I spend far too long looking at pictures of cute animals. Sloths – I know, who’d have thought? – are cute.
I have, obviously, gone off the inspirational quotes on a personal level but I try to pepper them into my social media for professional reasons.
I also buy kitchen bits and bobs online, which is fine as I know what I am doing there. I also – fashion police alert – buy clothes online. This is dangerous because I have, as Scarlett and Maura say, no taste, hence I make purchases with the aid of TV show stylists.
Lorraine looks like one of those beautiful but intellectually challenged girls you see in magazine photo spreads of glamorous parties. She has a platinum pixie cut, with hints of colour – today, she’s sporting pale violet – and, despite herfashion-forward wardrobe, has genuine 32D breasts, not implants, and the huge, unblinking blue eyes of a sweet but slightly bewildered girl. In fact, she has a mind like a steel trap.
Chefs always need a home economist to work with on their TV shows, books and demos and when I first worked with Lorraine two years ago, I realised how brilliant she was. By her second week of working with me, she had helped me with a tricky photo shoot and with an even trickier food festival, because she is one of a breed of women who simply get things done. She’d even sorted out my inbox, organised the office brilliantly but had come to the conclusion that I should no longer throw work the way of an old friend, Geraldine, who was a stylist with amazing contacts for food purchasing.
Lorraine told me that Geraldine was purchasing bulk cheap vodka alongside ingredients. Enough vodka to have adecent-sized party in the Kremlin but not good enough quality for the Politburo, I imagine.
I had suspected thisvodka-purchasing but lacked the heart or the evidence to confront Geraldine.
I am hopeless at confrontation, I should add.
‘I know she’s your friend but she’s burning out, screwing things up and will take you and the profits with her,’ said Lorraine. ‘As a friend, you can stage an intervention and let her rehab her ass but as a boss, you have to fire her.’
As I said, Lorrainelookslike a sweet but innocent young thing.Twenty-sixyear-olds are so much more together today than when I wastwenty-six.
Firing Geraldine was a process that nearly killed me.
‘I’ll talk to her,’ I said to Lorraine, when I was still pretending to be a tough business lady.
Lorraine was only working for me for two weeks and I had to give the impression that I had all aspects of my career under control.
‘You didn’t talk to her, did you?’ asked Lorraine, on day five of this challenge, when Geraldine turned up at a newspaper supplement shoot reeking of booze. I was riddled with both guilt and rage, which give you a very acid stomach when combined, I can tell you.
‘No,’ I said. I may have wailed. ‘I can’t ...’
‘You’re as soft as butter, aren’t you?’ muttered Lorraine. ‘Haven’t you readGirl Boss?’
‘Nope.’
‘Tonight, do it tonight. You can’t carry passengers. This is a lean business.’
‘But she’s my friend and she needs help,’ I begin.
‘Think of your kids,’ said Lorraine.
Magic words. Nothing works so well as reminding me I have three children to take care of.
‘Plus, all this career could be over in a moment as soon as some other chef comes along,’ Lorraine went on, using the second ultimate weapon
‘OK, I get it,’ I said.
Despite my mother having taught us all that decency and hoping for the best for all womankind is the way forward, I have a fear of being dumped in thischef-heavy world. Every time you look sideways, another chef is up on Instagram, being funny/funky/cool and doing new and exciting things with kohlrabi (cabbage-y vegetable, in case you were wondering. I have never been a fan.)
‘How did you get to be so tough?’ I asked Lorraine, wishingIwas tough.
‘First person in my family to go tothird-level education,’ Lorraine said, eyeballing me. ‘It did not happen by accident. My mother pushed me. I mean push. You think I am tough, you need to meet her. Right.’ She regrouped. ‘We’ll do it together tomorrow. Team meeting.’
Geraldine sobbed. I sobbed. She fell to the floor and did her sobbing down there. Lorraine had tissues and a handful of rebab leaflets.
‘I’ll write you a lovely reference,’ I blubbed.
‘You won’t or you’ll be sued,’ said Lorraine, ever the businesswoman.
She had proof of all thevodka-enhanced bills and said getting witnesses to Geraldine’s turning up drunk would be no problem.
