3rd January 2012 was not a good day. In fact it was just about the worst day I experienced in the Mountains. It started out fine. In fact I wasn't working till 3 so I got a lovely lie in and I went skiing before work (I didn't do this often but this was one of the rare occasions I did).
I had been in work about 3 minutes when someone complained about their shower being cold. I was used to this set of guests complaining. They were all from Wales. They enjoyed complaining. I didn't pay a huge amount of attention but sent the bar man (who had a great love of all things manly and so jumped at the chance at mending anything he could/ changing light bulbs) to go and investigate the boiler. He came back a few minutes later to say it had run out of water. I went to find the complaining Welsh lady and informed her to wait an hour and then try again. Half an hour later she had gathered a lynch mob to confront me at the reception desk,
'There is still no hot water and the heating has gone off, I need a shower and am freezing'
'Hear Hear' cried her accompanying Welsh lynch mob
I sent the bar man back to the boiler and once again he came back with the same story.
Ten minutes later the Welsh lynching mob had regrouped, stronger this time and they headed directly to the bar man to accuse him of lying to them.
Things had now become rather desperate and I was beginning to panic. I called the hotel manager who at this point was with his girlfriend in La Plagne and pointed out that there was the telephone number of the boiler repair man hidden somewhere in the office. As I speak only enough French to ask for a bottle of wine and where the post office is I had to get one of the assistant chefs to make the call.
Eventually they said they would come out the day after and I said 'no you will come out now' and they said they would do what they could. By this point I was fielding complaints from 60 angry and cold welsh people (you would have thought they would be used to being cold coming from Wales) and I was getting a bit fed up of saying 'I am very sorry, we are working on it as fast as we can and I will let you know as soon as I know anything'.
I did contemplate hiding in the office with the door locked but soon the boiler repair man turned up. I brought out the assistant chef to translate. What quickly transpired was that we had run out of oil an couldn't get anymore till the next day.
My manager called back and said 'what ever you do, don't tell them we have run out of oil, they will think we are idiots', I wasn't convinced that lying to the angry welsh people was a great idea but went with it anyway. With dread in my heart I went up to each table in the bar and with my best 'I'm very sorry' smile on my face I said 'the good news the boiler repair man has come and checked things out, the bad news is that he can't get the right part till tomorrow' (that wasn't technically lying if you could oil as part of the boiler'.
They all spent the night enjoying having a good moan about the situation. It wasn't actually that cold. I think having something as big as being cold made the holiday for them, they obviously had a great time moaning and being vile to everyone. The staff did what they could, getting all the blankets and distributing them as if they were helping refugees after a major natural disaster. The angry welsh guests continued to treat the bar man as if he had lied to them on purpose.
As my shift ended I trundled home feeling like I had spent the last eight hours fighting a battle on three fronts and knowing it would start all over again when I got into work at seven am.
And it did. It was not a good morning. Every single person asked me for the exact time of the arrival of the boiler repair man. To each and everyone I repeated the same thing 'I am not sure but I believe it will be quite soon'.
And soon enough, like a mirage coming up the mountain, a truck filled with beautiful beautiful oil arrived in front of the hotel. I was actually ready to snog the driver. I would have done it. At that moment he was my dream man, the resolver of all my problems, of the longest 18 hours of my life. I would have given him anything. In reality he didn't really want anything from me. He just wanted to get the fuck out of the hotel and go home.
Soon after I went home myself to lie on the sofa of dreams in my chalet, close my eyes for an hour and then drink lots and lots of gin.
Monday 28 May 2012
Sunday 27 May 2012
'Ohhh Shit I Did Not Mean To Do That'
I'm going to make one thing clear right from the start, I did not mean to do it. It was a total and complete accident. No part of me did it on purpose. I did not mean to do it and I was very very sorry. I really am sorry. Eternally apologetic.
It was shut down week. My job in shut down week was to clear out the laundry room, do the massive pile of washing (that never got any smaller) and count all the hotel laundry. It was a very long task and after a few days being stuck underground with no natural light and only my speakers and the sound of the washing machines and tumble dryer to keep me company I started going a bit mad. I was also getting a bit annoyed that as I was cleaning people kept dumping their crap in there. Bin bags full of crap everywhere.
I found yet another abandoned bin bag full of stuff. In it was a pair of shoes and a phone charger. I vaguely recognised the slightly scruffy pair of DCs as belonging to the head chef who had been fired a few weeks earlier. I did not want to bin them without checking so I took them up to chef to ask him. He agreed that he thought they were the head chefs and that it was ok to bin them. At this time, the KP came up to me and begged me to put a couple of his t-shirts in the wash for him. I agreed under the condition that the KP would take my bin bag to the bins for me. He thought it was a good deal and came down a few minutes later with three t-shirts and I took them to the laundry room.
I descended back into the Pit of Hell that was the laundry room and blasted out Frank Turner, Counting Crows and David Bowie and sang along at the top of my voice continuing with my delicate laundry classification system and cleaning. The washing machine finished and I put in a new load, slightly worried that I couldn't find the t-shirts I had agreed to wash. But I put that to the back of my mind as I knew I would find them for the next lot of washing that went in.
I decided I needed a break and some natural light so went up to the kitchen to have a cup of tea and try and steal some food. And as usual I stopped for a chat.
'Err have you found a pair of shoes in the laundry room? A pair of DCs?'
My heart stopped instantly.
I turned and saw LiF looking at me pointedly
Ohhh Shit
A hundred excuses and denials suddenly ran through my head as I peered round him to see with horror that the rubbish had been taken a long time ago.
Ididn'tknowtheywereyoursIthoughttheyweretheheadchefsIputtheminthebinWHYWERETHEYINABINBAG'I said all at once in a mumbled blur. Chef was looking at me and smiling and LiF was looking at me in absolute horror,
'You're joking right?'
'Why were they in a bin bag in my laundry room?'
I have a bad habit of giggling when I'm nervous and I don't think this helped the currently situation as I did not come across as sorry as I actually was. It was also not helped by the fact I could see Chef laughing behind him and that was making me worst.
'Chef said they belonged to the head chef' ('don't blame this on me' chef shouted still smirking 'you bloody binned them')
'But they didn't they were mine', he was beginning to look a mixture of very sad and very angry.
This went on for some time, I even offered to buy him some more. I eventually went back to the laundry room to see if by chance there was another bin bag with shoes in there. I did not hold out much hope but by that point I was willing to try absolutely anything. Five minutes later and I knew it was hopeless, suddenly H1 burst in to say that LiF and chef had gone down to the bins to get the shoes back. I hurtled out the door and down towards the bins without even stopping for a coat.
Let me tell you something about French bins. They are huge and go twelve feet underground. They have a big lid and a twelve foot long sack cloth giant bin bag. The bins nearest to us were just down the road. There were three of them for general waste and several for recycling. They were also shared with several other people and a hotel much posher than ours. When I got there they were both standing peering into one of them and were rather shocked to see me running towards them. Hope flickered in LiF's eyes before quickly dying away again as I shock my head.
'I am going to have to get in' LiF said after we had all stood staring into the bin for about two minutes.
'No you can't, its not safe' I said, ever the voice of health and safety. Then the guilt hit me again and I offered to get in instead. 'But wait', I said, 'If I get in there is no way you two dickheads will help we out, you will just leave me inside the bin and run off'.
'No I wouldn't let you get in' LiF replied rather kindly considering the fact that we were only there because I had thrown his shoes away and he promptly climbed into the bin.
Now this bin was quite full, it wasn't much of a drop and he started going through the bags. After a few minutes punctuated by his cries of 'ugh' and 'arg that's gross' and me and chef collapsing with laughter we decided it would be easier if he passed the bin bags up and we looked through them. I could tell which bin bags were not ours because the posh hotel had a much higher standard of bin bag than we did. The chefs could tell which were ours because they knew what food they had cooked. After about fifteen minutes a car pulled up and three people got out,
'Is there someone in that bin?' they asked in surprise,
'Err, yes, I actually accidentally threw away his shoes and now we are looking for them' I said as the two woman started to laugh.
'Good luck' they waved as they drove past.
Then LiF shouted 'there's loads of t-shirts in this bag'. I looked in and wondered why I recognised them, 'Oh crap they are the KPs, he gave them to me to wash, I wondered where they went'.
Both boys looked at me in shock
'What?' LiF said very slowly 'you binned his stuff too?'
I realised just how bad that looked. Both incidents were a complete mistake, a very careless one I admit, but a mistake. I was hoping that we could keep this second little mistake quiet but chef has never kept anything quiet in his whole entire life.
The boys got bored of that bin and moved to the next one which was ever so slightly less full that the last one. At one point I looked into the bin and LiF had his hand waving over a hotel sanitary bag.
'Argh DO NOT TOUCH THAT' I shouted into the hole. He jumped back and inquired what it was and if it had anything to do with periods.
'Yes' I answered now severely grossed out and desperate for a shower and clean clothes. I could feel the bin juice making its way through my clothes and on to my skin.
At this precise moment the bin men turned up
'Oh Shit' I said
'Oh Shit' chef said
'What is it' came the voice from inside the bin.
The French bin men looked very angry as they pulled up in their truck. There was by this point, a nice big pile of rummaged through bin bags by the side of the road. In very garbled French I just about explained that we had lost a pair of shoes and these very angry bin men suddenly started laughing. And they didn't stop laughing. They even helped look through a few bin bags. One found an old sandal and threw it down at LiF who was still in the bin, then started laughing a lot more. There was, in fact, a surprisingly large number of shoes in the bins, just not any DC trainers.
The bin men soon got bored and got hold of LiF by his arms and pulled him out before moving on to their jobs and taking away the cardboard recycling.
There was now only one bin we hadn't looked through. And it only had a few bin bags it it. It was, we estimated, about a nine foot drop.
'No' I said, with my health and safety head on once again.
'It will be fine' both of the boys said in unison. This did not make me feel any better.
'He can get in and then we can use the bin bags from the other bin so he can climb out' Chef said rather cleverly.
LiF lowered himself into the bin. There was a lot of swearing. And there was no DC trainers in the bin. It was however quite fun firing bin bags back into the bin towards LiF's head. Chef and I made it into a bit of a game. We found it hilarious, LiF did not. In fact chef and I had found the whole experience really bloody funny. The funniest was when LiF popped his head out of the bin so he could have a smoke. A little smoking head stuck out from the bin. His need for a smoke was understandable, by that point I felt like I needed a smoke.
In one final last ditch attempted I suggested we went back to the first bin as we hadn't looked through all the bags and try again.
And within minutes we had found them. There they were, still in their bin bag at the bottom of the bin. I was beyond shocked that we had actually found them. We had been searching through the bins for well over an hour by this point. We were dirty, tired, smelly and covered in a variety of unknown liquids. And I was completely freezing as I had gone down in just my t-shirt and it was beginning to snow. I did not feel it was the right time to mention my discomfort.
Now some people suggested I had thrown away his shoes on purpose because I was mad at him after our brief encounter. This was not the case at all, I was far from mad at him. Several others laughed and said he deserved it. I was also not one of these people. The irony of the whole situation was not lost on me though and his head sticking out of the bin was one of the funniest things I have ever seen.
The next day I was completely horrified to see him still wearing the coat he had been in the bin in. As I was controlling everything that went in and out of the washing machine I said 'Please just give me the coat, I will wash it'
'I'm not fucking giving you anything, it will go in the bin' was my sharp (and I feel, unfair) reply
'Please, I promise it wont, I just can't bare to see you in a coat covered in bin juice, you are in a kitchen for god's sake'
I then realised what I was doing. I was begging to be allowed to do a man's washing. I was letting down woman kind everywhere, what would the Suffragettes say? What would Germaine Greer say???????
However
That coat really did need washing.
And I had banned everyone from the hotel from using the washing machine.
I was stuck in the middle of two very conflicting ideas.
While I was having my internal debate with myself and an imaginary Germaine Greer, LiF said 'If you wash the jacket, can you put some other things of mine in too?'
'Yes' I said, banishing Germaine from my head, 'Go get them now'.
Five minutes later he came in with a pile of clothes, having his own internal battle over whether his need for clean pants out weight his total distrust of me.
I made him put the clothes into the washing machine himself as there was no way I was going anywhere near his dirty pants.
'I will try not to shrink them' I said as I turned the machine on. He looked at me with complete fear in his eyes.
'That was a joke' I said. He did not laugh.
As they came out of the washing machine I read all the care labels of his clothes and then tumble dried them. I then folded them nicely.
'I am sorry Germaine, I am sorry, I promise I will not make a habit of washing the clothes of men I have seen naked, I will atone for my sins, I will' I repeted in my head while folding up his clean, dry underpants
It was shut down week. My job in shut down week was to clear out the laundry room, do the massive pile of washing (that never got any smaller) and count all the hotel laundry. It was a very long task and after a few days being stuck underground with no natural light and only my speakers and the sound of the washing machines and tumble dryer to keep me company I started going a bit mad. I was also getting a bit annoyed that as I was cleaning people kept dumping their crap in there. Bin bags full of crap everywhere.
I found yet another abandoned bin bag full of stuff. In it was a pair of shoes and a phone charger. I vaguely recognised the slightly scruffy pair of DCs as belonging to the head chef who had been fired a few weeks earlier. I did not want to bin them without checking so I took them up to chef to ask him. He agreed that he thought they were the head chefs and that it was ok to bin them. At this time, the KP came up to me and begged me to put a couple of his t-shirts in the wash for him. I agreed under the condition that the KP would take my bin bag to the bins for me. He thought it was a good deal and came down a few minutes later with three t-shirts and I took them to the laundry room.
I descended back into the Pit of Hell that was the laundry room and blasted out Frank Turner, Counting Crows and David Bowie and sang along at the top of my voice continuing with my delicate laundry classification system and cleaning. The washing machine finished and I put in a new load, slightly worried that I couldn't find the t-shirts I had agreed to wash. But I put that to the back of my mind as I knew I would find them for the next lot of washing that went in.
I decided I needed a break and some natural light so went up to the kitchen to have a cup of tea and try and steal some food. And as usual I stopped for a chat.
'Err have you found a pair of shoes in the laundry room? A pair of DCs?'
My heart stopped instantly.
I turned and saw LiF looking at me pointedly
Ohhh Shit
A hundred excuses and denials suddenly ran through my head as I peered round him to see with horror that the rubbish had been taken a long time ago.
Ididn'tknowtheywereyoursIthoughttheyweretheheadchefsIputtheminthebinWHYWERETHEYINABINBAG'I said all at once in a mumbled blur. Chef was looking at me and smiling and LiF was looking at me in absolute horror,
'You're joking right?'
'Why were they in a bin bag in my laundry room?'
I have a bad habit of giggling when I'm nervous and I don't think this helped the currently situation as I did not come across as sorry as I actually was. It was also not helped by the fact I could see Chef laughing behind him and that was making me worst.
'Chef said they belonged to the head chef' ('don't blame this on me' chef shouted still smirking 'you bloody binned them')
'But they didn't they were mine', he was beginning to look a mixture of very sad and very angry.
This went on for some time, I even offered to buy him some more. I eventually went back to the laundry room to see if by chance there was another bin bag with shoes in there. I did not hold out much hope but by that point I was willing to try absolutely anything. Five minutes later and I knew it was hopeless, suddenly H1 burst in to say that LiF and chef had gone down to the bins to get the shoes back. I hurtled out the door and down towards the bins without even stopping for a coat.
Let me tell you something about French bins. They are huge and go twelve feet underground. They have a big lid and a twelve foot long sack cloth giant bin bag. The bins nearest to us were just down the road. There were three of them for general waste and several for recycling. They were also shared with several other people and a hotel much posher than ours. When I got there they were both standing peering into one of them and were rather shocked to see me running towards them. Hope flickered in LiF's eyes before quickly dying away again as I shock my head.
'I am going to have to get in' LiF said after we had all stood staring into the bin for about two minutes.
'No you can't, its not safe' I said, ever the voice of health and safety. Then the guilt hit me again and I offered to get in instead. 'But wait', I said, 'If I get in there is no way you two dickheads will help we out, you will just leave me inside the bin and run off'.
'No I wouldn't let you get in' LiF replied rather kindly considering the fact that we were only there because I had thrown his shoes away and he promptly climbed into the bin.
Now this bin was quite full, it wasn't much of a drop and he started going through the bags. After a few minutes punctuated by his cries of 'ugh' and 'arg that's gross' and me and chef collapsing with laughter we decided it would be easier if he passed the bin bags up and we looked through them. I could tell which bin bags were not ours because the posh hotel had a much higher standard of bin bag than we did. The chefs could tell which were ours because they knew what food they had cooked. After about fifteen minutes a car pulled up and three people got out,
'Is there someone in that bin?' they asked in surprise,
'Err, yes, I actually accidentally threw away his shoes and now we are looking for them' I said as the two woman started to laugh.
'Good luck' they waved as they drove past.
Then LiF shouted 'there's loads of t-shirts in this bag'. I looked in and wondered why I recognised them, 'Oh crap they are the KPs, he gave them to me to wash, I wondered where they went'.
