I love my job. I genuinely love it. Whereas my previous employment saw me grumbling about the hours and scoffing at any time we were “asked” if we wanted to work extra hours, this one sees me dropping things at a moment’s notice and heading in to work to run a room or two.
Today, for example, started off completely empty. Carole was off to see her friend for a catch up and I had a carefully planned day of periods of nothing in particular interspersed with cooking lovely things.
But the best laid plans of mice and men, as they say.
If there’s one thing you can almost always guarantee with this job of mine, it’s that it can become quite tricky to make bread. I’d made it almost as far as shaping the rolls for the second prove when I had to jack it all in and head off to get ready and get my arse into town for some Murder Mystery shenanigans. I just threw the dough in the fridge and that was that. As I write this now, it’s on a second prove in the kitchen – a very slow second prove as it comes back to room temperature after an afternoon in the fridge. If I’m lucky, the rolls might be done before midnight.
In the past, I’ve literally headed off to work immediately after removing cooked bread from the oven. I am lulled into a false sense of security by an empty day – even though I know that can change at a moment’s notice – and start doing things which can take five hours from start to finish. But hey, it adds an element of danger to an otherwise dull existence.
Today, though, had a much larger casualty. We’d planned on having a roast dinner today. I was to spend the afternoon slaving over a hot stove, peeling potatoes and doing all sorts of culinary wonders. But, alas, it was not to be. The whole thing has been put on hold until a suitable afternoon during the week comes along. It’s genuinely gutting on a variety of levels but primarily because it’s a Sunday Roast and there is NOTHING BETTER.
And now it will become a weekday roast. Which will be exactly the same, but somehow doesn’t have the same gravitas. And that, of course, is escapee dependant.
I couldn’t even leave Carole in charge of it all as she wasn’t in this afternoon. I had to text her and break her little heart that we wouldn’t be making it. And, to add insult to injury, the bread I’m making now was primarily to be used to make sandwiches with the leftovers from the roast.
The whole structure of our weekend has gone for a burton because of my job.
And I fricking love it.