I was never late for my chef jobs, except when I was.
That morning was one of these times. December in London is an uninhabitable, cold-to-the-bone place. My thermal undergarments (oh, the shame!) just didn’t help this boy from Sydney freezing in the -1??? – 5 ??? temperatures.
Even my fingers, protected with sheep’s wool-lined, waterproof gloves, tingled with the numbing of limited blood flow.
Now, though, I’m slipping and sliding into the lamp posts of my Christmas cards past.