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Bank holiday blues

We who work under the pitiless aegis of the harsh mistress of the catering industry are, en masse, particularly unhappy today. You see, bank holiday weekends are a particular rubbing-in of the fact that we are not as you are, gentle readers. Normally, monday is a day off for me, to rest up after the painful rigours of a weekend on the stoves, possibly catch up on a little sleep.

It is not a day when I should be dragging my sorry arse into work again, just to cater to you happy, blithe, souls who take these TOTALLY RANDOM BONUS DAYS OFF WHICH WE DON'T GET TO HAVE entirely for granted. And because we don't have these TOTALLY RANDOM BONUS DAYS OFF we've had to turn down the offers of late night pints and mischief which people have been indulging in all weekend, because we know that it's a long week, and we know that being hungover once is fine, twice is cumulative, and far too much like hard work.

And we fun-loving (read: dipsomaniac) Brits celebrate bank holiday weekends so aggressively. As I was strolling out of work on Friday I saw the first casualities of the weekend reeling around the clocktower, matters continued to deteriorate, a frankly terrifying amount of booze has disappeared down the nation's throat. By last night, as I gently removed a wandering drunk from my path I fell to wondering where on earth you all get the money for these TOTALLY RANDOM BONUS DAYS OFF. Then I remembered. You get paid for these TOTALLY RANDOM BONUS DAYS OFF. You bastards.

So should you go out for a meal today, or, god forbid, even a fourth day straight on the lash. Don't forget to tip, tip recklessly, tip generously. Because Bank holiday monday is the day above all other days that it sucks to be a chef, sucks to be a waitress, sucks to be bar-staff, sucks to be any one of those people who facilitate your lumpen, amoebic enjoyment of these TOTALLY RANDOM BONUS DAYS OFF (Not you, obviously, coastalblog reader discerning and more attractive than the average as you are, your enjoyment of these days is doubtless refined, suave and characterised by sparkling conversation and highbrow entertainment).

In Ormskirk news, I cannot help but note with a curl of disdain that Jeff, Ormskirk's celebrated rollerblading septuagenarian has caused a minor splash in the press. Due to a facebook group dedicated to him, in which various gurning, arriba-loving buffoons state their admiration for the great man. Notwithstanding that admiration for Jeff is a default state, and has no need of expressing, I would refer these johnny come latelies to Coastalblog's sister site, created in May 2005 the domain name of which provides ample proof that he has been in our thoughts for a long time. Posers. The same goes for the appreciation group for the quiz at the windmill, as Lesley would like to state, we were there before she started mispronouncing the questions on purpose. And it's "Qiuz", not "Quiz", that was part of the charm. You damn kids with your facebook and your pop music and your "Sexual intercourse" think you invented everything...

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