Saturday August 24, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

They say the Earl of Avon died from Aids. The killer disease prevalent in homosexuals. The peer shared a London  flat with an antique dealer.

Dad went to Guiseley at 11:30. He has been such a great help this week. It is always so touching to see him disappear down Dewsbury Rd in his little car, quite alone. _______.

To Sainsbury's at Moortown. Gary and I tonight in the bar. Ally has had a mad cleaning spree. Jill and Tim appeared. Jill is enormous now, but not wanting the baby to come before next week's wedding. A surprise to see them. Both Karen and Di go on holiday on 2/9/85 and it seems the whole family will miss the Elmer accouchement. Very quiet night. Upstairs for 1am. ________.

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Friday August 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad was padding around at 3am switching off the lights. The place was flood-lit like the Eiffel Tower. Ally banged around but I refused to get up until almost 11am. Violence in the tap room. Brian Millar and his hyper-active, nymphomaniac ex-fiancée, Helen, had a "domestic" which erupted into a brawl. All were ejected. I wasn't feeling particularly athletic.  Dad painted our kitchen.

The Daily Telegraph diary mentions that Lord Avon died last week. It's the first I've heard. Wasn't he a government minister? Of course he was the son of Anthony Eden and was only 54. A gay bachelor.

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Thursday August 22, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The Woolpack, Yeadon.

Dad and I spent the day in the cellar splashing paint around. Ally came down plying us with ale and by 2pm we were tipsy and nostalgic. Uncle Peter dropped in at lunchtime and came down to inspect our daubing. Later Dad offered to babysit and give us a night out. Ally, not feeling up to it, said no, and so I sat sulking watching 'Top of the Pops'. She then appeared looking very dressed up and had obviously relented. We went to the Woolpack at Rawdon. Shocking beer. Then to the former Peacock at Yeadon. It's now called 'Images'. Then, to the Drop in Guiseley. Met Chippy (now to be addressed as Gerald), looking like Tom Selleck, the thespian. He was with a boy called Ian. We went on at 11 to the former Wikis, now Beau Brummels. Became very pissed on strong bottled lager. We squabbled in the car coming home. Ally had not enjoyed it, and had not wanted to come out in the first place. I went to bed. God knows where Ally slept.

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Wednesday August 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dick the Shit (i.e. Richard the Turd)

Dray. The anniversary of the coming to power of the Tudor dynasty and the fall of poor 'Dick the Shit' at Bosworth field - the 500th anniversary no less. I have great reservations about the whole affair. Surely, Richard III was more trustworthy than the cunning old Welsh chappie who usurped him? 

We worked pm alone. Dad remained upstairs with the Daily Telegraph.

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Tuesday August 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad paints. He came down to the bar this evening and found himself in the company of old Donald MacGregor, the cynical and twisted Scot. Dad will allow most things to wash over him but cynicism, never. I can be cynical, because I am young, says Dad. But Donald MacGregor is old enough to know better. Many topics were discussed from mourning, to charitable bodies, and the starving millions in the world. Dad put on his political MP-like face and would not be coaxed away from old Donald, who sweated profusely and who swore more and more violently as the night wore on. Others in the bar chuckled. For three nights this week we are working without staff. Aren't we a diligent little pair?

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Monday August 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad still painting. I phoned Donna (Lea). She promised to come with more white paint later in the week. The three tins I have here will go nowhere. Rob (the stocktaker) phoned to say our stocktake planned for tomorrow is now cancelled because of a 'rush job'. That's another manager for the chop, by the sound of things. The transportation dept from the brewery also phoned to say the dray will be here on Wednesday, instead of tomorrow. What a carry on. Has Tuesday been cancelled? Samuel has received an invitation to the birthday party next Monday of his cousin, Thomas. Dad is puzzled by this because he asked Lynn what festivities were planned for Thomas's birthday to be told 'none'. Lynn blamed the bank holiday. Poor Thomas. He goes almost unnoticed because he is so very quiet. Just like a small doll. _____.

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Sunday August 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

11th Sunday after Trinity

Dad came in at lunchtime laden with decorating tackle and set about the cellar. He disappeared below just before 2pm clad in white overalls and wellington boots. At 3 I started painting the hallway and staircase leading up to the flat. The bloody place looks like a convent - white emulsion everywhere. I got to the foot of the stairs and my paint ran dry at 8pm. Ally opened up, and Gary came in at 8. We dined on a chicken and a bottle of Litre vin. Dad came down to the bar for a drink tonight - a well deserved one.

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