Sunday September 22, 1985

Southwood Farm

 Southwood Farm, Cotleigh
, Devon

16th Sunday after Trinity

Positively tropical. We cannot believe our luck. Samuel and I went to look at the animals whilst Ally made breakfast. He loves his 'walkies'. Afterwards we drove to Sidmouth. Very sedate, pebbly and picturesque. We stripped Samuel off and played on the seashore. We ate large ice creams and paddled in the sea. Samuel succumbed to his first mouthful of sea water. The poor boy has had no experience on the sun or the sea and we are determined to make this week in Devon a good one. We sat for a long time lobbing pebbles into the sea while Ally sprawled out. Not easy laying on pebbles. Reminiscent of some ancient form of torture from the east. Drove to Beer Head. Then to Seaton. Very low here - socially I mean. Roast turkey tonight. Ally and I dressed for the occasion. The only thing missing was Santa Claus.

Samuel with the cows.

Sam on the pebbles.

The Sunday papers are full of nonsense about Princess Anne and her former personal detective. What rot they publish. No actual facts. All speculation. It all shrieks of 'Love in the Saddle', the hilarious Private Eye series from 1973.

Saturday September 21, 1985

 Coleford, Gloucestershire

We left Graham and Gill at 11am or so and drove down to Taunton. Was it the M5? Quick anyway. We went into an Asda and bought some provisions including a 10lb turkey. To Honiton, Devon, for 2pm. Hot afternoon. Four miles from Honiton we found Southwood Farm, erected in 1656. Olde Worlde charm, &c. Peace, tranquillity - blissful repose. We are housed in a wing partitioned off from the farmer Mr Williams, his wife and three children, and the noise permeates through to us, but not disturbingly so. Samuel's little face on seeing cows, horses, and dogs was a sight to behold. We went to Honiton to look at the shops and returned after 6 after phoning Dad. He says its heavy rain in Horton and he and the Harwoods were snuggling around the coal fire. We dined on lamb chops and watched tv until bedtime. You have no idea what a treat this is. Gill has given me a thriller - 'Lupe' by Gene Thompson(?), and describes it as a book about 'a ten year-old with a huge willie.' Most entertaining. We read in bed. Ally reading Dornford Yates but isn't enamoured.

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Friday September 20, 1985

 Coleford, Gloucestershire

Woke feeling awful. Gill felt the same and as soon as breakfast was consumed she announced she was going back to bed. Ally and I were left with three riotous boys and a dog on heat who decided to spew up on the 'mushroom' hall carpet. Simon is enormous. Ally is really taken with him. Gill remained abed until after 1 when we all went to Coleford and the park. Tonight a babysitter was found and we went to the White Horse Inn at Staunton. The food wasn't exceptional and a large spoilt poodle insisted on climbing up on to Ally's chair. Unhygienic. Home for brandy. Samuel had been up at 9:30 but was no bother.

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Thursday September 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Jolly holidays are upon us. The stock taker Rob came in and we had a good time demolishing that Dalison chap, who apparently makes a general balls up of wherever he goes. Ron Brook came, wearing red trousers, looking like a maniacal golfer, and spent hours on the phone after carrying in all his luggage. Twenty three suits and a tie rack worthy of the Duke of Windsor. Silly bugger. We left after 12. Very low key. Said goodbye to nobody. We had a stock deficit of £35 or so. We knew we would. The last stock take was £99 up and the imbecile made a cock-up then. Ally is blissfully resigned to ignoring stocks. I worry more.

Down the M5 to Coleford. I made Samuel giggle so much that he was sick all over himself just as we crossed the border into Wales. Ally was cross. I think I was holding my nose and making ridiculous noises at the time. To Mile End for 4:30. The house was very pleasantly chaotic. The children, the dogs and Gill all look well. ______. Graham came in and the two of us went to Coleford and the Angel Hotel for a few bevvies. Needless to say the Gloucestershire air took hold of me and I returned to the house quite pissed and hiccoughing. Samuel came down doing his Placido Domingo routine and Ally went upstairs to get the boy settled and didn't come back. Similarly, Graham went for a wee wee and was never seen again. Gill and I were left with a bottle of Chateau Mablethorpe. Our conversation ranged from Aids to church dogma. And so to bed.

