Harry BawBags Blurt

… thats what its like.

Ahm talkin about the catering industry.

Its like a beacon, a point of light, a refuge for the British underclass.

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; send these, the homeless tempest-tossed … and we will turn them into kitchen porters and feed them “meals on duty”.

Magic eh.

Kitchen Porters are often a breed apart.

The unemployable become employed eh?

The thing I like about them is that they have history … imagine washing pots and pans all day long for 20 odd years … what must that be like? What does that do to a fellow human. Im fascinated by them. I find a certain romance in it all.

Christ I need help!

Anyway …

Occasionally amongst the sea of kitchen porters a certain one or two somehow manage to float to the surface and make themselves known amongst all their peers.

Characters.

Thats the only way tae describe them.

And I think I may have stumbled upon another.

Mr Johnson is in his mid fifties and he is happy. He lives with his mother and step-father in a dive of a council estate. He is a wee bit tapped … but seems pleasantly aware of the ridiculousness of it all … life and living and all that stuff.

Mr Johnson has hinted that he has had a nervous breakdown and a marriage that lasted a matter of weeks.

Mr Johnson has eyebrows that mustve been stolen from one of Jim Hensons Muppets.

Ye gotta love the daft old bastard eh?

I like him a lot … he is simple in a good way.

I even work late sometimes just to give him a lift home at the end of his shift … he likes the craic and so do I.

I may spend a fair bit of time blogging him.