Both boys looked at me in shock
'What?' LiF said very slowly 'you binned his stuff too?'
I realised just how bad that looked. Both incidents were a complete mistake, a very careless one I admit, but a mistake. I was hoping that we could keep this second little mistake quiet but chef has never kept anything quiet in his whole entire life.
The boys got bored of that bin and moved to the next one which was ever so slightly less full that the last one. At one point I looked into the bin and LiF had his hand waving over a hotel sanitary bag.
'Argh DO NOT TOUCH THAT' I shouted into the hole. He jumped back and inquired what it was and if it had anything to do with periods.
'Yes' I answered now severely grossed out and desperate for a shower and clean clothes. I could feel the bin juice making its way through my clothes and on to my skin.
At this precise moment the bin men turned up
'Oh Shit' I said
'Oh Shit' chef said
'What is it' came the voice from inside the bin.
The French bin men looked very angry as they pulled up in their truck. There was by this point, a nice big pile of rummaged through bin bags by the side of the road. In very garbled French I just about explained that we had lost a pair of shoes and these very angry bin men suddenly started laughing. And they didn't stop laughing. They even helped look through a few bin bags. One found an old sandal and threw it down at LiF who was still in the bin, then started laughing a lot more. There was, in fact, a surprisingly large number of shoes in the bins, just not any DC trainers.
The bin men soon got bored and got hold of LiF by his arms and pulled him out before moving on to their jobs and taking away the cardboard recycling.
There was now only one bin we hadn't looked through. And it only had a few bin bags it it. It was, we estimated, about a nine foot drop.
'No' I said, with my health and safety head on once again.
'It will be fine' both of the boys said in unison. This did not make me feel any better.
'He can get in and then we can use the bin bags from the other bin so he can climb out' Chef said rather cleverly.
LiF lowered himself into the bin. There was a lot of swearing. And there was no DC trainers in the bin. It was however quite fun firing bin bags back into the bin towards LiF's head. Chef and I made it into a bit of a game. We found it hilarious, LiF did not. In fact chef and I had found the whole experience really bloody funny. The funniest was when LiF popped his head out of the bin so he could have a smoke. A little smoking head stuck out from the bin. His need for a smoke was understandable, by that point I felt like I needed a smoke.
In one final last ditch attempted I suggested we went back to the first bin as we hadn't looked through all the bags and try again.
And within minutes we had found them. There they were, still in their bin bag at the bottom of the bin. I was beyond shocked that we had actually found them. We had been searching through the bins for well over an hour by this point. We were dirty, tired, smelly and covered in a variety of unknown liquids. And I was completely freezing as I had gone down in just my t-shirt and it was beginning to snow. I did not feel it was the right time to mention my discomfort.
Now some people suggested I had thrown away his shoes on purpose because I was mad at him after our brief encounter. This was not the case at all, I was far from mad at him. Several others laughed and said he deserved it. I was also not one of these people. The irony of the whole situation was not lost on me though and his head sticking out of the bin was one of the funniest things I have ever seen.
The next day I was completely horrified to see him still wearing the coat he had been in the bin in. As I was controlling everything that went in and out of the washing machine I said 'Please just give me the coat, I will wash it'
'I'm not fucking giving you anything, it will go in the bin' was my sharp (and I feel, unfair) reply
'Please, I promise it wont, I just can't bare to see you in a coat covered in bin juice, you are in a kitchen for god's sake'
I then realised what I was doing. I was begging to be allowed to do a man's washing. I was letting down woman kind everywhere, what would the Suffragettes say? What would Germaine Greer say???????
However
That coat really did need washing.
And I had banned everyone from the hotel from using the washing machine.
I was stuck in the middle of two very conflicting ideas.
While I was having my internal debate with myself and an imaginary Germaine Greer, LiF said 'If you wash the jacket, can you put some other things of mine in too?'
'Yes' I said, banishing Germaine from my head, 'Go get them now'.
Five minutes later he came in with a pile of clothes, having his own internal battle over whether his need for clean pants out weight his total distrust of me.
I made him put the clothes into the washing machine himself as there was no way I was going anywhere near his dirty pants.
'I will try not to shrink them' I said as I turned the machine on. He looked at me with complete fear in his eyes.
'That was a joke' I said. He did not laugh.
As they came out of the washing machine I read all the care labels of his clothes and then tumble dried them. I then folded them nicely.
'I am sorry Germaine, I am sorry, I promise I will not make a habit of washing the clothes of men I have seen naked, I will atone for my sins, I will' I repeted in my head while folding up his clean, dry underpants
Friday 25 May 2012
Male grooming
I don't have a problem with male grooming. I know it is necessary and I really appreciate it. I just don't want to see it. I don't want to see it happening and I don't want to see the evidence of it. I just don't like the idea of men worry about their appearance. It's not very manly. I know this is odd and many women wouldn't agree but that's just the way I am. And I think it works both ways, no man wants to know that I regularly have my moustache removed with professional help (so does the fashion designer and several other women I know). No man wants to know that about a woman and I understand that.
I never really think about, this until one day, on one of the rare occasions the child care manager, the rep and myself were all at home at the same time. The child care manager turned to the rep and said 'will you help me shave the hairs on the back of my neck? The ones I can't reach?'
'Err what?' she replied
Ugh I thought.
'Just right down the back of my neck please Rep? I can't do it myself'.
'You want me to shave your back?
'I do not have a hairy back' He stressed getting rather worked up.
The two of us had a great time when he got rather worked up about something silly and took to running with things to wind him up.
And he was very easy to wind up. Very easy. Like the time his friend came to stay and after he went home we took to talking about him all the time, asking how he was, until the child care manager was convinced we had both developed a massive crush on his friend. He got rather jealous and did not like it.
Anyway the childcare manager eventually handed over the electric razor. It was only when he was stood over the bath that the rep admitted she had never used clippers before. But by this time it was too late and she had him pinned.
When the deed was done they walked out the bathroom, she turned to me and mouthed 'he does have a hairy back. Iv shaved it off'
I never really think about, this until one day, on one of the rare occasions the child care manager, the rep and myself were all at home at the same time. The child care manager turned to the rep and said 'will you help me shave the hairs on the back of my neck? The ones I can't reach?'
'Err what?' she replied
Ugh I thought.
'Just right down the back of my neck please Rep? I can't do it myself'.
'You want me to shave your back?
'I do not have a hairy back' He stressed getting rather worked up.
The two of us had a great time when he got rather worked up about something silly and took to running with things to wind him up.
And he was very easy to wind up. Very easy. Like the time his friend came to stay and after he went home we took to talking about him all the time, asking how he was, until the child care manager was convinced we had both developed a massive crush on his friend. He got rather jealous and did not like it.
Anyway the childcare manager eventually handed over the electric razor. It was only when he was stood over the bath that the rep admitted she had never used clippers before. But by this time it was too late and she had him pinned.
When the deed was done they walked out the bathroom, she turned to me and mouthed 'he does have a hairy back. Iv shaved it off'
Thursday 24 May 2012
Ahhhh Bisto
'I just really want some gravy', the drummer of the Ram Raid said to me one Monday evening, 'I really miss gravy. The Ram Raid are all hearty Northern boys and as a fellow Northerner I understand the need to indulge in gravy with a whole host of meals. I had once bought horrible French gravy from the Sherpa and almost instantly regretted it.
'I would have picked some up for you when I was in England' I told him, 'but I have some friends coming over in a few weeks, would you like me to get them to bring some?'
'Ah yeah mate' he replied in his Lincolnshire drawl before sinking off into some daydream that involved sausages and mashed potato.
True to my word I contacted my friends with real jobs in England, ones who earned enough money to actually holiday in ski resorts, who agreed to purchase the gravy and bring it over. So about three weeks after the original gravy based conversation I returned to La Poste, gravy in hand feeling rather smug knowing how pleased they would be.
So I walked in and presented it with a flourish of 'I got you some gravy!!!', to be met by a series of very blank faces.
'Err thanks', the drummer replied
It hit me with a thud that he could not remember asking me to get this gravy and that I had, seemingly out of the blue, just presented someone I really didn't know that well, a rather cool musician who had tattoos and an ear ring, someone I was somewhat in owe of, with a jar of gravy. I must look like a complete head case I thought to myself. I made my excuses and went to buy a glass of overpriced but very nice wine.
I did later pluck up the courage to go and remind him that he had in fact asked for the gravy. He laughed and said he remembered. I think he then returned to his sausage and mashed potato dream and I went back and joined my friends.
'Ah yeah mate' he replied in his Lincolnshire drawl before sinking off into some daydream that involved sausages and mashed potato.
True to my word I contacted my friends with real jobs in England, ones who earned enough money to actually holiday in ski resorts, who agreed to purchase the gravy and bring it over. So about three weeks after the original gravy based conversation I returned to La Poste, gravy in hand feeling rather smug knowing how pleased they would be.
So I walked in and presented it with a flourish of 'I got you some gravy!!!', to be met by a series of very blank faces.
'Err thanks', the drummer replied
It hit me with a thud that he could not remember asking me to get this gravy and that I had, seemingly out of the blue, just presented someone I really didn't know that well, a rather cool musician who had tattoos and an ear ring, someone I was somewhat in owe of, with a jar of gravy. I must look like a complete head case I thought to myself. I made my excuses and went to buy a glass of overpriced but very nice wine.
I did later pluck up the courage to go and remind him that he had in fact asked for the gravy. He laughed and said he remembered. I think he then returned to his sausage and mashed potato dream and I went back and joined my friends.
Tuesday 22 May 2012
The Washing Machine's Greatest Enemy
'Just to let you know' the childcare manager said to me one Monday morning, 'The washing machine has broken, it just broke last night when my clothes were in there'
'So you broke the washing machine?'
'No, it definitely wasn't me, I had nothing to do with it, It just happened that it broke when my clothes were in it'.
I have never heard anyone say anything with such certainty. He was 100% sure that it most certainly definitely was not his fault that the washing machine was broken. The rep was stood behind him pulling faces, making it obvious that she was convinced that it was his fault that the washing machine was broken.
'What happened to the washing machine' I said
'well I put my work uniform and some pants in it (I think he told me what he has loaded the washing machine with in case I thought he had put bricks in it or something) and then went to bed and forty minutes later me and the rep woke up because the house was shaking and there was lots of banging noises. I'm surprised it didn't wake you up'
I refrained from telling him that when there was loud banging noises and the house was shaking I put my pillow over my head and went back to sleep, I did not get up to investigate. I caught the reps eye and could tell she was thinking the same thing as I was.
The child care manager took our laughter as a sign that we didn't believe his washing machine story and his protests grew, 'My stuff had been in there for 40 minutes, it couldn't have been my fault or it would have broken earlier'
'you didn't close the machine properly did you?'
'yes I did. Forty minutes!!'
'you were tired because it was transfer day and just didn't close the machine'
'if it was my fault it would have broken straight away, not after forty minutes'
The washing machine repair man was called out and said he had never seen such a damaged machine. We got a new one. I never quite trusted the child care manger with it again. Frequent washing machine comments were a sure fire way to make him apoplectic and and repeatedly utter the words 'forty minutes!!!'
'So you broke the washing machine?'
'No, it definitely wasn't me, I had nothing to do with it, It just happened that it broke when my clothes were in it'.
I have never heard anyone say anything with such certainty. He was 100% sure that it most certainly definitely was not his fault that the washing machine was broken. The rep was stood behind him pulling faces, making it obvious that she was convinced that it was his fault that the washing machine was broken.
'What happened to the washing machine' I said
'well I put my work uniform and some pants in it (I think he told me what he has loaded the washing machine with in case I thought he had put bricks in it or something) and then went to bed and forty minutes later me and the rep woke up because the house was shaking and there was lots of banging noises. I'm surprised it didn't wake you up'
I refrained from telling him that when there was loud banging noises and the house was shaking I put my pillow over my head and went back to sleep, I did not get up to investigate. I caught the reps eye and could tell she was thinking the same thing as I was.
The child care manager took our laughter as a sign that we didn't believe his washing machine story and his protests grew, 'My stuff had been in there for 40 minutes, it couldn't have been my fault or it would have broken earlier'
'you didn't close the machine properly did you?'
'yes I did. Forty minutes!!'
'you were tired because it was transfer day and just didn't close the machine'
'if it was my fault it would have broken straight away, not after forty minutes'
The washing machine repair man was called out and said he had never seen such a damaged machine. We got a new one. I never quite trusted the child care manger with it again. Frequent washing machine comments were a sure fire way to make him apoplectic and and repeatedly utter the words 'forty minutes!!!'
Monday 21 May 2012
The Ram Raid Strike Again
Iv spent the evening in Shepherds Bush watching the Ram Raid. As you can imagine I had a very enjoyable evening. I had arranged for two people to accompany me, thinking that if one pulled out the other would still be there,. One pulled out a few days ago and the other pulled out at about midday. I was thrown into an instant panic. I wanted to go see the band but I couldn't go to a bar in London BY MYSELF!!!!! I would look like a right looser. I text around the very few people I know in London and got a few potentially possibly perhaps maybes and decided to get ready and go anyway. After a shower, 12 outfit changes and a new coat of nail varnish I set out for the bus. The walk through Peckham was as always interesting but uneventful and I got on the bus still full of hope. No one text me while I was on the bus. Except for Hutch who told me again just how sick she was and just how much she was sorry to miss it.
I got the bus to Oxford circus and had a wander round. I popped into a book shop to have a look at the 'Fifty Shades of Grey' book that has been all over the the news recently. I always enjoy a good semi- erotic woman's novel, but the thought of everyone on the train knowing what I was reading put me off slightly so I didn't bother.
Got the tube to shepherds bush and spend sometime walking the wrong way down the road (as I am prone to doing in London) until I eventually got on the right road.
Euphoric that I finally seemed to be going in the right direction tt dawned on me once again that I was planning to spend the evening sitting in a pub on my own. Women in their mid twenties (for unfortunately I am now approaching mid twenties rather than early twenties) do not spend Monday evenings on their own in a pub miles away from where they live. People cross the road to avoid the kind of people who go to the pub on their own. But by this time I was in shepherds bush, facing the right direction and walking briskly down the road and suddenly face to face with the bassist who obviously had no idea I was going to turn up but was rather pleased I had.
In fact rather than feeling like a massive looser I actually felt like one of the cool band entourage. Which was nice. And they all seemed genuinely pleased I was there. Whether they were or not is a different story but I like to think they were. And they all seemed very interested in my new job, my wonderful, geeky, history job. No where near as cool as their job but still quite cool.
And I was introduced to the bassists other female followers who turned out to be very interesting nurses who offered to take me out round London soon. The band were, as always, still very handsome, and still all smelt very manly.
I had a huge burger and a few glasses of wine and settled back to enjoy the show, I even got chatted up by two Irish men who told me they liked my hair. They didn't believe that any woman goes into the hair dressers and says 'do what you want, make it look nice' asI do. I have no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to hair. Not like the ram raid boys who are well up on hair conditioning products.
They were, as always, really bloody good. And watching them felt like a warm comfort blanket. Within the scary , unfamiliar London walls, there was a little piece of Meribel. And as alway their set finished too soon. And as always they played none of my favourite songs (they do it to tease, and because I will eventually get so desperate to hear Marc Bolan's 20th Century Boy that I will have to hire them and pay them to play it)(which I am not beyond doing if I ever earn any money).
I felt privileged that when they played their own stuff as I already knew it and already loved it. And when they had finished I got very excited to pretend to be their roadie again! God I had missed being a roadie. Carting all the gear around. Looking at hundreds of different types of wires. Pretending I really was cool enough to be there. Being a roadie really is my dream job.
And then it was over. Time for me to say goodbye with no inkling of when I would see them again, other than some vague promises to come and look round the museum in which I work.
So at one in the morning I made my way to the bus stop to find my way back home. I hadn't been at the bus stop more than 30 seconds when the man approached me for a conversation. He was obviously rather drunk and spent ten minutes telling me I was beautiful and an angel and he hoped that one day I would be his girlfriend. I have already written of my distrust of anyone who calls me beautiful and this man was no exception. He spent some time trying to get my telephone number and telling me to ring him if I had any problems getting home. I told him I had a boyfriend. I was prepared to use any man I knew as a potential boyfriend and wasn't far off from getting Ram raid to swing round and get rid of him. I finally got him to go away with the promise that should I ever be in shepherds bush again and in need of a coffee and a friendly Algerian I would give him a ring and consider him as my next boyfriend.
I don't know if he was aware that I was stood on the wrong side of the road for the bus. I suspect he was too drunk for that. But eventually I realised and decided to cross the road and get the night bus.
I got the bus to Oxford circus and had a wander round. I popped into a book shop to have a look at the 'Fifty Shades of Grey' book that has been all over the the news recently. I always enjoy a good semi- erotic woman's novel, but the thought of everyone on the train knowing what I was reading put me off slightly so I didn't bother.
