Working Man

Sunny Godalming

Godalming? Never heard of it. A village somewhere south of London, on the train line. Probably around 5000 residents with one pub for every family.

I have found myself some work in one of those pubs - The Inn On The Lake. Actually, it is a bit more than a pub, with a large restaraunt, terrace, garden and accomodation. The place is big, with staff accomodation in some old hotel rooms at the back of the pub.

The weather has been fantastic for the last couple of weeks, with the vast majority of the days beeing sunny and pleasant. There are few people in the world who go crazy for a bit of sunshine like the Brits... apparently the weather over here if shite most of the time. Poor buggers. I have found the locals to be a very friendly and sociable bunch, but that might just be the weather.

English Countryside

I am doing lots of walking in my spare time. The English countryside is full of rights-of-way, which are public paths that lead through forests, farms and private properties. I can spend hours getting lost on random little paths that I bump into.

It is spring now, so all of the trees are starting to sprout leaves, and daffodils, jonquils, bluebells, hyacinth, tulips and all manner of other bulbs and plants are flowering. My walks make for very refreshing breaks from work and The Alex (see below).

The Crew

The pub is well understaffed at the moment, so I am doing some very long hours behind the bar - working from 12 'till 12 for 6 out of 7 days. This comes as a bit of a shock after spending the last seven-odd months doing very little that resembled work. As a result I don't get much time for anything other than work, sleep, the odd bit of yoga and socialising with my assorted workmates.

Assorted? Yep, like a box of chocolates. The number of English people who work there... erm, two, I think. The rest of the workforce is split between Australian/Canadians on one side, and Eastern Europeans on the other. In a remarkable coup, the managers and the head chef are all pleasant people who ask nicely and understand that mistakes happen... which is remarkable in my experience of the hospitality industry, particularly in an establishment that is part of a larger company.

Ty, the Australian manager, is a jolly friendly chap... and he won't hesitate to boot out any customers that he sees clicking their fingers at the waiters (apparently there is a bit of a problem with snobs in this part of the world.... snobs and pikies).

Mario, the Italian head chef, is another freindly chap, "ciao Ben", who likes it when the barstaff make him double espressos, and doesn't yell at you when you make a mistake on an order... remarkable.

In fact, it could be said that there is a "good crew" at work.

Our Latvian Friend

Well, everybody except Alex from Latvia. Just when I thought that my levels of tolerance were sky high, and that I could get along with just about anybody, Alex arrived.

Alex is, well, he is special. How to do justice to this appalling individiual with my poor writing skills? How to convey the distress that he causes all who meet his sullen gaze? One has to resort to swearing, I think. It would be an undestatement to say that Alex shits me to tears, and is every bit as annoying as "The Chef" from our Nepalese adventures. He is a creep of the first order.

It doesn't help that he shares a room with Jamie and I. He moved into the room on the same day that I arrived. I got back from wandering around the forests behind the pub to find a chain-smoking fifty-year-old man sitting on what had been the spare bed. The room already smelt like stale cigarettes and poor personal hygene. He started to talk. Well, he started to moan. After an hour I had said nothing, but he had said a lot, none of it pleasant.

Many times I have had to leave the room before I said something foolish like "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all". He told me how terrible the last two jobs that he had worked were, and how he was going to hate this job too. He told me how bad the new head chef was, even though he hadn't met him yet. He told me how horrible the English, and the Italians were. He ignored my suggestion that if he wanted to smoke he could at least open the window and sit next to it...

"oooooh, no, that would not do, I have a cold and the draught would only make it worse"

Did I mention that he snores? Like a train, like a chainsaw, but with far less rhythm. The man's snoring is a work of art. He never settles into a predictable pattern, and inserts moans, groans and yells at random intervals to make sure that anybody who is listening has no chance of blocking out or ignoring the sound.

"Nooooooo, I never snore, it must be because of my cold. You should not open the window, the draught will only make it worse. I need hot drinks, tea and coffee, yes yes, that would make me better. But they are so unfair, they do not give us even a kettle."
"Maybe you could cut back on the smoking, and besides, it is because of the smoking that I insist that the window is open."
"But smoking is not bad for cold"
.....

Jamie and I have gone through a couple of brands of ear plugs until we have found some that are almost capable of cutting out his syncopated nose-and-throat music. We have trained him to smoke at the window, but we are still greeted by the "amusing if it wasn't so annoying" sight of a fifty year old man dashing to the window with a lit cigarette when we walk into the room, just like a guilty schoolboy.

We are wondering how to toilet train him. The sight of his post-mix-syrup wee on the toilet seat each morning is just a bit too much. He still gets upset when we throw out the chicken and roast beef that he steals from the kitchen and leaves on the table next to the heater for two days... "you threw it out? I thought you had eaten it."

He calls me "Our Indian Philosopher", because I have been to India and did mathematics. If I mention that I have been for a walk in the forest, he will lear at me and say "aaaaaaah, your time in India has changed you, hasn't iiiiit?".
"well, ahm, I have always liked going for walks and being on my own... goodbye"

He doesn't like me. I get too upset when he turns the light on at 1 in the morning and then shakes me awake to say "sorry for turning the light on, but I must use my phone for sending the text message". I am clearly an unreasonable person.

I could go on, but instead I will relate a little story that sums the gentleman up.

The pub is a non-smoking establishment (the English are yet to ban smoking in pubs and hotels). For a few mornings in a row I swore that I could smell some smoke when I was having breakfast in the restaraunt. I mentioned it to Natalja, one of the waitresses, and she said that she thought that Alex hid in the corner of the lounge and smoked with his morning coffee. Problem was that she was having trouble catching him.

Sure enough, 15 minutes later I smelt smoke and found him in the corner smoking.
"Hey Alex, it is non-smoking in here mate, you should put that out before you get caught"
"hmph, the waitress said I could"
"really?"
"yes, it is true"

I found Natalja in the kitchen

"Hey Natalja, did you say Alex could smoke?"
"of course not! He never asked me"

I saw Agi, the Hungarian cleaning lady

"Agi, did you say Alex could smoke?"
"Yes, problem?"
"It isn't allowed in here, tell people to stop if you see them"

"Hey Alex, I am afraid that Agi doesn't know the rules. You have to put that cigarette out."
"she said I could"
"Why didn't you ask a manager, or a waiter? I think you know that you shouldn't be smoking"
"Ty said I could smoke"
"really?"
"He saw me smoking the other day and didn't say anything"

I decided not to press the point, this was only going to get worse if I continued... so I wandered off to another corner of the lounge where I spotted some early customers....

"Hey Alex, there are some customers around the corner, you really should stop smoking!"
"Hey, doooo yooooou speeeeeek the English Ben? I just told you Ty said I could smoke"
"I heard you mate, but there are customers over there, and they are not allowed to smoke, so it would be very bad of you to smoke near them"
"Do I look like a customer? I am staff!"
"Aaaaaaah, that isn't the point"
"Go away, you are not special, you cannot tell me what to do!"

Oh dear.

Limited Communications

Unfortunately there is only one spot in Godalming where one can access the internet - and that is the library. The library has been closed since last week for renovation, hence the lack of communication on my part. All of those people who are writing, I apologise for not replying, and hope you keep writing... I enjoy your emails!