3 October 2022 (Monday) - Boss and Misses

Being up rather early I thought I might make the most of the morning. I got the puppies sorted, scoffed toast, and set off on a pre-work Munzee mission (as befits my role as the numero uno honcho of a Level Four clan!) I capped fifteen Points of Interest and three Qrewzees before work.

 

As I drove the pundits on the radio were talking about how the Prime Minister is at the Conservative Party's conference.  When challenged about the debacle that her government has made of the economy she has said that they should have "laid the ground better" for her mini-budget, after it sparked days of absolute chaos. Apparently she has "learned from that", but went on to say that the decision to cut the top earner tax rate was a "decision that the chancellor made" which was not discussed with the whole cabinet beforehand. Is she getting ready to stick the knife into the Chancellor? It strikes me that she's decided that someone's got to take the blame, and it certainly ain't going to be her...

There was also talk about how the French aren't pulling their weight in the ongoing war against Russia (no one was making any secret that it is the entire West and not just Ukraine who are fighting the Russians).

 

During tea break I had a look at Facebook and my phone went mad with notifications. Yesterday I mentioned that I took the smallest grandchildren to where I used to work. We had chips in what is now the Old Town Fryer and last night I posted about the place on the “Historic Hastings” Facebook page.

Quite a few other people remembered the place too.

 

These days it’s a chip shop, but when I worked there forty-two years ago it was a restaurant owned at the time by Salvatore Moscatelli and his wife Catriona (“Boss” and “Misses”), and their children would hang around the place too.

I liked their daughter who refused to argue with her mother in Italian; she would always shout her side of the arguments (and there were a lot!) in English so that we could all “understand what a stupid mother she had”. There was the boss’s son who really could have benefitted from a slapped arse (on more than one occasion). 

 

Our target customers were the coachloads of Londoners who would get off the coach in the coach park just over the road. “Boss” used to say that if the tourists liked their dinner then that was nice. He also said (in a thick Italian accent) that if they didn’t “then fock ‘em”. He took the line that the average tourist wouldn’t remember their bad experiences and would come back next time anyway. (This was thirty years before websites like TripAdvisor… or any websites at all come to that).

When the restaurant wasn’t busy “Boss” used to send me to do his gardening; no one else was daft enough to climb the ladder and trim his hedges.

“Boss” and “Misses” had a few full-time staff.

 

The chief cook (Mark) has now died.

His brother was the washer-upper who was paid daily; every evening putting all his wages into the fruit machines until nothing was left.

The assistant cook (whose real name was Chris) was known as “Willy” for reasons which were never explained. I have a vague feeling that he died quite young.

The head waitress won the Sun (newspaper) bingo, resigned, blew the lot in a couple of months, and soon came back again.

There was Mr. Gustav. Years past retirement he used to arrive at the restaurant first thing in the morning and peel and slice potatoes until he had a dustbin full of chips ready for the day.

 

The rest of the dozen or so staff were like me; sixth-formers earning pocket money.

There was my mate Kev and his sister Karen. .

There was one girl (what was her name?) who could have been a supermodel, was going out with the school bully, and would show off the nudey drawings the school bully’s mate had done of her.

There was another girl (what was her name?) who used to boast of three-in-a-bed romps.

There was “dustman’s daughter”, so named by “Boss” because she was the daughter of the restaurant’s dustman.

There was one who used to stand by the cold drink dispenser and cry a lot.

There was one girl I knew from primary school.. Diane something-or-other.

There was one girl with a face like a smacked arse who never once smiled. I quite fancied her (!)

There were loads of others… I can remember their faces… but the names have gone.

 

Only one of the old gang has commented on my Facebook post. But someone who worked there ten years after me posted up today’s photo… Both “Boss” and “Misses” lost a lot of weight in that time… I understand “Misses” dies a few years ago and “Boss” has gone to live with his daughter.

I wonder where the rest are now?