Got the tube to shepherds bush and spend sometime walking the wrong way down the road (as I am prone to doing in London) until I eventually got on the right road.
Euphoric that I finally seemed to be going in the right direction tt dawned on me once again that I was planning to spend the evening sitting in a pub on my own. Women in their mid twenties (for unfortunately I am now approaching mid twenties rather than early twenties) do not spend Monday evenings on their own in a pub miles away from where they live. People cross the road to avoid the kind of people who go to the pub on their own. But by this time I was in shepherds bush, facing the right direction and walking briskly down the road and suddenly face to face with the bassist who obviously had no idea I was going to turn up but was rather pleased I had.
In fact rather than feeling like a massive looser I actually felt like one of the cool band entourage. Which was nice. And they all seemed genuinely pleased I was there. Whether they were or not is a different story but I like to think they were. And they all seemed very interested in my new job, my wonderful, geeky, history job. No where near as cool as their job but still quite cool.
And I was introduced to the bassists other female followers who turned out to be very interesting nurses who offered to take me out round London soon. The band were, as always, still very handsome, and still all smelt very manly.
I had a huge burger and a few glasses of wine and settled back to enjoy the show, I even got chatted up by two Irish men who told me they liked my hair. They didn't believe that any woman goes into the hair dressers and says 'do what you want, make it look nice' asI do. I have no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to hair. Not like the ram raid boys who are well up on hair conditioning products.
They were, as always, really bloody good. And watching them felt like a warm comfort blanket. Within the scary , unfamiliar London walls, there was a little piece of Meribel. And as alway their set finished too soon. And as always they played none of my favourite songs (they do it to tease, and because I will eventually get so desperate to hear Marc Bolan's 20th Century Boy that I will have to hire them and pay them to play it)(which I am not beyond doing if I ever earn any money).
I felt privileged that when they played their own stuff as I already knew it and already loved it. And when they had finished I got very excited to pretend to be their roadie again! God I had missed being a roadie. Carting all the gear around. Looking at hundreds of different types of wires. Pretending I really was cool enough to be there. Being a roadie really is my dream job.
And then it was over. Time for me to say goodbye with no inkling of when I would see them again, other than some vague promises to come and look round the museum in which I work.
So at one in the morning I made my way to the bus stop to find my way back home. I hadn't been at the bus stop more than 30 seconds when the man approached me for a conversation. He was obviously rather drunk and spent ten minutes telling me I was beautiful and an angel and he hoped that one day I would be his girlfriend. I have already written of my distrust of anyone who calls me beautiful and this man was no exception. He spent some time trying to get my telephone number and telling me to ring him if I had any problems getting home. I told him I had a boyfriend. I was prepared to use any man I knew as a potential boyfriend and wasn't far off from getting Ram raid to swing round and get rid of him. I finally got him to go away with the promise that should I ever be in shepherds bush again and in need of a coffee and a friendly Algerian I would give him a ring and consider him as my next boyfriend.
I don't know if he was aware that I was stood on the wrong side of the road for the bus. I suspect he was too drunk for that. But eventually I realised and decided to cross the road and get the night bus.
Sunday 20 May 2012
Some things are just so much easier in the mountains.
Today has not been a good day. All the trains to work were cancelled so I had to get a bus miles away and then get a train. I was an hour late for work, this was totally acceptable however and a Hitler wannabe didn't make me do any star jumps outside. I went to look round a house to find that all the housemates were really weird (the one who showed me round kept telling me about his operations and then just walked into other peoples bedrooms) and the house was packed full of junk and smelt funny. On the way home, which is the repeat of this mornings stupid trip, I paid with my oyster card totally forgetting I had bought a ticket this morning! And I am starving and it's Sunday so I can't go to a supermarket an buy food.
It's not like this in Meribel. First of all public transport is regular, predictable and free. And the routes never change. And I didn't even have to use it to get to work, I walked! It took fifteen minutes.
Secondly I didn't have to worry about finding my own accommodation. Someone else did it. And it was lovely, the people I shared with weren't that weird and they didn't talk to strangers about their operations (though the child care manager had once had a really gross operation on his eye but he waited a while before telling us about it). The house didn't smell musty and although we had a few unusual kitchen utensils and enough plates for 25 people it wasn't full of crap.
Thirdly on a Sunday evening I could get food from work. Easy.
So I'm still on my mammoth commute home so wish me luck that I get home before midnight. At least I have two days off in a row now.
Bugger it Im getting a takeaway.
Post script
After I got off the bus I walked past a tesco's express. Oooh I thought, I will pop in there, have a look round, see if anything takes my fancy. The only thing that took my fancy was a lovely looking lemon tart. So I bought it, and some milk and some diet coke and decided to revert back to my initial plan of getting a take away. I walked to the take away. And it was closed. As the despair flooded through my body I realised exactly why I fancied chefs. For moments like these when I wanted nice food and just couldn't face cooking anything. Not that LiF cooked anything. He just kind of chopped things. Once when we were in the flirting section of our interactions he told me that in his old hotel he had been responsible for about 50% of the cooking. I pretended to believe him.
Anyway I decided to walk to find a take away. I walked and walked and one eventually appeared. And it was open. I moaned so much about my day to the woman behind the counter that she gave me free prawn crackers. I ate the Chinese in bed. It was immensely satisfying.
Watching doctor who while eating Lemon cheesecake, I needed this moment. Some people might say there are reasons why I am single.
It's not like this in Meribel. First of all public transport is regular, predictable and free. And the routes never change. And I didn't even have to use it to get to work, I walked! It took fifteen minutes.
Secondly I didn't have to worry about finding my own accommodation. Someone else did it. And it was lovely, the people I shared with weren't that weird and they didn't talk to strangers about their operations (though the child care manager had once had a really gross operation on his eye but he waited a while before telling us about it). The house didn't smell musty and although we had a few unusual kitchen utensils and enough plates for 25 people it wasn't full of crap.
Thirdly on a Sunday evening I could get food from work. Easy.
So I'm still on my mammoth commute home so wish me luck that I get home before midnight. At least I have two days off in a row now.
Bugger it Im getting a takeaway.
Post script
After I got off the bus I walked past a tesco's express. Oooh I thought, I will pop in there, have a look round, see if anything takes my fancy. The only thing that took my fancy was a lovely looking lemon tart. So I bought it, and some milk and some diet coke and decided to revert back to my initial plan of getting a take away. I walked to the take away. And it was closed. As the despair flooded through my body I realised exactly why I fancied chefs. For moments like these when I wanted nice food and just couldn't face cooking anything. Not that LiF cooked anything. He just kind of chopped things. Once when we were in the flirting section of our interactions he told me that in his old hotel he had been responsible for about 50% of the cooking. I pretended to believe him.
Anyway I decided to walk to find a take away. I walked and walked and one eventually appeared. And it was open. I moaned so much about my day to the woman behind the counter that she gave me free prawn crackers. I ate the Chinese in bed. It was immensely satisfying.
Watching doctor who while eating Lemon cheesecake, I needed this moment. Some people might say there are reasons why I am single.
Saturday 19 May 2012
Everyone's Ever So Friendly Here in the Mountains
Ski resorts are tiny. Even the big ones like Meribel are tiny. They only have to provide enough for a weeks worth of activities for the average holiday maker. And mostly they ski so don't really need much extra entertainments. There are only a couple of food shops selling over priced essentials, all the other shops only sell ski gear and the bands are on a weeks rota, playing in the same bar, at the same time, every week and usually singing the same songs.
It might be hard to understand how seasonaires don't get bored living there for six months. Well they make their own entertainment, they get to know all the other seasonaires and they generally get on with their tourist hating lives.
And they pull each other, all the time. And nothing is secret on a season so everyone else knows too. And because everyone knows everyone, everyone knows who you have pulled and who they have pulled.
Back in the UK it wouldn't really be generally acceptable to pull a girl, her room mate and her best friend over the course of 6 months. But I suppose there are most people to choose from in England.
We once had a guest who was a sexual health doctor. She told me that STIs must be rife in ski resorts. She was right of course, if one person got something the chances were everyone else would get it too (well ALMOST everyone). Thats how close people were as a team. We had a very loving, friendly sort of team. One that was potentially rife with disease. I do hope that they have all been to the doctor for tests since getting home.
I must admit I wasn't involved in this loving behaviour. I couldn't think of anything worst.
However
Saying that
After the whole LiF debacle I phones my dear friend Hutch for some sensible conversation and advice.
'so the two men you have pulled this season know each other'
'err yes, I suppose they do' I replied as I realised that in fact one had been the others boss for several months and that they were actually good mate.
'it's all to incestuous for me' she replied with disgust.
I must admit it has bothered me slightly ever since.
It might be hard to understand how seasonaires don't get bored living there for six months. Well they make their own entertainment, they get to know all the other seasonaires and they generally get on with their tourist hating lives.
And they pull each other, all the time. And nothing is secret on a season so everyone else knows too. And because everyone knows everyone, everyone knows who you have pulled and who they have pulled.
Back in the UK it wouldn't really be generally acceptable to pull a girl, her room mate and her best friend over the course of 6 months. But I suppose there are most people to choose from in England.
We once had a guest who was a sexual health doctor. She told me that STIs must be rife in ski resorts. She was right of course, if one person got something the chances were everyone else would get it too (well ALMOST everyone). Thats how close people were as a team. We had a very loving, friendly sort of team. One that was potentially rife with disease. I do hope that they have all been to the doctor for tests since getting home.
I must admit I wasn't involved in this loving behaviour. I couldn't think of anything worst.
However
Saying that
After the whole LiF debacle I phones my dear friend Hutch for some sensible conversation and advice.
'so the two men you have pulled this season know each other'
'err yes, I suppose they do' I replied as I realised that in fact one had been the others boss for several months and that they were actually good mate.
'it's all to incestuous for me' she replied with disgust.
I must admit it has bothered me slightly ever since.
Friday 18 May 2012
When Fashion Goes Bad
The fashion designer was a great drunk. She didn't drink very often. But when she did it was spectacular. She wasn't like a lot of the others, getting plastered and vomiting down herself. She was just always really really happy. And then she went to sleep. She once went to sleep behind a speaker in the pub in between the breaks in the Domino's last ever set, when they started up again she woke up and did loads of dancing. She is a great dancer, she has such an individual sense of rhythm.
The fashion designer changed a lot while in Meribel, a completely different side of her appeared after only a couple of weeks. I think it was brought on by a sudden need to stand up for herself. Out came a very independent, go getting attitude. She changed from being a very conservative, modest, border line virginal women over night.
Nothing sums this up more in my mind that her activities one breakfast towards the end of season. The head chef had made a sudden and very unwelcome clamp down on staff eating the left over guest hot breakfast. Over night it became banned. Now the kitchen boys knew this was rather unfair, as he was only doing it to be a dick and generally unpleasant in all ways. Now the fashion designer developed a craving that morning. A craving for fried eggs. Achieving that fried egg seemingly became all she could think about and talk about. 'I just really fancy a fried egg' she said to me repeatedly.
'Go ask chef or LiF for one then' I replied repeatedly.
'How can I persuade them?'
Absently mindedly, because I really was trying to concentrate on taking the guests' dinner orders, and she could be very distracting when she was moaning about something , I said 'offer to show them your boobs'.
She laughed and told me not to be silly and I went off to chaise some guests round the restaurant until they told me if they wanted pork or white fish for dinner.
Twenty minutes later the two of us were stood in the area between the kitchen and the restaurant when LiF came out of the kitchen to get a mug for his coffee, without even blinking, without even thinking about it, she turned to him and said,
'If I show you my boobs, will you make me a fried egg?'
LiF almost dropped his mug in shock.
'Errr yeah...I will do anything for boobs' he stuttered back, unable to understand exactly what was happening to him, trying to work out if she was a) trying to trick him in some way or b) the chances of actually seeing breasts if he did make the fried egg.
'Good because I really want an egg' she smiled and walked off.
A second later he turned to me,'Do you want a fried egg too'?
'Not if it means showing you my boobs sweetheart' I replied.
A few minutes later there was a fried egg sat on the counter. The fashion designer took it. She didn't show him her boobs. I hope he isn't too disappointed. They are good boobs though, she showed them to me often, and I didn't have to provide her with any egg based products.
Monday 14 May 2012
The Reason I Have to Buy New Glasses
I have no idea where my crush on LiF came from. After all he looks nothing like Matt Smith, the 'Mad Man with a box', Doctor Who, who is in fact the perfect man. At least the lead singer of Ram Raid wears very similar shoes to the Doctor. Not the bow tie and braces though. No one wears the bow tie and braces. That's a great shame.
I am in fact quickly going blind and occasionally wear glasses (do not think that the type of men I am attracted to and the fact that my eyesight is deteriorating with my old age. I have had been attracted to the strangest people for years).
One day I walked into the kitchen most probably looking for something to eat but I hung around for a bit of a chat with Chef when LiF turns round to me and says 'I have such a thing for women wearing square rimmed glasses'. I was slightly taken a back at this out of the blue comment.
I, out of slight embarrassment that I had been singled out like that in front of everyone, attempted to take my glasses off.
'No, keep them on' he said. Then he said something rather rude about going into the toilets in the back. Now although flirting levels had increased ten fold in the couple of days preceding this comment I had seen how disgusting those toilets were and you wouldn't catch me anywhere near them in a million years. So I politely declined his offer. Not that I would have taken him up on this if they were the cleanest toilets in the world.
After that I couldn't wear my glasses without a comment or a look from someone. Every time I wore them I felt a little bit guilty.
Now Easter Sunday was, like all other Sundays, a transfer day. This involved very long hours and lots of cleaning. For one of the only times I decided to go out on transfer day to Toss the Boss at Jacks (whether I had ulterior motives for going out that night I will leave it up to your to decide)
It was an odd night in which 'my friend fancies your friend' was said many times. I didn't know that people over the age of 11 said this but apparently they do. Horrifically embarrassed that the attention was suddenly, inexplicably on us, we decided it was probably best just to leave quietly and walk home. He had to stop many many times on the way up for a rest. He should have been used to walking up mountains by that point but he obviously wasn't.
By the time we got back the fashion designer was already home having got a taxi and was making her bed up in the living room. LiF was rather pissed off that she had got a taxi and he had had to walk all the way. I maintain that this exercise would have done him some good and this it was another sign that he was not made to be a smoker. He then spent rather a long time exploring my flat, 'you have a microwave! that's not fair', 'you have a dishwasher! That's not fair, 'You have a bath! That's not fair'. He went on in this way for some time.
I left him at home the next day when I went to work secure in the knowledge that the fashion designer would look after him. She has been known to make little packed lunches up for the people her housemates have brought home and I fully expected her to do the same this time. He might be rather disappointed to find this out because in the end he only got a cup of tea (and that was earl grey tea because she didn't want to use up the limited supply of Tetley Tea, she got rather selfish in the mountains).
I was fully prepared for the huge level of banter levelled at the two of us that day (and for the next two weeks if I'm being honest) but it did come in think and fast from the second I got into work and then multiplied when he walked in three hours later. It was partly because people were so shocked at the complete contrast between the two of us. And shock that I had finally pulled after six months. However I had rather to many 'oh but I thought he was gay' comments for my liking. I was however pleased with myself for being able to take and answer back all the things flung at me. Chef actually said that he was quite proud of me for this and it was proof that I was cool. LiF on the other hand could not take it at all and actually looked upset every time. After a week of this I had had enough and as something rude was being said as I was leaving the kitchen, I walked back in and said 'for god sake just answer them back' before leaving again.
In the interim I received a couple of text messages from him, one referring to me as 'my lovely' and the other as 'sugar'. Now I'm not great with affectionate nicknames, I'm just not that kind of girl. And this was no exception. I tried to ignore them. I came into work one day and Chef repeatedly called me sugar. I have no idea how he found out and I don't want to know. I replied that Sugar is the name of a character in one of my favourite books, she was a Victorian prostitute. LiF continued to look embarrassed. He didn't called me sugar again though thank god (I did get a 'my lovely' again though when he wanted me to buy him a lighter. I ignored that too).
About a week later I walked in to the kitchen to see the kitchen boys huddled round the kitchen bench.
Now I understand that it was shut down week. I understand that they were bored. I understand that they were sick of cleaning. I don't understand why this all leads to LiF snorting black pepper through a rolled up bit of paper. I had stood and watched this with complete disbelief. This was potentially the stupidest thing I had ever seen anyone do. When I asked him why he was doing this he replied that snorting things was just something he had always done. Apparently the worst thing he had ever snorted was washing powder.
Now I saw him do a series of odd things that week. This mainly involved him wearing something he had stolen from the lost property box, like bibs, children's t - shirts and shorts. Every time I saw him dressed like that I found it slightly disturbing.
