Occasionally it’s brilliant. Most of the time it’s shit.
I’ve been tested. I’m not going to lie. I have been tested.
I’ve been on breaking point this week more than I can ever remember. I’ll admit: I like to think of myself as a bit of a lad… but this week I’ve been no further than two or three things going wrong from breaking down in a shitstorm of tears and cries for Mummy. I’m struggling.
There’s no other way to put it.
I’ve not slept enough and I’m too stressed.
I remember looking at my resort manager the other day and saying: “But Matt, this is probably easier mate. Yea it’s Christmas Day for 18 people… on my own… with breakfast and afternoon tea and canapés and starters and the main Christmas Turkey and Nut Roast dinner and then two puddings… but thats one less option than most nights. ”. And therein lies the rub; it’s just too much for one person to do. And because it’s so much – I’m working too hard – and I’m not sleeping enough – and I’m putting too much pressure on myself – and so I’m making stupid mistakes.
And because of all that… I’m not skiing. A seasonnaire works hard and plays hard. They work long hours for shit pay but they get to go skiing in the day and they get to go out at night. Me? At the moment I’m working the hours of a Michelin Star chef for a grand a month. And I can’t use the ski pass… because I’m working… and I can’t go out at night… because I’m working. So what’s the fucking point.
Christmas Day was hard. It was the first away from my family, the first without a stocking, and the first without much fun. (I keep telling myself this is good for me!!) But frankly I came away because I missed my ex and I didn’t want to anymore – but now I just miss her more. I’m lucky that I’m pretty much the only person in the company with my own room, so I can have fun 😉 and also get some time to myself… but still: I’m up at 6 and back at 12.
Occasionally its brilliant. Most of the time it’s shit.
But the guests thought Christmas was great. It was the their last night and one of them said it was the best roast they’d had and I got two of the young lads to try sprouts again: “Fuck off mate: I ain’t touching them” – but they did and I got the thumbs up (it’s amazing what a bit of buerre noisette and some bacon can do). And then Sanjay, one of our guests (and a Fulham fan so an utter legend) stood up and, realistically, made the entire week worthwhile. He just made me feel like all the hard work we’d put in had been massively appreciated and that made the lack of sleep and the stress feel worthwhile.
And I got a round of applause for my Yule Log… which had meringue mushrooms on. Just saying.
So on Boxing Day we waved them off and then I deep cleaned my kitchen whilst slow roasting beef bourgignon for that night and pork belly for the next. No rest for the wicked.
New Years week… and we’ve got the whole chalet booked out by one large group…and by a Lord and Lady!!
My Godfather’s a Lord… and there were none more legendary than him… so I’m not worried. Just saying. x
Buche de Noel. My Christmas Day Yule Log.
Some random people from a night out. One for the Christmas jumper fans.
PS. I started a vlog. Youtube The Bloating Blogger.