Saturday July 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We thought Margaret M was due back from Blackpool today, but she cannot start work until tomorrow. I phoned Gary and he came in at 12 looking weary. He blames the sex. "I never thought I'd say no to a bird, but last night I couldn't manage any more. I just had to sleep." Young Booth is 21, with no feeling, care or sensitivity. Perhaps he'll change one day when the right 'bird' comes along.

Fret about the stocktake. Even the Why Not at it's blackest wasn't as bad as this. To be ripped off and know that you can do little about it is dreadful.

Clapton at Live Aid.

Live Aid. Have you heard of it? Gangs of pop stars queuing up at Wembley Stadium and simultaneously in Philadelphia singing to raise a possible £50m for Ethiopia. Live TV coverage from this morning until 4am tomorrow. Bob Geldof is the pushing force. Perhaps I should say Bob Geldof, OBE, though the honour does seem inadequate for master minding this event. People get the OBE for mucking out toilets. Perhaps Bob Geldof, CH? Quiet in the pub. Marjorie worked. What a nattering barmaid she is. We watched Eric Clapton at 1am and then went to bed. Samuel slept for the first time in his own single bed. Thunder at 4am and the patter of tiny footsteps put paid to that and he appeared in our room for a cuddle. Already by 2am he'd fallen out of bed and we found him underneath in a crouched position. Angel he is.

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Friday July 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Horrific day. Stocktake at 10:30. We accept these events as routine and do not worry about them. The Why Not pub days are gone. But aarrgghh. ... We had a £300 defecit today. Gallons of Diet Pils are missing. The equivalent of five 9 gallon casks. Some sick joke, surely? We suspect Ron Brooks. Were the containers full when he returned them on June 13? Which ever way you look at it I am in deep shit. It's the sack probably. We cannot accept that a member of staff is giving away the lager from under our noses. No, it's Ron Brooks or a thieving dray team. I am angered to Hell. Our evening ruined. I spoke to Donna (Lea) who put on her serious voice, but isn't remotely Fran O'Brien-ish. The annoying thing is that it makes us look like crooks. The deficit also comes off my 1986 bonus. What an evil blow. The stocktaker is going to see Ronnie Simpson today and ask him to recal his visit here on the morning of June 13 with R. Brooks in the cellar. It's futile now. The deficit is £357.62. Ugh.

John was saying last night that private health care had done nothing for Mum and she might as well have been 'done' on the NHS. This is not so. For the few remaining months she had she was at ease with Mr Hall, and Armitage. She never endured a public hospital ward surrounded by hysterectomies. That could not be contemplated.

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Thursday July 11, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Uncle Peter called in for lunch. I gave him a pint and a bowl of pie and peas. He says that when Dad phoned him to tell him that Mum had died he just sat down on his stairs and sobbed his heart out. Julie is to marry Steven Dean (?) in August 1986. Off he went boisterous as ever at 1:30. 

This evening we made a pilgrimage to Sam Smith's brewery. 32 of us. John and Janette came at 5:30, and Marlene followed at 6 but Samuel refused to go to bed , and squealed like a scrubbed pig. Ally didn't like leaving poor Marlene with our naughty son. All to Tadcaster by coach (£50) and to the Angel & White Horse. It was a brewery excursion lasting an hour or so followed by samples, free ones, in the cellars. In the cellar Janette explained that she'd spoken to someone at the Clarendon Wing who told her that the baby can take the surname Rhodes, if the father agrees. It was back up to the Angel after looking at wooden barrels. Good food. Saw Ronnie Simpson with a broken arm received playing cricket. Home at 11:30 after much merriment. Sat with Marlene, John and Janette. A few drinks. Bed very late. Ally did the tills as we sat and watched. We squabbled about the NHS, and the chatter turned to Mum.

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Wednesday July 10, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Hilda phoned. We went to Pudsey and had a sandwich with Rob (at the Butcher's). We went by bus (Samuel's first taste of public transport. The car is away until tomorrow morning), and we walked from the Butcher's Arms to St James's Crescent. Sam enjoyed his afternoon. Coffee at Wilsby. Jill was with Hilda looking close to confinement. Sam played in the garden there. So many generations have played on that sloping lawn. Back for 5:30. Janette phoned. She came out of hospital on Monday. We are the last to know.

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Tuesday July 9, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Me and a rusting Mandy.

MM & Marita came at 5:30 with Samuel's mattress. We sat at the lounge bar swilling lager until 10:45. The Matthewses talk of buying a nine bedroom hotel at Scarborough for £90,000. This seems reasonable. They are driving a Maestro. Ally wants one. Our car, Mandy, is very old now. She is an X-reg and is beginning to rust. She will have to go. Karen Hudson suggests I take my test in my own vehicle, but the (mini) metro is too pokey and box-like. I'd prefer to be in Karen's. Besides, Mandy's speedo has packed in. All this mechanical talk must be stunning you after years of silence on the subject of our transport. Janet worked. To bed pissed. Goodnight.

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Monday July 8, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Very warm. Went driving at 4:30. I went for it like a bull at a gate. She (Karen H) is forever asking me to slow down.

Ally went to see Janette who told her she might be out of hospital tonight. We expected John, but he didn't appear. 

Phoned Ken Gilbertson to finalise our remaining holidays for '85. We are taking twelve days from September 19 and a week from November 21. No plans about destinations as yet. 

The decorators are booked for next week to do the outside work. MM & Marita are bringing Samuel's single mattress tomorrow at 5:30.

Graham J. Dixon appeared at 5:30 and Ally brought Sam down to see his uncle. He stayed an hour before bombing off to see Anthony.

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Sunday July 7, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

5th Sunday after Trinity

Warm. Very Busy. Bruce Springsteen was singing at Roundhay Park and we had a few concert goers in our midst at luncheon. How they found us God only knows. He has a large following, so they say (Springsteen that is, not God). I am not one of them. I cannot name a single thing he has 'crooned'. Come back Al Bowlly, all is forgiven.

John appeared at 2pm with JPH and Catherine. Ally and I did the lunchtime session without staff and managed well. J fixed a leaking pipe and then they went to see Janette. We had roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, &c. Samuel is fatter of late. He has the appetite of a small bear.

Dad phoned from Tenby. Pleasantly surprised with the place. He took himself off for a pub crawl on his own.

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