Harry BawBags Blurt

Thats what it feels like to me.

Yip! Another season of catering madness looms over me. The thought of all those miscreants that will turn up at the door claiming to be “hard working” chefs and kitchen porters is already making me feel weak.

Last season I had one guy turn up – fully qualified and good references – Magic!, I thought.

Until his first day of work when he rolls up looking like a bag of shit and smelling of booze.

And then he tells me that he wont touch any raw meat …

“You fucking what?!!!”

“Yeah” he says, “it just makes me feel queasy”.

I told him he was in the wrong game and there was a pile of dirty dishes with his name on it over in the sink.

“I wasnt born to clean” he sneered at me.

Bold As Fuckin Brass!

“Well ye werent born tae cook either pal … so youre nae use tae man nor beast!”

Thing is – the way that this company works … I had to put up with the flake for 4months … couldnae get rid of him cause there were no other applicants.

Mental.

Anyway, the seasons no come into play just yet so Im kinda just setting things up before the aforesaid miscreants turn up and fuck up my life for the rest of the year.

Apropos of which a brand new oven turned up the other day …

A Rational, thats kinda the cream of the crop as far as ovens go within the catering industry.

Fifteen thousand pounds of quality German Engineering.

250 Kilogrammes of Stainless Steel, Fans, gas piping and high spec electronics.

It had been made to order by a crack team of engineers over the space of two days …. tested for excellence by rigorous quality control experts.

Then carefully packaged within a puzzle of high impact polystyrene, cardboard, shrink wrap and plywood before being carefully loaded into a freighter at the Hook of Holland for superfast efficient delivery to the UK.

10 hours later it rolled up at the back of my kitchen … it was in the back of a shitty looking lorry amongst a bunch of DVD players and cappucino machines destined for Argos.

The driver, about five inches smaller than me and about half the weight, got out wearing a food stained t-shirt, five oclock shadow and breath smelling like death.

“Awrite mate … have you got a fork lift then?”

“You Fucking What?!”

I find myself saying that A LOT regarding catering.

I may adopt it as bona fide catchphrase.

I had to run around and hire a pallet truck, get it on site, and then Mr Muscle and I managed to wrestle the thing onto the lorry heist which groaned loudly under the strain as it lowered it to the ground.

“You got a problem here mate” the driver shouts at me.

I took one look and almost went back home to bed.

The bloody thing wouldnt even fit in the door.

Ah wis scoobied!

We took of all the packaging and it still didnt fit!!!

Ah phoned the General Manager and told him what was going on … “Cant you turn it on its side?”

I caught myself before asking him “You Fucking What?” – it may have affected my employ in too negative a manner.

“Eh… No … Its almost 300kilos and I aint had ma porridge this morning … and it did cost Fifteen Thousand Pounds and ah wouldnae like to take the grief if I damaged it”

The cavalry soon arrived – a team of maintenance men including a joiner who nonchantly hammered the door frame out in such a manner that some of the brickwork above caved in.

“Fuck” he said.

Here we go ah thought.

“Better get the bloody thing in before the wall goes”, he says.

Health and Safety At Work Act 1974 … where are you now?

I woulda taken photos but they all seemed kinda protective over their little mistake.

Anyway, to cut a long story short we got it in and the wall was fixed and the door frame was conjured back into existence.

Ah needed a break after aw that and decided tae take a wee trip tae the local Sainsburys tae see what CDs the have on offer at the mo.

I parked the car and saw this …

Its a portable dog shower.

YOU FUCKING WHAT?!!!

The world turns eh?

Aw the best fae BawBags.