Tuesday February 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Valentine's Day

Fog. I got a Valentine's Day card from my precious, but I didn't do likewise to her. Shameful of me. My love for her hasn't waned at all  since the distant days of '79 or '80. In fact it's stronger. 

The Daily Telegraph leads with the royal baby pushing aside Mrs T's visit to the horrid Mr Andropov's planting. A good thing too. We have no royal birthdays in September as far as I can see. The Duke of Fife, Capt Phillips and Angus Ogilvy maybe, but none of the blood (royal).

Vallance's send our washer, microwave and dryer but drop them without fixing them in. Tonight I worked with Charlie. We are told he is shifty and 'over-sexed'. My presence must have been too much for him because he gave a weeks notice. Suspicious if you ask me. Obviously, I jumped at his resignation with glee even if it means we will be short staffed at our busiest times. Jill and Tim came for a short while just to inspect the place. A tart called Edna sat at the bar drinking pints of mild and cracking revolting jokes. Strangely, she is quite amusing.

Takings: (Bar) £138, (Lounge) £90

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