Sunday April 15, 1984

 Palm Sunday / Full Moon

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, &c

Tommy Cooper: dead.

Tommy Cooper dropped down dead on the TV at 8:40pm. I suppose that is how he would have wanted to go. The audience roared with laughter as he went and thought he was clowning around. Poor man. 

It was a good afternoon in the pub. Ally didn't come down and roasted a joint of beef. It was deliciously pink. We ate at 3 and watched Badminton on the TV. 'Horsy' Badminton, not shuttlecock Badminton. Lucinda Green won (again). The Sovereign was sat with the new Duke of Beaufort. Read the Sunday papers, &c.

Palm Sunday, eh? Looking at some of my customers, as I did tonight, one would think they are getting crucified next week too. My God. Miserable buggers.

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Saturday April 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Sunshine. Dawn rise and a 'full-English breakfast' en masse around the table. Katie splattered breakfast cereal everywhere. They went off at about 11, the girls waving regally from the car. Ally went into the tap room and stood drinking with old Archie. I went to find Samuel and played with him for an hour or so. What a doddle it all is.

Oh, yes. LG came in yesterday and immediately switched off the till in the back bar saying someone  had been tampering with it. He said I would have to sack all the bar staff if the stocks remain in the doldrums. He left saying he would come back today, but he didn't materialise. I have a letter from the brewery asking me to attend a meeting on Monday. No doubt I'll see his Lordship at that gathering of managed house elite.

No sign of John tonight. When is he paying me a birthday visit? Quiet tonight. No visitors. And so, dear reader, to bed.

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Friday April 13, 1984

 

Dave & Lynn.

Moorhouse Inn

Friday the Thirteenth. Busy as usual. Awaiting the arrival of the Bakers. They came at 7. Ally worked from 5:30pm whilst I bathed Samuel and when he drifted off to sleep I changed and listened to a few records. Lynn came up and reported the pub was packed and we went down to find the place busy and Ally working flat out. She has a slender, waspish waist looking divine in a peppermint Laura Ashley number.

We dined with the Bakers upstairs while the barmaids battled below. Lynn and Dave are putting an extension on Thorpefields. The erection will stick out from the back of the dining room. They do this sort of thing on Tranmere. We went down to the lounge at 9 and had a few swift ones. Ally was drinking 'Nourishing Strong Stout'. Some ruffians came in but left after only one pint. We sat until after 2am supping Mandarine Napoleon brandy and various assorted liqueurs. They were very chatty. Lynn was thrilled when we asked her to be Samuel's godmother. David was touched at this because I think he is quietly devout. We gave them a guided tour of the cellars and went up to bed after coffee and Nat King Cole.

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Thursday April 12, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

I played Hercule Poirot tonight and stood at the bar in the tap room mixing with the Hunslet folk and observing the staff. Talked to Kevin, a mechanic, who went on and on about the metro. As you know, cars do nothing for me. Karen and Margaret were working. ______. To bed with Noel Coward (diaries) but I cannot get past 1955. Diaries reveal so much.

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Wednesday April 11, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Samuel was awake at 5 and fed and he squealed again at 6:30 and I got up and changed his soggy clothes. He beams with such a glow. Mick Thompson, the stocktaker, was here at 8 and he gave us a £55 defecit. Ridiculous is this. It's a case of think of a number and halve it, or do I mean double it? This Thompson person might be competent but he's only about 16 (or at least he only looks like a teen). Ally refuses to worry because she says it's all just guess work. I agree with her. Ally tried to phone LG but got nowhere. These people must hide behind the furniture at Tadcaster. 

After lunch we escaped to Club Street and Ally went over the carpet with a vacuum cleaner and I went out to buy some fish and chips and sniggered at the vociferous fish fryer who was lambasting Nigel Lawson. A letter in the Daily Telegraph says Caligula, in ancient Rome, introduced VAT on takeaway food.

Back to the pub for 8:30 and installed the stereo in the flat. Ally played a Bob Marley LP and jigged around. The sound was exquisite after weeks of the dismal thud of the juke box below. To our beds late after listening to Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald and Grace Jones, &c. We shared a pint of Guinness.

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Tuesday April 10, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Overcast. Up at 7 for a bowl of Weetabix with my piglets. Breakfast TV trundles interminably on. I went down to clear the beer lines ~ a process which went on until 10. Hung around waiting for the dray which didn't come until about 1. I fear I have ordered too much of everything. Clutching my Mandarine Napoleon as if it's the last bottle on earth. Ally, in a fine bossy mood asked Audrey to wash the shelves which she did with a long, unsmiling face. A bearded pain in the neck was stood in the bar irritating me, but we do have some good little characters. We ate ploughman's lunches. Saw the TV at lunch. The Badminton Horse Trials with HM clad in a headscarf and mac in a ploughed field. Good old Lord Lane has quashed the Tisdall girl's appeal, and rightly so. String 'em up, Maggie, that's what I say. 

Knackered. The Piries came over from Ossett, with a team, and we beat them at everything. She is a surly, Australian cow bag. It was a busy tap room because of this soiree, and many regulars abstained including dear Edna Wibley (?) I mean Wilby and old consumptive John. Ally was furious with the Piries who were ignorant to a fault. Jane coped. _______.

Saw the Princess of Wales on the late news at the state banquet for the Emir of Bahrein. She waddled into the Waterloo Chamber looking like a giant sloth.

-=-

Monday April 9, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, &c.

Samuel woke for a feed at 4am. He hasn't done this for a while and we went back to sleep sluggish and heavy. Sunshine. I played in the cellar and continued mucking out the fryer. Ally went off to Morrison's at 10.

I forgot to say that on Friday Frank H brought us their old settee and armchair - brown, 'velvety' -- it will do until some Louis XIV cast offs from Versailles turn up. Anyway, this afternoon I collapsed on our new item of furniture. Ally disapproves of me sleeping anywhere but in bed and grumbled as I lay, open mouthed, dreaming of a land free from industrial turmoil and where the likes of Arthur Scargill are incarcerated in psychiatric hospitals. 

LG turned up at 7:30 and Ally was looking especially lovely to brighten his evening. He wasn't violent about the stock horror but was understanding and helpful. He tapped away on his pocket calculator and had us quite baffled. Rob is coming back on Wednesday to give us a quick check stock. Maureen worked. I escaped for ten minutes to see Mrs Thatcher on 'Panorama' - interviewed by Sir Robin Day. What a level headed excellent woman she is. Bed at 12.

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