Sunday September 25, 1983

Ally: The Why Not.

 17th Sunday after Trinity

Why Not, Hemlington

Telephone is hot. We phoned our mothers, sisters, brothers and cousins. Mum is well, but Papa has had a bad week with his stomach. Could it be an ulcer? They are coming up to see us in the week. Bessie goes to Guernsey and Jersey tomorrow and is staying at the Duke of Richmond hotel. John, the birthday boy, wasn't at home and neither was Lynn. Sue was bright and cheerful and Christopher gurgled. Peter's car is still off the road. Phoned Karen. Hayley is refusing to breast feed apparently. Phoned Dave G and he wasn't in. Spoke to Lily who asked us about our tills. She is a good woman. 

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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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Friday September 23, 1983

 Why Not, Hemlington

I have thick green phlegm and feel awful. Catarrh. I went about like a consumptive. We went early to Thornaby and to the bank. I bought John a birthday card. He's 27 on Sunday. We despatched the card containing a fiver. Went to the post office. Couldn't find a Daily Telegraph and bought the Daily Mail. The Liberals are now at one another's throats. It's such a joy to see Ally at the wheel of Mandy. Today is Lily Glynn's birthday. I must ring David to let him know how we are doing. Do we take more cash than the Hollywood? John is going into business with a friend, Steve. Will it end in disaster?

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Thursday September 22, 1983

 Full Moon

Why Not, Hemlington

Takings: Lounge £267.61 / Bar £230.98

Marie and Mags came to see us last night and stood at the bar drinking large Bacardis and vodka to boost our takings. Inspector Dale and some of his colleagues called in for a pint or two. He was as nice as pie, and not at all vicious. Ally went to see a Dr Ruffett in Middlesbrough, and he gave her a clean bill of health. She now weighs 8st 12lb. Her blood pressure is spot on. A Hell's Angel in the bar has named his baby son Gary. Why do such a terrible thing? Sir Harold Wilson's peerage has been gazetted as Baron Wilson of Rievaulx. I was hoping he's been Earl Wilson of Scilly. Ally bought the local newspaper today. Thet give houses away up here.

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Wednesday September 21, 1983

 Why Not, Hemlington

Takings: Lounge £198.96 / Bar £173.12

The locals treat the place with a new found reverence. It's like St Paul's Crypt in the bar and everything is being said at a whisper after the incident last night. Ally was so good. She phoned the police after a certain Ray Davies was attempting to land a punch at me from across the bar. The man was berserk. Ally should not be spending the final months of her pregnancy in what is no more than a refuge for paroled prisoners. We went to Thornaby together to the National Westminster Bank and banked £500. We're supposed to go three times a week. Ally bought rolls for the sandwiches.

Is Diana pregnant? I have been reading the Daily Mail. The Daily Telegraph is a rarity on Teesside.

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Tuesday September 20, 1983

 The Why Not, Hemlington

Takings: Lounge £160.35 / Bar £201.64

Our first touch of Why Not violence. Ally and I only left the bar for ten minutes this afternoon and came back in to find some lads clowning around without their trousers and driving away the few customers supping in the lounge. A furious argument followed, trousers were pulled up, and the offending youths promised never to do such a thing again. Sadly, this evening they appeared pissed and after I asked them to quit the premises, they refused quite violently. I phoned the police. On seeing the constables a certain Billy Bousfield proceeded to smash  all the glasses on his table and was forcibly removed from the pub. In the scuffle one policeman had his helmet stolen. I made a statement and young Bousfield is going to face charges of criminal damage. I then barred four lads from entering the Why Not during my tenure. 

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Monday September 19, 1983

 The Why Not, Hemlington

Takings: Lounge £255.77 / Bar £186.58

A day without incident. Jill and Tim's wedding anniversary. The Yanks are shelling Lebanon. World War III is upon us and here I am selling beer in Middlesbrough to people with tattooed throats. 

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Sunday September 18, 1983

 16th Sunday after Trinity

The Why Not, Hemlington

Takings: Lounge £271.84 /Bar £275.25

I cleaned the lager, mild and cider lines. We only sell one barrel of mild per week. Busy. Ally made sandwiches and put cheese and biscuits on the bar. For some reason this is a tradition on the Sabbath. At closing time (2pm) I phoned Mum. Dad has been fretting about us all weekend. He has tummy trouble at the moment and might be getting an ulcer. He should see a doctor but Dad is always the last person to visit a quack. Ally then phoned F & B at Chillandham Cross. Auntie Joan and Uncle Jim had just left. Afterwards we went upstairs and slept on top of the bed. Ally's bump is growing, spreading and reaching fruition. Sunday evening was peaceful and none of the inmates gave us any trouble. 

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Saturday September 17, 1983

 The Why Not, Hemlington

Takings: Lounge £236.49 /Bar £234.03

I did not leave the bar - day or night - and met all the regular customers civilized and yobbo. They even have tattooed eye-lids in Hemlington. No 'please' or 'thank you' with them either. A ghastly social climber, a former thespian, with an artificial voice box, says I am so alike in stature and mannerisms to his old friend the actor John Alderton. Ally is so brisk. Already the sandwiches are out on the bar ranging from 38p to 45p, and the staff are looking upon her in awe. She is like one of the Cleopatras. The nicest possible Cleopatra. The one without the haircut and the asp. The flat is awful, dirty and empty, and yet already the bedroom looks like home.

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Friday September 16, 1983

 The Why Not, Hemlington

Up at 6:30 and packed the car. Our last Linthorpe breakfast. We went to the Why Not at 9 and on to court with Fogarty and Fran O'Brien at 9:30. I went into the box at the magistrates' court and took the protection order without any problems. Mr O'B was keen to hear all about my interview with Inspector Dale. I think he expected to do battle if need be. I have yet to see the horrible side of Fran O'Brien, and no doubt it will come all too soon. We went back to the Why Not where Ally was with the insipid Anne Fogarty. The fire alarms and burglar alarms sounded off and the whole place was in uproar because nobody could stop the racket. Fogarty, in an act of desperation, smashed a pool cue into the box and brought silence to the place. Eventually the Fogartys went and we were left alone. Ally will make a good manageress. Such a good head on her shoulders and she will not tolerate inefficiency. Some of the barmaids leave a lot to be desired and seem to be as dim as Toc-H lamps. Tip sheets and electric tills puzzle them. So, who would have thought it, eh? To think that on this sixteenth day of September in the Year of Our Lord 1983 that Alison and I would be running a licensed establishment. Indeed a divine offering from above. Praise be to the Lord.

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Thursday September 15, 1983

 Linthorpe Hotel, Middlesbrough

Hungover. I spent £17 on whisky last night. I was in bed for the duration but Ally was good and took herself off to the shops, and was happy, busy and bright. Eventually I came back to life and we went to Asda at Billingham and spent £39 on tinned tomatoes, &c. I am nervous about the ordeal ahead. I do not want our first foray into relief management to be a bloody disaster with murder and glass fights, &c. Our last night at the Linthorpe. We owe Roy so much. A brisk goodbye. Carol and Rose kissed us, but Mags refused, saying she will not say goodbye to people she'll see again. To bed at 11:30 with no gala or sing-song. Ally didn't want fireworks.

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