Now as you can imagine a week of cleaning is really boring. Unbelievably boring. And tedious. Very tedious. I understand this. Now mid week I walked into the kitchen again (I really did seem to spend a lot of time in the kitchen now I think about it) and the kitchen boys were talking about yoghurt. A odd topic of conversation you might think. I thought the same. Chef turned to LiF and asked him to snort it. Yes that's right, you read it correctly. He asked him to snort yoghurt. At that moment the hotel manager walked in to the kitchen. The kitchen boys all suddenly pretended to be on their best behaviour and swiftly moved in front of the line of yoghurt that had now been specifically arranged for the purpose. I managed to distract the manager and walked him out of the kitchen before doubling back and coming back in. The yoghurt had by this point been 'cut' with lemon juice. And then he snorted it. I watched him do it. It was beyond weird. Indescribable. I have never seen anything like it.
A few weeks after I came home I was talking with a mutual friend who worked with him in Courchevel and she told me this story 'basically one night during shut down week, after far too much to drink and after all of the sensible people had gone to bed some of the boys decided they would try and put alcohol hand gel on their bodies and light it. He was the only person stupid enough to do it and ended up with the most HUMONGOUS blisters on his back, arse and i believe gooch you have ever seen'
I was talking to some one else about him and they said it was amazing how he made such an impact in such a short time, the area manager once told me he was her favourite employee of the season and one girl said she had wanted to shag him for ages because she imagined he was into really weird things.
I still think of him when I put my glasses on at work, its a bit embarrassing really. I start day dreaming and thinking about his tattoos. I always wanted to look at them in detail and I never got the chance. That is why I need to get new glasses.
I am in fact quickly going blind and occasionally wear glasses (do not think that the type of men I am attracted to and the fact that my eyesight is deteriorating with my old age. I have had been attracted to the strangest people for years).
One day I walked into the kitchen most probably looking for something to eat but I hung around for a bit of a chat with Chef when LiF turns round to me and says 'I have such a thing for women wearing square rimmed glasses'. I was slightly taken a back at this out of the blue comment.
I, out of slight embarrassment that I had been singled out like that in front of everyone, attempted to take my glasses off.
'No, keep them on' he said. Then he said something rather rude about going into the toilets in the back. Now although flirting levels had increased ten fold in the couple of days preceding this comment I had seen how disgusting those toilets were and you wouldn't catch me anywhere near them in a million years. So I politely declined his offer. Not that I would have taken him up on this if they were the cleanest toilets in the world.
After that I couldn't wear my glasses without a comment or a look from someone. Every time I wore them I felt a little bit guilty.
Now Easter Sunday was, like all other Sundays, a transfer day. This involved very long hours and lots of cleaning. For one of the only times I decided to go out on transfer day to Toss the Boss at Jacks (whether I had ulterior motives for going out that night I will leave it up to your to decide)
It was an odd night in which 'my friend fancies your friend' was said many times. I didn't know that people over the age of 11 said this but apparently they do. Horrifically embarrassed that the attention was suddenly, inexplicably on us, we decided it was probably best just to leave quietly and walk home. He had to stop many many times on the way up for a rest. He should have been used to walking up mountains by that point but he obviously wasn't.
By the time we got back the fashion designer was already home having got a taxi and was making her bed up in the living room. LiF was rather pissed off that she had got a taxi and he had had to walk all the way. I maintain that this exercise would have done him some good and this it was another sign that he was not made to be a smoker. He then spent rather a long time exploring my flat, 'you have a microwave! that's not fair', 'you have a dishwasher! That's not fair, 'You have a bath! That's not fair'. He went on in this way for some time.
I left him at home the next day when I went to work secure in the knowledge that the fashion designer would look after him. She has been known to make little packed lunches up for the people her housemates have brought home and I fully expected her to do the same this time. He might be rather disappointed to find this out because in the end he only got a cup of tea (and that was earl grey tea because she didn't want to use up the limited supply of Tetley Tea, she got rather selfish in the mountains).
I was fully prepared for the huge level of banter levelled at the two of us that day (and for the next two weeks if I'm being honest) but it did come in think and fast from the second I got into work and then multiplied when he walked in three hours later. It was partly because people were so shocked at the complete contrast between the two of us. And shock that I had finally pulled after six months. However I had rather to many 'oh but I thought he was gay' comments for my liking. I was however pleased with myself for being able to take and answer back all the things flung at me. Chef actually said that he was quite proud of me for this and it was proof that I was cool. LiF on the other hand could not take it at all and actually looked upset every time. After a week of this I had had enough and as something rude was being said as I was leaving the kitchen, I walked back in and said 'for god sake just answer them back' before leaving again.
In the interim I received a couple of text messages from him, one referring to me as 'my lovely' and the other as 'sugar'. Now I'm not great with affectionate nicknames, I'm just not that kind of girl. And this was no exception. I tried to ignore them. I came into work one day and Chef repeatedly called me sugar. I have no idea how he found out and I don't want to know. I replied that Sugar is the name of a character in one of my favourite books, she was a Victorian prostitute. LiF continued to look embarrassed. He didn't called me sugar again though thank god (I did get a 'my lovely' again though when he wanted me to buy him a lighter. I ignored that too).
About a week later I walked in to the kitchen to see the kitchen boys huddled round the kitchen bench.
Now I understand that it was shut down week. I understand that they were bored. I understand that they were sick of cleaning. I don't understand why this all leads to LiF snorting black pepper through a rolled up bit of paper. I had stood and watched this with complete disbelief. This was potentially the stupidest thing I had ever seen anyone do. When I asked him why he was doing this he replied that snorting things was just something he had always done. Apparently the worst thing he had ever snorted was washing powder.
Now I saw him do a series of odd things that week. This mainly involved him wearing something he had stolen from the lost property box, like bibs, children's t - shirts and shorts. Every time I saw him dressed like that I found it slightly disturbing.
Now as you can imagine a week of cleaning is really boring. Unbelievably boring. And tedious. Very tedious. I understand this. Now mid week I walked into the kitchen again (I really did seem to spend a lot of time in the kitchen now I think about it) and the kitchen boys were talking about yoghurt. A odd topic of conversation you might think. I thought the same. Chef turned to LiF and asked him to snort it. Yes that's right, you read it correctly. He asked him to snort yoghurt. At that moment the hotel manager walked in to the kitchen. The kitchen boys all suddenly pretended to be on their best behaviour and swiftly moved in front of the line of yoghurt that had now been specifically arranged for the purpose. I managed to distract the manager and walked him out of the kitchen before doubling back and coming back in. The yoghurt had by this point been 'cut' with lemon juice. And then he snorted it. I watched him do it. It was beyond weird. Indescribable. I have never seen anything like it.
A few weeks after I came home I was talking with a mutual friend who worked with him in Courchevel and she told me this story 'basically one night during shut down week, after far too much to drink and after all of the sensible people had gone to bed some of the boys decided they would try and put alcohol hand gel on their bodies and light it. He was the only person stupid enough to do it and ended up with the most HUMONGOUS blisters on his back, arse and i believe gooch you have ever seen'
I was talking to some one else about him and they said it was amazing how he made such an impact in such a short time, the area manager once told me he was her favourite employee of the season and one girl said she had wanted to shag him for ages because she imagined he was into really weird things.
I still think of him when I put my glasses on at work, its a bit embarrassing really. I start day dreaming and thinking about his tattoos. I always wanted to look at them in detail and I never got the chance. That is why I need to get new glasses.
An Adventure Awaits You Every Single Morning
I didn't, as a rule, like going out the night before I was on the early shift. I am way too old to cope with going out and then getting up at 6am to go to work and the thought of being hungover at work is horrible. I did break this rule however (more and more as the season drew to a close) especially on a Monday night. Monday night was Ram Raid night at La Poste, however La Poste was so expensive I usually only had a couple of glasses of wine and then was home in bed for half one.
For some reason one Monday in March I had a couple of glasses more than usual, I was by no means drunk, but this combined with the lack of sleep meant that when I walked into work the next morning I wasn't feeling at my best.
When I got in I was greeted by some rather worried members of staff, 'H1 hasn't come home. She went out with chef and the other assistant chef, JP, and they had an argument and she hasn't come home and no one can get in contact with her'.
Now it must be admitted that I am a bit of a worrier, 'oh my god she could be dead somewhere in the snow or kidnapped and being kept as a sex slave by some perverted Frenchman' was what instantly went through my mind as I rushed into the kitchen to find chef and find out what was going on.
What I was greeted to was two smiling assistant chefs, both preparing for breakfast, still in their normal clothes and singing really loudly,
'hello beautiful' chef said.
'Oh my god they are high as kites' I thought, 'where's H1' I said.
'we were in Dicks, and she went to the toilet, and never came back'
'Give me her phone number, I will try and call her...and why are you wearing sunglasses JP?'
'Because I just feel like it' JP replied, acting shocked that I would think there was something odd about a chef wearing sunglasses in the kitchen at seven in the morning'
'Take them off'
'No'
'Take them off' I repeated somewhat louder that the first time
He removed them for a millisecond before putting them back on - 'I can't, I just can't' he begged while chef was wetting himself with laughter and dancing about.
I stood and took stock of the situation I so unwillingly suddenly found myself in. I had a missing HA who should be at work and two chefs who were completely and utterly off their faces. As worried as I was about H1 and her safety the two chefs were quite happily getting on with cooking breakfast. And actually I couldn't fault their cooking performance that morning. Except for having to frequently remind them to turn the music down and stop singing because the guests could hear them in the restaurant they were actually rather well behaved.
I left a worried message on H1's answer machine saying that if she didn't turn up soon I would have to call the police.
She did turn up. She appeared in the kitchen at 8am in her uniform and looking a complete mess. She absolutely refused to tell me where she had spent the night. I sent her back to wash her face, do her make up again and brush her teeth.
I couldn't allow her in front of the guests looking the way she did so she spent the morning in the kitchen refilling things and putting up with the chefs teasing her because they knew she was going to be at work all day for being late, when they had in fact arrived at work early.
The chefs remained high all morning and they could not control what they were saying. I learnt a lot about those two boys that morning. And they frequently told me how much they loved me and asked me if I was mad at them. At this point I stopped being incredibly stressed out and began to find the situation rather funny. After breakfast was finished I walked into the kitchen and they had cooked me a huge breakfast, 'Its just for you, no one else gets one, its cos your an ace manager' chef said (now he never said that sober!)
A few days later I went for a job interview in London, 'what is the most difficult situation with staff have you ever had to deal with' was one of the questions. After a brief explanation of this story they gave me the job. I found out later that they had decided there was nothing I couldn't cope with.
For some reason one Monday in March I had a couple of glasses more than usual, I was by no means drunk, but this combined with the lack of sleep meant that when I walked into work the next morning I wasn't feeling at my best.
When I got in I was greeted by some rather worried members of staff, 'H1 hasn't come home. She went out with chef and the other assistant chef, JP, and they had an argument and she hasn't come home and no one can get in contact with her'.
Now it must be admitted that I am a bit of a worrier, 'oh my god she could be dead somewhere in the snow or kidnapped and being kept as a sex slave by some perverted Frenchman' was what instantly went through my mind as I rushed into the kitchen to find chef and find out what was going on.
What I was greeted to was two smiling assistant chefs, both preparing for breakfast, still in their normal clothes and singing really loudly,
'hello beautiful' chef said.
'Oh my god they are high as kites' I thought, 'where's H1' I said.
'we were in Dicks, and she went to the toilet, and never came back'
'Give me her phone number, I will try and call her...and why are you wearing sunglasses JP?'
'Because I just feel like it' JP replied, acting shocked that I would think there was something odd about a chef wearing sunglasses in the kitchen at seven in the morning'
'Take them off'
'No'
'Take them off' I repeated somewhat louder that the first time
He removed them for a millisecond before putting them back on - 'I can't, I just can't' he begged while chef was wetting himself with laughter and dancing about.
I stood and took stock of the situation I so unwillingly suddenly found myself in. I had a missing HA who should be at work and two chefs who were completely and utterly off their faces. As worried as I was about H1 and her safety the two chefs were quite happily getting on with cooking breakfast. And actually I couldn't fault their cooking performance that morning. Except for having to frequently remind them to turn the music down and stop singing because the guests could hear them in the restaurant they were actually rather well behaved.
I left a worried message on H1's answer machine saying that if she didn't turn up soon I would have to call the police.
She did turn up. She appeared in the kitchen at 8am in her uniform and looking a complete mess. She absolutely refused to tell me where she had spent the night. I sent her back to wash her face, do her make up again and brush her teeth.
I couldn't allow her in front of the guests looking the way she did so she spent the morning in the kitchen refilling things and putting up with the chefs teasing her because they knew she was going to be at work all day for being late, when they had in fact arrived at work early.
The chefs remained high all morning and they could not control what they were saying. I learnt a lot about those two boys that morning. And they frequently told me how much they loved me and asked me if I was mad at them. At this point I stopped being incredibly stressed out and began to find the situation rather funny. After breakfast was finished I walked into the kitchen and they had cooked me a huge breakfast, 'Its just for you, no one else gets one, its cos your an ace manager' chef said (now he never said that sober!)
A few days later I went for a job interview in London, 'what is the most difficult situation with staff have you ever had to deal with' was one of the questions. After a brief explanation of this story they gave me the job. I found out later that they had decided there was nothing I couldn't cope with.
London vs Meribel
On Saturday night I got invited to a dinner party. The closest thing I have got to a dinner party in six months is when the rep made cheese fondue in our house with the fondue kit you could hire for free from the Sherpa. The only people there were myself, the rep and the childcare manager. And we just ate loads of cheese and then had to go to bed because we were so full of cheese and just needed to lie down.
As I sat round eating the fabulous Jamie Oliver inspired creation that had been served up I realised that I was on the way to achieving everything I have always wanted. I work in the heritage industry - where I have wanted to work since I was 4 years old, I live in London, a city I have loved since I was 8. I was at a dinner party, surrounded by beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated women, women who are Media Moguls and Marketing Queens. We were drinking wine out of wine glasses rather than mugs, eating hummus rather than potato balls and having an intelligent conversation rather than talking about other uses for the dinning table fork.
And for a second I had a complete sense of displacement, where did I want to be, I loved what I was doing, I loved being there and yet I wanted to be back in Meribel.
It got me to thinking, what had made me think this? Does being a seasonaire change you forever? Does it get into your blood and stay there for the rest of your life?
In the last few weeks of the season I had been completely and utterly offended and apoplectic with rage when someone implied that he was worried that because we had been getting close, I would read too much into it, when we were leaving soon (out of this read 'he was worried I would fall in love with him and cause a scene').
'How dare he', I raved one day to the fashion designer and the rep, 'I don't want to fucking marry the bloke, I just wanted to enjoy the last few weeks of the season. In a week I'm going off to start the job of my dreams and become a fucking normal person again. I'm a fucking feminist for fuck sake, I'v managed for a fucking long time without men and without letting them fucking things up for me' (I was rather angry hence the such frequent use of the word fuck').
That was when the fashion designer pulled out her favourite line in the defence of my honour. He had said something silly and she said 'get over yourself you fat twat'. He was shocked at this comment which had seemingly come out of nowhere, but I knew that she was really saying it in reference to me and had wanted to say in for a while and I loved her for it.
But that's how I felt, I was going to start the job of my dreams, in the place of my dreams. And I was and I have and I love it.
But I just can't get Meribel off my mind. Its in my blood. I already have itchy feet. I would like to blame it the rain that has fallen constantly since I got off the ferry in Dover but I don't think that's it.
My way of thinking has been so radically altered in the last 6 months, altered permanently and for the better. I have seen things and done things which were once so far away from the person I was. I think the above man is fundamental proof of this. And maybe I will never do any of those things again. Maybe I am back in England for good, on the road to a career and a house and a car and a pet fish (don't anyone dare insert the words 'husband' or 'babies' in here, I am a feminist after all). And that would be great but on the bad days and on the good, my season will remain with me forever. Forever the best thing I ever did.
As I sat round eating the fabulous Jamie Oliver inspired creation that had been served up I realised that I was on the way to achieving everything I have always wanted. I work in the heritage industry - where I have wanted to work since I was 4 years old, I live in London, a city I have loved since I was 8. I was at a dinner party, surrounded by beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated women, women who are Media Moguls and Marketing Queens. We were drinking wine out of wine glasses rather than mugs, eating hummus rather than potato balls and having an intelligent conversation rather than talking about other uses for the dinning table fork.
And for a second I had a complete sense of displacement, where did I want to be, I loved what I was doing, I loved being there and yet I wanted to be back in Meribel.
It got me to thinking, what had made me think this? Does being a seasonaire change you forever? Does it get into your blood and stay there for the rest of your life?
In the last few weeks of the season I had been completely and utterly offended and apoplectic with rage when someone implied that he was worried that because we had been getting close, I would read too much into it, when we were leaving soon (out of this read 'he was worried I would fall in love with him and cause a scene').
'How dare he', I raved one day to the fashion designer and the rep, 'I don't want to fucking marry the bloke, I just wanted to enjoy the last few weeks of the season. In a week I'm going off to start the job of my dreams and become a fucking normal person again. I'm a fucking feminist for fuck sake, I'v managed for a fucking long time without men and without letting them fucking things up for me' (I was rather angry hence the such frequent use of the word fuck').
