The 100th Post

So, this is my 100th blog post. I feel that this occasion should be marked in a dramatic way, with some big declaration or by revealing a well kept secret;

It should be in the 100th blog post that I announce that I'm pregnant and after careful consideration am keeping my season baby and am dedicated to my future life as a single mother.

Or that I have decided that after a month in the City I miss my life as a hotel manager so much that I have already arranged to go back and do it all again.

Unfortunately neither of these are true and I don't have a big decoration to mark this special moment.

Do you feel somewhat let down now? I do.

Instead I am sat in the sun, daring it to burn my mountain white skin, wondering what I should fill this blog post with. One of the last time I was sitting in the sun like this I was at the Ronny watching the DC riders performing, drinking beer by the jug. I am contemplating putting my bikini on but I have a very overlooked garden and it might be much for my South London neighbours.

I was looking through old old bits of of my facebook the other day and came across a post I had written on 27th June 2012, it said 'Just accepted the Job! Back to Meribel this winter! Not sure if this is the best of the stupidest decision I have ever made!' Now the interesting thing about this post, other than my over excited, excessive use of the exclamation mark, is one of the comments 'Its definetly the best decision youve ever made!'. As a historian I am tempted to write the word sic after that quote to show it is a direct quote and has has been copied as it was written, without modern alterations to grammar or spelling. But seen as I am one of the worst spellers in the world it would be slightly hypocritical. It also shows he loves the use of the exclamation mark almost as much as I do!

I wonder if AJ remembers writing that on my wall. I doubt it. Neither did I till the other day. It did get me thinking, I was sure that he had contacted me just before I flew out, because I had known he was going to be there before I went. I had another look on facebook and sure enough there was a brief conversation from the 8th October;

AJ: Hey you managing the (xx) this year?
Me: Yep
AJ: Ahhh cool im going back there
Me: to the (xx)?
AJ: Yes indeed
Me: Cool cool
AJ: Do you know anyone else going back?
Me: I don't actually
AJ: I know the head chef but thats it. Anyway im off to the pub. X


A somewhat short exchange I feel. And rather brisk on my part. I usually talk a lot  more than that.

What I do remember thinking after this conversation is 'Hmm I wonder if it is unprofessional to be facebook friends with someone who is going to be working in the hotel, what if he shows all the people who I am going to manage my facebook or worst still, my blog'. Looking back it was a somewhat ironic thought. But at least I was trying to be professional.

Sometime in mid February I was hanging round the kitchen, hoping someone would give me some food AJ mentioned something on his facebook that I should look at. It was at that point I had to confess that we were  no longer facebook friends and hadn't been since mid November. I think, judging by his horrified reaction, was the single biggest insult I ever threw at him. Considering the range of insults we throw at each other on a regular basis, it is saying something.

It took me a couple of days, a lot of cups of tea, and a facebook friend request to patch up the damaged pride. Though after this I wished it was that each to repair pride that had been damaged on a throw away moment.

 In the end going back to Meribel was neither the best or the worst decision I have ever made. The worst decision I have ever made was in 2007 when I decided to go platinum blonde, the best was going the first time.

A Michelin Star

Its official. I am an actual domestic goddess. I know I am and, while I have suspected this for some time, it was confirmed to me today only about an hour ago. I don't work Mondays and as my house mates are either at work or on bloody holiday I have had the house to myself and I have spent the day making a range of culinary delights.

What I was really worried about during the last few weeks of the season was how I would feed myself when I got back to England. I knew I would be all right for the first week back, as I would be at home my mum would do the cooking. It was after that, when I moved into my new house 250 miles away from my mother and her oven that I was nervous about.

What was worrying me was having to cook for myself for the first time in six months. I hadn't as much as boiled some pasta since I got on the plane out there. The only thing I had done was make myself some cuppa soup and even I don't class that as actual cooking. Not only had I not cooked anything, I had also not done any food shopping or taken the time to actually decide what I was going to have to eat. I have spent over five years living on my own so it isn't like I have never had to fend for myself before,  however I was rather worried that even the little skill I had forged in this time would have been lost in six months away. I hadn't had this issue the year before as I had lived in a chalet with my own kitchen and I often cooked for myself.  

I had hoped that spending so much time in the kitchen and around chefs would have meant I some how magically gain their skill, but, as my house mate delightfully told me you can't really just absorb knowledge that way. 

