Wednesday November 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The deputy high commissioner in Bombay, Percy Norris, has been assassinated on his way to the office. Nobody is safe these days. Topically, Archie has just told me a joke:

Fred: "How do you fit six people in a mini?"

George: "Go on. Tell me. How do you get six people into a mini?"

Fred: "Two in the front. Three in the back, and Mrs Gandhi in the ashtray."

Awful, but amusing. Mum and Dad came here at 5. She is still very yellow, but looks better. Ally came down wearing a black and gold creation and looked amazing. It is the Sam Smith's annual dinner dance, of course. We went down to the bar at 6:30 with Mum and Dad. A coach came to collect us and we joined a motley crew and headed to the Buckles Inn, York. We were on a table next to the ghastly band with Chris Barlow and Enid Holden (?), the wines and spirits buyer. Steak on the menu. Boring presentations and then drinkies. Ally was in good spirits and she dragged Roy Barnes on to the dance floor. As usual I was drawn to the charms of dear Marie. R_____P spend the evening stealing cigars from all the tables, no doubt to help his stocks. Chris Wills took all the prizes, as usual. We didn't even go into the draw for the best kept cellar. Enid and I danced to a jazzed up Christmas carol. Really awful.

These evenings go by so very quickly and you know how my memory leaves me after alcohol. Ally did look chic though. Home on the coach singing furiously. My rendering of 'Oh God Our Help In Ages Past' brought tears to Mike Walker's eyes. A clutch of Leeds landlords left the coach at the Brown Hare to go to the loo, and a few were puking up in the carpark. It is Don Whitfield's birthday too. Home for 3. We went in to see Mum and Dad. Samuel had wailed only at 1:30 but was at peace again. To bed giggly and pissed.

-=-

Tuesday November 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 

Yer usual sort of day. Andy Bowden started work at 8 and seems to be a level headed sort of chap. No tattoos or dyed green hair. He replaces Karen Pratt and he'll give us cover for the coming Christmas chaos. We have enjoyed Tuesdays without staff, but all good things come to an end. I had lengthy social intercourse in the tap room. The place was barren. Just Jim and Archie. Ally made sure that Andy was kept running around. 

The beast William Hamilton is to retire from the House of Commons. They say he is going to write another book. The first was very entertaining.

Phoned Mum. She is coming here tomorrow.

-=-

Monday November 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

I expect a visit from Colin Black any day now and I prowl around trying to look useful which can be very time consuming and hard work. Please don't get me wrong. I am not an idle time waster, but feel edgy at the coming visit of our new area manager. We've had them all in the past six months. Despite this anxiety we were up early and out to the market, to Morrison's and God knows where. Back here for coffee at 10. Samuel scampered everywhere and is drawn to the hideous gas fire and wants to touch it. Little bugger.

Pool match tonight. These events have really taken off. Jim and Archie are organising a pool team. We're to join the Hunslet league in five months they say. I am all for it. Pool sandwiches, &c. Ally came down at 10 to assist because Maureen and I were dashing about like blue-arsed flies. 

Neil Pillock (sic) is in Moscow offering to wave the white flag. The tanks will be rumbling down Whitehall by Christmas.

-=-

Sunday November 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Last Sunday after Trinity

Up early and out to Linfood at Bradford making our usual drop in at Club St afterwards. Back here for 12 o'clock heavily laden. Surprisingly we had no family visitors today. I suppose they will all be hanging on until Christmas. Is it Kathleen Rainford's birthday today?

We dined on roast chicken and Yorkshire puds at 4 o'clock. Samuel ate like a horse, and obsesses over Yorkshire puddings like his dear Papa. Later he went to bed and I assisted Ally with cooking for tomorrow's lunches. Lasagne, curry &c. 

At 7:15 we sat down with a coffee to watch the ghastly Royal Variety Performance in the presence of the Queen Mother, the P and Pcss of Wales, and Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones. Lady Sarah is slimmer, drawn, and willowy. She was 20 last May.  The show was hideous, as usual, and I do feel for the dear Queen Mother who must have sat through about fifty of them. To bed at 11 after a loutish sort of day.

-=-

Saturday November 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 

Home news: Ally has been inspecting the Christmas decorations. We had tomato soup at tea time and put up posters advertising the Moorhouse Yuletide lunches at £3 per head. Not bad eh? The awful Piries charged £3.50 last Christmas.

Stiff nobility:-

The 18th Duke of Somerset died recently aged 74. He is the second senior duke after Miles Norfolk and the dukedom dates back to Henry VIII. Queen Jane Seymour was a sister of the 1st duke.

Lord Maelor has died in a Welsh fire. A life peer, aged eighty-ish.

Viscountess Gormanston , Polish-born wife of the senior viscount in the peerage of Ireland, has died of a drugs overdose. Or if she isn't dead already, she's due to pop off any day now.

Noble arrivals:-

I love the Daily Telegraph birth announcements. A daughter for Viscountess Head.  Someone called Georgina Rashleigh-Belcher has been delivered of a child. What a splendid surname. Very Evelyn Waugh.

-=-

Friday November 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Cousin Sam is now firmly on the scene again and he's been a regular visitor since our departure. Archie accused me, albeit jokingly, of employing him as a spy to observe during our holiday. He does look peculiar with his short cropped hair, no beard, and hobnail boots. Bit of a skinhead look. __________.

Ally remained upstairs looking into our finances. We have £10 to last us until mid-December. I fully expected to be 'in the red' and so it isn't as catastrophic as one might think. Ally laughed when I said that Sam now looks like Jilly Cooper with the gap in his new teeth. The poor boy certainly has some smelly, cloggy nappies of late and we put it down to his teeth. Pub life continues on its steady course but I have nothing to report on the subject. On Saturdays we tend to idle around upstairs with Samuel ignoring the fact that a pub lies below.

-=-

Thursday November 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Moor Cres, Leeds

Wet. Rose at 6:44. Phoned the brewery with a Yuletide spirit order and pondered over it a great deal. Samuel was in a vicious temper all day, screaming like a little Maria Callas. I blame his teeth, but Ally says it's just naughtiness. (A first top tooth appeared on Nov 14 and since then it has been joined by another, and the two front bottom teeth are ready. The only news Audrey has for us after three weeks is the death of Peter, her 14 year-old budgerigar. My cousin Sam appeared tonight with short cropped hair, no beard, and tells me he has enrolled at the (Leeds) Polytechnic to do 'A' level mathematics. He is a humorous, yet lonely lad. I didn't see him leave, and feel quite sad about it. We were busy. It's odd having a relation as a regular customer. Am I expected to entertain him every night? I gave him a couple of pints anyway. _______. Jane Fletcher phoned from the brewery to ask if we are going to the dinner dance. We told her yes. Phoned Mum. She was out. She then phoned me later to say she is having an X-ray on her gall bladder at 10:30 on Monday Nov 26 at Skipton, but she isn't seeing her doctor again until Dec 6. She is going to have to be brave if an operation is called for. You know how squeamish she is. She really should take a leaf out of Sue's book. God bless her anyway. Upstairs for 11:10. Ally was counting the money until 11:52. Sandwiches in bed.

-=-