That was when the fashion designer pulled out her favourite line in the defence of my honour. He had said something silly and she said 'get over yourself you fat twat'. He was shocked at this comment which had seemingly come out of nowhere, but I knew that she was really saying it in reference to me and had wanted to say in for a while and I loved her for it.
But that's how I felt, I was going to start the job of my dreams, in the place of my dreams. And I was and I have and I love it.
But I just can't get Meribel off my mind. Its in my blood. I already have itchy feet. I would like to blame it the rain that has fallen constantly since I got off the ferry in Dover but I don't think that's it.
My way of thinking has been so radically altered in the last 6 months, altered permanently and for the better. I have seen things and done things which were once so far away from the person I was. I think the above man is fundamental proof of this. And maybe I will never do any of those things again. Maybe I am back in England for good, on the road to a career and a house and a car and a pet fish (don't anyone dare insert the words 'husband' or 'babies' in here, I am a feminist after all). And that would be great but on the bad days and on the good, my season will remain with me forever. Forever the best thing I ever did.
Sunday 13 May 2012
Live Fast - Die Old
'I'm here for a good time not a long time' he said to me once, and this stuck in my head.
The conversation that preceded this comment had been sparked by a sneeze. He sneezed. Smoke came out of his nostrils. He wasn't smoking. He was stood in the hotel kitchen.
'Smoke comes out of my nose when I sneeze' he said
'I noticed' I said, still slightly taken aback
'Its done that since I was about 17'
'Does that not make you think that there must be something wrong? That maybe smoking isn't a great idea for you?
'I'm here for a good time not a long time'.
In keeping everyone anonymous its sometimes hard to think up names that fully sum them up. There are times when initials just wont do. This is the case with this person. So for the purposes of this, he will be referred to as Laughter is Free, because these are the words emblazoned forever on his shoulder blades. And because, after all else is done and forgotten, he just made me laugh. You can forgive a man anything if he makes you laugh.
He was shipped in from the hotel in Courchevel where I had done my management training for the last few weeks of the season. I wasn't at work the day he turned up, I was at home in bed with Gastro vomiting and generally feeling sorry for myself. I had, that very morning, attempted to go to work and ended up being sick into a grate by a bus stop. I went back home to bed. It was a Sunday, a transfer day, so it was about 5 in the morning. The next day was my day off and I was feeling much better. And three of my best friends in the world had come on holiday to Meribel.
On the Monday night I introduced my friends to seasonaire living, to La Poste and the Ram Raid and then to the Pub, the Dominos and the 1080 which in essence is a pint of white wine topped off with lemonade and fruit syrup. Tastes like pop, gets you pissed really fast and is the drink of choice for most seasonaires in Meribel.
He was pointed out to me that night, 'that's the new assistant chef' someone said. I had been wondering who he was as he was hanging around with my staff and had been looking at me strangely for some while but I can't say I paid a huge amount of attention, my mind being on dancing with people I hadn't seen in months.
I was back in work the next day. I probably should have introduced myself to him but I was so used to people coming and going that it didn't cross my mind at the time. As I left the kitchen I heard him ask the head chef who I was, the head chef replied 'she's the assistant manager, she's been off for like weeks'. I had in fact only been off for 3 days and one of those days was actually my day off, the other 2 I was horrifically sick and was being followed round by the childcare manager who was violently spraying disinfectant air freshener everywhere I went.
I only really had one conversation with him those first few days. And that was about latex gloves. However the change in the atmosphere in the kitchen was instantly noticeable. It was no longer a completely horrific place to be. The week after the atmosphere changed again when the head chef was sacked and people were heard laughing again in the kitchen.
Wednesday afternoons at the hotel generally involved most of the staff having the day off, hitting apres early usually coming back early and felling asleep. I worked most wednesdays and had to deal with a succession of pissed up staff coming to raid the kitchen. I was just getting ready to leave work on Wednesday night and I was sitting on the kitchen work bench waiting for the night porter to turn up and take over. For just about the first time ever I had plans after work. I was going with Miss P to watch the Dominos' last gig of the season.
LiF suddenly appears in the kitchen walking in what could not be referred to as a straight line and instantly stops when he sees me sat there looking at him. I think in his head he was weighing up ifhe should try and pretend that he was sober or not. Whatever he decided I can spot pissed up members of my staff a mile off.
'I'm just coming for some food cos I'm starving' he said,
'there are sandwiches in the fridge' I replied.
He went to the fridge and chose a sandwich before asking what I was doing sat in the kitchen on my own. 'waiting for the night porter' I said.
'I will wait with you' he said and promptly positioned himself right next to me.
In between mouthfuls of ham baguette he turned to me and said 'you know...if you really wanted to.. You could give me a cuddle... I wouldn't mind' At this time he looked so cute and ernest and then this quickly turned into hurt when I instantly burst into laughter at this holey unexpected and bizarre suggestion.
'I will think about it' I said 'you just finish your sandwich'
'Promise you will think about it?'
'Yes'
I decided it was probably time to gently usher him out of the kitchen and send him back on his way to the staff accom, 'you could come with me' he said. 'No' I said, before commenting that chefs who worked in that kitchen weren't allowed to like me, 'they are idiots' he replied, 'I think your nice'.
It just happened that at that moment the night porter arrived,I got my coat on and did in fact head over to the staff accom to find Miss P. As I walked out LiF was walking just ahead of me, he turned round and smiled at me. It suddenly dawned on me, with a certain amount of horror, that he thought that I had changed my mind and was in fact going back with him. I then announced my plans with Miss P and swiftly went to find her.
After spending five minutes hurrying her along I popped my head out into the corridor to see who else was about. Suddenly out of nowhere, in a blur of colour, someone came rushing towards me shouting 'arrrggggggg' rather loudly. After a shocked second I pulled myself together and realised that he had stripped down to just his underpants and was now running at me down the corridor. In that same second I also saw that he was absolutely covered in very colourful tattoos. I ducked back into Miss P's room and made her get ready faster.
I don't know when I started to take an interest in LiF, I think it was probably the moment I caught a glimpse of his tattoos hurtling towards me. But suddenly, without even noticing, I was hanging out at Children's dinner much more than usual, and even once, helped him serve it up. We knew some of the same people, people I had met at management training and we were from the same part of the world. And he just had a way of making me laugh over silly things.
One Saturday, the day before Easter Day I was sat at home talking to the fashion designer, 'he's a nice boy, very polite', I said about him when he came into conversation.
'You fancy him' she said
'I don't' I instantly shot back
'You do, every time you fancy someone you say they are 'nice and very polite'. You said that about ram raid, you said it about the chef in Courchevel and you have just said it about him. And by the way, its fucking weird. Its fucking weird to refer to every man you fancy as 'A nice boy, very polite'. (I had not realised I did this until she so impolitely pointed it out)
'Maybe I do fancy him then' I mused
(I have stolen the title of this post from a song by the greatest singer songwriter of our generation, Frank Turner. This is because, not only is it relevant to demonstrate the difference between my thinking and LiF's, live fast die old vs here for a good time not a long time, but also because he once inferred that people who listen to Frank Turner tend to be really boring. He is wrong on this, as he was on many things)
The conversation that preceded this comment had been sparked by a sneeze. He sneezed. Smoke came out of his nostrils. He wasn't smoking. He was stood in the hotel kitchen.
'Smoke comes out of my nose when I sneeze' he said
'I noticed' I said, still slightly taken aback
'Its done that since I was about 17'
'Does that not make you think that there must be something wrong? That maybe smoking isn't a great idea for you?
'I'm here for a good time not a long time'.
In keeping everyone anonymous its sometimes hard to think up names that fully sum them up. There are times when initials just wont do. This is the case with this person. So for the purposes of this, he will be referred to as Laughter is Free, because these are the words emblazoned forever on his shoulder blades. And because, after all else is done and forgotten, he just made me laugh. You can forgive a man anything if he makes you laugh.
He was shipped in from the hotel in Courchevel where I had done my management training for the last few weeks of the season. I wasn't at work the day he turned up, I was at home in bed with Gastro vomiting and generally feeling sorry for myself. I had, that very morning, attempted to go to work and ended up being sick into a grate by a bus stop. I went back home to bed. It was a Sunday, a transfer day, so it was about 5 in the morning. The next day was my day off and I was feeling much better. And three of my best friends in the world had come on holiday to Meribel.
On the Monday night I introduced my friends to seasonaire living, to La Poste and the Ram Raid and then to the Pub, the Dominos and the 1080 which in essence is a pint of white wine topped off with lemonade and fruit syrup. Tastes like pop, gets you pissed really fast and is the drink of choice for most seasonaires in Meribel.
He was pointed out to me that night, 'that's the new assistant chef' someone said. I had been wondering who he was as he was hanging around with my staff and had been looking at me strangely for some while but I can't say I paid a huge amount of attention, my mind being on dancing with people I hadn't seen in months.
I was back in work the next day. I probably should have introduced myself to him but I was so used to people coming and going that it didn't cross my mind at the time. As I left the kitchen I heard him ask the head chef who I was, the head chef replied 'she's the assistant manager, she's been off for like weeks'. I had in fact only been off for 3 days and one of those days was actually my day off, the other 2 I was horrifically sick and was being followed round by the childcare manager who was violently spraying disinfectant air freshener everywhere I went.
I only really had one conversation with him those first few days. And that was about latex gloves. However the change in the atmosphere in the kitchen was instantly noticeable. It was no longer a completely horrific place to be. The week after the atmosphere changed again when the head chef was sacked and people were heard laughing again in the kitchen.
Wednesday afternoons at the hotel generally involved most of the staff having the day off, hitting apres early usually coming back early and felling asleep. I worked most wednesdays and had to deal with a succession of pissed up staff coming to raid the kitchen. I was just getting ready to leave work on Wednesday night and I was sitting on the kitchen work bench waiting for the night porter to turn up and take over. For just about the first time ever I had plans after work. I was going with Miss P to watch the Dominos' last gig of the season.
LiF suddenly appears in the kitchen walking in what could not be referred to as a straight line and instantly stops when he sees me sat there looking at him. I think in his head he was weighing up ifhe should try and pretend that he was sober or not. Whatever he decided I can spot pissed up members of my staff a mile off.
'I'm just coming for some food cos I'm starving' he said,
'there are sandwiches in the fridge' I replied.
He went to the fridge and chose a sandwich before asking what I was doing sat in the kitchen on my own. 'waiting for the night porter' I said.
'I will wait with you' he said and promptly positioned himself right next to me.
In between mouthfuls of ham baguette he turned to me and said 'you know...if you really wanted to.. You could give me a cuddle... I wouldn't mind' At this time he looked so cute and ernest and then this quickly turned into hurt when I instantly burst into laughter at this holey unexpected and bizarre suggestion.
'I will think about it' I said 'you just finish your sandwich'
'Promise you will think about it?'
'Yes'
I decided it was probably time to gently usher him out of the kitchen and send him back on his way to the staff accom, 'you could come with me' he said. 'No' I said, before commenting that chefs who worked in that kitchen weren't allowed to like me, 'they are idiots' he replied, 'I think your nice'.
It just happened that at that moment the night porter arrived,I got my coat on and did in fact head over to the staff accom to find Miss P. As I walked out LiF was walking just ahead of me, he turned round and smiled at me. It suddenly dawned on me, with a certain amount of horror, that he thought that I had changed my mind and was in fact going back with him. I then announced my plans with Miss P and swiftly went to find her.
After spending five minutes hurrying her along I popped my head out into the corridor to see who else was about. Suddenly out of nowhere, in a blur of colour, someone came rushing towards me shouting 'arrrggggggg' rather loudly. After a shocked second I pulled myself together and realised that he had stripped down to just his underpants and was now running at me down the corridor. In that same second I also saw that he was absolutely covered in very colourful tattoos. I ducked back into Miss P's room and made her get ready faster.
I don't know when I started to take an interest in LiF, I think it was probably the moment I caught a glimpse of his tattoos hurtling towards me. But suddenly, without even noticing, I was hanging out at Children's dinner much more than usual, and even once, helped him serve it up. We knew some of the same people, people I had met at management training and we were from the same part of the world. And he just had a way of making me laugh over silly things.
One Saturday, the day before Easter Day I was sat at home talking to the fashion designer, 'he's a nice boy, very polite', I said about him when he came into conversation.
'You fancy him' she said
'I don't' I instantly shot back
'You do, every time you fancy someone you say they are 'nice and very polite'. You said that about ram raid, you said it about the chef in Courchevel and you have just said it about him. And by the way, its fucking weird. Its fucking weird to refer to every man you fancy as 'A nice boy, very polite'. (I had not realised I did this until she so impolitely pointed it out)
'Maybe I do fancy him then' I mused
(I have stolen the title of this post from a song by the greatest singer songwriter of our generation, Frank Turner. This is because, not only is it relevant to demonstrate the difference between my thinking and LiF's, live fast die old vs here for a good time not a long time, but also because he once inferred that people who listen to Frank Turner tend to be really boring. He is wrong on this, as he was on many things)
Thursday 10 May 2012
I have finally done it
That's right people, after six long months - it started out good, went down hill and then got considerably worst - I have finally booked an appointment with A HAIRDRESSER.
I'v bought some new clothes, had my eyebrows waxed, got a job that doesn't involved washing other peoples' pants and soon after several snips of the scissors I am going to return to being a real person again!
I'v bought some new clothes, had my eyebrows waxed, got a job that doesn't involved washing other peoples' pants and soon after several snips of the scissors I am going to return to being a real person again!
My crush subsides somewhat.
Mid February I manage to hitch a ride in the ram raid's van to see my brother in Val d'isere. He lived there and was in need of some sisterly support so I begged for a lift from the boys as they were playing there. Now some unscrupulous people out there accused me of mixed motives and that spending several hours in a van with 3 musicians was the driving force behind my request rather than being a supportive, loving, caring sister. Being a supportive, loving, caring sister I will wholeheartedly deny these vicious rumours and say my decision was 98% based on wanting to see my brother.
When I got to the agreed meeting place and saw said van I wasn't completely convinced it would make it all the way to Val and back. I was slightly taken aback when the bassist opened the door to reveal several speakers with blankets over them and said 'so whose going in the back then?'
'no fucking way, i would rather walk to val' was the thought that ran through my mind (I was wearing a skirt at the time and there was a huge potential that I would accidentally reveal more than I was intending to. It is impossible to be Lady like in a skirt sat on a speaker in the back of a transit van!) (especially for me as I struggle at the best of time)
The singer did make a comment about me and the bassist going in the back under the duvet together. He quickly realised that I didn't find this comment either funny or appropriate. The bassist got in the back. I got in the front.
The trip down turned out to be rather uneventful. I read my book. They played distinctly average music on the van stereo. I peppered their conversation with interesting facts. Such as 'did you know that piste bashers have the highest suicide rate of any job in france' and 'all roofs in Meribel have to be exactly the same angle by law' I am, as you may have guest full of interesting facts, not all of them about history. The band were fascinated by my facts and my talent for factual recall.
After driving all the way to Val at approximately 8 miles an hour we got there and I helped unpack their van. I loved packing and unpacking their van because of a life long desire I have had to get a job as a roadie. I think they were always a bit worried I would drop their stuff.
My brother turned up. He was rather impressed that I knew people as cool as the band. He doesn't believe I'm as cool as I am. We had a heart to heart. I was a supportive and loving sister. I went and helped him pick up his stuff from the flat he shared with 2 other kps. It was the size of a kitchen table.
They were almost finishing the set when we came back. Their one and only topic of conversation as they packed up was food and how to get some. I had half a loaf of bread and some pate in my handbag (it is the kind of thing I carry around just in case of emergencies) and they seemed to inhale it. It was then I realised that my feelings had become rather motherly and I just wanted to feed them. They struck me as boys who needed a bit of looking after.
We got back in the van, myself my brother and the singer in the front and the drummer and the bassist on the speakers in the back. Everyone else in the van promptly feel asleep. Now I usually fall asleep in all forms of transport within five minutes but was fully aware that if I did I would inevitably fall asleep with my mouth open and potentially snore. I concentrated very very hard on not falling asleep so spent most of the journey home talking about history.
Several weeks later I had to go back to England for a few days for a job interview. I asked everyone if they would like anything bringing back. 'No' said the bassist, 'giant Parma violets' said the drummer, 'Aussie three minute miracle hair conditioner' the singer whispered in my ear. 'What!' I said, 'but your not a girl'
'I err used to go out with a hairdresser' ('thats why you have such lovely shiny curly hair' I thought)
'Please don't tell anyone that what I want though' he said.
'You are so fucking rock and roll' I said before going off and telling everyone because it was funny.
When I got to the agreed meeting place and saw said van I wasn't completely convinced it would make it all the way to Val and back. I was slightly taken aback when the bassist opened the door to reveal several speakers with blankets over them and said 'so whose going in the back then?'
