In a nutshell: After several years of deliberating about it, I’m finally taking the plunge and opening a bakery in Chichester. The dream is to have a bakery which sells decadent cakes made al ingredients, sourced as locally as possible. The perfect time finally came along when a shop premises that has been in our family for over three generations finally became available again. These posts will chronicle our process of getting the shop reading for opening, hopefully in less than forty days.
We wanted to be opened by yesterday. Except I filled in the local Council’s food business registration a week later than intended which meant we legally could not open on the 1st of the month. Theoretically we should be opening on the 9th but somehow, I don’t think we will be ready by then. Instead we are having friends over to the bakery on the 9th for coffee taster session and aim to be open to the public on the 12th.
Saturday saw Slaveboy and I going over to Goring-by-Sea to pick up a purple sofa from a friend’s house. This sofa is well travelled, having been the set sofa for a New Orleans TV show and then travelling across the pond for a quaint but quirky life in Sussex. This friend is a fairly newly acquired one and sadly (for us) she is moving her family back to America, a move that she is very excited about. I do hope she doesn’t mind me mentioning her on here as I merely wanted to ponder upon how busy and hectic life gets with a family, home educating and raising teens that it’s taken the pick up of a sofa to make me realise that I have totally missed out on an opportunity to create a better friendship with her. So there we were, in the midst of her trying to organise her packing, exchanging a potted history of our lives and making plans to try harder to keep in touch.
Saturday also involved going to Ike-argh. It was stressful and that was before Slaveboy realised they weren’t serving meatballs on the cafe menu that day. Despite me having been organised with having product numbers listed down, it still didn’t stop us from getting very confused and fighting over whose will to live was lost first.
It was also Lalla’s invitational diving competition where she was up against 18 divers aged 14 to 18. Lalla mentioned that she just hoped that she wouldn’t place in the bottom 7 and that the chances of her gaining any medals were non-existent. Both Slaveboy and I got to the venue just in time for the start of her category and it wasn’t long before Slaveboy was growling at the commentator for repeatedly pronouncing Lalla’s name wrong.
There’s something about watching diving competitions. Each dive lasts mere seconds and if you blink, you stand the chance of missing it. It had been a while since I last saw Lalla dive and I was astounded to watch her do a double somersault inward dive. She’s certainly progressed much further than I had realised.
The wait for the results was tedious. We knew she had done reasonably well but we weren’t sure. Lalla had to be stopped by her coach from leaving straight after her last dive because she initially thought she’d done badly. It was only when she realised that they were about to announce the top 10 divers and her name had yet to be called that she perked up. Lalla placed 2nd with 3 points between her and the Gold medalist and her third dive was the highest scoring in her category.
Personally, I spent much of that competition, laying on the guilt on myself for having been so distracted by the bakery that I knew Lalla hadn’t quite received the support she could have needed. There’s a lot to be said about young adults who are so inwardly focused that the drive doesn’t need to rallied from others, it’s actually become ingrained.
But anyway, here are some photos. It’s late and I’m too tired to label them.