Going to college from work and getting changed into my chef whites feels a bit like an episode of Mr Benn. Next week I will emerge from the changing room dressed as an astronaut.

There is a good mix of people in my class with a range of ages and backgrounds. It almost has the air of a reality TV show, with us all in our uniforms trying to get to know each other and not cock anything up in case we’re the first to be picked off. Although as far as I can tell, unlike any reality TV show I have seen, my class is not cosmetically enhanced and thankfully lacking exhibitionists.

This week we made ice cream, focaccia, quiche, mayonnaise, trussed some chickens and did an awful lot of vegetable prep; that was in five hours. The time flies, but you get an awful lot done – which is a good combination… as is a dinner of focaccia and ice cream.

I am feeling quite confident, all my home cooking has set me in good stead. To be immodest for a minute: I had the best knife skills in the class, but there’s a long way to go. We aren’t being assessed yet, just getting to know the basics and finding out where everything is.

There was a moment at the end of the night when we were all stood turning potatoes and chatting, and I realised I hadn’t thought about work at all for five hours. Nice.

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