'no fucking way, i would rather walk to val' was the thought that ran through my mind (I was wearing a skirt at the time and there was a huge potential that I would accidentally reveal more than I was intending to. It is impossible to be Lady like in a skirt sat on a speaker in the back of a transit van!) (especially for me as I struggle at the best of time)
The singer did make a comment about me and the bassist going in the back under the duvet together. He quickly realised that I didn't find this comment either funny or appropriate. The bassist got in the back. I got in the front.
The trip down turned out to be rather uneventful. I read my book. They played distinctly average music on the van stereo. I peppered their conversation with interesting facts. Such as 'did you know that piste bashers have the highest suicide rate of any job in france' and 'all roofs in Meribel have to be exactly the same angle by law' I am, as you may have guest full of interesting facts, not all of them about history. The band were fascinated by my facts and my talent for factual recall.
After driving all the way to Val at approximately 8 miles an hour we got there and I helped unpack their van. I loved packing and unpacking their van because of a life long desire I have had to get a job as a roadie. I think they were always a bit worried I would drop their stuff.
My brother turned up. He was rather impressed that I knew people as cool as the band. He doesn't believe I'm as cool as I am. We had a heart to heart. I was a supportive and loving sister. I went and helped him pick up his stuff from the flat he shared with 2 other kps. It was the size of a kitchen table.
They were almost finishing the set when we came back. Their one and only topic of conversation as they packed up was food and how to get some. I had half a loaf of bread and some pate in my handbag (it is the kind of thing I carry around just in case of emergencies) and they seemed to inhale it. It was then I realised that my feelings had become rather motherly and I just wanted to feed them. They struck me as boys who needed a bit of looking after.
We got back in the van, myself my brother and the singer in the front and the drummer and the bassist on the speakers in the back. Everyone else in the van promptly feel asleep. Now I usually fall asleep in all forms of transport within five minutes but was fully aware that if I did I would inevitably fall asleep with my mouth open and potentially snore. I concentrated very very hard on not falling asleep so spent most of the journey home talking about history.
Several weeks later I had to go back to England for a few days for a job interview. I asked everyone if they would like anything bringing back. 'No' said the bassist, 'giant Parma violets' said the drummer, 'Aussie three minute miracle hair conditioner' the singer whispered in my ear. 'What!' I said, 'but your not a girl'
'I err used to go out with a hairdresser' ('thats why you have such lovely shiny curly hair' I thought)
'Please don't tell anyone that what I want though' he said.
'You are so fucking rock and roll' I said before going off and telling everyone because it was funny.
Wednesday 9 May 2012
The poshest man in Meribel
There are a lot of posh people in Ski resorts. But Sir T was the poshest of the lot. It took this confused 19 year old several weeks to get over the fact that he would be spending the next 6 months living in very close confines with so many Northerners. I think he expected to be over the other side of the mountain mixing with the rich Russians but unfortunately he got us.
Sir T did spend a lot of the first few weeks a bit bewildered and not understanding anything any northerner said to him. It took him sometime before I got him to understand that I wasn't from a family of miners. He did, however discover a love of cleaning windows. He could and would clean them all day and take a total pride in it. When the child carers painted pictures on the windows he was apoplectic and he waited all season to wash it off. When they went on the last day of the season the relief on his face was obvious. It was like he had been counting down the days till his windows could be clean again.
Now he could be a bit of a sulker. In set up week H1 gave him a wedgie and he was furious all day and wouldn't speak to her. He once, over breakfast said that all northerners refer to penises as todgers. All the northerners laughed and started referring to Sir T as todger. He did not like that one single bit. He stormed out of breakfast to do his cleaning.
Sir T's main worry however was that he wasn't being fed enough. And boy could he put away food. As tall as a lamp post and skinny to boot (good skinny though not anorexic skinny) he cut an impressive figure and to were constantly physically looking up to him. And he was obsessed with food. He loved it. It made him happy.
Sir T once told me it was his life long ambition to be a Morris dancer. And he said this totally seriously. He said he had always loved them as they came to his village all the time but he couldn't join because he couldn't grow a beard good enough yet. I actually cracked up at this point. I had no idea whether to believe him or not. I still don't, though I like to think of him Morris dancing. It makes me happy.
He was like that though, he could tell bizarre stories with a totally deadpan face and you would believe them. Well almost always. I once found out he had brought a girl back to the staff accom the night before; 'is she still there' I asked, 'no she isn't, she went last night, she most certainly isn't still there'
'sir t! Is she still there'
'err yes'.
He had, upon bringing the girl home and realising his room mate was in, made her have sex in the corridor. Now I would like to meet the girl who actively wants to have sex in a corridor which is covered in bin bags, empty beer bottles, ski gear and into which the toilet leaks. Sir T is obviously worth a great deal of discomfort. Esp as anyone could ( and did) walk out at any time. He justified himself saying that he did give her a blanket to lay on ( well that's ok then!)
I must admit I really loved him. When he needed to be he was, kind, helpful and really cared about people. And he was the only original who never got a disciplinary for being late.
Sir T did spend a lot of the first few weeks a bit bewildered and not understanding anything any northerner said to him. It took him sometime before I got him to understand that I wasn't from a family of miners. He did, however discover a love of cleaning windows. He could and would clean them all day and take a total pride in it. When the child carers painted pictures on the windows he was apoplectic and he waited all season to wash it off. When they went on the last day of the season the relief on his face was obvious. It was like he had been counting down the days till his windows could be clean again.
Now he could be a bit of a sulker. In set up week H1 gave him a wedgie and he was furious all day and wouldn't speak to her. He once, over breakfast said that all northerners refer to penises as todgers. All the northerners laughed and started referring to Sir T as todger. He did not like that one single bit. He stormed out of breakfast to do his cleaning.
Sir T's main worry however was that he wasn't being fed enough. And boy could he put away food. As tall as a lamp post and skinny to boot (good skinny though not anorexic skinny) he cut an impressive figure and to were constantly physically looking up to him. And he was obsessed with food. He loved it. It made him happy.
Sir T once told me it was his life long ambition to be a Morris dancer. And he said this totally seriously. He said he had always loved them as they came to his village all the time but he couldn't join because he couldn't grow a beard good enough yet. I actually cracked up at this point. I had no idea whether to believe him or not. I still don't, though I like to think of him Morris dancing. It makes me happy.
He was like that though, he could tell bizarre stories with a totally deadpan face and you would believe them. Well almost always. I once found out he had brought a girl back to the staff accom the night before; 'is she still there' I asked, 'no she isn't, she went last night, she most certainly isn't still there'
'sir t! Is she still there'
'err yes'.
He had, upon bringing the girl home and realising his room mate was in, made her have sex in the corridor. Now I would like to meet the girl who actively wants to have sex in a corridor which is covered in bin bags, empty beer bottles, ski gear and into which the toilet leaks. Sir T is obviously worth a great deal of discomfort. Esp as anyone could ( and did) walk out at any time. He justified himself saying that he did give her a blanket to lay on ( well that's ok then!)
I must admit I really loved him. When he needed to be he was, kind, helpful and really cared about people. And he was the only original who never got a disciplinary for being late.
One of the women I work with has just come up to me to talk about the camaraderie of hotel work. Its like nothing else in the world, everyone hates each other but they would do anything for each other. It's the only job in the world where everyone is a family.
And it is and every one of the staff were like my babies, and I worry about them all even now. And I miss them and I hope they are all doing well and not doing anything too stupid. I feel like I should still be looking after then and telling them to be safe
And it is and every one of the staff were like my babies, and I worry about them all even now. And I miss them and I hope they are all doing well and not doing anything too stupid. I feel like I should still be looking after then and telling them to be safe
Habits and Mistakes
I have developed an unfortunate habit. Everyday on the way to work I stop and buy a sausage or bacon sandwich. This is bad in two ways, because it has the potential to financially cripple me at the moment and because it's not good for my waistline. However I just can't break the habit I formed in the mountains of having a hot breakfast. However yesterday I made a huge mistake. Instead of asking for a sausage and mushroom sandwich I asked for a sausage and mushroom baguette. I don't know what came over me. I was repulsed by the sight of the thing. I never want to see another baguette for the rest of my life
Tuesday 8 May 2012
Get Over Yourself You Fat Twat
I had to introduce the fashion designer to cleaning. After spending several hours with her I had discovered two things 1) she designed clothes that helped people in Africa 2) She loves the Spice Girls more than anything in the world.
At the start of her season her most used phrase was 'I have a fashion line in Africa'
By the end of her season it was 'Get over yourself, you fat twat'.
This phrase was originally coined about one person in particular (forward me your guesses as to who) but in the end it was useful in a whole number of situations. It was even used once defending my honour, standing up as a true feminist. At the time the man she directed it to was very taken aback. As were the rest of the people she said it to.
When we left she confided in me that she was slightly worried that she had got so used to saying it that she wouldn't be able to stop herself saying it when she was back in England. That she might say it to her dad or some important fashion contact by mistake. As far as I know she has yet to make such a mistake.
At home with the girls
To stop this blog being subtitled 'men I have perved over while I was stuck up a mountain and couldn't watch any TV' I am going to write about two girls instead. I was probably closer to these two girls than anyone else all season. My bestest ski season buddies. Both lived with me in our chalet. Although it was technically the management chalet the fashion designer wasn't management. She was a HA. She also almost point blank refused to carry on living in the staff accommodation after a series of unfortunate events. These events started off with the place constantly being a shit tip and the toilet leaking and culminated with a drunk Frenchman sitting on her bed in the middle of the night. She came mid season and found it very difficult to adjust to the generally disgusting behaviour of the staff.
After the unfortunate Frenchman incident, when her chief policeman father almost flew out to bring her back. The hotel manager approached me, the rep and the childcare manager to ask if we minded her moving in.
Now after the other assistant manager moved out and went over to Mark warner I had just about had the room to myself. I had pushed my bed and the bunk bed together so I could have a double bed and the rep stayed with the childcare manager all the time anyway.
I knew I would love the fashion designer to move in but on on condition- I didn't lose the double bed. I'm not quite sure why I wanted it so much to be honest. It was two beds pushed together and the two beds were different sizes so one bed was an inch higher than the other. And, apart from on one occasion, there was never more than one person sleeping in it anyway. However the single bed was next to the wall and the bunk bed nearest the door so it was a bit like climbing into a cave every night, it was a fun, adventurous kind of a bed. You just had to be careful not miss judge where the top bunk started and knock yourself out. I never did this. Someone else did though, once.
So the fashion designer moved into my top bunk. And the rep moved full time into the childcare manager's bedroom. He was initially dead against this but would never stop the fashion designer moving in. The reason he was dead against the rep moving in was that he didn't want to share his wardrobe. There was always a running joke that he would come home one day to find all her stuff in his wardrobe. He always got really upset at this. But then he finally conceded and cleared her out one shelf.
The rep wasn't originally supposed to live in the chalet either. She moved in quite early on in the season when it became obvious there just wasn't enough room in the main staff accommodation. At a 'crisis' meeting between myself, the childcare manager and the area manager, I was just about to suggest the rep moving in with us when the childcare manager butted it 'err I was err thinking of the rep moving in, (to me) err would you mind'. I had to stop myself bursting out with laughter because I had known he fancied her for over a week now. 'No I wouldn't mind that at all' I said. And she moved in the next day
After the unfortunate Frenchman incident, when her chief policeman father almost flew out to bring her back. The hotel manager approached me, the rep and the childcare manager to ask if we minded her moving in.
Now after the other assistant manager moved out and went over to Mark warner I had just about had the room to myself. I had pushed my bed and the bunk bed together so I could have a double bed and the rep stayed with the childcare manager all the time anyway.
I knew I would love the fashion designer to move in but on on condition- I didn't lose the double bed. I'm not quite sure why I wanted it so much to be honest. It was two beds pushed together and the two beds were different sizes so one bed was an inch higher than the other. And, apart from on one occasion, there was never more than one person sleeping in it anyway. However the single bed was next to the wall and the bunk bed nearest the door so it was a bit like climbing into a cave every night, it was a fun, adventurous kind of a bed. You just had to be careful not miss judge where the top bunk started and knock yourself out. I never did this. Someone else did though, once.
So the fashion designer moved into my top bunk. And the rep moved full time into the childcare manager's bedroom. He was initially dead against this but would never stop the fashion designer moving in. The reason he was dead against the rep moving in was that he didn't want to share his wardrobe. There was always a running joke that he would come home one day to find all her stuff in his wardrobe. He always got really upset at this. But then he finally conceded and cleared her out one shelf.
The rep wasn't originally supposed to live in the chalet either. She moved in quite early on in the season when it became obvious there just wasn't enough room in the main staff accommodation. At a 'crisis' meeting between myself, the childcare manager and the area manager, I was just about to suggest the rep moving in with us when the childcare manager butted it 'err I was err thinking of the rep moving in, (to me) err would you mind'. I had to stop myself bursting out with laughter because I had known he fancied her for over a week now. 'No I wouldn't mind that at all' I said. And she moved in the next day
Monday 7 May 2012
Just deny everything
I discovered that sometimes, when you did something that you really shouldn't have done, the only thing you can do is just deny everything. Doesn't matter if everyone saw you do it. Just deny it.
I can't say that I often did really silly things. There is only one that comes to mind. The details of the evening itself remain, to this day, hazy.
Now you may remember from an earlier post that I began to warn new members of staff not to snog a certain blonde young man. I wrote this into my speech not out of malice or because I believed it really would bring the young woman in question into disrepute. No just because that young man just seemed to get with everyone. He was always nice about it, he wasn't in any way sleazy or unpleasant. And DC was a good looking bloke. Nice.
And the thing about DC, is that after a few drinks, there really isn't any way you can say no. He just has a way of putting things that makes it impossible to argue with him. This mainly consists of him saying 'but why wont you kiss me?', 'That reason isn't good enough, give me another reason' until all your arguments have been worn down and you decide its really is just easier, and quicker, and more pleasant just to get on with it.
So I did. I remember thinking that I was being really subtle about it, that we were where no one could see. We were of course, right where everyone could and did see. When the bar supervisor walked into the Pub I (trying to hide what I was doing) pushed DC right into a pillar out of the way. Also not very subtle.
The next say I woke up with a complete start, 'Ohhhh shit' I thought as the whole evening came tumbling back. 'I should not have done that'. At that same point the rep, with whom I was sharing a room, received a phone call asking if the rummers were true and if I had really got with him. Deny everything I said. Deny it all.
This was at the beginning of January and it was continually brought up until I left. I learnt quickly how to deal with banter. It was a lesson well learnt and one I drew on many many times.
By the end of the season he had got with me, a HA 'the fashion designer' (who had been warned!!!!!! and she did it twice), two nannies, the rep and countless other seasonaires. No one got quite as much stick about it as I did though!
I can't say that I often did really silly things. There is only one that comes to mind. The details of the evening itself remain, to this day, hazy.
Now you may remember from an earlier post that I began to warn new members of staff not to snog a certain blonde young man. I wrote this into my speech not out of malice or because I believed it really would bring the young woman in question into disrepute. No just because that young man just seemed to get with everyone. He was always nice about it, he wasn't in any way sleazy or unpleasant. And DC was a good looking bloke. Nice.
And the thing about DC, is that after a few drinks, there really isn't any way you can say no. He just has a way of putting things that makes it impossible to argue with him. This mainly consists of him saying 'but why wont you kiss me?', 'That reason isn't good enough, give me another reason' until all your arguments have been worn down and you decide its really is just easier, and quicker, and more pleasant just to get on with it.
So I did. I remember thinking that I was being really subtle about it, that we were where no one could see. We were of course, right where everyone could and did see. When the bar supervisor walked into the Pub I (trying to hide what I was doing) pushed DC right into a pillar out of the way. Also not very subtle.
The next say I woke up with a complete start, 'Ohhhh shit' I thought as the whole evening came tumbling back. 'I should not have done that'. At that same point the rep, with whom I was sharing a room, received a phone call asking if the rummers were true and if I had really got with him. Deny everything I said. Deny it all.
This was at the beginning of January and it was continually brought up until I left. I learnt quickly how to deal with banter. It was a lesson well learnt and one I drew on many many times.
By the end of the season he had got with me, a HA 'the fashion designer' (who had been warned!!!!!! and she did it twice), two nannies, the rep and countless other seasonaires. No one got quite as much stick about it as I did though!
Any rock band would want a cool historian like me upping their street cred
I do consider myself to be very cool, this it because a) I am cool and because b) I mainly hang out with Historians.
Doctor Who is my favourite TV programme - I know that thats very cool. Matt Smith the current Doctor is a beautiful man (I am still waiting for someone to buy me a Matt Smith as the Doctor cardboard cut out for my bedroom as I know buying one for myself is not cool). I like historical novels - they are also very cool (well amongst certain historians, mainly me and Hutch, my bestest historian friend). I specialise in the history of Sex, Prostitutes, Actresses and forward thinking women - that is also very cool. I went to a Catholic all girls school, that wasn't very cool. We have already established my music taste is very cool.
Any what is the point of all this (you knew I was cool anyway).
