This is the first place I ever worked for money – it was owned and run by my uncles, Lloyd and Bill. The building has been replaced, but it’s still in the family.
I had three stints there – in 1980 I did a few days while we were on a fortnight’s holiday in the kitchen, washing up. Great, repetitive work – pretty (and some not so pretty) waitresses filled up the shelves with dirty plates, mugs and cutlery and I transferred everything into the washer and when it was full set it off. When it got busy I’d have a few trays lined up. It rarely got that busy. Every now and then I took a pile of plates or a bucket of cutlery through to the people serving. The rest of the time was spent winking at waitresses and chatting to the lad who’s job it was to make chips. That's make chips, not fry chips, mind you, that was a higher-up specialist job. No, I chatted with the lad who poured spuds into the machine, pressed a button and then scooped the chips up in a bucket to give to the fryers.
To earn a few extra pennies and perhaps a bit of fried chicken, in the evening afterwards I’d wait around till the cafe had shut and then clean the floor: washing soda, disinfectant, hot hot water and a big fat mop getting into every corner and all along the skirting boards.
The following year, the year I did my ‘O’ levels, I worked in the Ice Cream kiosk for six weeks. I stayed with my uncle and aunt and most days I walked up and over the hill to open up, worked all day, got some chips for my tea and walked home again. I learned a lot about selling, building relationships with people on Saturday night when they arrived, making a good impression so that they came back all week. Learning that it’s the mums and grandma’s who hold the purse strings and so although dealing with young ladies in bikinis is fun, there’s more cash in flirting with the older ones.
I also learned that there’s always something to do. Mixing up the ice cream for the whippy machine; keeping an eye on stock and working out orders; cleaning, cleaning, cleaning; giving sneaky freebies to my cousin; holding the car-park bloke’s bag while he runs after someone who’s nicked a deckchair; helping out carrying boxes in the gift shop to curry favour with yet another pretty girl; just being there and smiling so that people know there’s someone there – all part of the job.
And I went back and did it the next year too. I think that was the year my cousin Paul did the car park but gave it up because it included cleaning the toilets and one week someone kept going in there and smearing shit all over the walls. Nice. I focused on not being found out and thumped by the guy who was going out with the gift-shop girl I was snogging. I didn’t completely escape injury though – I piled too many boxes of ice-cream mix on the shelf above the door and one day they all came tumbling down on top of me.
I can’t remember how much I was paid but I have a feeling it was less than a pound an hour, it was given to me in a little brown envelope with a payslip every week and I don’t remember having many days off – not because I was made to, just because I loved turning up and being useful every day. Ah youth!