Saturday August 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

John & Janette: Aug 3 1985.

Janette 21. Glynnie 31. Out early. To Rawdon where I spent £51 on clothes. Just pants, shirts and shoes. On to Yeadon to buy Janette a vase and flowers and then on to Menston. Janette was pale, fed up, and alone. John was working. Had a coffee and returned to Leeds. 

We nipped out to Pudsey at 4. To Hilda's. She had Hayley. Saw Jill. On to Mabel's. Saw Marlene, F, M, and D, back from Norfolk. Cousin Jackie and Barry have moved to Cleckheaton.

Tonight, just as Ally was saying that Janette should be 'starting' with the baby who should walk in but the expectant pair themselves. Janette was uncomfortable and on edge. We gave her a Crème de Menthe and a Blue Curacao. Upstairs they stayed until after 1am watching 'That's Hollywood' and eating mint chocolates that were given to Ally by an alcoholic George Raft-like character in the tap room. Janette was shuffling around in the chair. They went off home after we implored them to stay the night. To bed with Henry VIII

Friday August 2, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Sun. To Rawdon and the dentist (S. McGurk!) who went on again about my chipped front tooth. He says it will cost £120 to have it crowned, but it would mean me wearing a brace for a few months. Ally was furious. She likes my cracked tooth. After all, she married me that way. Besides, no way can I afford £120 to further beautify my already Adonis features. That is the end of it. Called in at a shop called Paris in Rawdon where Ally bought some turquoise pants and baggy t-shirt. Very trendy. I am going back there tomorrow to buy a shirt and trousers for Sam Smith's 'Family Day' next Tues. Numb face. Had a Glenmorangie to help kill the pain. Gary called in for his wages. Ally wore her 'Paris' creation which attracted some admiring comments. Busy. Margaret Milne worked. She was grumpy about my stopping the cash tips.

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Thursday August 1, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

So-called Yorkshire Day. Harold Wilkinson brought Ally a white rose with which to festoon herself. They all joked about Ally being a Lanc.Of course this isn't so. Where the Hell is Wallasey, the place of her birth? Ally stayed upstairs tonight in a collapsed heap. I have knocked off the tradition of staff taking cash home. It is quite immoral. Customers who buy the girls drinks surely do not expect them to take cash home instead? It is an abuse of the system. Some staff take a fiver home at the end of the evening. If I am to have a written warning from Donna Lea I'll be damned if the staff don't suffer too.

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Wednesday July 31, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn/ Full Moon

Waltergarth.

The last day of this foul, wet July. Surely the nastiest summer in this millennium? Sunny start, but wet later. We went at 9 o'clock to Horton. I drove. I collected my photos from DH first. I stuck a snotty note to his vehicle. Poor Waltergarth. It is hard to describe the complete and utter feeling of loss. I can say nothing to Dad. Sue made a large stew to ward off the cold and we washed it down with cans of strong pale ale. The Nason boys are such a handful. I took my usual afternoon nap and then we walked to find the Troll under the rickety rackety bridge. Jim and Margaret N came. Jim spent the afternoon fixing Dad's lawn mower. I set to and set about the jungle with an appliance belonging to a neighbour. Hard work. I haven't cut grass since Pine Tops. This evening we went to the boring Crown and I drank everything except the awful bitter. Three tattooed skinheads sat farting. Dad baby sat for an hour and then Jim and M took over and allowed him to join us. Sue sat nursing the flea-infested pub moggy. We left at 11. Sammy wide eyed in the back wrapped in a car rug.

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Tuesday July 30, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Ally took Samuel to Lynn's but they were not in. I stuck some of Dad's photos into an album but couldn't do much. The nostalgia choked me. 

It was our evening off, supposedly. I went to the Junction pub at 8 to buy some £1 coins, and to have a pint. Back home I had a few Diet Pils and hung around waiting for David H to return my photos. That little squirt Norman in the tap room tried my patience just a little too much and I dowsed him in a pint of his own lager. An eerie silence fell over the room. People dripping in tense suspension. Naughty of me, I know. I just flipped. Ally infuriated at my behaviour. 'Conduct unbecoming a public house manager' &c. Dave H didn't appear and so I went upstairs. Henry VIII in bed.

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Monday July 29, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Me: July 28.

We collected our fancy dress snaps from the photo processing place. They proved a lively talking point tonight. David Howard asked to borrow them and took them away at 11. Why? he isn't on any of the photos. I smell a rat. He'll be blowing them up and posting them to the Sunday People.

Four years ago today the P. of Wales married Lady Di amidst a burst of national hysteria & pride at St Paul's. What a transformation she (the princess) has undergone. Poor Mum gave a lovely party at Pine Tops. Looking back on those days now is painful. ___________.

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Sunday July 28, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

8th Sunday after Trinity

Gary and I came upstairs for breakfast of bacon and eggs and a Rolling Stones session at 6am only to find Samuel awake and Ally wilting. I gave Sam his breakfast and soon Gary was passed out on the settee. I played with Sam for a few hours and then fell asleep in a chair leaving him rummaging through our vast record collection. Lynn and Dave emerged from their bedroom at 8:30 only to say goodbye and seemed scandalised at my inactivity, and Sam's apparent freedom to roam. Gary staggered out at 12 as Margaret and Marjorie came in. Ally stayed in bed for the remainder of the day with the exception for an hour or so when she emerged for fish and chips. Gary and I worked tonight. We were both washed out and awful. The pub buzzed with chatter about last night. So worthwhile. Audrey, Edna & Co collected £27.80 in the club and the Junction, &c. To bed with Henry VIII by Jasper Ridley. Exhausted.

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