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One job after the other

When my alarm went off this morning, I lay in the dark and thought about lists. The first thoughts upon waking (apart from the standard existential angst and dread) we as follows: Burgers, spare soup, fish pie, potatoes, millionaire shortbread, tarts, lemon drizzle cake. The prep list, written up on my whiteboard at work, waiting for me, the shape of my morning.

I am a chef, an occupation which requires order and discipline to work effectively. I am also, by nature, disorganised and somewhat messy. This clash is (in part) resolved by lists. Your prep list and your order list are your sun and your moon, imposing order on a situation which could all too easily spiral out of control*, one missed job, or ingredient unbought can spark a catastrophic chain of events. No jam? Can’t make Bakewell tart, no tart? Other desserts get hammered, the prep list grows, priorities change, other jobs get missed, maybe a regular doesn’t get the dish they want.

The approach has bled through to my non-kitchen life. Underneath the prep list in my pre-dawn thoughts ran a sub-routine of: blog, run, paperwork. In my wallet there’s a scrap of paper with books I mean to get from the library, another one of songs I’ve heard that I want to hear again. The list represents the hope that one day, somehow, I’ll get caught up, it’ll all get done. The list is a lifeline, one end anchored to the possibility of achieving everything you want.

*Likewise the blogs are an attempt to impose order on a writing situation which is woefully fitful. Not going that well so far, but possibly the power of lists will rescue the situation.

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