Monday three o' clock. I don't have the day off today, and I'm working at six. The weekend brought Lee over on Friday night, later than usual because of a standstill highway around London. He arrived in time for a pint of Thatchers Gold Somerset cider and then we were all packed up and closed up. The weekend was busy. Sunday started with a staff meeting in the lounge. I came downstairs earlier so I could grab a cup of tea before it started but was directed straight into the lounge and just about had enough time to get some custard creams to dunk in my tea, so that was breakfast. Andy went over the changes that he'd like to be seeing. No more free staff drinks, no sandals, hair to be tied up behind the bar, no holidays in September. Hmph. So, my Paris trip out in the air and a right bollocking over it, I continued my Sunday kitchen shift with a cranky chef and cook and the boys in the back.
Lee took me to Marlow for lunch. We went to this gorgeous Italian restaurant with a green exterior and wooden interior. Our waitress was cute and quirky, tiny with light curly hair and an interesting face. I liked her. We ordered pizza and pasta and shared a tiramisu with some pink wine. He listened to me whine, moan and vent the whole day (bless him) and then it was time to go back and open the bar again. Sunday night was dead as usual, just me, Lee and Willie watching Top Gear in the public bar, throwing darts...until those loud farm boys arrived to disturb my peace and thoughts. Lee left at four this morning. I could barely sit up to say goodbye, my eyes felt glued shut and I went back to sleep and got up at ten. It's been marvelous really. I've done nothing but watch crap day time telly, drink cups of tea and read Catcher in the Rye. Lee was right, I do love it and he does think too much! I washed my hair with herbal tea tree shampoo that smells like the peppermint essence we used to put in our childish 'baking'. It makes me think of our kitchen in Lotus Street when Yvonne and I were little, making peppermint ices. I've lunched on sausage and fried potato bread from Ireland drenched in butter and more tea.
I've pretty much guaranteed that heart attack by thirty.
Only one thing for it, and that is another cup of tea. And more JD Salinger.