I don't think I know how to not complain about stuff anymore

I'm getting kinda chubby. I should regulate my eating, but I really love pie. This is a genuine dilemma.

Going up to Scotland in two days. TWO DAYS. It really cannot come fast enough - I am utterly whacked. And increasingly sounding more and more like my mother. Which is fine, she's a wonderful lady, but I'm eighteen and the preferred lexicon for "very tired" is "knackered".

When did I become such a dick.

Work is hard. Which sounds obvious, but it doesn't negate my point. Working in a pub, sometimes we're so busy that I want to cry with exhaustion, and other times there is nothing at all to be done and I want to cry with boredom. I find myself doing a lot of cleaning. Compulsively, you could say. Which isn't good, but it's something I do well.

I like being in the kitchen, because I'm learning so much, and not at all in a sit-down-with-a-textbook-and-here's-a-recipe-for-quiche kind of way. It feels like osmosis - I watch these chefs, who've been in the business for longer than I've been alive, and their knowledge and confidence makes me feel so stupid - but then they never make me feel insignificant, and I really appreciate and respect them for that.

I like being behind the bar, because the air conditioning is really good, and I like pretending to be charming and cheeky because, trust me, the punters lap that shit up like it's going out of fashion. It makes me sad, in a way, because the customers that I'm getting to know are the ones who're in there every day, and - of course - they're in there every day because they're all raging alcoholics. And that makes me sad, because they ask for a double Bells and Coke and I want to punch them in the face and say "NO, GO HOME TO YOUR WIFE AND NEVER COME BACK" but that would get me fired so I just serve them and try not to think about their ever-decreasing life expectancy. If anything, working behind the bar has given me a very, very clear idea of the kind of person I never want to be. So there's that.

But I really need to go to Scotland. I'll read lots and swim lots and take lots of pictures and I'll hang out with ALL my family and Mum and I will climb mountains and then we'll have barbecues. Many, many barbecues.

What was that I was saying about getting chubby? Oh, well. At least my jeans still fit.