You Gotta Laugh

It’s a well known fact that I take life and work far too seriously. And maybe Planet Sark’s life lesson for me is to lighten up and laugh at situations which, actually are quite, hmmm, how do I put this kindly …. bizarre.

A first timer behind the bar has loaded me with innumerable challenges. Even after 2 weeks my little heart starts pounding when I’m taking a drinks order. Very early into my apprenticeship I was asked for a Noilly Prat (or something like that). I tried very hard not to look like a possum in headlights as I’d never heard of it. Thankfully I am being shown the bar ropes by a very patient Sonia and slowly I’m learning the different drinks, what mixers go with what, and the costs. I can even pull a pint (lager or bitter, Sir?) without too much of a head. When asked what types of canned beers we have I mentioned Woodpecker. Turns out Woodpecker is a cider. You gotta laugh.

I’ve finally grown to taking lunch and dinner orders and was very proud of myself for getting everything just right, for being charming to our patrons and generally doing the silver service with a smile. Very proud of myself until I realised I was wandering around the whole time with a tea towel over my shoulder. You gotta laugh.

Ma’am has an interesting teaching and nurturing style. Yelling. “I’m sorry if I’m yelling at you, but yelling at people is the best way for them to learn.” Interesting concept …. in feudal times, maybe. Oh wait. Are we still in feudal times? I am no longer sure.

My worksheets have had an interaction with a candle but not much damage was done and I was able to hide the evidence. There’s been many a broken glass and to date I’ve managed to keep my cool with the Chef who spits fire and eats little children. “You effing want effing strawberries? We don’t have effing strawberries so go eff off.” He had strawberries. We are no longer friends. You gotta laugh.

I have worked a 14 day stretch and at times until 10.30 at night. After our late nights we sit around the dining table in our little house and laugh at the day’s events. We laugh about the ‘mistakes’ we’ve made. We laugh about Chef Colin and we laugh that we are eating bloody chicken kiev for the zillionth time this week. We laugh because, if we didn’t we’d all be off this place quicker than you can say, did you enjoy your meal sir.

My first Pimms. Who’d have thought. Stranger than fiction.

Rob, the delightful young chef from Birmingham. (I worry sbout the bullying culture in the kitchen. Rob’s motto is one team, one dream. Doesn’t quite work with bullies.) And Sonia the very talented and patient Queen of Bar & Restaurant.

What I’m currently reading so that I can fathom everyone out and remain sane.

Me in my black and whites with Tony Hemming. My grandmother’s maiden name was Hemming so we may be related and he was so pleased we met he insisted on photos. A lovely guy.

Polish Sophie and Maria cooked us an amazing feast for Easter. We have become firm friends and we look after each other.

Delighful French Ben and Manchester Jane. I served them at our place one evening then bumped into them again at Stocks the Opposition the next night so had a a few drinks and a meal with them and spent the whole evening laughing.

They spent a year in NZ and loved talking about their travels. We also found we had Kathmandu jackets in common.

I hope to see them again as they are living in Jersey.

Opening Day

After a 15 hour day yesterday, I’m treating myself to a late start, so it will be 8.00 instead of 7.00. I can only muster a few photos for this post. But things that quickly come to mind:

  • Fawlty Towers
  • Feminist boxing gloves mentally aimed at a sleezy patron
  • Manic Ma’am
  • Yummy chicken curry in my room at 10.00pm. Thanks Chef, who has become my mate – good to have a Michelin Star chef as a mate.
  • Tired feet
  • Will never complain about having to wait for a bill again.
  • Waiter not turning up for evening shift, but turned up at my door, drunk whilst I was devouring my curry. Outcome – got rid of him quick smart & will be organising a lock on my door.
  • Looking forward to Chef’s Greek yoghurt & fruit compots this morning. He foolishly said I can help myself.

It’s Show Time

25th April – re-opening day has arrived. Two long months of learning, prepping and coming to grips with the hospitality industry is over & today our first guests arrive…..unlike our staff. I have diarised when each staff member was supposed to arrive & so far we haven’t seen a soul. So today & maybe for a few days I’ll be doing whatever is needed.

Seems like I’ll be working in the bar most of the time. Me! I don’t even know my martini from my liqueurs. I think i can do soft drinks. And pray that nobody asks what beers we have, let alone having to pour one from one of those fancy pump things!

Anyway, out with the jeans & jumpers and in with the black & whites, makeup & Coco Chanel. It’s show time & it’s been a long time coming. Wish me luck.

