Monday August 1, 1983

Mags.

 Down as usual at 7:30 to the serenade from the fire alarm. Whilst bottling up Roy asked about Mike Walker's visit and says that Ally could, if she wished, have baby in a private nursing home following signing up for BUPA. Went to the bank for £10 of 2p pieces. I did the lounge bar with Carol and Mike until 3. The place was dead. Rain. I do not like a quiet bar. Feel like a goldfish. Ally was in the kitchen making sandwiches and finished at 2. The weekly rota reveals that tomorrow is our day off. An old boy in the bar left his copy of The Sun - the front page reveals that the Duchess of Kent has cancelled more engagements and departed early from a concert on Saturday. Poor soul. What can be wrong? Sleep. Bath. Vault 7-11. No bother. Most of the customers are insane and jibber away incoherently. A large, ageing hippie woman, still dressed in 'flower power' garb 20 years on, sat with a pint doing the Guardian crossword. At 11 I went back to civilisation and joined the others in the lounge bar. Ally looked beautiful, and a customer told her so. Bob, the lounge bar Casanova, said he'd never seen a barmaid look so fresh from start to finish, and admired her crinkly brown dress. You know the one I mean. To bed at 12. Mags and Marie were squabbling. Photos of Matthew arrived and I glued them in our album. Had coffee in bed.

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