This is my second, and previously promised blog about the Ram Raid. When I left it last time I had just discovered the band and I had gone into work to tell everyone how great they were. And I had been laughed at for professing my love for them (I have also professed my life long love for, amongst other things, Matt Smith in his Doctor Who bow tie and sexy boots, gin and wine gums).
So fast forward two week to the next time I could get down to watch them. My active encouragement meant that this time I was not alone in watching them and many of the team came too (I was slightly on edge all season in case one of my staff said anything inappropriate to them, and they managed to make it all the way to the last time we saw them play before Chef decided he would impart certain information, I still need to hit him over the head for that).
Anyway they played, they were great. As they finished and everyone left I found myself sorting out an unpaid bill of my staffs'. I stomped round the almost empty bar talking about 'how my job would be amazing if I didn't have any guests or any staff'. I looked round and saw the band sat their having their dinner, the lead singer was licking his plate, this made him slightly less attractive in my mind, but I have tried to block that image out.
Anyway I was just getting ready to leave and brave going out into the cold to wait for the bus when I turned round and all three of them were standing around me. This came as a bit of a shock. The lead singer is in the habit of standing really close to your face when he is talking to you, I don't mind this at all but to to turn round and have him suddenly about an inch away from my face almost made me jump out of my skin.
They asked me a really odd question about how to get to Courchevel. To which I had absolutely no idea. They then all introduced themselves and I got a kiss on both cheeks from the lead singer, in a state of shock I said 'Oh two kisses, well we are in France' (there, see how cool I am). They told me of other gigs they did in Meribel and I walked home still in a state of shock.
Come the following Monday I physically dragged my housemates, the Rep and the childcare manager to a little French bar in town to see them play again. The childcare manager was a little shocked at the inflated prices and tried to leave several times. I practically had to sit on him to make him stay. After the first half they told me they were getting the last bus home because they were very tired. If they thought I believed them they were wrong, I knew they were getting the last bus home because they wanted to have sex. I had no desire to leave and spend the evening blocking out sex noises but I also didn't want to sit on my own in a bar. So I went to sit with the manager of the Meribar and his wife. I felt rather awkward. I had another glass of wine. I then decided it would be ok to sit on my own. During the time I had sat with the manager and his wife, the bassist had come over to talk to him and I had mentioned how my friends had left me and it was my day off the next day.
When they had finished, I got up to leave, getting on the thousand layers needed to walk up a mountain in January at 1 in the morning. As I was about to exit the bassist and the lead singer approached me, asked me how I was and then asked me if I wanted to hang out with them. Yes I did.
We went first to Dicks, when I walked into Dicks with the Ram Raid, chef and his mrs my HA, H1 and the rest of the kitchen team were stood their. Their mouths fell open with disbelief. We weren't in their long, my staff were even more surprised when I quickly left with the band. That is how the rumours started.
We went to a little French nightclub populated solely with rich Russians. The owner of the club handed over a bloody expensive bottle of Whisky. I hate whisky. I drank it. It was disgusting. I got very drunk.
When I got home I wrote a little post it note for my housemates, it read something like 'went out with ram raid, drank whisky, I have a great life'.
A matter of hours later I had to get up, I had to get on three coaches to visit my mum and my brother in Val D'isere. About halfway down the mountain on the coach I began to sober up. Not long after this I realised the constant turning of the coach down very narrow mountain roads was making me feel rather unwell.
When I finally reached Val D'Isere, I got off the coach at the coach station, and what should be the first thing I should see but a Ram Raid poster (I had a very similar one up in my living room after stealing it from the Meribar). My mother, who I hadn't seen for several months, came up and hugged me. I said 'oh mum look, that is the band I spent last night with (if we are being honest that was not the best choice of words), she looked at me a bit strangely and said 'they are not drug dealers are they?'
'No mum'
'How do you know?'
'Well I don't think they are, they don't look like drug dealers'
'And what do drug dealers look like'
'Mum I don't hang out with drug dealers'
'That's good - well I'm pleased your making friends'.
Doctor Who is my favourite TV programme - I know that thats very cool. Matt Smith the current Doctor is a beautiful man (I am still waiting for someone to buy me a Matt Smith as the Doctor cardboard cut out for my bedroom as I know buying one for myself is not cool). I like historical novels - they are also very cool (well amongst certain historians, mainly me and Hutch, my bestest historian friend). I specialise in the history of Sex, Prostitutes, Actresses and forward thinking women - that is also very cool. I went to a Catholic all girls school, that wasn't very cool. We have already established my music taste is very cool.
Any what is the point of all this (you knew I was cool anyway).
This is my second, and previously promised blog about the Ram Raid. When I left it last time I had just discovered the band and I had gone into work to tell everyone how great they were. And I had been laughed at for professing my love for them (I have also professed my life long love for, amongst other things, Matt Smith in his Doctor Who bow tie and sexy boots, gin and wine gums).
So fast forward two week to the next time I could get down to watch them. My active encouragement meant that this time I was not alone in watching them and many of the team came too (I was slightly on edge all season in case one of my staff said anything inappropriate to them, and they managed to make it all the way to the last time we saw them play before Chef decided he would impart certain information, I still need to hit him over the head for that).
Anyway they played, they were great. As they finished and everyone left I found myself sorting out an unpaid bill of my staffs'. I stomped round the almost empty bar talking about 'how my job would be amazing if I didn't have any guests or any staff'. I looked round and saw the band sat their having their dinner, the lead singer was licking his plate, this made him slightly less attractive in my mind, but I have tried to block that image out.
Anyway I was just getting ready to leave and brave going out into the cold to wait for the bus when I turned round and all three of them were standing around me. This came as a bit of a shock. The lead singer is in the habit of standing really close to your face when he is talking to you, I don't mind this at all but to to turn round and have him suddenly about an inch away from my face almost made me jump out of my skin.
They asked me a really odd question about how to get to Courchevel. To which I had absolutely no idea. They then all introduced themselves and I got a kiss on both cheeks from the lead singer, in a state of shock I said 'Oh two kisses, well we are in France' (there, see how cool I am). They told me of other gigs they did in Meribel and I walked home still in a state of shock.
Come the following Monday I physically dragged my housemates, the Rep and the childcare manager to a little French bar in town to see them play again. The childcare manager was a little shocked at the inflated prices and tried to leave several times. I practically had to sit on him to make him stay. After the first half they told me they were getting the last bus home because they were very tired. If they thought I believed them they were wrong, I knew they were getting the last bus home because they wanted to have sex. I had no desire to leave and spend the evening blocking out sex noises but I also didn't want to sit on my own in a bar. So I went to sit with the manager of the Meribar and his wife. I felt rather awkward. I had another glass of wine. I then decided it would be ok to sit on my own. During the time I had sat with the manager and his wife, the bassist had come over to talk to him and I had mentioned how my friends had left me and it was my day off the next day.
When they had finished, I got up to leave, getting on the thousand layers needed to walk up a mountain in January at 1 in the morning. As I was about to exit the bassist and the lead singer approached me, asked me how I was and then asked me if I wanted to hang out with them. Yes I did.
We went first to Dicks, when I walked into Dicks with the Ram Raid, chef and his mrs my HA, H1 and the rest of the kitchen team were stood their. Their mouths fell open with disbelief. We weren't in their long, my staff were even more surprised when I quickly left with the band. That is how the rumours started.
We went to a little French nightclub populated solely with rich Russians. The owner of the club handed over a bloody expensive bottle of Whisky. I hate whisky. I drank it. It was disgusting. I got very drunk.
When I got home I wrote a little post it note for my housemates, it read something like 'went out with ram raid, drank whisky, I have a great life'.
A matter of hours later I had to get up, I had to get on three coaches to visit my mum and my brother in Val D'isere. About halfway down the mountain on the coach I began to sober up. Not long after this I realised the constant turning of the coach down very narrow mountain roads was making me feel rather unwell.
When I finally reached Val D'Isere, I got off the coach at the coach station, and what should be the first thing I should see but a Ram Raid poster (I had a very similar one up in my living room after stealing it from the Meribar). My mother, who I hadn't seen for several months, came up and hugged me. I said 'oh mum look, that is the band I spent last night with (if we are being honest that was not the best choice of words), she looked at me a bit strangely and said 'they are not drug dealers are they?'
'No mum'
'How do you know?'
'Well I don't think they are, they don't look like drug dealers'
'And what do drug dealers look like'
'Mum I don't hang out with drug dealers'
'That's good - well I'm pleased your making friends'.
Sunday 6 May 2012
Helpful Management advice from my dad
In all things as a manager it is terribly important to remember the Latin dictum - "Nil desporandum illigitimus carborandum", A rough translation
is -
"Don't let the bastards wear you down".
One thing to remember as a manager is that it's obviously not your fault whatever goes wrong. Whoever it is that drops out when things get a tad difficult, it is important to know (at the very root of your soul) that it is always their fault. And, if the worse comes to the worst - say "My door is always open" and then disappear inside it and lock it.
Most of your mentally unbalanced staff (you will learn that they are all, to a man, completely barmy - one good game is to work out where, on the autism spectrum, they all fit) will suddenly be realising that the work is not the holiday with a bit of bed-turning that they thought it was. Add in the testosterone and oestrogen mix that lots of young people exude nowadays and you must expect a bit of trouble and dropping out. Keep your head down, blame somebody else for everything that goes wrong - and you have probably got most of management sorted out.
Another good tip is to walk around the place, really quickly, with a big bit of paper in your hand or under your arm, looking really annoyed - and most people will keep out of your way and stop giving you grief.
He is a wise man my dad
"Don't let the bastards wear you down".
One thing to remember as a manager is that it's obviously not your fault whatever goes wrong. Whoever it is that drops out when things get a tad difficult, it is important to know (at the very root of your soul) that it is always their fault. And, if the worse comes to the worst - say "My door is always open" and then disappear inside it and lock it.
Most of your mentally unbalanced staff (you will learn that they are all, to a man, completely barmy - one good game is to work out where, on the autism spectrum, they all fit) will suddenly be realising that the work is not the holiday with a bit of bed-turning that they thought it was. Add in the testosterone and oestrogen mix that lots of young people exude nowadays and you must expect a bit of trouble and dropping out. Keep your head down, blame somebody else for everything that goes wrong - and you have probably got most of management sorted out.
Another good tip is to walk around the place, really quickly, with a big bit of paper in your hand or under your arm, looking really annoyed - and most people will keep out of your way and stop giving you grief.
He is a wise man my dad
Christmas Time
Within a few weeks it was Christmas. I didn't like being away from home at Christmas. And it was pretty uneventful. We had a staff Christmas dinner and a secret santa, it was nice. The Czech Head chef we had that week, nicknamed 'the king of Poland', for some reason I don't know, got rather stressed out and it was a bit of a bizarre Christmas dinner.
We had had a rather heavy one on Christmas eve, which had culminated in me going to Dicks for the first time. Dicks was the only proper nightclub in Meribel and seemed to specialise in playing French dance music. I didn't like it very much. I only like proper music. I couldn't tell you how long I had been there before I realised my housemates, the Rep and the Childcare manager had left me there. I got a taxi home and became a little annoyed (drunken rage it must be admitted) when I realised that they had locked me out. I had to knock on my bedroom window and wake up my other housemate who was very very annoyed at being woken up.
When I got into the house I was greeted by thunderous sex noises. I was happy for them. We had been predicting it for weeks. It was the start of a beautiful friendship. I smiled, put my pillow over my head and went to sleep.
And so they arrive
I had heard a lot about how terrible general staff could be. At training the main jist of what was said was 'don't try and like them, don't talk to them outside of work, don't be nice to them, be really hard on them at all times and under no circumstances ever have sex with any of them' (and I didn't, well not really, he wasn't technically MY staff, we were just borrowing him, temporarily)
So on the day that they all arrived I was a little nervous. I think we all were. We compensated for this by getting all suited up, heels and everything. Which seemed to shock and horrify the bunch of bedraggled, tired, wide eyed who got off the coach.
In an effort to look professional, all the managers were desperately trying to hide the stamp from Jack's comedy night which we had been to the night before and which didn't come off. This didn't work and everyone noticed.
We had of course Facebook stalked as many of the staff as we could, but only really managed to find two of them. That hadn't brought us much hope. Out of the two that we had found, both boys, one had really long blonde hair and the other seemed unbelievably posh. And when they arrived DC did have luscious locks and Sir T was unbelievably posh. There were 5 Hotel Assistants, 2 Assistant Chefs and 3 Kitchen Porters (childcare came a few days later). I sent an email to my mum that day describing them as 'young, mouthy and nervous' and they were all of these things. I also later described them as a 'really good and motivated team'.
Out of the 5 HA's 3 stayed to the end (or almost the end)DC, Sir T and H1. I loved all three of them. Each one was brilliant, individual and complete pains at time. H1 spent several weeks trying to pretend to us that she really loved cleaning, which I never believed, but she was good at it and she was very enthusiastic about everything from quite a long time. And it didn't take any of them very long to get over their nervousness - but their mouthiness stayed all season.
In set up week we all went out together for the first time. We were testing out the company's bar crawl. At one point in the night I managed to fall off my chair (because it was oddly balanced on a step NOT because I was drunk). I think everyone was horrified that their boss had just fallen off her chair - no one laughed -I was utterly convinced that chef had done something to my chair, I can't remember why I thought that.
As the staff got more and more drunk they came up to me individually to tell me all their problems. I didn't mind, it was nice to know that they thought they could talk to me. I also, at one point, had to push past a very drunk Sir T eating the face of some female seasonaire. That was slightly unnerving.
So on the day that they all arrived I was a little nervous. I think we all were. We compensated for this by getting all suited up, heels and everything. Which seemed to shock and horrify the bunch of bedraggled, tired, wide eyed who got off the coach.
In an effort to look professional, all the managers were desperately trying to hide the stamp from Jack's comedy night which we had been to the night before and which didn't come off. This didn't work and everyone noticed.
We had of course Facebook stalked as many of the staff as we could, but only really managed to find two of them. That hadn't brought us much hope. Out of the two that we had found, both boys, one had really long blonde hair and the other seemed unbelievably posh. And when they arrived DC did have luscious locks and Sir T was unbelievably posh. There were 5 Hotel Assistants, 2 Assistant Chefs and 3 Kitchen Porters (childcare came a few days later). I sent an email to my mum that day describing them as 'young, mouthy and nervous' and they were all of these things. I also later described them as a 'really good and motivated team'.
Out of the 5 HA's 3 stayed to the end (or almost the end)DC, Sir T and H1. I loved all three of them. Each one was brilliant, individual and complete pains at time. H1 spent several weeks trying to pretend to us that she really loved cleaning, which I never believed, but she was good at it and she was very enthusiastic about everything from quite a long time. And it didn't take any of them very long to get over their nervousness - but their mouthiness stayed all season.
In set up week we all went out together for the first time. We were testing out the company's bar crawl. At one point in the night I managed to fall off my chair (because it was oddly balanced on a step NOT because I was drunk). I think everyone was horrified that their boss had just fallen off her chair - no one laughed -I was utterly convinced that chef had done something to my chair, I can't remember why I thought that.
As the staff got more and more drunk they came up to me individually to tell me all their problems. I didn't mind, it was nice to know that they thought they could talk to me. I also, at one point, had to push past a very drunk Sir T eating the face of some female seasonaire. That was slightly unnerving.
Thursday 3 May 2012
That is a beautiful beautiful man
You may all find this very hard to believe but sometimes, on occasion, on my day off, I didn't really want to go skiing. What I wanted to do was sit inside a nice warm bar. One Wednesday in January when the thought of skiing in a White out was just too much I decided that a lie in and an afternoon writing letters was a much more pleasurable use of my time. I was right but in more ways than I expected.
I found my favourite table at the Meribar ( behind a compartment so you can hide but still see everyone else) I had just finished writing a very witty letter to my friend Hutch back in England and was beginning a new one to my mum when I became aware of three interesting looking young men setting up some speakers on the stage. I like big speakers. I also like music. Not all music, only good music. And the list of what qualifies good and bad music is long and exhaustive but to simply put it rock, punk = good. Dance music, R and B, = crap. I obviously have a much bigger list that I won't bore you with but you get the picture.
My attention drifted from my letter to my mum and I began to watch the band set up, 'Not bad looking boys' I thought to myself as my perving meter shot up and they announced that they were 'The Ram Raid'.
There is a strange thing about music, when it is really good it is REALLY GOOD. They started off with a song by the Clash. I love the clash. From the on I was interested. Their set was brilliant every one of them was brilliant. I also realised that the lead singer was beautiful. I'm not sure what it was, he had lovely shiny curly hair, a lip piercing and really good shoes. I always liked his shoes. It was also quite probably because he was playing music that I loved.
The next day I went into work and told them that the day before I had potentially seen the most beautiful man in the world. I have never lived it down.
As I will write about later I did get to know the Ram Raid. It was obvious the singer always knew I thought he was beautiful but he was kind enough never to tell me to piss off
I found my favourite table at the Meribar ( behind a compartment so you can hide but still see everyone else) I had just finished writing a very witty letter to my friend Hutch back in England and was beginning a new one to my mum when I became aware of three interesting looking young men setting up some speakers on the stage. I like big speakers. I also like music. Not all music, only good music. And the list of what qualifies good and bad music is long and exhaustive but to simply put it rock, punk = good. Dance music, R and B, = crap. I obviously have a much bigger list that I won't bore you with but you get the picture.
