September 1987, part 1
After Neighbours Matth and I went out to Old Trafford mainly to visit the United museum. It was brilliant - it was a pound for him to get in, I got in free, being a member. It isn't tremendously big, but in these three or four rooms lies a plethora of treasures.
Some were priceless, others were almost as much, some were completely unique, such as the Manchester Cup, frequently played for, and occasionally won by Newton Heath, or the Manchester International Trophy, won the other week, others were far from unique, but added a considerable amount to the interest: various players' International caps from the early days through to Lou Macari's; international shirts; United kits through the ages.
There was a whole case devoted to Bobby Charlton - one just had to get on one's knees (otherwise it was difficult to read the labels!). It was brilliant - everything from a plaque he got as a schoolboy international to his cap for the World Cup, and various loyalty awards, and European Footballer of the Year award.
There was, inevitably, a display about Munich - yes it brought tears to my eyes, reading the facsimiles of the newspapers, and seeing the various things like Duncan Edwards contract, and a set of china bowls brought back (apparently intact) from Belgrade, as well as effects belonging to Eddie Colman, Mark Jones etc.
It was an incredible display - it would be hard to explain to anybody who thinks that Manchester United is just a football team, exactly what that museum means. The vibes, the whole feeling there, it was superb. We sat around watching a video of the goals of 1985/6 season. Then we went into the Souvenir Shop, which was super. I bought Matth a patch to sew on his rucksack. I bought myself a mug (it's Kilncraft - won't last for long), a tee-shirt, and photos of Brian McClair, Bryan Robson and Gary Walsh. I felt daft asking for a 'big Brian McClair' etc. But I've got them - and onto my wall they will go!
Gee wow! Talk about hectic! I rolled out of bed yesterday morning just in time for Neighbours, which managed to wake me up. Having had a good laugh, I was able to roll out of the house, and off to work via the bank. I had a pleasant enough lunchtime, working pretty hard, but not over-working, and I don't think I made any mistakes nor displeased too many customers. I think I'm well made out for bar work. I'm really getting into the new pumps, I can handle most things - just the odd thing of specific policy about the pub. I hope to be such a good bartender in Willoughby that I get onto the big nights or even onto a Hall Party, and a nice little earner.
I'm really enjoying the pub; it's a nice crowd of people that I work with, the punters are alright, some are very friendly, few are unfriendly, and most are amiable enough. I'm treated with a nice mixture of acceptance that I'm equal with the rest, mixed with the fact that I'm one of the youngest in the pub, that's not unpleasant.
Yesterday evening, I was chatting to Colin, the landlord's son. He's bar-man in the players lounge at Old Trafford, he's United daft, and he's great to talk to - typical Manc: "I know Manchester United players" type of thing. He said Norman Whiteside will be in tonight - but this is my night off. Having done two sessions yesterday (I was pretty tired by midnight, could barely stand up at the bus stop and fell asleep the moment I hit the pillow), and lunch today, I am very tired but not unpleasantly so.
Yes, I know, a diary should be, ideally, written every day, at least every other day, at worst every three days. To leave it for a whole six days really does little to justify keeping a diary. I'm hardly using it as a sounding off point for my emotions, it hardly acts as an accurate record of my experiences and thoughts.
However, I have been very busy - both sessions on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I worked in the Cellar Bar on Friday. I can't make up my mind about it. It's quite lively, jolly, with a juke box on, but I had the bad luck that my first customer was downright rude.
United were playing away at Coventry, but it might piss me off this Saturday - unless I can manage to swap with somebody - and I don't hold out much hope for that. It's going to be really frustrating, probably seeing people dropping in before going off to Old Trafford, and even more frustrating knowing that the game is going on just up the road. I really want to go on Saturday - just to see Manchester United, because I love them so much. I ought to be grateful that I've managed to see three games this season, which is more than I saw all seasons up until 1983; I also ought to be grateful that I've got a job, but, quite frankly, I've never been a grateful person, and I've always been to want more and more.
But I shouldn't moan, because when I eventually get paid, it's going to be great, and if I don't work now, I won't be able to afford to do anything, especially not go to football matches, during the termtime. United drew 0-0 at Coventry.
Sunday wasn't too bad. The football cards went round twice, both were won by staff, would you believe, so I came out on Sunday lunch quite flushed. The evening was quite good fun. Daddy took me down to Church, so rather than go to Mass, I walked up Park Road to Timperley Station. "Single to Sale!" I asked. The ticket seller said, "Run - your train's in." So I ran, and threw myself into the nearest carriage. Guess who was in there - yes, Rodger, much to my amusement. Fortunately, he was going to Stretford.
I got off at Sale. As there was no one there to collect tickets I ended up having a free ride. I walked slowly down School Road, and met Justine G. on the way. She had been to a party the night before, and she and her mates ended up getting beaten up - in Bowdon Vale. They had to go down the police station, although they're not in any trouble.
The evening was great in the pub. Steve, Harold's son-in-law was doing a disco that he does regularly on Sunday nights, so it was good fun bopping behind the bar. And we finished half an hour earlier, being a Sunday, so that was pleasant.
On Monday I went back to cleaning work in Timperley Village. Chris didn't seem over-enthusiastic about her holiday in Majorca. They had twelve hour waits each way in the airports; the hotel had a disco every night, and the DJ only had twelve records, which he played twice a night for a fortnight. They had one meal of chicken, and one of beef, the rest were all pork. Apart from that the holiday was alright!
I rushed home in the afternoon, and spent the afternoon unwinding, before going out to the pub in the evening. That was DEATHLY quiet. Mind you, it WAS Monday night - what more can one expect!
I was able to lie in for quite a bit. Nevertheless I didn't get a day off (I don't see one of them in the near future, but I don't really care TOO much!), for I had to be in for an hour's till training, together with Audrey and Paula, then we took over on the bar while Pauline, Maz and Linda had their training. I didn't get much in the way of tips, but enough to pay for my drink after.
I had a relaxing enough evening soap-watching. I could have gone to a CND meeting, but I couldn't be bothered. I was too tired to walk over there - and then have an evening spoiled by Rodger, so I stayed at home.
On the way through Altrincham I stopped off, really with the intention of buying Rum, Sodomy and the Lash by the Pogues, but seeing that the new Pet Shop Boys album "Actually" was out, I thought I would buy it. And buy it I did. However, on getting it home, I played it, and to my annoyance, found that it jumped, so I returned to Altrincham to change it; got the new one home only to find that jump too. Yes, it's all very well, it's probably the pressing or that particular load, it's just frustrating - after all, I'm �5.49 out of pocket and with no decent record to enjoy for it. I don't know if I'll have te time to go back tomorrow - to back and demand my money back, and see if WH Smiths or Boots have decent copies. As I say, from what I heard it seemed a good album - but I don't want the jumping version.
Mind you, going into Alty gave me a chance for a bit of nostalgia. There were a load of schoolgirls on the bus, and I couldn't help being reminded of those wonderful school days, when girls are so chummy, and for a moment, despite the fact that I love having a job, and I love being a student, I wished I was back at that stage.
Then I pulled myself together and reminded myself that those days are gone, and school is only as good as your bunch of friends. But we had some laughs in those days. I must finish my account of days as a United teeny bopper one of these days or else start a fictional account of a little girl in a similar position. I dunno.
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