Dipping in to John Fothergill's An Innkeeper's Diary, though have to ration self for fear of laughing too hard and getting a rupture. He might himself have been the creation of George and Weedon Grossmith, since he is put upon in a Pooterish way. However, unlike Mr Pooter, there is a vicious and superior streak to Fothergill, brought out by the time of day at which he elected to keep his journal - the late evening, when he was snarling after various setbacks.
Anyway, a typical, if brief, entry from 1922/23: "One old farmer had to have his Market Day dinner for 1s 6d at the end of the kitchen table because he was often sick on the floor."
And on another occasion: "On Market Day as many as sixty farmers, dealers and corn merchants wolfed a 4s 6d dinner here for 2s 6d a time, and I had put before them three different kinds of joints which they carved themselves. Once, before delivering a helping, I ran in to the kitchen to weigh it - one slice weighing a pound and three ounces from the thick of a leg of mutton."
A treat on every page, but it's no wonder he made no money at innkeeping.
