Wednesday November 9, 1983

 The Why Not, Hemlington

The Why Not.

Fog inside and out. The broken fans, which in happier times filtered the cigarette smoke, give the place an eerie atmosphere and this afternoon was like the opening scene of 'Macbeth'. The witches appeared in the shape of Jan Simpson and the hag, Pat. The latter has a laugh like the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz and professes to have the ability to read tea leaves. I supplied her with none. I do not mess with superstitious nonsense. By 3pm the place was like a brothel with Jan like a saloon girl in a western, movie sitting astride old Maurice, the Scottish jew. Ally, thank God, was out at the shops, buying pork chops and posting letters. We sent a birthday card to Tim, and letters to Lynn, Sue, Auntie Mabel and Edna & Nellie. By 3:30 it was dark. I am fagged out. We ate pork chops and lay on the bed. The bump is low and Ally lay vibrating. What an active child we have. Smoke screen again tonight.I was on my own in the bar at 8:30 when in walked Roy, Marie and Mags who stayed for an hour. While they were here a fight kicked off in the back bar which resulted in blood stained dominoes. Then two policemen came in to tell me that the arch-criminal Peter Clayton is our of prison on bail but barred from visiting Middlesbrough. This is all we need in our final week. Roy laughed at the way I handle things. I think he's astounded that I have done so well here and not suffered defeat. They went of in the smog at 9:20. They would like us to stay with them next Thursday, but of course we want to go home. A letter arrived today confirming we are to go to the Red Lion in Bradford on Nov 28 for two weeks. Our penultimate Wednesday is over.

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Tuesday November 8, 1983

 Election Day, USA

The Why Not, Hemlington

Ally was up early and off to Acklam for money. We expected the stocktaker at 10:30 but he was late because of a delay at the Red Lion in Stockton-on-Tees. No, not Red Lion, it's the Green Dragon. Our stocktake is £20 up, and so we are in the clear. F.O'B phoned just as Ally returned and he said he we can leave here on Thursday Nov 17, and that poor Tim is going to relieve me. Ally leapt for joy. She was soon on the phone to Ken Gilbertson and arranged nine days holiday from Nov 17 and Ken says he will inform Chris Wills when to take his holiday from the Red Lion. Everything is arranged around us. Ally says Ken sounded excited about our baby. What a homely little brewery we work for. The draymen unfortunately do not convey that impression. They say Oliver Smith is tighter than a duck's arse in water even though he is a millionaire many times over. But that is how they become millionaires in the first place, isn't it? The draymen advise me to take employment with John Smith's or Tetley's who look after their employees. Ally despises disloyalty and cannot understand why such people (the draymen) continue working for them. We phoned Martyr Worthy and Horton. The Christmas arrangements were discussed. Graham and Gill are spending the festive season on the Isle of Wight. Mum had nothing astounding to say.

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Monday November 7, 1983

 Overcast. I called Ally 'darling' at breakfast and she squirmed and said it sounded insincere. We have a letter from Lynn. The usual chatty, scatty letter. I won't quote from it. No doubt you'll see it in the archives. Lunchtime saw the arrival of Fran O'Brien. He lives in a world of his own. He didn't commit about anything and he went away leaving us none the wiser. He was very irritating when he went down to inspect the cellars and advised me to swab them occasionally. At the time we were ankle deep in clean, hot water. Bloody fool. He inspected Ally's bump and says he agrees with Les Gledhill that we're having a girl. Ally phoned Ken Gilbertson at the brewery who says we have nine days holiday to take before the new year. We will take them after we leave here. The sight of F.O'B had the pub buzzing. The rabble assume that we are leaving this week, and someone asks whether the 'nice man' from York is taking over. A mob barred out by me went on a coach trip to the 'Top Hat' at Spennymoor and wrecked that place too. It was a case for police dogs, and all that.

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Sunday November 6, 1983

 23rd Sunday after Trinity

The Why Not, Hemlington

Up early slightly hungover. I didn't tell Ally of my condition. She thoroughly disapproved of my drinking last night, and so I went about my business with 'Roy wouldn't get pissed' ringing in my ears. We had a joint of beef but little else and so I walked to Stainton and bought potatoes and tinned carrots. A brisk walk. I do miss the open air and really appreciated the walk with a rolled copy of the Sunday Telegraph under my arm. Ally was making porridge in an old yellow dressing gown like an obese canary. Her demeanor improved at the sight of food. We ate pink roast beef and Yorkshire puddings at 3. Bliss. Watched TV and read the paper. I'm always intrigued by President Kennedy and read of his private life. JFK was a sex maniac, evidently. Watched Jane Eyre. Bad. Work tonight. Tubby was kicking ferociously and got to the top and bottom of the bump at the same time. It's very low down too. 