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Wednesday September 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

A spate of particularly bad child murders dominate the news. __________. Phoned Dad and Marlene, but not in that order. Marlene didn't know I'd phoned last week. Debbie didn't pass on my message. Dad seemed choked, but was OK. He mentioned the anniversary of leaving the police - three years since Giovanni's and the Fox. Three years since Mum gave us all a delightful cheque. What a big generous heart. We miss her.

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Tuesday September 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Leslie Gledhill came here at 9 to look at our weekly sheets and staff rota, and went away unable to find any fault, and instead talked about Guy Watsons (?) and Bordeaux. Our staff hours are set at 70. We have been dithering around with this figure for a while and so it wasn't a blow. LG thinks as we do about Ron Brook and promises to come here on the day we get back from holiday and says he may even drop in on Thursday evening. He does look after our interest. Walked with Samuel again.

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Monday September 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

It is the third anniversary of Dad leaving the police force. Only Ally and I worked tonight. Three old ladies came in to the bar at the same time and panic ensued over the bottles of light ale. Food busy. Everybody had fish and chips. Mrs Collinson phoned to say she won't cook whilst we are on holiday. Silly cow. _____.  Samuel and I have been taking long afternoon walks over Hunslet Moor and across the motorway bridge. A pony was tethered and Samuel went into raptures. Samuel seemed to enjoy the walk more than the sliding and swinging experience in the park. This is reassuring. Parks are such dull, childish places.

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Sunday September 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

15th Sunday after Trinity

Frank's birthday today spent on the island of Jersey whilst the builders do great things at Chillandham Cross.

To Horton early-ish. The Bakers were in attendance. ________. Lynn spoke of joining us at Bessie's on Sept 28 - quite uninvited. Frances is into ballet and she leapt and twirled everywhere. Katie is into a witch called Esmerelda. We had a cold, dismal buffet. Poor Horton. Dad is using Mum's 'priceless' china from the cabinet. She'd squeal if she knew. Poor Dad. We left at 6:30. Dad waving us off was a tear-jerking experience. To the pub. Sat upstairs. Juke box booming up through the floor. Watched Sherlock Holmes on the TV. Dreadful.

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Saturday September 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

New Moon

It was an early rise because of our darling son and heir, who had no qualms about getting his drunken Papa out of bed to provide him with a 'full English' breakfast. The guests from last night had stayed over and they all ate too. Some in a shocking state of undress. Gerry in his canary yellow y-fronts. We watched cartoons on the telly and giggled at Maggie Philbin, or is she Philpotts? They all left at 11. Pitts had collapsed on the loo and we found him with his pants around his ankles amidst the choking fumes. Ally was green. At 12 we returned to bed for a few hours, and Samuel caught up on some beauty sleep. Little else to say. Phoned Dad. We are going to Horton tomorrow.

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Friday September 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Hayley is two. Ally went to a birthday party at the new Sanderson pile on Crawshaw Rise (or is it Drop?).

Tonight, as planned, Chippy (now suave, and known as Gerry Ash) and a gang consisting of Ian Pitts (normal) and a red headed 24 year-old bank clerk with a frustrative personality, and his Mexican-like silent brother. A long evening of debauchery. They were drinking the Diet Pils and became hopelessly intoxicated. I drank Campari and was the height of sophistication all evening.

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Thursday September 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Lunchtime. Ally and Sam went with Papa to the Clarendon Wing to see Thomas John Elmer. There was a very good 'turn out' and a multitude surrounded Jill's bed.

(I can write no more because I have spilt some wine on the page and made it wet. Sorry).

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Wednesday September 11, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

John and Janette have registered Charlotte. Marlene is 40 today and celebrated by going to play Bingo.

club Street.