My attention drifted from my letter to my mum and I began to watch the band set up, 'Not bad looking boys' I thought to myself as my perving meter shot up and they announced that they were 'The Ram Raid'.
There is a strange thing about music, when it is really good it is REALLY GOOD. They started off with a song by the Clash. I love the clash. From the on I was interested. Their set was brilliant every one of them was brilliant. I also realised that the lead singer was beautiful. I'm not sure what it was, he had lovely shiny curly hair, a lip piercing and really good shoes. I always liked his shoes. It was also quite probably because he was playing music that I loved.
The next day I went into work and told them that the day before I had potentially seen the most beautiful man in the world. I have never lived it down.
As I will write about later I did get to know the Ram Raid. It was obvious the singer always knew I thought he was beautiful but he was kind enough never to tell me to piss off
My favourite member of staff
In management there will always be those people you have to manage who just act up and who really irritate you, and then there are those who act up and you can't help but put your head in your hands and laugh. Chef was one of the latter. While I knew that I should really be telling him off, often I just couldn't bring myself to (he will disagree here and tell you I told him off all the time).
So I'm sorry mr but by 'Chef' is how everyone will now know you on here!
And he was brilliant. Don't get me wrong it was obvious he still had a lot to learn and was still a long way off that Michelin star but he more than coped with coming in and cooking for thirty people everyday. And very cheeky about it he was to, it must have been about half way through the first week when I walked into the kitchen and he was stood in the back room in just his underpants, 'put some clothes on please Chef' I shouted, 'anything for you gorgeous' he replied with a wink. I knew at that moment that he was going to be a complete pain in my arse and that I would let him get away with everything.
Not long after that on a night out he sat down with me to tell me how keen he was to learn and progress. To learn how to be an amazing chef and his ambition to someday be a head chef (he was drunk at the time so I doubt he would admit to this sober. He was deadly sincere though)
He started outliving multiple head chefs and a few other assistant chefs. And he was far from being an angel, he led most of the drinking, he serenaded the whole staff accom as they went to sleep and as they woke up with very loud dance music and he started sharing his bed with one of my Hotel Assistants (much to the annoyance of his room mate the baby faced blond boy I have previously mentioned).
Now it is no secret that I didn't much like the head chef we had for the majority of the season. I didn't dislike him for the things he said, or the way he talked about me (couldn't actually give a toss about that), I didn't dislike him because the food quality took a huge tumble. I disliked him because when he came along the funny, caring, keen chef I knew disappeared for a while. I suspect that he came to the company believing that he was lucky, that he would be producing good food that he could be proud of and that he was suddenly told that everything was shit and he believed it. The pride went almost over night, the keenness went. I am under no illusion that my chef has been dabbling in illegal substances for some time but I also do not believe that the (obviously drug induced) change that came over his personality at this time was a coincidence. He stopped being cheeky and lovable, he started being irritable and miserable and sometimes downright bloody rude. He did and said some things to some girls that I hope he is ashamed of now. His skin went grey and his eyes died. There were always flickers of hope, of the old chef fighting to get out. And then he did something so bloody stupid he almost got himself fired. I was close to crying the day I had to write his disciplinary letter and hand it over. I hope he knows it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. But I think in a way it was good for him, that it pulled him up, because from then on he started to come back.
Indeed he even started rebelling from the head chef, he would hide us bits of bacon or sausage for breakfast, strictly disobeying orders. He started taking more pride in his work. He started making me laugh again. At one point he was a day away from being sent home. I happened to be in the kitchen when he phoned his mum to tell her he was staying and he was over the fucking moon dancing about the kitchen.
He got to stay because in a moment of crisis he stood up and took charge. I said to him then, and I will say to you now, I have never met anyone who can stand up to the plate when needed like he can. And I was so proud of him. When I took him aside to congratulate him, he actually beamed, he had surprised himself with his own resourcefulness and he has yet to realised that he is actually a very clever young man.
And the head chef left and he blossomed once again.
Now I very much doubt that this is what he expected me to write, I think he expected me to write about the times he got drunk, the number of photos of him naked I have seen after he has passed out, of the times I walked into the kitchen and seen him involved in something incredibly stupid (snorting black pepper for example). They will come, I will tell them in time. I just wanted to get this out there first.
He once told me that everywhere he went there was always a woman there who felt she had to mother him, and that was me. I wonder if he asks the rest of them if he can see them naked as often as he has asked me. I believe he probably has!
He asked me to think of a 'creative' name for him. But I think that it is as 'Chef' I will always remember him. This is for two reasons, he was in fact one of the assistant chefs, and the only who who made it through the whole season, but also because in set up week he was the only chef in the building. We had a great deal of trouble with head chefs all season but for that week we just had him. At some point during this week I called him 'Chef', he looked at me, blushed and asked me not to call him that because he was embarrassed (he is too cool to admit to being embarrassed but he was). That week he was a head chef, he did an outstanding job and I was blown away by him every single day.
So I'm sorry mr but by 'Chef' is how everyone will now know you on here!
And he was brilliant. Don't get me wrong it was obvious he still had a lot to learn and was still a long way off that Michelin star but he more than coped with coming in and cooking for thirty people everyday. And very cheeky about it he was to, it must have been about half way through the first week when I walked into the kitchen and he was stood in the back room in just his underpants, 'put some clothes on please Chef' I shouted, 'anything for you gorgeous' he replied with a wink. I knew at that moment that he was going to be a complete pain in my arse and that I would let him get away with everything.
Not long after that on a night out he sat down with me to tell me how keen he was to learn and progress. To learn how to be an amazing chef and his ambition to someday be a head chef (he was drunk at the time so I doubt he would admit to this sober. He was deadly sincere though)
He started outliving multiple head chefs and a few other assistant chefs. And he was far from being an angel, he led most of the drinking, he serenaded the whole staff accom as they went to sleep and as they woke up with very loud dance music and he started sharing his bed with one of my Hotel Assistants (much to the annoyance of his room mate the baby faced blond boy I have previously mentioned).
Now it is no secret that I didn't much like the head chef we had for the majority of the season. I didn't dislike him for the things he said, or the way he talked about me (couldn't actually give a toss about that), I didn't dislike him because the food quality took a huge tumble. I disliked him because when he came along the funny, caring, keen chef I knew disappeared for a while. I suspect that he came to the company believing that he was lucky, that he would be producing good food that he could be proud of and that he was suddenly told that everything was shit and he believed it. The pride went almost over night, the keenness went. I am under no illusion that my chef has been dabbling in illegal substances for some time but I also do not believe that the (obviously drug induced) change that came over his personality at this time was a coincidence. He stopped being cheeky and lovable, he started being irritable and miserable and sometimes downright bloody rude. He did and said some things to some girls that I hope he is ashamed of now. His skin went grey and his eyes died. There were always flickers of hope, of the old chef fighting to get out. And then he did something so bloody stupid he almost got himself fired. I was close to crying the day I had to write his disciplinary letter and hand it over. I hope he knows it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. But I think in a way it was good for him, that it pulled him up, because from then on he started to come back.
Indeed he even started rebelling from the head chef, he would hide us bits of bacon or sausage for breakfast, strictly disobeying orders. He started taking more pride in his work. He started making me laugh again. At one point he was a day away from being sent home. I happened to be in the kitchen when he phoned his mum to tell her he was staying and he was over the fucking moon dancing about the kitchen.
He got to stay because in a moment of crisis he stood up and took charge. I said to him then, and I will say to you now, I have never met anyone who can stand up to the plate when needed like he can. And I was so proud of him. When I took him aside to congratulate him, he actually beamed, he had surprised himself with his own resourcefulness and he has yet to realised that he is actually a very clever young man.
And the head chef left and he blossomed once again.
Now I very much doubt that this is what he expected me to write, I think he expected me to write about the times he got drunk, the number of photos of him naked I have seen after he has passed out, of the times I walked into the kitchen and seen him involved in something incredibly stupid (snorting black pepper for example). They will come, I will tell them in time. I just wanted to get this out there first.
He once told me that everywhere he went there was always a woman there who felt she had to mother him, and that was me. I wonder if he asks the rest of them if he can see them naked as often as he has asked me. I believe he probably has!
Wednesday 2 May 2012
Above and beyond.
Ok my beloved readers, sorry for not posting all day. I have been at the London managers meeting not understanding a single word uttered by my colleagues between the hours of eleven and six. And then it was post meeting drinks in the pub. Now during this enjoyable evening I got to thinking about all the things I used to have to do as a manger that I don't have to do now (or hopefully ever again)
1. Listen to staff sex stories at 7am every morning
2. Force staff out of bed on a morning
3. Throw unwanted people out of staff accom
4. Wash dirty underpants/knickers I found lying round the laundry room because it was just easier than tracking down who they belonged to
5. Tell male staff to pull their trousers up and cover up their underpants. Although I knew that many of the boys were very proud of their brightly coloured/ zebra print/ where's wally underpants, I did not want to see them (in or out of work)
6. Change the bedding of ill staff who had been sick everywhere
7. Tell staff to stop picking their nose/ picking at scabs
8. Tell staff not to do anything so stupidly dangerous that they would probably die
9. See photos of staff who had got so drunk they had fallen asleep naked
10. Do staff accom checks, wading through the disgusting hole the lived in and then having to act like their mum and tell them to clean their room (but seeing their delighted, proud, cherubic faces when they told you they had cleaned their bedrooms was actually very sweet)
1. Listen to staff sex stories at 7am every morning
2. Force staff out of bed on a morning
3. Throw unwanted people out of staff accom
4. Wash dirty underpants/knickers I found lying round the laundry room because it was just easier than tracking down who they belonged to
5. Tell male staff to pull their trousers up and cover up their underpants. Although I knew that many of the boys were very proud of their brightly coloured/ zebra print/ where's wally underpants, I did not want to see them (in or out of work)
6. Change the bedding of ill staff who had been sick everywhere
7. Tell staff to stop picking their nose/ picking at scabs
8. Tell staff not to do anything so stupidly dangerous that they would probably die
9. See photos of staff who had got so drunk they had fallen asleep naked
10. Do staff accom checks, wading through the disgusting hole the lived in and then having to act like their mum and tell them to clean their room (but seeing their delighted, proud, cherubic faces when they told you they had cleaned their bedrooms was actually very sweet)
Tuesday 1 May 2012
All because the lady loves Lemon Tart
If you asked me to chose between a starter and a dessert, I would choose a starter. I have just always preferred savoury things over sweet. Don't get me wrong I wouldn't say no to a dessert. And I would almost always enjoy it, it always made my day when the delightful assistant chef at the hotel saved me one of the left over guest desserts. But it would always been a starter I would chose.
I have one terrible weakness however, and that is Lemon Tart.
Now during my management training several fairly innocent things happened. The first one was that we got the afternoon off and decided to use this time off to walk into town. The way into town led us past the staff smoking area, standing at this smoking area was one lone smoker. A male smoker. V was the first to hone in on the fact that there was a rather lost looking man headed in the same direction as us and she gave him no choice but to walk with us and then accompany us to the pub.
The second was that we soon discovered that the lone smoker was in fact one of the Head Chefs training at the hotel. We also discovered that his speciality was desserts, 'I'm not that interested in desserts', I said to myself. I then discovered that the beautiful piece of lamb I had eaten the night before was cooked by him, 'well now', I thought to myself, 'that gentleman has suddenly got a lot more interesting'. I looked at him a lot more closely at that point. I very rarely look closely at men, the chances of me being attracted to any of them are slim and the chances of them being attracted to me are even slimmer, so I don't tend to bother.
Suddenly I found myself thinking that the lone smoker was rather attractive. Now I don't want you to think that I was attracted to him just because he cooked a really great bit of lamb. That's not the case. I do not chose men purely on their ability to feed me. Indeed I once went out with a vegetarian (though I will never make that mistake again). And he was attractive. And polite (the chef not the vegetarian).
A couple of days later the chef had a birthday party in his room (he lived permanently at the hotel so had his own room rather than sharing like the rest of us). Most of the hotel piled in there after rather too much free chalet wine. On said chef's bedside table was the company's cook book. I have a bit of a habit when drunk of looking through people's books and I felt no guilt in flicking through this one (he was talking to someone else and I could hear V outside the room doing something). What should I come across in the book but the instructions to cook a lemon tart. Connections in my drink sozzled brain lit up - chef - lemon tart - genius! And I preceded to try and distract him from the girl who had rather rudely sat between us, by talking about my love of the Lemon Tart.
My conversation was abruptly halted when V dragged a huge, dead plant she had 'found' in the corridor into the room promptly spilling soil all over the floor. V and I then dragged the plant back into the corridor after it was made quite clear he didn't really want a horrible dead plant in his room. V and I decided it was time for bed.
The next day V felt rather guilt about the soil so on our lunch break the two of us went off to find a vacuum cleaner and knocked on his door, to no reply. One of us said 'should we just go in and clean up a bit' so we did. Now while she was hoovering I felt the sudden urge to open his curtains and make his bed (which I did) and fold all his clothes (which I thankfully restrained myself from doing). When V got bored of hoovering and she began to throw the used tissues she had found at the side of his bed at my head, I decided it was time to go before someone found us in there.
Terrified that he would think we were really weird for cleaning his room I did, almost immediately go and confess, and thankfully he quite liked it.
Needless to say fancying a man I know can cook the dessert of my dreams leads to me being much more flirty and forward that I would otherwise ever be. And this tends to only ever lead to one place.
As great as it was, as nice as he was,the terror of being the subject of gossip hit me and I do not blame him for drawing away quickly either, for there are much more attractive people out there to get to know.
He did once get drunk and tell me he liked my hair because it was longer one side than the other but he never did bake me that lemon tart.
I have one terrible weakness however, and that is Lemon Tart.
Now during my management training several fairly innocent things happened. The first one was that we got the afternoon off and decided to use this time off to walk into town. The way into town led us past the staff smoking area, standing at this smoking area was one lone smoker. A male smoker. V was the first to hone in on the fact that there was a rather lost looking man headed in the same direction as us and she gave him no choice but to walk with us and then accompany us to the pub.
The second was that we soon discovered that the lone smoker was in fact one of the Head Chefs training at the hotel. We also discovered that his speciality was desserts, 'I'm not that interested in desserts', I said to myself. I then discovered that the beautiful piece of lamb I had eaten the night before was cooked by him, 'well now', I thought to myself, 'that gentleman has suddenly got a lot more interesting'. I looked at him a lot more closely at that point. I very rarely look closely at men, the chances of me being attracted to any of them are slim and the chances of them being attracted to me are even slimmer, so I don't tend to bother.
Suddenly I found myself thinking that the lone smoker was rather attractive. Now I don't want you to think that I was attracted to him just because he cooked a really great bit of lamb. That's not the case. I do not chose men purely on their ability to feed me. Indeed I once went out with a vegetarian (though I will never make that mistake again). And he was attractive. And polite (the chef not the vegetarian).
A couple of days later the chef had a birthday party in his room (he lived permanently at the hotel so had his own room rather than sharing like the rest of us). Most of the hotel piled in there after rather too much free chalet wine. On said chef's bedside table was the company's cook book. I have a bit of a habit when drunk of looking through people's books and I felt no guilt in flicking through this one (he was talking to someone else and I could hear V outside the room doing something). What should I come across in the book but the instructions to cook a lemon tart. Connections in my drink sozzled brain lit up - chef - lemon tart - genius! And I preceded to try and distract him from the girl who had rather rudely sat between us, by talking about my love of the Lemon Tart.
My conversation was abruptly halted when V dragged a huge, dead plant she had 'found' in the corridor into the room promptly spilling soil all over the floor. V and I then dragged the plant back into the corridor after it was made quite clear he didn't really want a horrible dead plant in his room. V and I decided it was time for bed.
The next day V felt rather guilt about the soil so on our lunch break the two of us went off to find a vacuum cleaner and knocked on his door, to no reply. One of us said 'should we just go in and clean up a bit' so we did. Now while she was hoovering I felt the sudden urge to open his curtains and make his bed (which I did) and fold all his clothes (which I thankfully restrained myself from doing). When V got bored of hoovering and she began to throw the used tissues she had found at the side of his bed at my head, I decided it was time to go before someone found us in there.
Terrified that he would think we were really weird for cleaning his room I did, almost immediately go and confess, and thankfully he quite liked it.
Needless to say fancying a man I know can cook the dessert of my dreams leads to me being much more flirty and forward that I would otherwise ever be. And this tends to only ever lead to one place.
As great as it was, as nice as he was,the terror of being the subject of gossip hit me and I do not blame him for drawing away quickly either, for there are much more attractive people out there to get to know.
He did once get drunk and tell me he liked my hair because it was longer one side than the other but he never did bake me that lemon tart.
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