and has decided we should go to Horton today. She is terrified of going into labour in the barren waste of the Yorkshire Dales or on the heights of Pen-y-ghent and needs some assurance that she will be rushed back to Bradford at the slightest twinge. I phoned Sue and Mum. Sue says that John's Christmas party was poorly attended, with only the usual 'friends' and Marlene and Frank. Mum expected us last night for some reason and had bought sticky cream cakes for Ally. Ally phoned Bessie. Graham and Gill arrived today from the island (Isle of Wight) to spend new year at Martyr Worthy.

Mum: in her element.

At 12:30 we went up to have a bath. It's a tight fit for the two of us these days. We laughed about Horton. It's going to be a battle of the beds. Ally has been promised the pink suite, and I shudder at the thought of the children rioting again. We drove up before nightfall and were the first of the family at Waltergarth. The place is warm and festive. Mum is always in her element midst the family at party time. John and Janette brought Sue, Pete and Christopher before 6 and we all ate. Mum had made a game pie - delicious hare, and we enthused. Dumplings too. Christopher, the image of Susie, was calmer. Perhaps he is growing up a bit. A night around the fire drinking and eating in true seasonal style. John is looking bigger, but not with fat, but muscular. Janette suggested that they might marry at Horton Church and John laughed his sides sore. Bed late.

-=-

Thursday December 29, 1983

 5, Club Street

Uncle Albert day. 14 years since his passing. Colder. I made eggs for Ally and we drank gallons of tea in bed. She read the birth announcements in the Daily Telegraph. No Samuels or Clementines today, although a Samuel Paul was listed yesterday. Ally had a restless night listening to me snoring. She also accused me of stealing her pillows. I chastised her. Why couldn't she simply have shaken me and asked for them back? 

We have a late Christmas card from Uncle Bert in Nottingham which includes Reggie's address. I went out and splashed water on the car. It's only the second clean it's had since September. Ally stood ironing and looked pale today. We ate mounds of sandwiches and banana splits. 

I sat with Margaret Thatcher's biography. What has happened to the Labour party since Harold Wilson's departure? It was bad with him but one hell of a lot worse without him. I can think of nothing worse than Neil Kinnock, the arrogant upstart. Dear Mrs T will be at the helm of government until the 1990s. Watched 'Great Expectations' on TV. Janette phoned but we said we would have to miss the party tonight. I phoned Marlene (because Janette was too shy to do so) to give her the details of John's gathering. All the usual mob are meeting at the Station Hotel, of course. Ally went to the clinic at 3pm and came back tearful. She had endured a long wait in a dismal waiting room and was downhearted._________.

We finished the remains of our Turkey (thank God) and watched a ghost story on Channel 4. I do enjoy an eerie tale. Then with square eyes watched 'Dogs of War', a bit of a let down. So slow. Ally went to bed at 10 and I tolerated the film until 12. To bed with Margaret Thatcher but couldn't sleep, and neither could Ally. She got up and did some washing. I blame the baby.

-=-

Wednesday December 28, 1983

Lord Holderness.

 Stayed in bed until 11. The phone was ringing downstairs. Could it be L. Gledhill to despatch me to a distant tavern at the back of beyond? I let the bloody thing ring. I held my place in bed and slept on. Ally brought me bananas on toast and tea. I was reading Penny Junor's Margaret Thatcher until 1am this morning. What a tremendous year she's had. The first Tory PM since Salisbury to be elected to serve a second term. Miss Junor says that when at Oxford the then Margaret Roberts fell for the second son of an earl who became a luminary in the Conservative party, but doesn't name him. Who could it have been? I say it's Lord Holderness, who, as Richard Wood, was MP for Bridlington. He was at Oxford at the same time as Mrs T. It will all come out in the wash, won't it?

Princess Caroline of Monaco marries an Italian youth tomorrow in a civil ceremony. Let's hope that this one will last. In other news the Pope has visited prison and forgiven the Turk who tried to kill him in May '81. Fool. It's now a green light to terrorists everywhere. Yuri Andropov hasn't been seen in public since June and speculation about the Russian leader's health continues. Most members of the politburo are geriatric. 

