5, Club Street
Here we go. Back to the hurly burly of public life. Now I know how our dear Queen feels like on the culmination of her Sandringham break. Heavy rain. Up at dawn. Much industry in the packing department. I did the pack-horse bit to and from the car. Left at 9:30 and was back at our dear tavern for 10:15. Ronnie was in a furious mood because he came to do the stocktake at 7:30 and has had to wait for us. The place looked tidy and the relief manager escaped in a taxi after 10 minutes. He said little about his three weeks stay other than that he enjoyed it and for the remainder of the day I have the feeling that I have never been away. The staff do not mention Richard Tully and I can only guess at what a time they have all had together. I know only too well from my relief days at the Red Lion how the absent manager is slurred, blackened and lampooned by the bar staff in his absence. We went back to Club St at 2 to finish packing. I have a message to phone Fran O'Brien and he invites us to the 'grand re-opening' of the General Elliot in town, Vicar Lane, tomorrow at 11:30am. Obviously, we cannot go. Cleaned out the murky friers (fryers?) this evening. Maureen has done a very good job catering for us and took £170 after buying in. A figure beyond our wildest dreams. We gave her £80 cash tax free. Down to the bar at 8 for social intercourse with our enfeebled, geriatric inmates. Audrey worked with Mavis, and worked excellently together.
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