We went to Bradford at 3 after doing the lunches. To Duckworth Lane Co-op, Oxfam, &c. On to Club Street and met Dad. He was in the garden. We pottered around pruning the foliage, and had cheese and bread for lunch. It was the first time that Dad had set foot here since May 6, when Mum left for Horton. Our sense of loss now passes in silence. It is unspeakable. Fish & chips tonight and 'Minder' on the telly. Sam slept in our bed after a playful bathtime. We all came back to the Moorhouse at 11:30pm. Phoned Marlene and spoke to Debbie. M was of course 'bingoing'.

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Tuesday September 10, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Baby Thomas John.

Warm and sunny. Leslie Gledhill appeared at breakfast time. I had been up since 7am in the cellar cleaning the beer lines, and he appeared as I was tucking into some tea and toast. Samuel was delighted and played with Les's musical calculator. LG asked if we fancy a move. He is obsessed with moving managers around, and assumes we are bored with the place now. He agrees that the overall appearance of the place is disgusting and squalid, and John Newband was spoken of in very unflattering terms. We discussed our peculiar stocks of late and M.R. Dalison, the stocktaker. He went off like a tornado. The dray came at 12. Ally went out shopping and at 2:45 Samuel and I went out for one of our regular walks over the motorway bridge and to the park. We inspected a large, black pony. Samuel is a delight. Back at 3:30 for a makeshift tea. Poor Ally was weak at the knees (gynaecological redaction). Downstairs at 5:45 Hilda phoned to say Jill had a son, Thomas John, at 4pm, by Caesarian section. He weighs 8lb 8oz. Poor Jill was out cold and missed the whole thing, but both are well. Hilda says she'll feel better after visiting at 7pm. _____. Spoke to Papa tonight. He has been at Menston. The tension there has eased. John is registering Charlotte with his surname tomorrow. He and Janette plan to marry, but J is vague about a date. They are a contrary pair.

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Monday September 9, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Leslie Gledhill came in at 11:57am. The price of our ales are increased. Old Brewery Bitter is now 69p (was 65p), lager now 81p (was 77p), Pils 96p (was 91p), Mild 66p (was 62p), &c. &c. All very amusing really. The customers become so unruly about it, and I am on the receiving end. Poor Dave Florey collapsed and died at 11:30am en route here. He was a little pain, but a jester in the Archie mold. A good lager drinker too, and only 43.

Lynn and David plighted their troth seven years ago today down at Esholt. I phoned them tonight but they were out celebrating. Dad answered. He was sitting watching TV holding Frances by the hand. He says how grown up Franny is and that she wanted to sit with her grandad for a short while.

(Large redaction too sensitive to publish)

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Sunday September 8, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

14th Sunday after Trinity

Susan and Peter came with the boys. Susie tells us that she is 'washing up' at Harry Ramsden's three nights a week. I have a rush of pity. My poor sister having to go out and do greasy dishes, &c. My God it will be a change for her. ___________. Doesn't Maria also work at Harry Ramsden's?

Old Harold Wilkinson is reading a book, supposedly serious, that explains how Pope John Paul I was 'done in' in 1978. These RCs are a right bunch, aren't they?

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Saturday September 7, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Ally was in a collapsed state all day and did her 'Sleeping Beauty' routine on me. Poor Samuel was motherless.

A happy birthday to Queen Elizabeth I who first breathed air upon this day in 1533 at Greenwich. She once said: "Good morning gentlemen both", to a delegation of seven tailors. Sounds very Monty Python to me.

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Friday September 6, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Mary Theresa Collinson, our kitchen assistant gave her notice today. It has been brewing for a long while. We are secretly elated because the food trade is so bad we simply don't need her services. She goes on holiday to Jersey on Sunday for a week. We have the option to employ her whilst we are on holiday Sept 19-Oct 2. In recent months we have been able to slice the air with a knife in our catering kitchen. Ally is developing a complex that she cannot get on with anybody.

