Everyone who should be kicking my arse is being suspiciously nice today, apparently no matter what I do. I go out forgetting not one but two lots of orders and, instead of a bollocking, am just mildly chided.
It is, of course, a plot, but I couldn't give a shit. For two reasons.
First, tonight we're off to Paris for the weekend - see http://www.vioulac.com for more on this, I'll fill in when I can.
And second, I have a new job.
I rang Nice Chef yesterday, the one where I went for the trial as plongeur last month, and asked him if he's going to need someone in November. Unfortunately no, he isn't - but he will need someone for December, and that someone is going to be me.
I've got to speak with him again in a couple of weeks to sort dates but, fingers crossed, I'm outta here Real Soon Now.
I'm not going to be saying anything, obviously, until (a) I've been paid again and (b) I have the second place fixed up, but I think it'll work out; I have a good feeling about the New Place that I didn't get about the current one.
Then again I could be back here after the first week in December moaning like hell again, but I'm guessing otherwise. And hoping and believing too.
So, on to the TGV tonight at 9 courtesy of François - thankyou - and the giant picnic I've fixed with bread from Olivero - top bread from two brothers - and an old Vittel bottle filled with red wine.
We arrive after midnight at the Thoumieux, my home-away-from-home in Paris; tomorrow shops and dinner in the Thoumieux restaurant, should be fantastic.
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