    The men in my life…

    Why does someone come to Sark and stay? Do they seek adventure like me, and then find their fit at last? Or is it as simple as finding life too easy to leave? Here are the men in my daily life, all with their own, unique stories. Some like Rege have been here for far too many years to count, others are young lads who stir my career planning urges.

    Dimitri – fell off his ladder 3 weeks ago and cracked his ribs. He’s still hurting despite what he says.

    Sebastian – A young Polish lad who came for a season a few years ago and has decided to come back. He’s a great help in the kitchen and peels potatoes faster than you can say hot chops.

    Matthew – a very funny, polite Polish lad. Matthew has a girlfriend in Guernsey & we haven’t seen him for a few days but hope he comes back. He’s gorgeous.

    Sandis, Milan and Wilhelm (William) all from somewhere East. William is incredibly tall so Milan insisted on standing on a rock.

    They are lovely guys who work in the Tea Gardens. Loads of fun and all have their life stories.

    Welsh Rege. Only been here 30 years. He’s ex army and travelled the world, came for a season and stayed. He’s general handyman and farm worker. Rarely see him off his tractor.

    Serge – known to some as Barcelona, because hmmm, he’s from Barcelona. General handyman and a very quiet man. He sends all he earns home to his 2 adult children.

    Philip the carriage driver & Ben his horse.

    Andrew the Welshman who deserves to remain in stocks for a while, due to a flask of brandy and getting himself into a wee bit of trouble on Sunday.

    You’ve met Nick the Gardener. He be lovin his garden at the moment, he be. His tulips are stunning & I’m enjoying his herbs.

    Philip is part of the family that is this quaint hotel. He works hard, 7 days a week like the entire family, including his 90 year old mother, & this hotel and farm has been his whole life. He also does the grocery run so is to be respected!

    John the Milkman – supplier of our milk and amazing cream so thick you can stand a spoon in it.

    The infamous Chef Collin arrived today but my camera hasn’t met him yet. Rumour has it that he spits fire and eats little children so I am laying low. A Scotsman. That’s all I need to say. I mean …. a Scottish Chef!

    Trouble at Mill

    You know when you’re anxious about something & the monkeys keep chattering in your head. They tell you your worst case scenario and your logic tells you that it’s going to be OK, and it will never be that bad, but the monkeys keep chattering.

    Friday arrived. We were expecting two Polish staff members to arrive, Sophie & Maria. Sophie is the very, very capable head housekeeper, (potentially a Goddess in my eyes – I mean, anyone who can keep a hotel going in the cleaning department demands Goddess status.) Why the head monkeys were having a field day was due to the fact that Sophie’s living arrangement had changed from last year for a number of valid reasons and it was left up to me to tell her that she was now in a teenie, tiny room and not the luxury she was expecting, ie, my room. Ma’am had conveniently hot-footed it to Guernsey to avoid the situation.I spent two days preparing Sophie’s and Maria’s rooms, and their bathroom. Fresh flowers in each room, clean windows, crisp hotel sheets and jars of nice soaps for Africa.

    But the chattering monkeys were getting louder as the arrival time got nearer.

    My logic was wrong and the monkeys, this time were right! I heard them arrive and my instinct was to literally (go for a) run, but I braced myself and went to greet them despite the very loud Polish screeching from downstairs.

    I introduced myself and gave them a big kiwi hug each. But. That didn’t cut it with Sophie. I could decipher only a few words, which were Crazy woman……Not my room…. I followed her up to my room…, more Polish. This is my room, my pillows, my television, is this your coat? as she was throwing my things around, Crazy woman. Maria could speak no English but was able to indicate that her room was too small and she was not going to sleep there.

    So the monkeys had their day. They were right. Needless to say that things settled, rooms were changed, but I stood my ground and still have my beloved room, my sanctuary.We are friends, the three of us, despite the language difficulties, because we are all trying. I’m trying to learn some Polish and I can see that they are trying to include this kiwi into their world. We have things in common, children, food, and a genuine willingness to support each other on Planet Sark. We are building threads that will connect us over the coming months.

