Bloody hell. Three years of sitting on my arse staring at a computer screen, then I go into work with The Dreaded One, deep in the bowels of the Opera House, and my God I'm out of shape. I mean, I can stomp for hours on end and I can do the occasional hill sprint, but when did standing at a kitchen bench chopping things become so gruelling? So utterly gruelling.
AND I only chopped things for eight hours. Tomorrow it's going to be a fifteen hour day... what the hell have I gotten myself into? And get the numbers - 1,200 canape munchers on the forecourt, a private cocktail party for 880, and a three course sit down dinner for another couple of hundred. I've been a forecourt canape muncher in the past, and let me tell you, those people are animals.
So just know that when you are watching on your television the sky above Sydney Harbour explode in a frenzy of dazzling colour, The Dreaded One and I will be slaving away deep inside the Opera House... actually I think at midnight the kitchen staff are sneaking up to the forecourt to ogle at the pretty colours.
But make sure when you see the Opera House, you say Happy New Year, Quick.
Happy New Year everyone.
PS: I'd forgotten how working in food prep makes you smell funny. Right now I have coriander fingers. Wonder what they'll say tomorrow when we have to puck herbs again when I ask, "Cool if I use tweezers this time?"
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1 comment:
Ah, you're now working in one of my fave Aussie icons. I still giggle at that painting with the football players in tutu... something feminine.
Happy New Year to you and yours, Quick.
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