Victoria the Great, starring Dame Anna Neagle, was on Channel 4. Lynn and Dave came here for ten minutes at 5 after shopping. Dave ruffled Ally and annoyed her telling her not to sit around waiting for the baby but to be active and go about her usual chores. Cheeky bugger. That is exactly what she is doing. The Bakers friendship with Dave and Elaine Allinson has ended, for ever it seems. Very sad.  ______.

-=-

Tuesday December 27, 1983

 Bank Holiday in the UK & Rep. of Ireland

5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Ally has some horrible, dark stretch marks. _________. I awoke in the top bunk at 10. Mum was downstairs making tea and toast. I have a funny tummy _________. It feels chilled and it's very unlike me to suffer in this area. I had breakfast and a brandy by the fire. In fact breakfast lasted long into the afternoon. I went out to buy a paper and later Ally and Dad sat pulling the epic 'El Cid' to pieces. Later they went off to see Sue and Peter. I slept in the chair by the glimmer of the Christmas tree lights. Well, we aren't having a Christmas baby are we? I didn't fancy the idea of spending Yuletide on a labour ward. 

-=-

Monday December 26, 1983

 Bank Holiday in the UK, Rep. of Ireland and Canada

5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Slept until 10. Got up and made pancakes for tonight's dinner. Mum and Dad came here after 12 and we talked about the baby. Mum says he'll be called Oliver James. Dad and I went out to inspect the metro who continues to take in water. We re-glued the door lining and mopped up the water. A cold day. We listened to Nat King Cole and relaxed. We appreciate the tranquility of home life and idleness after months of smoke-filled boozers. We ate at 5:30 and sat for three hours. Seafood pancakes, roast beef, roast potatoes, broccoli, pineapple, cream, mince pies, &c. We get on so well with Mum and Dad. _________. Dad created a drink, dark rum with double cream floating atop. He calls it a 'rum Bailey'. Mum doesn't drink quite as much as in years gone by. Just a few whiskies. Watched the news. Violet Carson is dead. Another blow for Coronation Street. We ate chocolates and chatted by the fire. Bed at circa 2am.

-=-

Sunday December 25, 1983

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Christmas Day

We got up at about 8am and ran around like excited children. We didn't dress but went down to open presents. We exchanged watches. Ally gave me a Nat King Cole LP (memories of karaoke at the Linnie), a yellow Shetland sweater, and Penny Junor's biography of Margaret Thatcher. Alfred the turkey was washed and placed in the oven, and we sat, feet up, drinking Malibu and pineapple. Mary came over with a gift of tea towels and then went off to cook her mother's lunch. Phoned Mum. She was making Sunday lunch at John's. The children are joining them, but not Hannah. We ate at 1:30 (Ally eating like a horse). We watched the Queen, but Mrs Gandhi seemed to dominate the whole programme. Not HM's best Christmas offering. Frank phoned and Ally spoke to Bessie for half an hour. At 4 we left, most unwillingly, to go to Lynn's, where Thorpefields was crowded and noisy with the cries of exhausted

children. We exchanged more presents here. Christopher was taken home hysterical at 7, and the Baker sisters were bathed and bedded too. All the children have been picking their noses today. We sat until 10 and then returned to Club Street where we sat watching the Marx Brothers. Firefly and Mrs Teasdale.

