Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ
We were tucking into our poached eggs at the breakfast table when Maureen shouted up that a stock taker was here. My blood ran cold. Sure enough Rob Young was downstairs. Looking at my letter from the brewery it says he was coming on 'THURSDAY December 10'. I hadn't spotted this error. He bashed on and gave us a £30 surplus. It left me feeling easier but I will not lift the staff drinks ban. A catastrophic lunch. We only took £55. Few lunches. Ally looked better. She went shopping and made a stew which we ate at 3:30. However, the meal disagreed with her and she sat with her hand clasped over her mouth for the evening.
Every year on this date my thoughts go down to Clarence House where, 42 years ago, the poor Duchess of York, laid low with influenza, rose up as Queen Elizabeth on the dreadful abdication of Edward VIII. Little old Leeds men, my customers, even now go on about 'the Prince of Wales' in the 1930s as if he was one of them. I've witnessed it here in our tap room in 1985.
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