It's 2210, I'm sitting down in front of the PC eating my pudding.
First, thanks to EVERYONE who's sent such very, very kinds words of encouragement and good luck, it's much appreciated.
How did it go? Weird, really.
I drove to work from Marie's house in Avignon, thinking all the way, 'First day of the rest of your life' and other such stuff. But it's true this time for once in an interesting way.
Work - exactly how I expected and completely different.
I sliced and diced and made a fruit salad; I have a works canteen (OK, a posh French one but the principal is the same) all of my very own to look after every day; today I had to make a cheese omelette for a Muslim who wouldn't eat the pork portion of the lunchtime event. And I made a sugar syrup to go with the eight BILLION kiwis I sliced up.
And I vacuum packed loads of stuff, learned what goes where in the FOUR cold rooms and tried to get my head round the scale of this thing.
Essentially, we're doing in the order of 200-300 covers a day for various audiences: the posh - really posh with bows on - traiteur stuff, the 5-euros-a-head, three-course meal in the works canteen and lots in between.
This evening I went with Chef to Metro to buy some proper chef's clothes: two jackets (boil wash specials), two pairs of blue and white check trousers, a pair of very comfy non-slip chef shoes. Cool stuff, and two outfits for €121. Not bad.
The rest is still whirling round my head now: did I enjoy myself? I think I was too busy enjoying myself and getting on with the job to notice.
Was it hard or easy? Both. What I've done already prepared me for some of it, including Chef's Foibles (leave all the lights on everywhere and don't bother turning taps off, but make sure you use the push cart to transport anything more than a cheese sandwich). Cutting up stuff for a fruit salad should be easy, except you need to peel kiwis like this not like that.
This ultimately doesn't bother me; I'm old and wise enough (cough) to have a duck's back/water mentality now. And it's ultimately a job I think I love.
So.
Cool, I think.
And bloody tiring; my feet are killing me - 15 minutes for lunch, otherwise it's work, work, work from 8 am to 5 tonight.
Blimey.
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