David Hunter sat down and talked with me today and, poor man, he did look upset. I really wish Crossroad's Cupid
would take better aim beofre loosing off those arrows. Although David was very careful to discuss everything but his
affair with Kelly, it was quite obvious from the start what was really on his mind. I suppose we've all been a bit guilty
of hurting the ones we love at one time or another, but I wish Kelly had just sat down and thought about it all before jumping
into the deep end with Steve McKenna. Of course, he seems a pleasant enough kind of person and not unsuccessful either
with his television programmes and so on, but two fish dangling on one hook can only result in the sort of friction that nobody
One thing that we did get around to talking about though was the very healthy state of the Motel's bookings. At
first sight it seemed strange that, despite times of struggling economies and collapsing pounds, business has never looked
better. A glance at the names, however, gives more than a clue towards the answer, because English ones are made
conspicuous by their absence. Obviously, while our economy continues to creak and groan, foreign visitors are going
to find the prices over here a lot cheaper than in their own countries, so as far as they are concerned, what better place
for a holiday! Well, as I said to David, all well and good, but I'm not too sure I like the idea of all these people
taking advantage of our present financial difficulties. Still, as David remarked, if it helps with the balance of payments
(whatever that is!) then for the time being we're just going to have to kearn to swallow our pride. And after all,
the Motel isn't losing by it.
It looks as if Vera's old friend Gus has saved the day as far as the hairdressing salon is concerned. It really is about
time that ll goes well. Maybe having him there to turn to for second opinions will be just what Vera needs. The
experience I've had with David has proved to me time and time again that ten minutes discussion will throw up more right answers
than a dozen sleepness nights.
The mugging of course is another kettle of fish. Although Bill Warren seems quite certain that Jim Baines is the
guilty man, somehow I wonder. We hear of too many cases these days in the papers of innocent men being wrongly convicted
due entirely to mistaken identity. It's horrifying to think that there maybe people right at this very minute locked
away in the cells for crimes they didn't commit. It's a dreadful problem. With violence on the increase, particulrly
muggings, it's obviously imperative that the culprits are caught. otherwise soon it won't be safe for people to go out
walking on their own. The trouble is I have a sneaking suspicion it's all part and parcel of something much wider.
What is it I wonder that makes people go out and mug somebody in the first place?
Diane popped in today and was talking about how Benny and Josie were getting on. She's not at all happy about it.
She's convinced that Josie's got a few tricks up her sleeve and that Benny's just being strung along. Of course now
that the two of them have decided to get married, it's become much harder for Ed and Diane to say very much. I just
hope for Benny's sake that if there is anything underhand, he finds out before and not after the wedding. I find him
a very likeable lad personally, for all his slowness, but I can think of one or two mothers who would be quite prepared to
show Josie the wrong side of their front doors.
Anyway, the glad tidings are that the Market Garden has at last 'officially' come of age and sent round the first consignment
of fresh produce to the Motel. Maybe I'm just fooling myself, but I'm certain there is a distinct difference in
flavour. That's not to say, of course, that the guests have noticed much as yet, or at least nobody's said anything.
But then, some people wouldn't recognise a home-grown tomato if it was growing out of their television set! Perhaps it's
all the result of years of bad eating. It's sad to think that for so many folks the culinary arts have been reduced
to pre-cooked mess that tips out of a can onto the place to be eaten in the minimum amount of time possible (and generally
whilst reading a newspaper).