It isn't just the actual cooking that was the issue, its also the taking the time to decide what I am going to cook. I tend to walk around the kitchen opening cupboards and staring blankly into them before moving on to the next cupboard and ending up realising I have been staring into the freezer for a good five minutes and that my ice cream is starting to melt. At this point I usually just decide to have pasta. 

It wasn't like this in Meribel. After a few weeks you knew what food you would be eating at every meal on every day, the decision as to what to put into my own body had been totally taken away for a very long time. Breakfast and lunch were always the same, coco pops and any left over bacon and sausage for breakfast and a ham and cheese baguette for lunch. Always the same and I haven't been able to look at a baguette since. 

And then there was dinner;

Monday: Mystery curry - made from a range of leftover vegetables and bits of meat. Turkey, pork and chicken all went in the pot and they all look very similar. It really is quite disconcerting not knowing what you are eating. It was also very difficult to tell the vegetables apart and disappointing when you thought you have a nice big bit of potato, only to bite into it and find out it was actually parsnip. 

Tuesday: Now Tuesday was undoubtedly everyone's favourite day of the week because it was Chicken Pie day. It is difficult to explain just how excited everyone got about Chicken Pie Tuesday. It was without a doubt the highlight of everybody's week. It was made by AJ who pretended he greatly resented having to spend so much of his Tuesday making five massive chicken pies, but in fact loved all the attention he got from it. If a Tuesday had come around and there wasn't chicken pie there would have been actual mutiny. The children in the hotel had their dinner before the staff but throughout the children's dinner you could see staff edging closer and closer to the pie. There was a trick to getting the most out of the pie, the main one was not to fill your plate up with too much mashed potato, that was like an added extra. Usually two or three pies would be brought out and each one would be cut open and en mass the staff would decide which one looked the best, the one with the most juice and then they would all descend on the chosen pie. When that was consumed the next juiciest would be dished out and the least juicy would be reserved for seconds or for those unfortunate enough to be late. 

Wednesday: Wednesday, as I have already said was the chef's day off and as a result was the day were had to eat frozen pizza that resembled cardboard. 

Thursday: Turkey Stir fry. This was the worst day of the week. There is nothing more to say about the Turkey Stir Fry. 

Friday: Fish day. Home made fish goujons and potato wedges. If we were very lucky we were allowed tomato ketchup. 

Saturday: Cottage Pie 

Sunday: Spaghetti Bolognese and garlic bread. 

Unlike the food I reported on last year, this year we were fed well, the food was hearty and there was plenty of it. We were very lucky, there wasn't a potato ball in sight. 

All my worries have now been calmed as I look upon all the food I have created from scratch, a minestrone soup, bolognese sauce, and (because it is Tuesday tomorrow) a lovely looking Chicken Pie. 

Another Telling Off

'That vodka was for medicinal purposes only - You are a very naughty girl' said my mum down the phone about ten minutes ago.

The Girl Who Ran Away.

My last blog post ended on something of a cliffhanger...

I, tired of the people around me thinking there was nothing left for me in life other than knitting myself into the grave, had decided to get drunk, and, to use the phrase I myself used that evening, 'just go out and do something stupid'.

Of course to the majority of staff who worked in the hotel it was impossible to believe that I had ever been 18, had ever got up to any of the things they did, could ever have got as drunk, been as silly, stayed out all night, been as inappropriate, woken up in places that weren't my own bed etc etc when in fact I had, and indeed more so because I, unlike them, had also been 19, 20 and 21, and had been these ages at university, the best three years of my life.

So anyway. The only person who I thought I could  go out and get drunk with, who would not either run away and hide from the prospect of spending an evening outside of work with me, make me feel old or judge me at all was AJ.

There was one problem.

It was a Thursday (Thursday 10th January, in fact, as I have just now worked out) . Thursdays were not good days for the kitchen staff. Thursdays were the day after Wednesdays and Wednesdays were the kitchen's day off. Wednesdays for the chefs were all about waking up hungover from Tuesday night, having several beers, skiing and then having a lot more beers and ending the evening with a burger and passing out with all their clothes on (waking up with their ski boots still on was proof to them that they had had a really good day off). So Thursday was hangover day. Thursday was the day that they looked like death, worked really slowly, had to have a mid day nap and were really rude to everybody. Thursday was not a going out drinking day, Thursday was an 'if I even look at alcohol I will be sick' day. So when I initially broached the subject of going out after work with AJ I was met with a negative reaction. I however was on a mission and persevered, begged, pleaded and demanded until he (surprisingly quickly) agreed to come up when he had finished work and bring some orange juice and some very classy plastic cups so we could indulge in some of the duty free vodka that my mother had brought over when she had visited the previous week, before going out into town (therefore what happened next was actually my mum's fault).