--=-

Saturday December 24, 1983

 Butcher's Arms, Pudsey

Rain. Back to the Butcher's, lacking in Yuletide atmosphere and quite dismal. Auntie Mabel came in at 2 and sat in a corner drinking brandy, Marlene and Frank joined her at 2:30. Auntie says that if I continue in this business she could quite easily become a alcoholic. Marlene was very merry and full of Christmas cheer. Darling Ally came at 3 and we went to Marlene's on Hough Side Road. We had a couple of drinks and returned home to Club St. This evening we went to John's where Mum and Dad are lodging the night. JPH and Catherine were watching 'Flash Gordon'. Both are so Macdonald to look at. We last saw them both in April, 1982. Catherine showed Dad her ballet positions and footwork. John and Janette went out to the Station Hotel to meet Chris Rat, Peter Mather, Martyn Cole, &c. We sat and drank cloudy beer with Mum and Dad until they came back at 11:30 to open some presents. John gave Mum and Dad a gold carriage clock, and they gave me the new (Rolling) Stones LP. Ally a woolly top. Mum gave me a china mug (of all things), and Ally received a fancy night
gown with pants (?). We sat until after 1 and then came home. 

-=-

Friday December 23, 1983

 Butcher's Arms, Pudsey

Back to the Butcher's Arms at 9 where I 'bottled up' surrounded by yapping dogs. Rob had been up until 2am watching TV. Very busy until 3pm. I opened up at 11 and two staff came in at 12. Pudsey people are, in the main, very tolerant good humoured types. Ally feeling fat and uncomfortable and acting peculiarly. Is this it? Home at 4 and collected the turkey (10lb 4oz) costing £5.00. Spent £43 on booze. Phoned Geoff at the Emmott Arms to say I am ignoring him today and not going over to Rawdon. I also phoned Chris at the 'Lion Rouge'. He tells me almost casually that he is in mourning for his brother, apparently a mentally handicapped Cornish person, living in an institution, who choked to death yesterday on an early Christmas lunch. _______. He and Mrs Wills are going to the funeral on Tuesday/Wednesday and he suggested that I might be called upon to take up the mantle of responsibility at Girlington in his absence. No bloody fear. My phone comes off the hook tomorrow. Ally tearful and 'edgy'. This evening the pub was dead and I stood, glass in hand, until 11:30. Rob drives Ally into a coma. He is such a bore. Kath is a smart, prim little thing, but nicer than I have previously thought.

-=-

Thursday December 22, 1983

5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Shortest Day

Butcher's Arms.

Soddened. Couldn't reach L. Gledhill, but left a message with Jane at the brewery asking him to phone me. Porridge at dawn. Horrible breakfast TV. Selina Scott really put her foot in it telling the nation that Santa Claus doesn't exist. Can you imagine the sobbing children throughout the realm, sitting around their TV sets? 

To the Butcher's Arms at 9:20, where I 'bottled up' for a 'crippled' Rob. Les Gledhill phoned after 12 and told me to stay at Pudsey until Saturday and asked about the Moorhouse and 'can you do the job?' I of course replied 'yes' and he said he will see me after Christmas. Rob was gleeful and says I have the Moorhouse on the strength of this very vague conversation, but I'm not banking on anything. Frantic day. The till is like a computer and it takes an Einstein-like brain to operate it. Ally saw Dr Duck at 10. The baby can come any time from now until mid-January. Ally weighs 10st 3lb. Not too hideous. There's a lack of seasonal cheer at the Butcher's. Ally baked tonight and I put marzipan on a cake at 7. Butcher's 8-11pm. Hilda and Tony called in. I was too busy to socialise for long. They introduced me to Michelle Myers (nee Pickles), my cousin-in-law, who was in drinking with a girl friend. Home at 11. Saw in the Daily Telegraph that Marlborough House in London may once again become a royal residence. A good thing.

-=-

Wednesday December 21, 1983

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Butcher's Arms.

Bloody wet. To the Butcher's Arms at Pudsey, where Rob has injured his back lifting a barrel onto the gantry. He is something of a Sarah Bernhardt, I fear. It looks as though I will be here until Saturday because young Master Piper is incapacitated. Kath made 80 Christmas dinners for a pack of factory workers, and yet the festive feeling isn't quite here yet. Poor Ally spent the day going back and forth to Bradford. At 3 we sat down and had turkey and wine . The Pipers have Yorkshire terriers who scurry around like rats. The staff here knife each other in the back, metaphorically of course, reminiscent of the 'Reign of Terror' in the French revolution. Home at 4:30. Cary Grant is soon to be eighty and they (the BBC) are regurgitating all his films. Gammon and pineapple. I then slept in a heap in my chair. Returned to Pudsey for 8. Uneventful. Rob's cellar could be cleaner. Saw Paul Edwards at a fish and chip shop and told him to circulate the news that I am in Pudsey until Christmas. Couldn't reach Gledhill though he did visit Rob at 5.

