Goddammit, I’ve been sacked. Again.
This morning I received a rather peremptory e-mail from HR informing me that as I had contravened a number of company directives my contract had been terminated with immediate effect. The final warning that was issued to me earlier this month had gone unanswered, and therefore I was cut loose, cast off, and sent packing. Of course should I wish to appeal I could open the interestingly peculiar attachment to the e-mail and appeal against the decision.
Needless to say there was a heavy whiff of spam about the whole affair, not the least of which was the fact that the mail was signed by Quinn Schneekloth. What, the Quinn Schneekloth, I hear you ask? What a fantastic made-up name…if you’re going to try to ensnare unsuspecting victims in a viral scam then you may at least go the whole 9 yards and adopt the most preposterous name going. And as I had never heard of the company I was being fired from, I took the news of my demise quite calmly, really…
What do you mean, wrong type of Bond girl?
On the subject of unusual names I came across a wonderful suggestion for a Bond girl on some hand wash earlier (what is it with me and hand wash lately?). The flavour of hand wash in question was Geranium Goodness, and it just sounded to me like a 1960’s big-boobed stereotype being seduced by 007’s latest Q-powered sex gadget as the camera panned away to a tropical island paradise vista…
So I’m not going to waffle on at length this week, for a number of reasons. There’s a heck of a lot going on, but it’s all a bit swan-like right now – all serene on the surface whilst paddling like buggery under the waves. Markets are happening of course, and cooking is a staple of the week’s activities, but nothing earth-shattering has happened since my last missive. OK, John Cleese did pop along to the Chilli Hut at the weekend and buy Simon’s last Chocolate Habanero, but without the silly walk he just a customer, albeit a very tall one.
I’ve been to Sherston and Bristol’s Tobacco Factory, where the public were as always very pleasant, and the Pink Chilli Hobbit has been to Avebury, where the locals were largely sheep.
Christmas looms large on the horizon. Normally this fills me with humbug-style fear and loathing, but 2014 sees me looking forward to the busiest time of the year with a bizarre sense of anticipation. It’s going to be oh so busy, and I fully expect to be sick of the sight of our stuff by the time the festive season is over, but we’ll be looking to work ourselves into an exhausted stupor so that we can slump over our Christmas turkey with a sense of pride and achievement.
We have to cook a proverbial – actually, literal – shed-load of stock before then, so I’ll have to get my bottling mojo on soon. Jamie’s putting a schedule together which will allow us a few minutes between shifts to snatch a few Z’s…and somewhen before then we have a lot of chillies to pick. Sleep’s overrated, I’m being told.
I took a bit of time off last Friday to watch a bunch of thin blokes on wheels whizz by. The Tour of Britain wended it’s way through Devizes, so I took a walk up to Monument Hill, about a mile and a half from home, to watch the spectacle. It was all over in a flash, as the 100+ riders hoofed past at some considerable speed…even in two groups split by a couple of minutes it was all done and dusted in no time at all. I was really impressed by the organisation of it all th
ough…there were a huge number of bike cops speeding ahead of the peloton to stop traffic. When you think about the logistics of the event it’s amazing how well it all works, but blink and you’ll miss it – it’s all over so quickly (where have I heard that before?). Still, it was a nice walk, even if I did somehow manage to walk past the pub on the way home without stopping. Must…try…harder.
And you know what folks? That’s going to be it for this week, short and sharp. We have a busy week of cooking ahead, and you can find me in Reading and Gloucester peddling chilli goodness this weekend. The Pink Chilli Hobbit is running her own stall in Trowbridge on Wednesday which sells WCF stuff…and we’re out and about in Birmingham, Abergavenny, Clumber Park, Salisbury, Bath, Oxford and Tetbury as well. I’m not quite sure where I am on Sunday yet. Might be Swindon. Might be Tetbury. Might be giants. Make a little birdhouse in your soul.
Yellow, furry, and in my Mum’s garden
Sunday it was back to the stall, in Frome’s lovely Independent Market. I’m constantly impressed by how superbly the town transforms itself into a delightful place to bimble about in – attendance is always good, and even though this month was pretty quiet for me sales-wise, it’s still nice to see so many people out and about. The market coincided with the Frome Steampunk Extravaganza, where there’s always a photo opportunity or two…
The highlight of the weekend was yours truly being soundly, comprehensively and rather noisily upstaged by the extremely precocious Charlotte, who, fresh from a successful career on the cake stall opposite took it upon herself to take over my pitch and try to sell chilli sauce. She’s not backward in coming forward, I can tell you that, there’s definitely a hint of costermonger in the bloodline somewhere. It was actually really nice to see someone having a bit of fun, she picked up the patter with remarkable ease and will definitely have a career in sales, I’m sure of that! If you ever meet her in later life keep your hands on your wallet – she’ll have every last note out of it 🙂
Normal people would, of course, have added just a chilli or two – maybe as many as ‘a few’ to the vodka. Not our Jamie, heavens no, nothing so half-hearted. Now far be it from me to suggest that Jamie is on a mission to inflict real pain on the inhabitants of our sceptered isle, but I tasted the results – just the tiniest amount, barely enough to call it a tasting really – and damn near passed out on the spot. I’m glad I didn’t try a proper shot of it or I strongly suspect my insides would have become my outsides, and at some considerable speed. Quite, quite extraordinary, and not a little combustible. Probably the hottest thing I have ever tasted.
unday saw a first for me at Frome’s Independent Market. Now I’m not sure what I expected having never been before, but it a lot bigger than I’d anticipated and consequently was very, very busy. Having mastered the slope I did a brisk trade all day, and am looking forward to returning next month.
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The weekend’s events were many and varied. Thursday saw my debut at Bristol’s Temple Quay Market. Well…when I say debut, I mean debut as a trader. I used to work in one of the offices overlooking The Square (my desk was just above the peak of my red gazebo in the photo), so I’ve been a customer on many occasions. It was somewhat surreal being on the outside looking in this time round, but it was nice to see some friendly faces. It’ll be a regular market for me this year, at least twice a month.
And with that folks, I will sign off. This promises to be another busy week and I need to prepare for it by…well…having a bit of a snooze actually. I’ve been up for hours already, and I’m not getting any younger you know 😛
Somewhere in the middle of that lot is a quiz night at the local cricket club, where I shall be attempting to answer such nuggets of trivia as ‘who played Mindy in Mork & Mindy‘ and ‘which famous TV show was almost called Owl Stretching Time’? This is the sort of rubbish that lodges in my head. Is it any wonder I never made it to the higher echelons of an IT career?
The Chilli Hobbit 