GOOD PLAN I thought.

Promptly there was a knock on my door and export strength blue label Smirnoff Vodka was liberally poured into two glasses and we got talking. We then managed to miss the bus so poured another few vodkas to pass the time till the next one. It was only when we finally got on the bus that it dawned on me that I was actually very drunk. And this only dawned on me when I realised I had been talking absolute crap  bus to the unfortunate bar supervisor and her unsuspecting boyfriend who had also got on the bus to go home. What I was talking about for quite some while was how I was sick of being good all the time, how I wanted to do something crazy that no one would expect and shake things up a bit (last time I felt like that I got my nipple pierced). However I had not decided what this crazy thing was that I was going to do (thank God there are not piercing shops / tattoo parlours in Meribel)

When AJ and myself got off the bus it took me a few seconds to realised we were actually holding hands. I was quite shocked by this sudden and unexpected turn of events but actually found it quite pleasant.

Upon approaching the bar I decided that the first round was on me and as that I had probably had too much to drink I would order very sensible diet coke for me and a pint for AJ. After placing the order I realised that I did not feel very well so thrust the money into AJ's hand and walked quickly and purposefully towards the bathroom where I closed the door and was promptly sick in the toilet.

I composed myself for a few minutes and exited the bathroom to find AJ waiting patiently for me, taking the first few sips of his pint.
'Right I'm going home' I said
'Err what' he said in surprise.
I didn't answer I just put down the untouched diet coke he had handed me and headed to the door.

Now I am quite a determined drunk. When I decided it is time to go home I go home, there is no stopping me and I am perfectly happy to run away if it means I get to go to bed quicker. And when I get that drunk all I want to do is go to bed. In fact that night I was so determined that it was time for me to go to sleep that I strode away so fast that I was half way up the road before AJ had processed the information that I was leaving, decided that he should really follow me, taken one last mouthful of his beer, put it down mournfully and run on out after me.

My resolve to walk home was quickly replaced by the idea (encouraged by AJ) that we should probably get a taxi , and as it was still so early in the night there were plenty lined up ready to take us home. I can't say I remember a huge amount about that trip but I can remember jumping out of the taxi and running up the stairs to the hotel and into the lift without even looking back, wondering slightly if I was going to be followed before deciding that I should probably spend a few minutes sitting on the bathroom floor to see if I was going to be sick again. What seemed like quite a while later, but was actually only a couple of minutes AJ appeared in the doorway to my bathroom, looking quite worried to see me sat on the floor, when he hauled me up and put me to bed. The last thing I remember was pulling his arm around me before I passed out.

I was woken up some while later by the strangest sensation and it quickly dawned on me what it was, every two minutes or so the back of my neck was being kissed. Now I lay there for a good few minuets, not quite sure what I should do. The total and utter drunken cloud that had earlier descended on me was starting to lift and yet I could not figure out what my next move should be, I had had slight suspicions that a crush had been forming since the first week on the season when he had presented me with five slices of lemon tart on a plate, saying that he knew it was my favourite, but I hadn't really thought anything about it since. A few minutes later I just thought, 'why am I thinking so hard about this?? What the hell'. However I did decided that it would be best if we kept it secret and he agreed.

'So.. this is just between me and you right?' became my famous last words.

The Beginning of the Never Ending Story.

First an apology for the silence. Last year, three weeks after I arrived back in the country I was pretty much prolific with the writing, almost every day there was a post and this year there has been almost three weeks of nothingness. This has been partly because last year I moved into a mouse infested house with two of the unfriendliest people in the universe so I didn't have much to do in the great expanses of time that one who works 9-5.30 finds they have. This hasn't happened this year as I have moved into a lovely house, with two very friendly people and so I have found more things to occupy my time.

