Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11
Shrove Tuesday
Lynn is twenty six. We phoned her at about 8:30 and all she could say was: "Oh, I can't get away from you, can I ?" _______.
Shrove Tuesday, but no pancakes. A day of furious activity. I scrubbed the cellar for the dray which came at 8:30. L.Gledhill was here at 9 the the new (pre-set) till. I made cups of tea for everyone and he went up to the tray, inspected the Denbyware, and drank the lot. He picked up every cup and drank the lot as if he'd been lost in the Gobi desert since Christmas. We were fully operational by 11 and LG, thirst quenched, went off to the Cheshire Midland. What a pleasant change he is to F.O'B. How lucky we are.
Maureen took to the tills like a duck to water, but Audrey got into a fluster. It was a quiet night in the bars with Jane Tudor. We saw the Rev Terry Munro at 7. A bearded hush-puppy footed Guardian reader, if you ask me. He only allows baptisms on the third Sunday of the month, and at dawn. We are told that Samuel can only have two godfathers and one godmother. The church doesn't dictate that rule to the aristos, so why restrict us? May 20 is a plan.
Takings: (B) £114.72, (L) £120.04.
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