Deary me...

There's nothing quite like a night shift to make you think about your life. During last night's shift my colleague broke wind 3 times, belched twice, then slurped his coffee. And he did all that in the space of 20 seconds. At that point I remembered every mistake I have ever made.

I'm not one to moan...

...But I hate working nights. I've only done 1 and already I am confused. When you get out of bed in the afternoon, do you eat breakfast? Or lunch? Do you try and keep to your normal routine, or take a break from all activities until the shifts end?. As a creature of habit I find it particularly tough to embrace the enforced changes, and am all at sea during these nocturnal shifts. And I have found myself harking back to yesteryear,  to a time  when life was so less complicated. 

In 1987, after I had completed my O levels and was awaiting my results I worked for my Auntie in her city centre cafe, Sheer Delight, (the name of the cafe, not my state of mind.) I was drafted in to make and sell doughnuts from a window which opened out onto the street. My duties included preparing the mix, making the doughnuts, then selling them to the public of Liverpool. Following a couple of days training, practising the dropping of the dough into the hot fat, (by far the most skillful and important part of doughnut making) I was ready. I got into work early and prepared my mix with enough made to feed a small tribe. The window was opened, I sat on my stool.....and waited, And waited. And waited. To say business was slow would be the understatement of the year. At the end of the day I had made £4 worth of sales. @ 5 doughnuts for a £1 it was nothing short of disasterous, even more so when you consider I was commanding a wage of £7  per day at this time. The following day was marginally better with £7 taken although we were still operating at a substantial loss. It was at this point that I made a decision that was to prove inspirational, and send sales through the roof. A local printer was contacted and posters were made advertising Liverpool's hottest new stall. They were strategically placed around the cafe window's, in full view of the many passers-by. The result was remarkable as sales soared to well over £125 per day. At times it was difficult to cope with the demand as queues formed around the block. I was in my element, exchanging banter with my customers, some of whom returned daily. Although I never managed to secure a profit-share, (my £7 wage never changed) I was allowed to eat as much as I wanted, and I took full advantage. By the time I left to start college I was considerably heavier as the daily cakes and pastries took their toll. The only downside to a golden summer was an eventual hatred of ring doughnuts as I had eaten so many I became sick of them. I did manage to overcome this problem, and I enjoy them occasionally now, but it took years of doughnut-rehab to get me there.

In the midnight hour...

Back on nights. Gutted.

Blah blah blah

With all amateur football cancelled over the weekend due to the persistent cold weather, all eyes, including mine, turned to the professional game, and two events of real significance. The first was played out not on the field of play, but in the warmth and comfort of the press conference as Liverpool boss Rafael Benitez launched an incredible, yet calculated and prepared verbal assault on Manchester United manager Sir Alex Ferguson. Mr.Benitez, following  claims that his team may begin to feel nervous as the title race enters its final phase, responded with claims of his own that Mr.Ferguson not only undermines referees, both verbally and by intimidatory methods, but also that he wields far too much power in the corridors of English football. He expanded on this further with examples of Mr.Ferguson's transgressions, and the FA's reluctance to punish him. Watching him talk evoked memories of Kevin Keegan's famous rant when he so famously buckled under the weight and pressure of Sir Alex's mind games. Yet this was far more calculated, as the prepared list Rafa produced will testify. And, having re-read what was actually said on Friday, one cannot fail to feel a grudging respect for Rafa Benitez for he has done what so many have failed to do and that is to stand up to Sir.Alex Ferguson. Whether this bravery and fortitude will amount to anything is another matter for the Manchester United boss is an immensely powerful figure, and it is unlikely that his position in the domestic game will be under threat after this affair. But we must respect Rafa Benitez for the stand he has made, and hope that his comments aren't treated as simply the ramblings of a man under pressure, but that of a man who has spoken the truth.

The other event which caused alarm was played out on the field of play, and concerned one of Fergie's star players. Few can argue that Wayne Rooney is not one of the finest footballers currently plying their trade in the Premier League. Yet his attitude towards officials is poor at its best, and disgusting at worst. At times yesterday he treated the referee  as if he had caught him going through his sock draw in his expensive Cheshire mansion. Even allowing for the pressure and white-hot atmosphere of a United-Chelsea clash, surely he must be held to account for the foul and abusive language he so loves to direct at the men in black. Following the Ashley Cole affair last season when he famously turned his back on the referee, it goes to show that some of  the top players have little if no respect for the men in the middle. And that brings us neatly back to the comments from Rafa Benitez's   press conference when he stated that Sir Alex was killing referee's with his comments. Watching yesterday's match, it seems he isn't alone, and he has some willing accomplices. And if the referee has little or no power on the pitch to deal with dissent, how can we expect anybody to take them serious off it?.   

All hail the pickled onion

One of life's great mysteries is why we only eat pickled onions at Xmas time. For 11 months of the year they are largely ignored, resigned to the back of the cupboard where they suffer a slow and painful death. Towards the end of November, when the more organised amongst us begin to  plan our yuletide fayre, last years jar is often located, and subsequently discarded.   In it's place comes a shiny new jar, with crystal clear vinegar and crammed full with crunchy new onions. These make the perfect accompaniment to a cheese sandwich, or even eaten as a stand alone snack. But why only in December?. Why are they treated with the same disrespect afforded to other tasty foodstuffs like mince pies, nut assortments and mint chocolate?. I would love to find out why this is so, and whether anybody would like to join me in campaigning for year-round respect for the PO?. Please let me know and lets get the campaign started. Your life will be so much better with  pickled onions as your regular companion.

Frozen dreams

Frustration is a feeling that one gets used to when running a junior football team. I have lost count of the times I have had to bite my lip to preserve both my sanity, and my touchline respectability. The current cold weather snap is fueling my frustration however as another saturday morning has passed without a ball being kicked in anger. What was once a weekend staple is now just a distant memory. I'm missing the fun, the laughter, the camaraderie, and the many special moments that take place every time the team play. An enjoyable match in the morning sets me up for the day in the way that Ready Brek did a generation ago. And a poor game, or worse still a blank day leaves me feeling bereft, and unsatisfied. I can't wait to get back to action, and get back into my favorite weekend routine.

 

TFI Friday

Day 3 of 3 is done and dusted. A trip to the Lowry museum was the highlight of today, and it was a memorable couple of hours. Bed now, but much to catch up on tomorrow. If only I could get on the internet in work...