Monday August 8, 1983

New Moon

Linthorpe Hotel, Middlesbrough

The green phlegm continues. I am going about the place sounding like a consumptive. A telephone engineer came to install a bright yellow phone. Francis O'Brien, the chap who interviewed us in May, arrived at 11. He fixed his eyes on Ally's bump and refused to take his gaze from it. It's just a call to see how we are getting on and to see if we have any problems. We enthuse and say nothing has put us off. He went away after 10 minutes. He is a Uriah Heap type. JT says O'Brien is 'a first class c*nt', and Mags agreed. I went into the vault for the afternoon, stone dead. Roy came to see me and says O'Brien must have something up his sleeve. I asked if that something is a horrible, unpleasant something and Roy responded: 'Oh, no'. We later did our washing. I made fishcakes and chips, and Ally made herself a chicken curry. Roy saw me frying and I made something for him and William too. Marie was running around excitedly because Gaskins, the local nightclub, is at this very moment a blazing inferno, and she tried to persuade Charlie to take her to spectate, but he declined.  In the 'vault' tonight. The pool competition has fallen through and only a few locals appeared. Big Ron Perry acted as my minder and helped with the ashtrays and glasses. Back in the top bar I bought him a drink. The cook's mother died suddenly today so breakfast will be a shambles, says Roy with a grin. Tomorrow's our day off.

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