Memoir - Week 19
The other exception
was during 1992, when I’d rise to croaking green tree frogs and heaving
humidity in Cairns at 4.30-5.00am, summer time. Leaving my one-bedroom
apartment at Pease Street, Manoora I would drive almost an hour north to Palm
Cove, fire up the big BBQ stationed outside on the lush tropical grounds of The
Jewel of the Reef Resort and begin flipping fried eggs, turning bacon rashers
and swivelling breakfast sausages into their dedicated hotplate positions. This
hot food I served directly to eagerly awaiting Germans – as I more prominently
recall for some reason – and other mostly chirpy Europeans and Japanese. You’re
usually chirpy while on vacation.
Now, mornings and I
have never enjoyed a free and easy relationship. Ever. We still have an ongoing
stand-off. Needless to say, afternoon shifts in any job I’ve ever had have
always circulated well within my night-owl blood. I’m just not good in the
mornings.
No comments:
Post a Comment