Harry BawBags Blurt

I would be a goner!

If I had the group of chefs I work with at the moment behind me in any case …

Useless they are ahm tellin ye … absolutely zero work ethic.

Wankers too … get this -

So there I am 5.30 in the morning trying to show this “chef” how to do a breakfast service.

He is 19 … He if full of himself … and he knows sweet fuck all about cooking.

The sort of bloke that when you tell him to do something he asks you why?

When I issued him with his first rota he said “My name is third on the list – does that mean Im third in the pecking order?” … Ah told him there was no pecking order – you do what youre told and you dont worry about fuck all else.

Yip! … A True Prick of the Highest Order.

Bawbags has no truck with those types now … its the best way ahm tellin ye!

History has proved that to me …

Ye see when I was 20 – I was probably a prick myself.

And when I was 25 – I always felt an urge to inform pricks they were pricks.

But now Im 30 – I just let the pricks BE pricks – theyll get it in the neck eventually.

Anyway, I Digress …

So at 8.30am we are wrapping up the breakfast service and in walks the second chef. First thing he does is change the channel on the kitchen radio … it is his radio after all.

Prick Chef lifts his head from his bacon trays and blurts out “Oi you ignorant Cunt … I was listening to that”

Me and the second chef were absolutely aghast … Ah couldnae believe ma ears!

The second chef very calmly walked up to him and altough I didnt quite catch what he said … the words “take it outside” were definitely used.

The second chef turns his back and walks calmly away … but Prick Chefs pride has been hurt … throwing a pack of bacon at no one in particular he shouts “Lets fucking go then mate … reckon Im scared of you?”

He should of been scared – it would have been a pasting … a seven shades of shit pasting.

Time for Bawbags to grasp the poison chalice that is kitchen management – I would of loved to have seen this pasting occur but in my role as Head Chef it would not have been looked well upon by the upper echelons.

“Right ye fuckin idiot … get the fuck oot ma kitchen … who in the name o fuck de ye think ye are … ye canny be kickin aff like that in here – theres too many fuckin sharps aroond … nae tellin whit yell do ye pshyco”

I go straight intae Begsbie mode when it comes tae shite like that.

In a GOOD way that is.

If thats entirely possible.

Needless to say Prick Chef is no longer in the companys employ.

But the other 4 or 5 still are.

Slowly Slowly Catch The Monkey … constructive dismissal is the way to go.

Its time to get back to what happened in Annecy …

So there I was, on the french equivalent of a pub crawl.

The four French guys I was with had limited English and the more I drank the more pronounced my accent became … after a couple of hours of solid lager time I mustve been almost incomprehensible to them … and as for my French skills – they just went right oot the window – no point even tryin!!!

But it was a good night … the evening sunset between the mountains in the distance gave the wee winding streets a warm glow … and while walking between hostelries I distinctly remember feeling very un-Bawbags-like, so to speak.

There was none of that usual tension I was used to feeling on nights out back home in Scotland.

I go out there and theres always a sense of impending disaster … like, Oh fuck! Whit tragedy is gonna befall me the night!

Will ah make a tit of masel? … Will ma bird get groped by a lech? … Will ah get a kickin or even a stabbin, or maybe worse – ah might even catch a glimpse of that most dangerous of creatures – THE EX! … oot enjoyin hersel with MaX PoWeR man & the rest of her team ay zombies …

Nope there was none of that shite on my mind … It felt almost blissful … which is a rare occurrence for BawBags let me tell ye!

The French guys were havin a great time of it an all … parading me around and introducing me to aw their mates.

Ah didnt understand a word of what they were saying most of the time – all I new was that I was in “go with the flow” mode and the drinks were piling up in front of me.

At one stage in the evening we were all sitting at a window table in this cosy wee bistro and there was a hell of a racket from outside … a firework going off, the screech of a cat and four or five Ned types bolting past, laughing as they almost knocked over a wee waiter who had been clearing one of the outside tables.

What is it with these Neds … they dress the same in France as they do all over the UK!!!

Trackie bottoms, Fred Perry Polo Necks and Burberry Caps … there was a wee flash of Argos Sovereign Ring too if I wasnt mistaken!.

Nae hoodies though!

Ill give them that at least!

There must be a website these cunts are getting it aw fae – www.nedlook.com or something …”happy slap in style” is the hookline probably!

Theres pricks all over the world I suppose, but its almost uncanny how this breed of pricks have independently adopted the same garb … I could of been on the high street back in Scotland the way they looked tae me!

Anyway … a wee reminder of home wasnae gonna ruin Bawbags blissful state of mind!

No Siree!

That was until I had some whisky bought for me.

I once had a T-Shirt as a teenager – “Instant Arsehole – Just add Alcohol” – well mixing whisky with lager has that effect on me.

I began to feel maudlin – I couldnt stop thinking about what was infront of me when I got back tae Scotland – Nae Job, Dive of a Flat, etc.etc.etc – I just couldnae make any sense of it.

Whit the Fuck was ah gonnae do!

I began to get a wee bit lippy with my French Friends … thank god they couldnae understand me!

After a quick trip tae the gents and a splash of cold water to ma face ah saw things a wee bit clearer and decided tae cut ma losses and end the night there … it would just end up with me being an arse and collapsing in a heap anyway … probably cryin too the shape ah was in.

Ah didnae even make excuses to the guys … ah just slipped oot the back entrance intae the alleyways of Annecy.

Then it struck me … Ah didnae have a clue where ah was! … and ah was pretty smashed tae boot!

So ah just walked and walked. It was late too by then – about 2am I reckon cos there was nobody aboot at all.

I was tryin to work out how to ask directions back to ma B&B in French and ah was prepared tae knock on any door that had a light on!

It was then that I heard another firework goin off and ah decided tae follow its general direction.

As I approached the next corner there was loadsa laughing and this terrible mewling and growling sound … fair put the shiters up me so it did.

Then these Neds appeared again and I realised what they were up tae.

They had caught some cat and tied some kinda rope around its body and they were setting bangers of around it taking fly wee kicks at it as it tried tae get away …. great fun eh?

Poor wee cat was terrified – the whole of its fur was raked up and it was making a truly horrible sound – how the fuck did nobody hear aw the commotion?

It wasnae a stray either … it was one of they rare ones and it was obviously somebodys pride and joy … some lonely wee spinster nae doubt – standin waitin at a door up tae high do cause wee Felix has no come back in the night!

Now ah dont prescribe tae violent solutions – but AH FUCKIN HATE CRUELTY TAE ANIMALS.

Ah didnae even think cause it happened in a flash.

They hadnt seen me … Ah walked up tae the biggest one and said “Here you ya cunt!”

As he turned ah banjoed the bastard square on the jaw and he was oot like a light … no sound fom him or anything.

The others took one look and scarpered … needless to say so did the cat.

Ah suddenly realised what I had done and was thankful ah wasnt in Scotland.

Ah wouldve probably been stabbed tae ribbons by his mates.

So there ye go … there is a difference tae French Neds – Nae Baws!

Quickly realising if the Polis stumbled upon the scene at that moment ahd be up the creek – ah bolted in the opposite direction.

Ah ended up sleepin on a bench by the lake and when I woke ma face had been bitten all over by ants … and ma hand was like a bloody balloon … agony it was …

Whit a state!

It was time for me tae get home tae Scotland ah quickly decided …

Ah wis missing my Polish Girlfriend anyway … at least her being a nurse she would know what tae do with ma hand.

Aye … Back tae Scotland and whatever may be in store …

Je dois partir mon ami … Je dois partir.

And nine hours later ah was on the National Express from Bristol tae Inverness.