Saturday September 24, 1983

 Why Not, Hemlington

Wet day. Green phlegm continues. They do say that working in a pub with the filthy atmosphere therein it's the equivalent of smoking twenty cigarettes a day. What a diabolical thought. One day I would like to see the smoking of tobacco abolished. Margaret McMahon worked with me all afternoon. They all seem to be called McMahon in Middlesbrough. It's a big RC area. Tonight we went to the Linthorpe at midnight, setting our burglar alarm and tootling off in Mandy. Marie was in bed, but the mob was preparing to go on to a party at John McCutcheon's. The majority left in taxis and we took a pissed Roy in our car. He didn't wear a set belt and sat up front mumbling and swilling a gin and bitter lemon concoction from a bottle. Such a character. The party was smoky and dull but a pleasant change. Lesbians everywhere. Big buxom girls. We stood with Rose and Ian and discussed the Rolling Stones and the clientel of the Why Not. We left at 2.

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