Posted on 1st February, 2016

Sunday morning. Rupert, bless his cotton strippy "I'm a great dad" socks wakes me up, as he does every day with a lovely mug of coffee. This compensates for the fact that it is quarter-past-seven on the Sabbath. So the day has started. We moved house not long ago. It's a lovely house but it is freezing. However I'm still in bed in my onesie with a steaming cup of coffee, albeit at the crack of dawn. All is well with the world. By nine o'clock I'm at the restaurant ready for the frantic day ahead - almost. Another wee coffee and I'll be awake. Now the thing about restaurant life is that everyone drinks coffee all the time and you can't just make yourself a cuppa. No, if you make one for yourself then you feel obliged to make one for everyone. The best possible result is to arrive at work just as the coffees are being poured because then whoever is brewing up will add you in. Not this Sunday though, I had missed my chance. By the time I got there not only had all the chefs had their coffee, they were ready for another one. So. before I'd even taken my coat, hat or scarf off I got the pan of water on.  I felt an itch under my hat. New hat - woolly. I rearranged. Coffees made, I got to the office. Another itch under my hat. I had a look. Spider......It amazes my children. Well sometimes it amazes me too but after 46 years I'm kind of used to it. And worse still I am one of those people who, when they see somebody shrieking at wasps or cold water pools, thinks "man up princess". Yet I am hugely, irrationally and completely terrified of spiders. No-holds -barred  shaking-scared. 

I chucked the hat into the middle of the kitchen floor. And, casting all my Bhuddist leanings aside,  I screamed to the kitchen porter "Kill it. Kill it"  So there's my hat lying in the middle of the floor with four chefs and a pot-wash looking blankly at it as I scream "Kill it. Kill it". From the back of the kitchen I hear a wee murmur..."Aisla, I think your hat is already well dead"


And so begins another week at Wee LOCHAN.



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