Linthorpe Hotel, Middlesbrough
To the vault. Ally did all the tills at 10:30pm and then spent a couple of hours in the office after closing because tomorrow Roy is going to show her the cellars. Should be fun. A throng of policemen filled the bar after time. One was celebrating the birth of his second son (Iain) a brother for Craig. Some people have absolutely no imagination when it comes to names. A big, bearded bloke with a face like Capt Webb on the match boxes reassured me about the Why Not. A local there by the name of Peter Clayton is in custody after attempting to murder a friend, and so we won't be bothered by him. Mr Nicolson, a pleasant Scot who is an insurance investigator, was also propping up the bar. He drinks Glenfiddich. He thinks I'm Roy's son. Roy was pissed on massive gins and bitter lemon. The bottle of Chivas Regal came out and I went to join Ally after two large glasses. She was tired after her late night count.
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