It has also been because this year I have not quite known where to start. Life was more complicated this season. A lot more complicated. And it has taken me a few weeks to simply get over the whole experience. I took a week off when I came home and that week mainly consisted of me sitting down in various places in my house and waking up several hours later with a member of my family laughing at my ability to sleep anywhere. My body simply shut down, able to rest properly for the first time all season, knowing that my work phone had been handed back and wouldn't ring, that no staff would knock at my door demanding my attention, that I wouldn't hear the sounds of the children in the nursery next to my bedroom screaming or voices of parents complaining. It was like the deepest silence imaginable had descended on me and it was complete and utter bliss.  

It was complicated because it was constant, it was complicated because of a series of unpleasantness,  it was complicated because there was a man who had the ability to really bloody piss me off at times and complicated because I liked him enough to let him really bloody piss me off. It was complicated because you're not really supposed to start something complicated with someone who is technically a member of your own staff.  

But first an introduction to some of the characters that will feature in this year's story. I had four main members of staff, all 18, all just as irritating as each other, all very different, both in their persons and the way they were irritating. And all wonderful and kind-hearted and hard working

Two girls, one blonde one dark, Two boys, one blonde one dark. An apprentice plumber and electrician, a future accountant (and possible world leader), a sex mad man hunter and the little boy in the big world who became the big boy in the little world and who is now, well on the way to conquering it.  Four eighteen year old, hormonal, over tired, excited, bewildered children rushing head long and dazed into adulthood. 

There was also the kitchen team, the Head Chef (thankfully not a drug dealer this year) A man who I platonically adored for his friendship, his loyalty and his food (I taught him the meaning of the word platonic sometime mid season so I hope he still remembers). He also had a wicked sense of humour which no one wanted to be at the receiving end of and he had the was the image of the chef through and though (don't be lulled into a false sense of security by how nice I have been about him, he could be wicked if he wanted).  Swearing and crude behaviour were as prevalent in our kitchen as they are in other kitchens. 

And two commis chefs, bi-polar opposites, AJ the unlikely object of my occasional affections and the other  one, one of the strangest individuals I have ever had the dubious pleasure of knowing well. A twenty year old masturbation addict, who believes that he lost his virginity the season before, but wasn't quite sure, but from what he could remember the girl in question was overweight and not really to his very accommodating tastes. I liked him, despite his complete social awkwardness, despite the fact he asked too many pervy questions and despite the fact I once caught him masturbating while I was talking to him.  But more about him later. 

What really took me by surprise at the start of the season was just how scared my four members of staff were of me. It was actually really funny as I think I am about as scary as Winnie the Pooh. I had decided that I should start the season being professionally distant and I wasn't aware of just how this would come across. It became painfully obvious that these people were terrified of me to the stage that when I walked into the room all of them would visibly stand up straight. It came to a rather unpleasant head to me one night when, a couple of weeks into the season, I decided to go out with everyone after work one day (I did not do this often) and one member of staff, drunkenly whispered to my lovely bar supervisor (who thankfully wasn't scared of me and was actually a great friend) 'I just don't feel that I can be myself because Cat is out'. The Bar Sup related this story to me in fits of giggles and I instantly felt about a hundred years old, completely guilty that my mere presence in a bar was ruining people's evenings and slightly curious because I had just seen the girl in question make out with some stranger and so, I wondered, if that's what she does when she feels like she has to be on best behaviour, what does she do when I'm not there????  

The only person who found people quaking at my very presence in the room as funny and unfounded as I did was AJ. He had worked briefly at my hotel last year and so had seen me in my first few months in 'management', when I was frankly, a bit shit. And having someone who did not think I was Cruella was a complete and utter relief and it was nice to have someone to talk to normally. 

We had known each other the year before, but as he had moved onto a different hotel in Meribel quite early on, he had not had a huge effect on my season and I had mainly encountered him when he was absolutely and completely wrecked. I have since talked about him to both the Rep and the Childcare Manager about him and they both said the same thing, 'He was always nice (pause) big drinker'. But at the start of the season he was a complete and utter breath of fresh air, and also as we knew a lot of the same people, he was someone to talk to and reminisce with. 

Now come mid January I was getting a little fed up of being view as the 'past it old lady' by my group of staff who had barely gone through puberty and saw being 25 as the same as being 125. And I started to have a few very dangerous thoughts about wanting to do something to shake things up and stop acting old. In truth I wanted a night off being the 'manager' and to just do something stupid.

I decided to get drunk 

but just how drunk I actually became was a surprise to more than just myself.