Tuesday December 20, 1983

 Full Moon

5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

The Brown Hare, Harehills.

Rain. Phoned L. Gledhill who wasn't in. Phoned Don Whitfield at the Brown Hare and he asked me to be at Harehills for 2pm. Ally washed a batch of nappies and half of them came out frayed at the edges and looked shoddy. They cost us £13 on Saturday. Ally drove me to Leeds and left me at the Brown Hare at 2 and went on to her Mothercraft class at Odsal to watch a film on childbirth. The Brown Hare is a new, red brick erection with a bar longer than I have ever seen. Don Whitfield is a happy go lucky country and western singer. His wife Audrey is a fresh faced chain smoker. He employs boys from the university to work in the bar - a good idea. It's very Linthorpe in its organisation. I worked in the bar - another Christmas party for OAPs. More atmosphere than last Saturday with everyone singing along as if they're at the City Varieties. An amazing cellar. Don's doing almost 20 barrels of ale a week. Ally came back for me at 6 and we bombed off home to watch TV and eat plastic bags of fish in sauce. 'Dallas'. Awful. Ally's childbirth film was worthwhile and she became emotional. We discussed births. Uncle John phoned at 11:30pm from Bourn, near Cambridge, just for a chat. He had no idea of our great change in lifestyle or of our forthcoming baby and didn't receive the letter I posted in April or May. He asked for Mum and Dad's address and said he'd phone us again soon. He laughed at my tales of horror from the Why Not. We do have a very similar sense of humour. To bed. Ally has indigestion and the baby kicked furiously beneath her peppermint nightie.

-=-

Monday December 19, 1983

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Filthy, wet day. We went out and found Mandy metro taking in more water. Something is going to have to be done, or the floor will give way. We went off to find Hunslet and visited Michael and Beverley Pirie, Australians, at the Moorhouse Inn. We were very pleasantly surprised and Ally was especially delighted at the size of the private living accommodation. The tap room looked as though it needed watching, but the lounge was full of good, quiet people devouring lunch. The pub takes about £2,500 a week, and the Piries make about £80 per week from the catering. It seems a good place to start in. We left after 2 and went shopping in a wet, busy town. I bought Ally 'Diorissimo' perfume and things of a practical nature from Habitat, and went to Samuel's where we bought each other a watch. Police were on the streets clearing shoppers from Marks & Spencers where a bomb scare had brought the IRA threat to the Christmas scene. 

Moorhouse Inn.

The Prince and Princess of Wales have visited the Harrods bomb victims in hospital.  ___________. At 5:30 we went wet and hungry into Da Mario's on the Headrow where I had a panzerotto, and Ally a seafood pizza. Saw cousin Di outside at the bus stop. We talked about the Moorhouse and agreed to phone Les Gledhill and offer to give it a go. Sat by the TV tonight. Ally phoned Bessie. 

-=-

Sunday December 18, 1983

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

4th Sunday in Advent

Number 5.

An idle day - well for me it was. Spent hours wrapping Christmas presents we bought in Winchester. Amazed at the way we didn't dawdle. We usually do this in a mad panic late on Christmas Eve. It goes dark very quickly. So sooner were we out of bed when we were considering climbing back in it. Dave L phoned for the addresses of Lynn and Sue and mentioned that Christine Braithwaite had phoned him quite out of the blue, to say she is divorcing her husband and living back on New Road Side again. She now works behind the bar at the Chevin Inn. I went down the street delivering Christmas cards to our depleted clutch of neighbours. Spent some time with Phyllis Beale, mourning poor Bert. She had a Christmas tree standing no higher than three inches. Went to see Charles Eyden who told me he was born on September 7, 1899. Mary Moore was having a gigantic gathering for lunch and I inspected her festive table. She gave me a pudding and a jar of homemade mincemeat. For the remainder of the day it was one of peace. We sat by the tree lights and played Mario Lanza's Christmas LP, which always raises a laugh. Jim and Margaret called in at 7 and I showed him our leaking lavatory. He taped it up, but blames condensation.

