Bar Staff
Age: 52
Nationality: Irrelevant
A barmaid nicknamed “Cleavage”. Hmmm, it does appear that 1970 wants its chapter back, but there is no doubt that Pam Cleaver’s moniker is well-deserved. When wearing her customary low-cut tops it looks like the semi-finalists in a Telly Savalas lookalike contest have taken up residence.
In truth it’s not all shits and giggles, at least not until she’s had a little bit of Vodka with her cornflakes, and then life is one big party. In fairness though her love of a drink isn’t allowed to get in the way of work so she sticks with a rule of never letting a member buy her one before 10:00am (9:30am on weekends).
There is a general understanding that Cleaver has “got something on the chairman” otherwise her drinking would have seen her dismissed years ago. The “something” is that she’s been banging him for the best part of ten years, and when he goes to his Masonic meetings he’s actually going to spaff his beans at the local Travelodge for twenty minutes of all-too energetic sex before rocking up slightly flustered and completely ‘spent’ at the Lodge.
Cleavage isn’t entirely sure who her father is because her mum was one for “free love” in the 1960s and 70s, so chances are she’s from the seed of a rock star, a roadie, or any one of the 300,000 male hippies who attended the Isle of Wight Festival in 1970.