But I hate it. Not the actual handing of the food to the kids . I like that bit. We chat, I come across as lame when I try and be cool, my kids roll their eyes at me when I ask them their names...you know, that stuff is great. No, it's the slogging over a hot stove, feeding the pie warmer with tray after tray of hot cubes of pastry enveloped beef and plunging my hands alternately into the freezer for the frozen yoghurts and then popping hot pies into pie bags. I smell like a pie for the rest of the day. And all the time I know I could be out painting. I seethe with resentment and worry that I'm burning the sausage rolls!
This morning I got a quick paint in before my 2 hours penance. I painted in the same road as the school, cutting it fine enough to still be in painting smock but have time to wash my hands before dealing to the lunch orders. The high of painting did much to carry me through the first hour, but so help me, if this was my job everyday, I would need a bottle of something in the third drawer down to help. A BIG bottle.
Plus, I look shite in hairnets.