Monday 21st August 2000 2347 Hrs

Monday 21st August 2000

2347 Hrs

Curly is in a terrible mood with everyone. He doesn’t think we are taking his attack seriously enough. He got into this sulk because he told me and Clint this morning that he was going to go and report the incident to the Police. We tried to explain that he would just make himself look like a knob and he accused us of being unsupportive. How can stopping your friend from looking like a knob be unsupportive? Miller didn’t help matters when he came rolling into the bar this morning, still in last night’s clothes, and boasted that he too had been raped by Bertha. “Did she do that thumb thing to you too? Nasty eh” he asked Curly. This was too much for our pube headed friend and he stormed off. Miller said he was going to form a support club for the pair of’em.

The pub had a couple of people in today. The weather was scorching hot so Babbacombe had a few tourists enjoying the beautiful sea view and some of those came in here to have something to eat for lunch. In all we did about seven meals, mainly sandwiches and salads but the way Kung Fu Phil was running around the kitchen in a rampant panic, you’d have thought we had the entire British army in for dinner. Dick head. God I hate him!

However, someone I hate even more came in tonight. Harry Barker. Old laughing boy. The ugly little git came sliming up to the bar, all smiles and asked if he could speak with the boss. I tried to assure him that he was speaking to him but his happy grin was swiftly replaced with something all the more threatening and he whispered with a hiss “Go get ye facking Daddy, BOY!” For all I knew he was ready to stab me, I swear his face suddenly looked that evil, so I thought sod it, let Dad deal with his new pal. It turned out that Harry was coming in to TELL Dad that he was having a party in the pub on Sunday night for his daughters 40th. He wants a buffet laid out for the occasion, but he never once allured to whether or not he would be paying for it and Dad didn’t ask either! After Harry had fucked off I asked Dad about that and he basically snapped at me and said we should be grateful for the customers and added that I had done fuck all to get people in so far! I was utterly shocked! My father and brothers have squashed every brilliant idea I have put forward so far. The pub is doing crap because of them! I should have said that to Dad: instead, I just told him that I had something planned for Friday that will get the customers piling in!


So what is this new genius plan? Well earlier Clint was banging on about adverts he was putting in the newspaper and on Torquay FM, for the charity karaoke competition we are unfortunately organizing. I pointed out that nobody ever reads ads in the local paper, and nobody even listens to the local radio station, so it’s all a waste of time and money. I explained to him that you’ve gotta go out and catch new customers. It’s like fishing and I’m gonna reel loads in on Friday night because I’ve got a new Masterplan. I’m going undercover to steal customers from the rival pub down the road. The Queens Legs is always packed and though it doesn’t have the sort of clientele I would prefer, it does have a lively karaoke crowd and I am sure I can get them to come to our pub while Clint’s competition is running.

The Queens Legs look quite nice from outside, but if you go in, it's a right shit hole. It’s full of the sort of people who know their place in life and their place is at the bottom of the social ladder, the underclass. They’ve got no aspirations other than getting through the day anyway they can, until The Queens Legs open and they can all go in for lots of drinks. Not the sort of place you would expect someone respectable like me to venture into but I’m willing to take one for the good of the business. Once the competition is over, I’ll bar the lot of’em, but in the mean time they’ll keep Dad happy and keep him off of my back while I work on my much bigger plans.

For my undercover operation in The Queens Legs, I won’t be able to wear my usual smart attire, because if I do I’ll attract too much attention from the pubs landlord and his thug doormen. I need to blend in with the common people, dress down to their level. Blue jeans, stained t-shirt, crap hair and NO glasses (they’ll give my sophistication away immediately). So I guess I will be going out disguised as Miller. Once I’m in, I’m going to approach people and point out all of the superior facilities The Royal Ship has to offer, compared to the dive they are wasting their time in. I’m sure they’ll be flocking out en masse when they realize what they are missing out on. I mean, it’s not often people of their level get invited to somewhere as classy as my establishment.