What do these people want, blood?!

When I was little I had a sort-of non-committal, Del Boy-esque attitude. I started my own tailoring service, where for one afternoon I slaved over some missing buttons and an elbow hole for about £2 in payment from my first client, Grandma Joannie. Myself and a friend started mucking out for £1 at the local livery yard - £1! what a touch! Needless to say for a quid, shovelling shit in the pissing rain, it wasn't worth it. The money making schemes I came up with always encountered problems.

I remember, or vaguely remember, people in general talking about how hard it is to set up your own business. And I believed them, its not like they were saying it to be a spoil-sport, apart from my pre-teen attempts I had no grand ideas of setting anything up, let alone my own company so I had no reason to doubt they were being honest about it. Business is hard, everyone knows that which is why most of us don't try and make a living at something we love but keep it as a hobby to relish in our spare time.

Frankly the Prophets of my youth did not come flooding into my mind when I embarked on this venture, and the excitement of potentially starting something I could believe in and make a living at quashed any previous forewarning. Its still early days for me, I haven't even started yet and I am literally overwhelmed by the red-tape and bureaucracy that smacks you in the face like a concrete fist.

I'm sure its the case in all industries, but the food industry in particular seems to be ridiculously formalised with certificates and applications and god knows what else. I have started a market stall selling hot food. So far its me and my partner that work behind the stall and to do this, beyond the things you need to do to make sure your food is safe to eat (quite rightly), there is a shed-load of utterly ridiculous paperwork and expense to get through. As I write a draft risk assessment lurks as a window at the bottom of my screen, blinking at me (I've saved it don't panic), a RISK ASSESSMENT!!! Other than 'watch that hot surface love' what else do this merry band of two need to communicate to each other? No, I must make sure that we both fully understand there is a likely risk of tripping over my recently certificated gas burners. Additionally, I must allocate myself the role of making sure we both know how to lift things properly, presumably to prevent my boyfriend and his 'where there's blame, there's a claim' attitude from taking me to the cleaners should he do his back in from putting the gazebo up. Ok but if that happens, he's dumped.

Its really unhelpful actually. Things are stressful enough at this stage of the game without some faceless voice over the telephone telling me that I will need to demonstrate to the fire brigade upon my arrival to my market to set up, that I have procedures in place should there be a fire. Is a fire blanket AND fire extinguisher not enough?! No no, there needs to be a procedure. A ruddy procedure beyond 'cover fire with fire blanket'? Apparently so.

So Dave Cammers gives it all of this chat about cutting red tape to make it easier for start ups, nurturing the industrious and wotnot. Well, lets see it then because in addition to the expense, the time, the lack of earnings, the exhaustion, the stress, the developing ticks, the chapped hands, non-existent fingernails and social life, it couldn't be much more bloody difficult.

Joining the Twitterarti

One of the things that I've been feeling under pressure to do since I started trying to break into the food game was to have a sort of online presence. Its the en vogue thing for foodies to have a blog and a twitter and a facebook page, and I have dabbled with all before to a greater or lesser extent. Twitter I have to say was a mystery to me. My unused personal account was pretty much a wasteland of barren thoughts, I really could not get the hang of it.

But I thought I really should get on board with this technology for the sake of my new venture, and I am so surprised at how much has come out of it. I live for @mentions and a personal message from who-knows, just someone who likes what you're up to, is like Christmas morning to a (newly) 30 year old.

Yesterday I was back on the markets for the first time since returning from Mission Research (ok, the big holiday) and tweeted the news in advance, receiving an @mention from anpburgers saying he'll pop down. And lo, the man behind the tweets did just that! It was awesome to be able to shake the hand of someone who until that time was merely a sentence on a screen. Not only that but we fed him with our food which we had been banging on about into the ether, and learned that he too was in the early stages of starting a venture in sliders. And he bought some friends with him. It was kind of amazing, like there was a momentum behind the words that were more than just words, I get it now.

Here we are at our first market back:

Do you like the flag? Totally worth the trip to Texas for that, right there!

Good Friends

I have had endless conversations before now with well meaning friends or family who after hearing me bang on about having no direction in life, no fulfilling purpose and no joy between the hours of 9am and 5pm fired potential career possibilities at me. Looking back it must have been fuelled by the desire to ease the discomfort of my being, lets face it, deeply unhappy but also by the hope that I might just shut up and do something with my life. Why didn't I try dog walking? Or maybe I'd like to be a wedding planner or a game keeper?

Then there were the conversations amongst those of us in the same boat. We would (and still do) endlessly discuss that we would do something if only we knew what 'it' was, or that to do something you really want means not being paid for it. None of us liked our jobs, but what else? There's rent to pay and travelcards to buy and volunteering for charity is all well and good but that dont top up your oyster card does it? Caught in a cleft stick my mother calls it.

So it was with utter joy that the news that I had ditched the day job to get on with something I was interested in and hopefully make a living at it was received. I have had nothing but support from my friends and genuine happiness that I've broken free and stuck it to the Man, whatever that means. They are supportive, encouraging, and some have even given up their own time to help me out which I appreciate beyond words and love them for it.

I feel in a really lucky position to be doing this. Sure I'm broke, tired and getting fat but I have the opportunity to do something that many people I know would like to do but cant for one reason or another. If that isn't a reason to make the most of the chances you get, when you get them then I don't know what is.

30 is the New 20

I've been 30 for a whole day now and to be honest I really don't feel any different to how I did the day before that... In fact, I really don't feel all that different to when I was 20. My 91 year old Grandma said that her 30's were great but not as good as her 40's. I hope to have some really fantastic crow's feet by then...

I recently got back from an amazing (working-ish) holiday that culminated with an uber indulgent food jaunt in the States. Having recently started a wee food business with my chap specialising in this type of cuisine it was a necessity, really. We had to. California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and New York were thoroughly munched through all in the name of research, and by jingo did we do some research! Anyway I'm back now and Reality states in its small print that the cosmic wonder-bubble of 'going on your holidays' must come to an end eventually, when the money runs out. One must get back to one's day job.

And Reality stops for no man (or woman, bloody sexist saying). Not to be made giddy by the weight of a post-landmark-birthday hangover, the guilt of the self-employed that is almost Catholic in its magnitude lays heavy in my mind. Industry continues and a small food business I shall build!