I'm getting quite scared now. I've only got the weekend and then potential comedic disaster is upon me. I tend to leave everything until the last minute but fortunately, I've done some preliminary planning, mainly because Darbster would have collapsed with worry otherwise.
I dragged myself and a recalcitrant overgrown shopping trolley around the Cash & Carry last night, not a pleasant experience after a 10 hour day. I deftly adapted my plans when I discovered they had run out of frozen mushy peas and just picked up 6 gi-normous tins of Bachelors. I wasn't so unflappable when it came to selecting the mint sauce and could quite easily have wept over whether to opt for the ready-prepared or concentrate. The very act of choosing a colour scheme for the paper table cloths and napkins was enough to leave me dithering up and down the aisle for a good 25 minutes. The store detective must have assumed I had some sort of obsessive compulsive stress disorder, so often did I pick up one set, then another, only to return to the original pack within seconds.
At least you know where you are with conveyancing. All estate agents are evil. All clients are lovely, reasonable people until it comes to mentioning completion dates when they narrow to one-track minded self-obsessed tyrants ( if you are a past, current or future client, I am not of course referring to you but simply using this for illustration purposes, please be assured that you remain lovely and reasonable). My Lovely Boss is Lovely. And I pretty much know the answer to any problem or situation that may arise as it's likely to have happened at some time or another over the last 18 or so years.
But catering! that's a completely different kettle of poached salmon. I'm alright at the serving bit, and I'm fantastic at the eating part but I'm not so sure about the whole preparation, quantities and timing thing. Fortunately, Steph the Chef and Vickie the sandwich shop owner are taking charge of the kitchen with the gifted, talented home baker, Sheila assisting so I think I'll be able to cope with the washing up afterwards.
Meanwhile, Darbster's been snapped by the local press standing next to one of his garden sculptures. He's supposed to be emailing a copy of the proof to me tomorrow. We've got to come up with a caption by Monday morning.
No prizes for guessing what my next post is going to comprise.
I dragged myself and a recalcitrant overgrown shopping trolley around the Cash & Carry last night, not a pleasant experience after a 10 hour day. I deftly adapted my plans when I discovered they had run out of frozen mushy peas and just picked up 6 gi-normous tins of Bachelors. I wasn't so unflappable when it came to selecting the mint sauce and could quite easily have wept over whether to opt for the ready-prepared or concentrate. The very act of choosing a colour scheme for the paper table cloths and napkins was enough to leave me dithering up and down the aisle for a good 25 minutes. The store detective must have assumed I had some sort of obsessive compulsive stress disorder, so often did I pick up one set, then another, only to return to the original pack within seconds.
At least you know where you are with conveyancing. All estate agents are evil. All clients are lovely, reasonable people until it comes to mentioning completion dates when they narrow to one-track minded self-obsessed tyrants ( if you are a past, current or future client, I am not of course referring to you but simply using this for illustration purposes, please be assured that you remain lovely and reasonable). My Lovely Boss is Lovely. And I pretty much know the answer to any problem or situation that may arise as it's likely to have happened at some time or another over the last 18 or so years.
But catering! that's a completely different kettle of poached salmon. I'm alright at the serving bit, and I'm fantastic at the eating part but I'm not so sure about the whole preparation, quantities and timing thing. Fortunately, Steph the Chef and Vickie the sandwich shop owner are taking charge of the kitchen with the gifted, talented home baker, Sheila assisting so I think I'll be able to cope with the washing up afterwards.
Meanwhile, Darbster's been snapped by the local press standing next to one of his garden sculptures. He's supposed to be emailing a copy of the proof to me tomorrow. We've got to come up with a caption by Monday morning.
No prizes for guessing what my next post is going to comprise.
posted by Cherrypie at 9:38 pm
3 Comments:
Cherrypie...thanks for visiting my site! I love your country! I was stationed just north of Luton for 3 years back in the 80's.Glad to have a reader from the other side of the Pond. Have a great day!
Thanks for stopping by my blog! I guess "whinge-bag" isn't too far off the mark seeing as profess to dislike the town I work in but have done little in over 10 years to move much further afield!
Well, I don't like it either but I'm still living near it after almost 35 years. I blame it on the local apathy.
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