Is there anything more insulting to your cooking skills than the smell of burnt toast? Its the toasters fault, you tell yourself. I set it at 3, and kept checking it every few moments. It was still bread-like. After a while, you mess around with the settings. See how you like being on 4, bread! Still nothing. Its just warm now. I'll go make a cup of tea. You better be more cooked when I get back, bread.And more cooked it is. The smell, the smoke. The unavoidable urge to swear loudly. If I put this out in the garden, even the birds will complain about it. So it goes in the bin, and the process starts all over again.
This doesn't happen once or twice in a lifetime. Its almost every toast-making session. I'd bet even experienced chefs, who can rustle up duck a l'orange without a problem, have burnt their toast now and again.But sometimes, you come back to the toaster just in time. You have a moment of realisation - "THE TOAST!" - and you rush back to the toaster with the familiar feeling of annoyance that you will, once again, have to throw away burnt toast and air out the smell for 3 hours. But no, it is just right. It smells divine, and the butter melts so easily into it. There really is nothing like feel-good toast. Except a second round of feel-good toast that is.
The clocking-in machine at work makes only one sound. A kind of whirring/ printing noise. At 5.15am it sounds soul destroying. Clocking in. Could there be a more depressing noise than this? It signifies another wasted day, forced to smile inanely and wear uncomfortable, conformist uniform in a bid to make everyone in the corporation lose all sense of individuality. Bad times.
However, at 2pm, it makes the same noise. But this time, it sounds like the best noise ever. Better than spring birds singing after a long, cold winter. Better than a crackling fire on Christmas eve. Better even than the sound of a satisfied kitten purring on your lap. Because now, its clocking out time. And you have the rest of the day to do whatever the hell you like. The only sound better than clocking out? The sound of a wine cork popping, followed by the 'glug glug glug' as it hits the glass after a hard days work.
.
Its been days now of relentless rain, wind and sleet. Its cold out there, and the usual commute to work is even more dreary than usual when you’re soaking wet and surrounded by people sneezing or coughing. But sometimes, you wake up in the morning to find a white sheet has descended on your garden. Its on the road too. Quick, ring work. Please be closed, please be closed, please be closed..... Answerphone! Yes! Result! What a bonus. You wake up everyone else in the house and declare that it is, indeed, a snow day. Could there be more beautiful words to hear on a Monday morning? You pull the sledge out of retirement, you spend hours lovingly making a snowman, and just before dark, you make snow angels on the garden. You play snowballs with children and adults alike, and knock snow from tree branches to see the effect. As you go back indoors, you bang your boots on the doorstep, and look forward to sitting by the fire in your comfiest slippers, with a mug of hot chocolate with helping of marshmallows. The only way today can be better? Check the weather forecast... We might get to do it all again tomorrow.
The jar of jam has been passed between the people in the room, every person more confident than the last that they will be the one to finally open it. It finally reaches you, and you take it with a look of cool ease on your face. You hide the strain you feel by putting on your best poker face, whilst at the same time trying with all your might to open this Fort Knox of all jars. The satisfying pop, the sudden relaxation of the muscles. This feels good. You are now officially the strongest person in the room. You ignore protests of “I loosened it for you” and graciously take the thanks from whomever it was that was so desperate for the jar’s contents. Hercules has got nothing on me.
We all get the feeling we’re not appreciated enough. Sometimes our hard work goes unnoticed and we just want to give up. But we get on with it. Sometimes, as we muddle on with our work, we overhear our name. Somebody is talking about you, and its human nature for the ears to prick up and the senses to hone in on this now-relevant conversation. Be it a boss to a college, a client to a boss or just someone passing someone else, hearing praise about yourself has to be up there in the top ten ways to feel good. Its always good to know that you’ve done your work well, but when that little bit of extra effort you made has actually been noticed, I defy anyone not to smile and feel the need to walk that little bit taller for the rest of the day.
Smug cat is smug.
You know you shouldn’t, but you will. It was made for putting in sandwiches. Not for eating as is. But once you peel back that little piece of red tape and pull back that foil, you can help but nibble the pointed edge. Then the corners. And then the rest is gone, leaving nothing but cheesey goo in the wrapper and the taste of satisfaction in your mouth. So what if the little picture of the cow on the packaging looks at you in a critical manner. Screw you, cow. I wanted that little cheesy triangle, and there was nothing in the world that was going to stop me.
Whether it was difficult or not, knowing a little bit of trivia that seemed to stump everyone else in the room can be one of life’s most proud moments. Sometimes, its just a guess. An educated guess, which you had to ponder over for some considerable time. Or sometimes, its a split-second decision. I know this. I’ve heard of this. What do you mean you don’t know the capital of New Zealand? How can you not know the name of the ghost in MacBeth? Who doesn’t know the currency of Japan!? Its not very sporting to gloat, but it certainly feels good when the answer is revealed and you were right all along. Take pride in feeling smart for the moment... You never know if you’ll get the chance to display your knowledge of that little bit of trivia ever again.
This doesn't happen once or twice in a lifetime. Its almost every toast-making session. I'd bet even experienced chefs, who can rustle up duck a l'orange without a problem, have burnt their toast now and again.
