Milk and Meat Merry Madness

Talking to a Dutch colleague of mine this week, he was getting finished helping with the CAP money decisions in The Hague and other stuff like that because he has a much more important job to do this weekend. He was off to help in his Father's butchers shop for the Christmas rush.

Working in a butchers shop in the days before Christmas is brilliant. It is second only to delivering milk on Christmas Eve. I did both for years and I loved every minute of it.

That's me on the left (from here by the way)

Delivering milk on Christmas Eve is a bit mad. You load up with a double lot of milk and a buckets of cream all noted down on order forms. I remember the land rover would move slowly, blinding every passing car because there was too much weight on the back end. It took ages, because nearly every conversation between my mate the milkman and us lads delivering milk before every customer went something like this:

"Down there, down the side of that terrace, put it under the bucket as normal. Now let's see, jesus where has that bloody form gone? She wrote it all down. It's like a bloody essay. Where's the damn form gone? IT WAS HERE A MINUTE AGO! Are you sat on it you big lump? Oh hang on, hang on, panic over, here it is. Right. Normal milk. That's 2 for today. 2 for tomorrow 'cos its a double day, that's 4. And 4 extra? 8 PINTS? There's only bloody two of 'em, and their Michael lives in Canada now with his new wife and they're off to her family this year, she told me last week. Anyway, bollocks, they're having it. I'm not taking this lot home. Milk, sorted. Sooooo, cream. 2 small doubles. Sorted. 1 big whippin' - grand, jesus we're short of them. 1 pint double. A PINT OF DOUBLE CREAM? She does this every bloody year, she'll be bollocking me next week for leaving too much."

 

And so it went on.

After delivering milk, I used to go into the local butchers then to help with the Christmas orders. People go mad at Christmas. They shop all year at a supermarket, then go all dewy-eyed at Christmas time and use the local butcher for everything. This isn't a problem of course, it is just a shame they don't do that all year round. 

My job was two fold. First, keep the queue happy. They would snake out of the door, past the garage joining the shop and sometimes be stretching round the corner to the Working Mens Club. You keep a Christmas butchers shop queue happy by bribing them with Christmas cake and mince pies. The butcher was always so cheerful and happy that people were in the shop and interested in them that he had long conversations with everyone. This didn't alter on Christmas Eve either, so it didn't matter whether people were spending 50 quid or a fiver, they all got the same attention. This meant there was a long queue, but of course, that is part of the charm.

 

Out of the door, in front of the garage, round the corner near the Working Mens Club (from here)

Second, you had to work through the logistical nightmare that was THE CHRISTMAS TURKEY ORDERS. Essentially, I realised that you never ever please everyone. There are only so many turkeys to go around, and you have to try and get it right. "Put all them big 'uns in one place. Good god, look at the size of this one, who is going to eat all that? Where's the little 'uns? Remember Barbara always wants a small one. If she moans she'll have to have a big chicken."

 

And the story that came out every year was the butcher, since retired, who had only one turkey left on Christmas Eve late on. It was completely and utterly the wrong size. The lady who came to collect it was particularly forthright, and when he went to collect it from the fridge she was horrified. "That really won't do, it really won't, you must have another one that's bigger" she said. The butcher went back to look in the empty fridge, shouted at a fictional person to 'BRING THAT BIGGER TURKEY FROM OVER THERE,' said a few words to the patron saint of happy customers and big turkeys and turned round back into the shop with exactly the same turkey he had presented before, this time with a beaming smile. 

"Lovely, that's better!" she said.  

 

And that is why delivering milk and working in a butchers at Christmas is brilliant. Even better, it hasn't changed either.