Skip to main content

Defining moments

So I was reading an article about how golly gosh Lee Evans is appearing in proper theatre rather than just that Norman Wisdom thing he does that the proles like and goodness me he's actually quite good even though he lives in Essex (Evan's being marvellous is no news to those of us who've seen the little known British film Funny Bones, I won't go on about its wonderfulness but you really ought to see it, should you get the chance). And whilst I snorted at the notion of his ability coming as a surprise to anyone (he's done Becket for god's sake) I got to thinking about the little ways we define ourselves.

Ever since I was a small child I wanted to be a writer. Well, actually I wanted to be a footballer but due to my staggering physical ineptitude from a very young age I was fully cognisant that this wasn't going to happen, being last picked every single lunchtime will soon drive those dreams of Wembley right out of your head. For a brief period in my teens I thought being a musician was definitely the way forward, again the grim realisation of a complete lack of ability kiboshed that (though I do still occasionally hack at a guitar when I'm sure everyone's out of the house. I look forward to embarrassing my kids with off key renditions of Smells Like Teen Spirit in about twenty-five years time. You know, when they bring their prospective spouses round for tea). I was always pretty convinced that I'd end up as a writer, and I am, of sorts. Even the lecturing I do isn't a complete surprise.

That I might end up as a chef never occurred to me once; that I might wind up being a businessman is an idea the absurdity of which would have had me hooting with derisive laughter. Then again, the idea that I might have been married in my twenties would probably have elicited a similar response. But still, turns for the odd, one and all. Lee Evans would be proud.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Creepy old men

I note, somewhat wearily, that creepy old men are back in the news, being creepy. Creepy old men, and their apologists and enablers, who argue that their creepiness is somehow the natural order of things. Old men would have you believe that it is difficult to not be a creepy old man. That it is a task of epic proportions. It is not that difficult. It is a matter of intention. As yet more of the grimness of Epstein unfolds, creepy old men are, sadly, a flaccid topic once again. Whether it be pursuing students thirty years their junior, or simply not asking too many questions about the background of the probably legal young woman who you've just been introduced to by your good pal Jeff. To be clear, I am not referring to criminal creepy old men, the ones who actually committed statutory rape, the ones who fucked trafficked hirls. That is not something which is allowed to get away merely with the contempt of the observer.  That deserves prison.  No , I'm referring to the hinterla...
Post a Comment
Read more

Inedible

"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...
Post a Comment
Read more

The daftest complaint I ever had

I have written here several times down the years about customer complaints, both justified and idiotic. Working in hospitality they are an ineivitability. No matter how good you are, how consistent, you will get complaints. Very few of them stick in the memory, but some, by virtue of their extreme idiocy, do. And one popped into my mind as I was plating up a dish this lunchtime, and I thought, why not, it's as good a thing to write a blog about as any. It's also an entertaining example of how events can play out in ways you may not expect at the time. It sticks in the mind as it combined stupidity with a petty malice and venality which leaves me with no qualms about taking the piss out of it publicly. I rarely let bad reviews lie, if I feel they're unfair I might demur, if I feel they're reasonable I'll make a point of apologising. If they're stupid I'll take pleasure in replying very politely. This one got ignored. It happened on a Sunday, which is another ...
Post a Comment
Read more