So why start a blog? I have failed signally at keeping diaries in the past, and enough of yer workaday problems I translate into writing of one form or another.
Weeeell, I think it's partly the discipline of the thing. I don't expect to have this read at all except by the occasional far flung friend or utterly random person. I can't quite remember who it was (but I think it was Raymond Queneau) who wrote something about the conscious mind being taken up with tasks and letting the subconscious have it's head. Maybe that's the point of this whole thing, let the subconscious have it's head. It'll probably be infrequent, but then again I may become obsessed by the whole idea and post to it voraciously. One can never tell.
"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed. Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...
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