Time

Where does it go? One minute I had my final college exams and I was all excited about becoming a catering God, the next I am standing in someone else's grotty little kitchen peeling spuds. Time is a curse, I spend my day looking at my watch willing the hands to turn faster so that I can hang up my whites, which are more of an abysmal grey, and head out alone to yet another over-priced back street London bar. There was a time when I used to swagger around my home town in Scotland and smile widely because I had an inkling that the grass was going to be greener as soon as I had my degree and would open up so many restaurants in the big city of London and become hugely rich and famous like so many others that have gone before me. Time seems to have fucked me and now I am left holding the hands of poverty and unhappiness.

Long Live The Chef

Another one bites the dust, and another one gone, another one gone, another one bites the dust. Is it temporary or is it really the end of the chef? I just got reacquainted with the big yin too. I suppose there is always bookface to fall back on I suppose.