-=-

Saturday December 17, 1983

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Red Lion: Christmas party.

I still feel knackered after a good night's repose. Do you think I'm perhaps on edge about something? Christmas cards come flooding in. I went out before breakfast to buy a Daily Telegraph and I ordered a 10lb turkey from the Co-op butcher. It only cost me £5. Oddly, I haven't heard of any 'turkey shortage' scare this year. At this crucial time we are usally told that all the birds are dying in an epidemic, obviously to inflate the prices of those lucky enough to survive. We went in to town and bought a Christmas tree (with root) for £7. Town was like Hell and we came home after a couple of hours. The IRA have bombed Harrods. Dear God. I went out at 1pm to the Red Lion to help out at the hideous OAPs Christmas party. Old, senile dodderers spluttering turkey and pudding. Some of them, touchingly, wept with joy. Santa Claus came and so too did a Salvation Army band, and Les Gledhill. Chris Wills took Gledhill off to play pool and I worked my arse off. Something's wrong somewhere. The old folk staggered out at 5:30 and I did the bar until 8. Ally collected me in the motor. She was tired. We went home to pork pie and mushy peas. Afterwards we decorated the Christmas tree. Had a few beers and watched 'The Devil Rides Out'. To bed at 12:45. Ally attempted to push me out. What a darling.

-=-

Friday December 16, 1983

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Emmott Arms, Rawdon.

Mum woke us at 7:30 and cooked a breakfast. Just Ally and I ate because they never touch fried food. We said our goodbyes and quit Horton at 8:30. Pen-y-ghent was nowhere to be seen. Drove to the Emmott Arms for our liaison with L. Gledhill. Geoff and Alison (trainees from the Linthorpe) arrived here today to find the place in chaos. Eight people are booked in for Christmas lunch upstairs and no staff were on hand to prepare and so area manager Donna Lea is doing the cooking, and I am the wine waiter. A farce. I have never served wine at tables before, and felt self-conscious as I fumbled around with the bottles. I cannot have been too bad because they gave me a £2 tip. I finished at 2 and attempted to contact Ally, who had pootled off home, to no avail. I continued to try and contact her until after 6, and the most sinister thoughts passed through my mind. I sat upstairs with Geoff until 5:30, and then I opened the pub for him working until 7. Saw Philip Cartwright, who never changes. He was surprised to see me working for Sam Smiths. He relived our Pine Tops Christmas parties from '73 and '74. When I got through to Ally I am told she had been at hospital with Mary (Moore) who had cut her finger whilst carving a joint. Blood everywhere. I was so very relieved to hear her voice. Imagine if I had become a father without a ringside seat? Horrific. Tired and done in. Home. Food. Bed. Who would have ever thought I'd be running the bar at the Emmotts, such a regular haunt of my youth? You wouldn't recognise the place now. Very dismal and dilapidated.

-=-

Thursday December 15, 1983

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale.

Fog. We went to Rawdon where I saw my dentist. He charged me £4 to do absolutely nothing but poke around in my mouth. Whatever happened to old Hough? Struck off perhaps, for mauling some poor housewife. By 10:30 we were at Sue's. She gave me a whisky. Christopher looked very grown up in his woolly pullover and he sat on my knee looking at a picture book. He seems an intelligent child, and no quite the lunatic people make him out to be. Sue looked thin and not in the least pregnant. On to Lynn's where the house was like an igloo, only colder. The children were blue with cold and ill-humoured. Lynn complained that she isn't mature, ______ and has no money, and was generally 'low'. Back at home we have a note from Les Gledhill asking me to phone. This I did, and he asked me to meet him at the Emmott Arms at 10am tomorrow. We went up to Horton at 5:30 and dined with Mum and Dad. Afterwards we decorated their Christmas tree and sat by the coal fire. Dad sat weaving the rug we bought him when he retired. Bed after 12.

