A holly berry child. An 18 month old bundle of red in her red fleecy coat and red baby seat, with red cheeks and lips and a big head of black hair. A teensy, weency fella with the biggest set of lungs squished into his tiny little new born body, a ladies man already, all the women queuing up to talk to him in baby language. A pair of lads with short silky bobs and edibly chubby cheeks, the image of their mother, decked out in wellies, very keen on Ribena. Santa is so lucky to have such gorgeous clients.
But I do worry about the Punters sometimes. Does having Sherry Trifle all year round make Christmas feel less special? Like, if Santa came every week you’d probably get sick of him too.
I wonder if couples ever come in here on a date? I mean, tell me, am I the romantic type? Is this where love happens? I certainly see enough of them in here the morning after the date. Well, its all very good chatting each other up in McGowans, going back to the love nest to listen to Bono, or whatever they listen to these days, but can the young lovers make it through a Woodstock breakfast? That’s the real litmus test.
I got so excited the other night. It was late and sleepy, and the Boss produced a load of presents. They had this clear wrapping on them, so I could see they were full of goodies made by Moloughney’s. That’s my little sister restaurant. I say ‘little’ but she acts so bleedin’ sophisticated, I sometimes think she’s older than me. So I’m all worked up about my presents (home-made jam, Christmas Pudding, cranberry sauce) – so much more thoughtful to get something home-made - and I’m thinking the Skin & Blister has called a truce, seeing as it’s nearly Christmas. But then I hear the Boss explaining that those big gorgeous ‘hampers’ are for sale. They’re not presents at all, at least not for me. So much for the season of peace, this is war!
The Boss says blogging is for billies-no-mates. Someone should tell her that since she started working here, she is the loser with no mates. She is obsessed with me (women love ‘a project’). Anyway I’ve been on at her to set up a blog for me, so as I can express myself. The Boss got on to her web-genius contact and cautiously asked him “what do we think of blogging?” Sam replied sternly, somewhat hungover, “blogging is only ok if you have something worth saying.”
Well, there you go then. You see I’ve got buckets to say – I’m sixteen years old and in restaurant years is more old dog than young tyke. Mind you if I had a tail, you’d see it wagging; I got my way and this the first Woodstock Café blog.
It’s the 3rd of December. Less of a ho ho ho feeling than in previous years. However I did get the Christmas lights put up on my windows, a few garlands and so forth, and it has made me feel a bit more festive. Of course, Turkey-Lurkey has been back on the menu for a couple of weeks now and the customers are flocking in for it. Arf. What was the name of that story? No, not the Nativity, the other one, with Turkey Lurkey and Chicken Licken and the sky coming tumbling down. We’ll see about the sky on budget day. Hope it doesn’t go getting unstuck, putting the Punters off their dinners.