Friday January 24, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Poor Leon Brittan has had to resign from the cabinet because of this silly Westland helicopter business. The fire is getting very close to Mrs Thatcher. I had a sleepless night tossing and turning imagining a nation without Margaret Hilda at the helm. Shudders of horror. Taffy, the all-knowing Welsh punter, came in and we speculated about Tory fortunes, peering into an imaginary crystal ball. Taffy insists that Margaret will go before the next election. This isn't so. She will go on to a historic third term. We do agree however that N.B. Tebbit will be the next Tory leader. Taff says Norman Tebbit will get the sympathy vote now that Mrs Tebbit is confined to a wheelchair. A ramp up to the front door of No. 10, perhaps? One thing is certain, the Heseltines, Parkinsons and sadly now the Brittans of this world will not see high office again. I went down tonight and mixed. Sat on a stool in the tap room observing the antics of the customers there.

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Thursday January 23, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally phoned Saint Street Clinic at dawn and went for an anti-natal inspection, taking Samuel along. As she was inspected he played with buckets and swabs. ________. She was back at 4pm, feet up, for cups of tea.  We are so pleased that where our baby is going to be born has now been resolved. Another little Bradford chap. Tired and hungry. Maureen worked from 7pm, and I walked up Dewsbury Rd for fish and chips at 8:30. Ally, slumped in an armchair, watching 'Minder'. Maureen must really hate me. What with the scrapping of tip sheets (remember them?) and the supping of ale whilst working, I now have a reputation far worse than Ivan the Terrible and Genghis Khan rolled into one. I love it.

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Wednesday January 22, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ 

We went to Bradford at 3:30 after closing. Lucy told us that Mary (Moore) is in hospital. Samuel slipped on the slippery path and banged his head. Ally went to her hairdresser and later Samuel and I walked out for our haircutting. It was Sam's first professional haircut. His baby looks are gone, but he looks very angelic. At 5 we went to see Dr York. Ally loathes him. We are accepted back into the practice without any questions but the evil receptionist asked "where is the little boy going to be treated?" as we have only handed over our medical cards. When we responded that Samuel is under another GP she whined: "Do not expect us to come and see him when he is ill". She didn't express this with concern, but with a twisted malice. The doctor had a prod at Ally's tummy and he too, like Dr Sykes, said he though she was bigger than 15 weeks and said that her continuing sickness could point to twins. Doctors will say anything. We went triumphantly back to the cottage confident that Ally is now a patient under Dr Duck (who returns at the end of February) and will not have to endure the indignities of St James's. Cattle market. Lasagne by the TV. At the cottage Ally snored in our bed. A twenty minute back to the pub at 11:30pm.

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Tuesday January 21, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Awfully quiet here. Ally was worn out and in bed after 10am in Samuel's room, in his bed, whilst he languished in his cot. Liz worked this evening and I went upstairs at 8:30 to read the DT to be called back down to see Leslie Gledhill and Colin Black. A good humoured twosome just having a nosy around the Leeds hostelries. LG says that everywhere he has been this week my name has cropped up. A reference to Monday's trip around North Yorkshire. They are curious and decide between themselves that I am looking for a move. The baby was also brought up and Colin said: "I suppose it's a girl? Where will she sleep?" How ridiculous. Samuel and the baby do not require separate bedrooms until at least 1996 and his bedroom is bigger than at least three Tay Homes and a Barratt house rolled into one. I did not bring up the Menston Arms but will do so next Monday at the managers' meeting (held at the Emmott Arms, would you believe). They said the Moorhouse had had a very good Christmas (takings). LG, laughing, asked me to sniff his hand, and asked me to guess where he had been. His fingers stank like the proprietor of a Turkish brothel. When I expressed puzzlement he said: "I've been to see your friend Michael Radford at the Old Red Lion. He speaks very highly of you." Oh dear. Much hilarity. We discussed Aids, homosexuality, and the size of the Old Brewery Bitter glasses at the Harewood Arms, &c, and away they went. Ally slept all night in the single bed. I spoke to Dad who told me that he has applied for a job as a deputy registrar of births, marriages and deaths in Skipton. This came out of the blue. He wants more money and a needs a new car. His business is so unpredicatable. B & Bs aren't regular income.

