The day today.

Today wasn’t your average, mediocre Monday where there’s nothing to do – no, sir – it was a day that kept me in jobs and out of mischief….. well, for the most part anyway. With lunch and dinner numbers double what they usually are on a Monday, instead of buggering about and infuriating newly-qualified Sonia with my lack of any lengthy duration in the Kitchen, I stayed present and got things done – something I’m not exactly famed for.

I was a cyclone of efficiency today, scurrying about the place doing as much as possible – placing orders, prepping the lunch and evening meal and taking the odd moment to make stupid and inappropriate jokes to the Sales girls (I did say I wasn’t totally away from mischief). Sonia stayed on an extra half an hour to finish off the packed lunches we needed to be made, and I was extremely grateful – I loathe making sandwiches with the kind of passion usually reserved for your worst enemy. A short phone conversation with Chris detailed the requirements for Tuesday’s private dining, and I was glad to report all required items were present and correct.

Mushroom soup proved to nearly be my un-doing today however, as I decided to put it on the menu without extending restaurant supervisor, Ali Rawnsley the courtesy of letting her know my plans at a reasonable hour. I told her a little late, and my seemingly inspired idea was met with the kind of stare that would stop even Satan cold in his tracks. “You little fucker, I have to break down the Coffee station to make room for the Soup urn now” she bellowed, and justifiably so. Luckily Ali isn’t the type that scuppers plans on account of her unwillingness to do something, and she moved things about to accommodate my idea – God bless her cotton socks. Dinner ran as smoothly as lunch and before I knew it, I was all cleaned up and heading the fuck out of Dodge.

The day got better. Derby 2 Arsenal 6. That was the full time result from Pride Park, and you know what that means? Neil Rigby, get your fucking wallet out, sir – you owe me mad duckets. The pleasure I’ll get from taking the 50 notes I’ve earned thanks to Arsenal finishing above the dirty Hoofers may not make up for our Champions League exit, but it’s not a bad start at all.

I think I’ll buy myself something nice.

Ohh. I nearly forgot: special congratluations to Cesc Fabregas on winning the P.F.A Young Player of the Year award - richly deserved.

Cesc Fabregas, looking particuarly pleased with himself.