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Saturday November 5, 1983

 Sunshine and fun. We went out as soon it was decently possible leaving the revolting Margaret McMahon and went to Yarm to look at the shops. Looking at tiny 'moses' baskets for Tubby. I cannot quite believe it all. We went into the Black Bull looking for food but they did none and so we settled for fish and chips which we ate in the street. We went back to the Why Not for 2. It is a smoke filled den of misery, desolation and despair. Margaret was scurrying between bars and no doubt they have all been stealing the beer whilst we were away. Ally went upstairs and I went into the bar. Margaret's spectacles get thicker. At 6 o'clock a couple came in from York where they work for Bass to inspect. She was called Daphne and I forget his name. They bought me lots of beer, and spent three hours with us. We went all out to sell the place and think they might have fallen for it. I cringed when Daphne spoke of making steak dinners and serving a la carte seafood platters in the lounge. Hopeless. They left at 9 and Ally went up to bed. It was all too much for her. She hated Daphne. The new incumbents of the Master Cooper came in for a quick one. She is the theatrical character who was here the night Chukka was barred out. I'm pissed. Fireworks in the lounge. Shandy shagged Dave the baker and Geoff Meaney. To bed.

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Friday November 4, 1983

 New Moon

Why Not, Hemlington

I got up expecting a quiet morning, which I suppose is always a fatal thing to do. I was soaking in the bath as Ally made breakfast when the phone rang. It was Fran O'Brien who told me that my protection order has expired and that I should go to court today and renew it. Mrs Lea is on her way to us with the necessary papers. Panic. We rushed around round scalded hens. Ally is no good when hurried. Little Donna (Lea) arrived and she took me to Middlesbrough Court collecting Tim from the Master Cooper on the way. He was in a similar predicament. F.O'B had phoned again in a panic telling us not to sell any ale until the (protection) order is renewed, and so Ally went gleefully around the pub ejecting the OAPs from the lounge. 

We had a long wait in the magistrates' court watching skinheads being led around in chains. I'd have them all flogged were I on the bench. Donna Lea, oblivious to everything, sat reading Agatha Christie's 'Mystery of the Blue Train'. We were in and out of court room 6 and had our protection orders by 1:30 or 2. Tim looked like a vagrant, his clothes full of holes. The bespectacled magistrate frowned as Tim took the oath. He expects he'll be coming to the Why Not after our departure and looked very glum. Who wouldn't? Mrs Lea drove me home and had a glass of wine in the deserted lounge. The pub slowly filled with people asking why we are so very late. We showed a dull and obviously disturbed couple over the place and they went away never to be seen again. Uneventful evening. We have an hilarious letter from Sarah Collis. I can just picture her writing it. We sat in bed sniggering at her vitriolic onslaughts. The poor old YP is losing it's good people. Sarah says Stephanie is now at the Daily Mail in London, commuting from Leathley!

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Thursday November 3, 1983

 Why Not, Hemlington

Yasser Arafat.

Graham is twenty eight today. Heavy rain and a slight fog. We went for a drive around Cleveland in search of a Daily Telegraph. Bought one in Marton, a place famed as the birthplace of Capt James Cook, who discovered America in the 1490s. Or was that the Cabot brothers? My knowledge of history isn't what it was. Mum phoned. Sue has seen Dr Glass and he is happy at the fact that she is once again with child. She saw the infant on the scan machine (why hasn't Ally had similar?) The baby is due at the end of May or early in June. A man came and put coat hooks in our cupboard. We ate roast lamb and flat Yorkshire puddings. It was my fault. I made too sloppy a mixture. A quiet night. No feeling of impending doom and no riot. Thursdays are usually horrible. It's reminiscent of the Middle East and I 'm Yasser Arafat. I'm even beginning to look like him. I seldom shave and have that war torn look about me. Ally is precious. She sat upstairs with her magazines.

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