Monday February 13, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Moor Crescent, Leeds

Moorhouse Inn.

Day one at the Moorhouse. We drove away from Club Street at 9 leaving it in a state of dereliction. Fog and frost. The pub was upside down and Pickford's removal men were sat around drinking tea. Ron was taking stock. A £123 defecit. Oh, shit. Here we go again. Les  Gledhill came breezing in whistling an old Everly Brothers tune. He inspected Ally and Samuel and told us that 'Princess Diana is pregnant again.' Very good. I expect we'll have a September princess. Ally can do no food because Samuel insists on feeding continuously. Maureen cooked. We paid out £37 for frozen sausages, &c, and took £4.10 in food orders. I suppose it's a start. Les is worried about the stocktake and says we will soon have metred optics. I think he suspects that the Piries have been fiddling. Ron certainly does. They had left by 3pm. Mum and Dad came at 1:30 and made another run back to Bradford for more possessions. They are so cheerful and good. I do not know what we would have done today without them. We sat and had fish and chips in the spacious, empty flat, and I went down to the bar from 5:30 to 11pm. My feet ache, but I am contented. The lounge bar is pleasant but quiet, but the back bar is going to have to be watched carefully. Some rough diamonds, but not malicious. Mum and Dad stood at the bar for two or three hours and tittered together. Rob Piper came to offer support. Fagged out by 11:15 but feel better now I am here in residence. We are going to have to persevere. We are told that staff hours have to be cut to 80 hours a week, and it looks as if our Wednesday off is gone for a Burton. Ally did the tills and we are now laid on the bed at 1:26am. Ally is cheerfully feeding Samuel.

Takings: (Bar) £165, (Lounge) £117.

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