Dear Diary ... continued

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Friday ...
I'm sorry Faye had to leave us the way she did.  I don't know that we've heard the half of what happened while she and Sandy were on holiday, but there it is ... she's gone.  Still, Stephanie's turning out to be a very able replacement and she's much happier now that she's moved in with Avis.  I know Mrs Addy the landlady has a reputation for being a bit strange at times but Avis doesn't seem to have had a lot of trouble, so I dare say the gossip's all a bit exaggerated.  At least I hope it's all a bit exaggerated.  I heard the other day that Mrs Addy claims to be a witch!  Strange as it may seem, that sort of thing doesn't make me laugh ... in fact it's all a little creepy.
Although I'm always rather nervous about things like witchcraft, I have to admit I'm a little fascinated by it all.  On one hand my common sense tells me it's rubbish, but on the other surely anything that's lasted that long must have some sort of solid basis to it.  Not all that many years ago only a fool would have admitted being a witch ... after all, the penalty was usually death!  Naturally enough, very many perfectly innocent people suffered at the hands of the 'witch-hunters' and it was hardly surprising that the whole business was eventually outlawed.  Mrs Witton though, who likes to think she knows everything that goes on around these parts, is convinced that there is some sort of jiggery-pokery going on in King's Oak right at this moment.  Well, so long as they stay well clear of the Motel while I'm around, I don't mind.  Let's just be thankful that Mrs Addy has joined the side of the righteous ... at least she practices white and not black magic!
Saturday ...
It's awful to think that it took Sarah Jane to half poison herself for Jill and I to see how stupidly we'd been behaving, but that was about the strength of it.  Time and time again it's been proved to me that no matter how tolerant we think we are, when it comes to two families living on top of one another, everything quickly falls to pieces.  Stan tried his hardest to smooth things along but it was a hopeless battle.  Anyway, as far as their new house is concerned, I have a hunch that there'll soon be a little light at the end of the tunnel.  Whatever happens, I'm quite sure neither Jill nor I will want to look at another bottle of tranquillisers for a very long time to come.
Thinking about that reminds me of a programme I saw on television a while ago.  They were showing some new designs for bottle tops that were 'child-proof'.  It seems a marvellous idea to me, so why for heaven's sake aren't they being used yet?  I don't know, but I suspect the hold up could be that old story we've been hearing a lot of recently.  Because we're now part of the Common Market, things like bottle tops and poison labels have ideally to be standardised.  In principle it's a good idea, but in actual fact no two countries ever seem able to agree on what that standard is to be.  Stan, ever the electrician with his ear to the ground, tells me that the same thing is happening with household electric plugs.  Having taken nearly thirty years to convert this country to one sort of system, it now seems likely that we're all going to have to change again to the 'Euro Plug'.  At least we will change just as soon as everyone can agree on the particular plug to use.  Sometimes I wonder what would happen if we ran the Crossroads Motel in the same long-winded fashion.  At that rate, we'd be asking the guests to sign in three weeks after they'd left!
Sunday ...
Jane Smith got herself into a right old muddle by playing that joke on Jeff Gilbert, the new barman, and knowing the gossiping that goes on at Crossroads, I'd say he was bound to find out the truth eventually.  Still, I won't be the one to tell him although I wouldn't like to make that same promise for one or two other people I could name.  I must say it's a good thing Jeff knows his job because he's certainly been thrown into the deep end.  In this weather, just about everyone is thirsty just about all of the time.  But then, as often as not it's their own fault.  You'd have thought after one glorious Summer, British men would have learned one or two lessons about dressing sensibly for the heat. 
But ... no!  There they are, red-faced and perspiring under thick pin-striped suits and still wearing very respectable ties.  I know that clothes are supposed to 'maketh the man' but that's just plain rediculous.  No one in their right mind should go through that kind of suffering just to keep up appearances.  In other more sensible countries, shorts are an acceptable part of a suit instead of trousers when the weather gets really hot.  I don't think I can imagine it catching on here though.  Most men seem to have the idea that legs (male ones anyway) are only to be seen when on holiday.  Looking at some of them, I think they may be right!        

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