-=-

Wednesday December 14, 1983

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Tony.

The old King and Uncle Tony share a birthday today. The old King (George VI) was 40 on the day of Tony's birth. Needless to say we sent a card (not to the old King, which would have been pointless, but to Tony). Sarah C phoned from the YP. She is just the same. Spent the day, the whole day, writing Christmas cards, after having breakfast in bed. Ally cannot sleep these days and was up at dawn pacing the rooms. The toilet has sprung a leak and we now resemble the RMS Lusitania taking in water everywhere. Phoned Dave Lawson. He has bought a house in South Elmsall, and now speaks in a south yorkshire accent. He thought Ally wasn't due until april and gasped when I told him her time is now due. Phoned Dave G. He and Lily have won a 10-day holiday to Mexico, or an island off Mexico, from January 7. Sat by the TV. Coronation Street. Len Fairclough's funeral. Cheese and onion toasties. No word from L. Gledhill and so tomorrow we are escaping to Horton-in-Ribblesdale.

-=-

Tuesday December 13, 1983

 The Red Lion, Thornton Rd, Bradford 8

Club Street.

We left the Red Lion at 12:30 after Chris and Elaine's return. The stocktake showed a £7 defecit, but that's no problem. Chris says he will continue with the ban on our canine friends, and we took our leave and returned to Club Street. Sheryl was in at opening time to deliver her daily 'homage' of 'arse licking'. We made our escape quickly. The King is dead, long live the king, &c. Customers are apt to become unnerved  at the sight of two managers in the pub at one and the same time. Elaine pets and slobbers over her dog, Michael (named after Mike Walker from the brewery), and was so loud that the stocktaker sat with his fingers in his ears. 

At home I had fish and chips. Ally went to mothercraft classes to learn about heavy breathing and stretch marks, and I went out to buy a TV licence. Our licence expired in September and the woman in the post office looked at me aghast as though I was one, or even both, of the Kray twins. Looked at old newspapers and felt cosy at my own home on my own settee. It was odd not to ring a bell and call 'time' at 3 o'clock. News: Sir Keith Holyoake, KG, died last weel. That leaves a vacancy for me. Lady Docker has croaked too. Is Mrs T in her last term as PM? Will those foul peacewomen succeed at Greenham Common? Will Di give birth to twin princes in 1984? Is the NGA doomed? Phoned Mum to say I cannot be definite about visiting on Thursday until I have spoken to Les Gledhill. I do hope we can fit in a quiet weekend at Horton.

-=-

Monday December 12, 1983

 Red Lion, Thornton Road, Bradford 8

Switzerland arrived at Thornton Road. I was up at dawn shovelling snow and cleaning the beer lines, &c. Ally helped filling buckets with slops.  Mrs Sheryl Hepworth, 36, the Red Lion cook, formerly Miss Seymour, claims kinship with Henry VIII and 'Princess Diana', and reckons she is in line to the Dukedom of Somerset. Last year she drove her husband, Reg, insane, and he was closeted for 8 weeks in Linfield Mount (the place where Mrs Rochester would be incarcerated if Charlotte Bronte was to write 'Jane Eyre' today). Sheryl is an aligator, only more sly. Our climax at the Red Lion. Les Gledhill paid us a quick visit to say he'll phone us on Wednesday to make arrangements for some work before Christmas. He doesn't want me 'moping' around at home. Obviously, he doesn't know me. I have never moped. Worked with Rita. Jean and Enid stayed back for drinks. Ally did the tills upstairs. We have somehow acumulated an extra £25 and so we took it for ourselves. It is the done thing. 

-=-