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Monday January 20, 1986

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

If I miss the YP for anything it is that daily morning scan of the national newspapers. I do not have time for reading the paper in this caper. I do miss the gossip and dear Nigel Dempster, &c. I would love to know exactly how Sarah Ferguson descends from Charles II. No titled Fergusons fit. Sarah's mother is Mrs Susan Barrantes, wife of Hector Barrantes, an Argentinian from Buenos Aires. Dear me. Prince Andrew won't like the Argie connection I do suppose.

Dorothy & Lynn.

Ally has brightened considerably. I did some heavy ironing at 12. Watched Mrs T on the TV news with Francois Mitterrand in Lille discussing the Channel Tunnel. A twin rail by 1993 and a motorway by 2379, when I'll be fossilized. I am unsure about this business. What's wrong with flying, for God's sake? Let us stay an island, please. No, on second thoughts give Mr Heseltine a shovel and set him to work at Dover.

Phoned Dad tonight. He came home from Arnold's at 5pm. He filled me in on the Holland wedding. Guy is a barrister in Hong Kong as is his wife. The bridesmaid, he says, wore a bowler hat. My cousin Robert is a doctor working in London for the Wellcome organisation and is married to a doctor (Alison) who works for Beecham's. They have a joint income of £48,000. Dad stayed with Dorothy on Saturday night, just ten minutes from the lapping blue waters on Blackpool beach. He and Leslie were pissed up on whisky and poor L was cast from the marital bed into a broom cupboard for the night. Dorothy, says Dad, is more like Lynn than Lynn, if that makes sense. Carmel Corcoran though having some links with Australia denies any links with the MP of that name.

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Sunday January 19, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

2nd Sunday after Epiphany

Samuel much better and Ally much worse. I 'bottled up' and then worked downstairs with Chris and then roasted a chicken with all the trimmings, Yorkshire puddings, &c. I had wine from downstairs. _______.

Bernard Manning: farted.

Margaret worked tonight. In the pub I did a testicle survey. Dad says that Christopher, at 4, already has large balls. Surely this is unusual? I asked guys downstairs, as I pulled the pints, whether they had balls at 4, and received some classic looks and answers. Most people cannot remember all that much before puberty. The TV went on at 10:15 for the last bit of 'Spitting Images'. It ended with Sir Alastair Burnet announcing that Mr Bernard Manning, the comedian, has farted. He was 55. It happened on the stage of his Manchester club and anyone with relatives at the performance are asked to ring Fartline 061-837-1674. So very amusing. The News of the World says that the Princess of Wales had a 'nose job' in 1982.

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Saturday January 18, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

After a bad night with Samuel we got up at 9am. It was dawn before he fell asleep you see, and then slept late. I phoned Dr Sykes and we took Sam to see him at 9:30. He was full of fever and complaining about his eyes. I do worry. The doc took a listen at the boy's chest and declared he has an infection and prescribed some new tablets which Sam can chew. We felt easier after seeing the doc. Back at the Moorhouse Ally and Sam went to bed and I was up and down . Margaret worked 12-3:30 and Chris pm. Poor Ally worn out and low spirited. Baby has taken everything out of her and 'bump' is becoming very obvious.  A fight in the pub. A yob attacked Gary Rhodes, who can also be something of a bother causer. I dragged the lad outside and he bled all over my new shirt. I stood around, arms folded, looking suitably vicious, with my clothes dripping, reminiscent of President Kennedy in Dallas. Some customers think I am incapable of violence but they saw the tough side of me tonight. It did some good.

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