    Highlights from the last few weeks:

    • Dining with Sark royalty & cycling home at 3.00am, falling off my bike twice. Well that’s not quite true, the first time, I drove into the bank. In my defence, we don’t have street lights & my head torch was just a wee bit better than useless.
    • I’m now chief cook for the staff until chef arrives – poor people.
    • Helping in the kitchen of the Tea Gardens – best of fun
    • OMG! Nearly forgot – a day in Guernsey and a haircut! Travelling back to Sark on the ferry reminded me of how lonely I felt when I was on the ferry 2 months ago. It made me realise how quickly I have adjusted to Sark life and how I no longer feel a stranger. I was going home.

    Weather update:

    Thermals are still necessary.

    Hotel update:

    It’s all hands on deck preparing for our opening on 25th. The Tea Gardens is now open so we have people coming and going, more new staff will be arriving over the next few weeks, and the place is starting to look spic & span. Sophie & Maria come in exhausted every evening and we all sit around eating toast & jam with a cuppa, too tired to try to communicate so I just sit and listen to their Polish chatter and we understand that it’s ok not to involve me because frankly it’s hard when you’re tired.

    So Sark life has become my life, for how long, who knows but it’s just fine for now.

    Rover volunteering to show the way on the Sark triathlon.Cream tea anyone? Real cream from our cows.Is the grass really greener?Bluebells bringing back memories.

    NO BLOODY SOAP POWDER!!!

    When adjusting to living on a new planet, the regular, small things become important. And when working 6 days a week, that one day off holds a lot of expectation. There’s not a lot that HAS to be done, but what has to get done MUST be done. Washing. Simple. But the washing machine takes hours no matter how long I sit and watch it, so I rush off early to get the washing going before anyone else. No bloody washing powder and as is typical here, nothing is simple. A new box is locked away (who knows why) and I want some NOW. Back to my room, I wrote a note in big letters SOAP POWDER!!!!! and left it on the kitchen bench for the blokes to see. Stomped back to my room & started to cry. But it’s only soap powder!

    And then I realised, of course, that it wasn’t about the soap powder. My cup of tolerations had finally overflowed as tears. The bad coffee, the temperamental Aga, poor internet, the arctic office where I need 3 layers plus a thick coat to stop hypothermia, the learning of the new ropes, no cat to cuddle (Sorry unfortunate TinTin) managing dietary changes where ‘meals’ are cooked for you, no nice cafes, no friends, etc etc. And mainly, I think, the sadness in my home country & not being there had hit hard. I felt very alone with my grief.

    After a good weep and after thinking this through, I started to think about the SOAP POWDER!!!! note and hoped that nobody had found it, so sheepishly crept down to the kitchen to remove it with no damage done to my reputation. The washing got done, a nice day was had & I had picked myself up again.

    I have to remind myself that I am living my dream. Sometimes it tumbles onto the verge of a nightmare but it’s MY dream and I am blessed to be able to experience it.

    The days are getting longer now and there has been a day or two where I’m down to 2 layers. I have ditched the thermal long johns and there is blossom on the trees. The tulips are magnificent but Nick the gardener tells me that they be too early, they be, and my runs are magnificent. It’s at the end of the day when I’m running along the cliff tops, through the woods, along the beach & up through the village that I remember that this is my dream – pinch me.

    A Rover guarding the early Tulips.

    Look what I spied in the milking shed.

    Sark SH1/M1

    Pay Day

    Thursdays are special days at our place.

    It’s pay day. And today’s pay day on Planet Sark is about as far away from my pay days as a well paid government servant as can be imagined.

    Every fortnight a nice, hefty sum of money would be deposited into my account. I couldn’t touch it, or feel it. But what I could do was go online and move it around. I got satisfaction from juggling it around. But I always thought, after the 2 minutes it took, that that’s it for another fortnight.

    But today’s pay day involves the knocking on the Mistresses door with cap in hand, receiving my little bit of cash and feeling like I should say “Thank-you Ma’am”.

    The moving around of the money is very different as it involves me counting out my spending money. (Spending? On what? Weekly coffee & pastries at Stocks) and squirreling away the rest in a little hideyhole where a determined thief would find in a few seconds. But it feels so rewarding to physically count out what I am saving.

    I think of my savings in terms of travel, so already I have enough to tramp the Coast to Coast, or fly to Inverness to get myself to Findhorn or maybe just enough for 3 weeks walking in Portugal.

    Life is so different and much simpler. I have mastered the Aga, the crumble was a hit so it’s breadand butter pudding next. How different life is.

    Warm milk direct from the cow – Jersey of course.

    Andrew the Welsh gardener loving his job – maybe.

    Bless Amazon.