It’s been a while, for which I apologise. This has not been due to a lack of news to report. No, pickles fans, in fact the opposite is true and rather untypically, and despite my kamikaze approach to my ‘career’, I have been being discreet.  

However, I am now at liberty to divulge for a couple of reasons. First – my appeal against the decision not to make me redundant failed (as I knew it would) so I can finally draw a line under that. Until I got the piece of paper extinguishing all hope, I was wary not to send out any signals to the management that I would just leave anyway. Ridiculous really, considering I have been scuffing about the place with a face like thunder for at least five years now.

Second – we have been in the process of negotiating an offer on a business. Yes, a real business premises, in Crystal Palace. While that was going on it didn’t seem appropriate to splatter it across the internet, or anywhere else. Partly because we wouldn’t want to jeopardise the deal and partly hubris.

After my redundancy was rejected the first time it felt like we were too committed to the idea to just go back to the day jobs and wait another few years, so we decided to do it anyway. The decision was galvanised by a business premises coming up for sale in Crystal Palace that we wanted, quite badly. So we put in an offer and after some torturous negotiating, we have had an offer accepted. I’m not sure what else to say at this stage. It’s a bit like buying a house, in that lots of bits of paper have to move about before anything tangible happens; and much like buying a house, I suspect that a lot of these pieces of paper are created to justify solicitors’ fees. 

Oh and we are also still scraping together the money… minor details.

BUT, if it all goes to plan, and nothing goes wrong, we would hope to open at the end of August. You may notice that this is not very long at all.

I need to get the menus sorted really soon. I sold my wetsuit in order to buy a deep-fat fryer (which I think is a lovely metaphor for the direction my life is heading) and have been working on some of the bar-snacks I would like to offer, starting with Oeuf A La King:

 

I was quite pleased with them, but had to run them past TOMW who has to be honest because if I fuck the menu up, I will drag her into a downward spiral of poverty, debt and public humiliation. She is also from the North, so is particularly discerning when it comes to deep-fried sausage meat.

Word soon got out, and I got a call from somebody called Kate Middleton requesting a pyramid of scotch eggs for her wedding reception. Unfortunately the deal didn’t work out because she insisted on gluten free breadcrumbs, and I won’t comprimise my art.

The cooking is the fun bit at the moment. It is a nice asides to all the paperwork. We are having to provide proof of every financial transaction we have ever made, in triplicate. We also have to provide references for every aspect of our lives, so if any of you get a call from a bank/estate agent/solicitor asking about my integrity, please DON’T mention my issues with authority, minor kleptomania or public contempt for my employers. Please DO mention my scotch eggs.

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