Wednesday April 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot and sunny. Dray day. 

Ally is tetchy and grumbly and complains she is feeling tired. She does look pale and needs some sort of tonic, if you ask me. People in public house management are denied sleep. Nowhere is sleep discussed in the management contract. Neither is sex. We stayed upstairs in the flat in a quandry of indecision. Eventually we decided that Ally should sleep and I would do 'the ironing'. Samuel wanted to play and we re-enacted scenes from the Battle of Britain. I ran around the room with Samuel held aloft. He was an aeroplane of course. His giggles are exceptional. Ally slept on in our flat, cum laundry. Bessie phoned. They are coming here next Tuesday when Frank is seeing someone in Burnley. But that is our 'Ossett night'. At 8 Frank phoned back to say he's in Kings Lynn on Tuesday and so they will come here on Sunday May 6. Mama phoned too. They are coming here next week. She says she doesn't want Samuel growing up without knowing his grandmama. I am sure we wouldn't let him.

High society news: Earl Jermyn is engaged. The premier baronet of England, Nico Bacon, received an heir on St George's Day, and so did Viscount Melville.

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Tuesday April 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Bernie McC.

Another warm, bright day. 70 degrees. Early start. Mick Thompson came at 8:30 with a bacon sandwich tucked under his arm. We have a £25 stock surplus. Thank God. I fail to understand this stocktaking business, but I suppose life has to have its ups and downs. Rob Piper at the Butcher's in Pudsey was £200 down on his last stocktake. Phoned LG who seemed dour. We are to go ahead with a staff meeting and he suggests we order 20 ounce glasses and be ever vigilant for the viper within. Ally worked with Audrey and I sat in the carpark with Samuel, who snoozed in his pram. Ally scampered around Hunslet Moor collecting our beer glasses and tidying up. Bernie McC (pissed) came and peeped in at my son and declared with much laughter that I cannot be the father, but that he is most definitely Ally's son. A long evening. No enthusiasm. Ally and Jane ran things and I stood with 'Mad Peter', a gay cockney, who insists he owns a stud farm in Eire, when in fact he lives on his weekly Giro on Beeston Hill.

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Monday April 23, 1984

Bank Holiday in the UK

St George's Day

Harry, England and St George, &c. Will HM fill the Garter vacancies? The Duke of Beaufort croaked, but who else? The Earl of Westmorland will collect the KG one day, and I had hopes for Johnny Spencer but they have faded. They'd never tolerate Raine in St George's Chapel. Perhaps she should send the star and garter to Colonel Gadaffi, and place nitroglycerin in the case?

The Libyan embassy siege continues. It was a hot, steaming day. Samuel's first bank holiday Monday. We took him outside in his pram and Archie played at Nanny Barnes. Quite touching that men who are childless seem obsessed with them. A quiet afternoon. Few customers. They are all in Blackpool or Brid.

Moping all night with nothing to do. Maureen worked. Michael Brown phoned and suggested we do a pub crawl in Holbeck on Wednesday. Ally wasn't too happy about this and so I'll cancel, nay postpone, this. I find Michael Brown excellent company but prefer Ally's on my only day off of the week. I was a fool to say I'd go.

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Sunday April 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Easter Day

Easter day and not an Easter egg to be seen anywhere.Poor, little deprived Samuel. Ah well, he knows nothing about such things this year. I created a gigantic breakfast and then Sue and Pete went out with Christopher and Samuel in to the park. The blossom tree near the pub is in full blossom and one wouldn't believe we are stuck in the middle of Leeds. Susan waddled away with the pram. She has the Wilson ladies 'bandy legs' and from the rear she is very reminiscent of my aunt, Eleanor Myers. Pete still doesn't have an ounce of fat on him and looks very John Cleese-ish. We took them home at 2:30. Peter having spent some time at the bar with Frank & Bernie McCarron. We drove to John's. He wasn't in. On to Lynn's to look at the foundations forn the new erection. Blenheim in the early stagers must have resembled this. The Bakers went on to see Audrey, who remains bed-bound still. Back to John's. He has the children. We showed them our wedding video cassette which followed 'Star Wars' and preceded 'The Wind in the Willows'. JPH is fatter. He and Catherine are very polite children.

Moorhouse: Jane is 26 today. Very busy at 10:30. Ally slept from 8:30.

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Saturday April 21, 1984

 Birthday of Queen Elizabeth II

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Hot & Sunny. Her Majesty the Queen is 58 years old today. God Bless you, Ma'am. I ate my 'full-English' breakfast singing 'Happy Birthday dear Queen' which amused Christopher. 'Happy Birthday to You' is his favourite tune and Dad sings it with gusto everytime they visit Horton.

We dragged out the outside tables, umbrellas, &c. Sat in the carpark sunning ourselves and slurping. A summers day in April cannot be bad. Joe Cullen came over and told me of his sexploits with the nubile June. He is still copulating in the back seat of cars, in hedgerows and other rural settings, ~ and he's 40 years old.

Chicken salad and afternoon naps. John sauntered in at 9pm with Christopher Ratcliffe. After ten minutes they escaped to the Blooming Rose for Tetley's ale. We were so dead in the bar here. We went upstairs at closing and caught the end of a Woody Allen film. Hilarious. 

And, so to bed.

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Friday April 20, 1984

 Good Friday

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

In days of old I complained , nay played hell, about the archaic licensing laws on this Holy day. Not now.

It was a quiet afternoon. A dead loss in fact. Bright and sunny though and at 2:30 we drove over to Guiseley and collected Sue, Peter and Christopher. She had a rabbit casserole and Yorkshire puddings on the table. She is big (pregnant big) but not like two years ago and is set in her mind that she is having a girl. I do hope so. Another troublesome lad would be hopeless. Christopher is becoming Peter's double. We had a few drinks with the Nasons but didn't go daft and at some reasonable hour we went upstairs for coffee. Poor Susie is like a whale. Undecided about names. They like the name James, hate Benjamin, and Samantha is high on the list.

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Thursday April 19, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Maundy Thursday.

Very busy. Easter fever. Conversation with Susie. They are coming for Easter. The poor girl never goes out. They haven't had a holiday since their honeymoon in '80 and Christopher must be very trying. Spoke to our mums. Mine is busy with Easter walkers, and Ally's is worried about Frank who has another stone in a kidney. The man eats too much. 

Samuel is 14 weeks old. Frantic tonight. Tap room packed. Must be Giro night. The old man whose dog barks when I call 'time' at closing stormed out complaining about my beer. Sod him.

Had a glimpse of the Sovereign on the news. She was with Torvill & Dean - of all people. Does Her Majesty have a soft spot for these sickly ice-skating types?

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