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Thursday September 5, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Day off. We escaped to Club Street and the domestic delights of our Bradford nest. We could never let Club Street go. If I won £48m on one of Mr Maxwell's Bingo games we'd keep Club Street. Yes, we might also acquire a chateau in the Loire Valley but Ash Tree Cottage is here to stay. Samuel loves the place too and says 'cottage' when we pull up outside. The day was blustery and fine and so we went to Duckworth Lane and the Co-op where we squabbled about what to eat - eventually picking up some ridiculous Findus salmon and cod creations at a £1 each. To Cheap 'n Cheerful and then home for lunch. Ally phoned Bessie and a contractor about our damp. Yes, we have damp in both our homes. Bessie says that Simon has a lump on his back and has to go to Bristol to see a paediatrician. I had a gloomy hour sticking some of Dad's photos in an album. Only last year Mum was bouncing around all tanned  with that gleaming smile. After Sam's nap we went out for a walk, but the wind and violent rain drove us home. Sam slept in the middle of our bed and we reclined in chairs with books. A ghastly epic 'Superman III' was on TV which we only half watched (we have taken our tiny black and white portable Tv back there). We returned to Leeds for 11:30. The pub had been quiet because of a 'do' at the Canning Street Club to which the cream of Beeston society attended. Sam was restless in bed. He must be too old for this bedroom shuttle.

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Wednesday September 4, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Overcast - me and the weather. The alarm sounded at 7 but Ally switched it off for half an hour. Felt groggy and could have stayed in bed, but didn't. Graham went for a run, devoured an egg, and left for Manchester. Ally, Sam and I went to town and bought pies at the market, and a pile of birthday cards which cost me £4 - the tribulations of having so many kinfolk. Uncle Peter appeared at 12 for a Cornish pasty. I sat with him for an hour. Julie is marrying Steve on Sept 6 next year and afterwards at Norfolk Gardens, Bradford. Dad is to be invited for the whole day, but cousins are invited to the evening soiree. Tonight Ally and I worked without staff. Chippy's friend, Ian Pitts, appeared with a car key and asked me to keep it behind the bar for Chippy to collect tomorrow. Odd. Pitts said that a gang will be coming here on Friday Sept 13. Say no more.

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Tuesday September 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Graham appeared again. This time he's working in Manchester. The poor boy looks tired and is still off the cigs and jogging regularly. He came in and flopped down on our settee and slept until 10 when he came down for a few (drinks). It was dead downstairs. Paul Chalmers came in - you remember Paul - he was a much tattooed regular here last year. Anyway, his sister was a victim of the recent Manchester Airport disaster (Aug 22) when 54 bound for Corfu were fried on the tarmac. The poor buggers didn't even get in the air.

Barbara Thingy appeared on 'Name That Tune', a ghastly musical quiz on ITV. You remember Barbara - Lynn's elderly friend from her Yorkshire Light Aircraft days, who frequented Pine Tops gatherings in the halcyon days of yesteryear. 

Someone had an epileptic fit in a mini in the car park and I played the Doctor Kildare bit quite well. Had fish and chips with Graham washed down with cherry brandy - watched a lewd 'Carry On' film.

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Monday September 2, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The tap room today is like a fading, rural cinema. Old John, Joan and I watching Basil Rathbone in the ancient version of The Hound of the Baskerville's. Janet worked. Stone dead. I kept a stealthy eye on J's activities. Ally came down at 10 to sit with Geoff and Phyllis. Later toasties in bed. Still reading Ridley's Henry VIII. It's poor - I'd say.

Horribly wet. Quiet here. Speculation all day as to who has been axed from the Cabinet. The BBC and ITV reported just who had been promoted or dismissed before any news came out of No. 10. Everything is leaked nowadays. Leon Brittan is Secretary of State, DTI. Douglas Hurd becomes Home Secretary. Poor Tom King goes to Ulster. Peter Rees and the sports minister are sacked, and so is Patrick Jenkin. The new employment secretary is Lord Young. No recall for Cecil Parkinson's Disease. Thank God. What a smarmy little spiv he is without doubt. No big changes at the top. Willie (Whitelaw), Geoffrey (Howe) and Quentin (Hailsham) remain in place. Is this the team that will lead us to victory in 1987/88? Watch N.B. Tebbit. He is party chairman and Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster but he's the one at Margaret (Thatcher's) heels if you ask me.

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