Monday February 25, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Driving lesson at 9am with Karen Hudson, who is very much into plastic jewelry. A personable young lady who puts me at ease. Driving instructors seem to be obsessed by chewing gum. Is it good for the nerves?

Frank Marshall phoned to say he will collect me at dawn instead of me having to find my own way to Ossett, which is good. We will be able to have a chat on the subject of our mutual predecessor, the ghastly Pirie. 

Little Christopher is three on Wednesday and it is under debate as to whether Mum is capable of attending the birthday party. It will be riotous and exhausting. It is a tragedy that she no longer enjoy her grandchildren and that none, except JPH, will remember her. It is so hard to accept that her young life is to be stubbed out. It makes me want to go out and kick the first wrinkled old pensioner I bump into.

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Sunday February 24, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

1st Sunday in Lent

Auntie Annie.

Sunshine. We went to Colne at lunchtime to see Auntie Annie, Uncle Bert, Auntie Joan and Uncle Jim. It was a pleasant drive to Colne. We left poor Mum propped up in her bed with bright yellow eyes. She now eats like a little mouse.

Poor Annie. I feel so sorry for her. Uncle Bert just sits like a cabbage. Whilst we were sipping tea she received an anonymous phone call from a heavy breather. Annie says she's been having calls of a similar nature from the same guy for over two years.  I took up the phone and her tormentor disappeared rapido on hearing my strong, masculine tones. We told auntie to go to the police, but of course she won't.

At Auntie Joan's we found her dwelling over the Sunday papers minus her dentures._______. We were ushered into the large, cold 'best' room. ______. We came home for tea. John, Janette, JPH and Catherine were with Mum and Dad. I promptly fell to sleep in an armchair which amused Catherine. They left soon after. A good dinner, &c.

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Saturday February 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

To the Butcher's (Arms) at Pudsey. A poster announced the birth of a son, weighing 7lb,  yesterday at 5am. He is named Ryan Edward. Rob was visiting Kath at St James's and so we left Pudsey fully informed of the Piper's joyful news. Kath had hoped to deliver a daughter. Not sure about the name Ryan. Sounds a bit like a Hollywood movie star, but most people find the name Samuel repulsive too - we can't all have the same tastes, can we?

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Friday February 22, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Donna Lea glided in at 2:45 and went over our takings and praised us upon our performance. We are down on barrels compared with last year but we show an overall profit. However, our wage bill is too high, she says, and she knocked us down from 95 to 78 staff hours. Oh shit. _______. Donna says that next week Frank Marshall, newly installed at the Horse & Jockey, is motoring to and from the course, and suggested I might give him a call and scrounge a lift. This I did, and he came across as amiable. Phew, at least I can come home in the evenings and not stay over in York.

HRH The Duchess of Kent is 52 today. Private Eye says that she is 'ailing'. Is she? She has always looked anaemic and we all know she went slightly ga-ga after a miscarriage in (silver) jubilee year followed by the death of her mother Lady Worsley, which brought on depression. I thought she had since been rehabilitated. Do we blame 'Boy George' St Andrews for the decline?

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Thursday February 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We went to Guiseley to dine out with Sue and Peter. She has complained that she has not been wined and dined since Benjamin was but a twinkle in Pete's eye, and so it was high time we indulged. Sue suggested the Damn Yankee at White Cross but we went to the White Cross pub at 7:30 and then to the Fox & Hounds, Menston, where we ate in a secluded corner. Obviously, Mum was the main topic of conversation but we did try to remain cheerful. Susan is Mum's replica. We all had T-bones except Sue who had a steak and prawns. £22 per couple, not bad. Back to Thorpe Lane at 11. They are so proud of No. 21 _____ Sue is now an expert stripper, of varnished doors and fireplaces that is.

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Wednesday February 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Ash Wednesday

You would think that the journal of a thriving Hunslet licensee would be more riveting that the foppish drawl of a spotty newspaper librarian, but this is not so. Ally puts this down to my vivid imagination. The crux of the thing is time. In days of old I had the time to sit and dwell over my journal, often for hours, but now the best I can do is a mad, frantic scribble, and much of the zest, humour and sharp comment is missed. Andy Bowden's Boy George look-alike girlfriend has kept a daily journal since Jan 1 1974 and we have found we share very similar views. Our journals are compulsive stuff. To ignore our pens for even a few days gives us such great feelings of guilt. I am relieved that I am not the only one tormented so.

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Tuesday February 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Shrove Tuesday

Dad went back to Horton today to make sure no further leaks have sprung. He came back satisfied.

The Prince Andrew is twenty five today, and somewhere on the high seas. I had hoped that Carolyn Herbert would snare him - you know, Porchy Carnarvon's daughter. So suitable. 

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