Tomorrow after work I am moving into Mitzi's house until Christmas Eve. I have to be at the butchers at 5am every day, eurrrghhh, and I won't get to leave until "late" (ominously vague). The first Park and Ride bus is at 6am, and buses from Wallingford to Oxford only start at about 7am. So naturally the best solution was for me to move in with my short-tempered boss, and her house-guest-phobic boyfriend, who is my other boss, at the most stressful and tense time of the year. What could possibly go wrong. I DON'T EVEN HAVE A LAPTOP. It is going to be so weird. Being a butcher has completely taken over my life. I'm tentatively looking forward to it, on the basis that it is a novel experience - but realistically I think it might be COMPLETELY MENTAL AND WEIRD. Maybe I have accidentally joined a butcher cult? Maybe I've accidentally started one?

Anywaiz. Today at work I had to do a radio interview about the Covered Market, and we sold out of organic turkeys for Christmas and Michael Palin came in. Quite a lot of celebrity intellectuals visit Fellers. I took a phone order from a lady the other day, she said her name was "Hitchens - like kitchens but without the K". "Like Christopher?" I asked. "Actually, he's my brother-in-law" she said. And I couldn't bloody remember if he'd died or was still really ill, but I thought because she'd used the present tense, he must still be alive - even though I was almost certain he was dead. And then I couldn't bloody remember if he and the brother had made up, and I couldn't remember the brother's name at all, and I suddenly realised I had been silent for quite a while and I urgently needed to say something, because I was on the phone, where any conversational pauses seem much longer than they do in person, and it would have been a long pause even if we'd been face-to-face, so I blurted out "CONGRATULATIONS!" which is not the appropriate response at all. Obviously. And then she said something along the lines of yes, well, I much prefer my husband. So it was an even more inappropriate response. And now I'm wondering if once we hung up she thought maybe I was deliberately congratulating her on Christopher Hitchens being dead because I knew the brothers didn't get on? Anyway, it was a pretty fucking massive faux pas. I felt like Bridget fucking Jones for the rest of the day, but luckily Mitzi didn't fire me. I suppose that particular example of a celebrity intellectual (there is definitely capacity for some kind of portmonteau pun there but I haven't got the energy) doesn't count, what with it not being an in-shop visit and also being the wife of the celebrity, rather than the celebrity himself - but we do get some good ones! So far I've spotted Palin, Ian McEwan, Phillip Pullman, and Colin Greenwood (who I guess is just a run-of-the-mill celebrity really. I'm counting him as "intellectual" on the basis that he's not, like, household name famous, but on the other hand he is kind of really famous...also Radiohead are for smart people). I am hoping Paxman comes in. He does live in Oxford. And maybe Louis Theroux! Who doesn't live in Oxford, but whatevs. I would be so excited if he came to the butchers! I would deliberately chop my finger off (just the pinky or the ring finger, one of the expendable ones, I'm not a nutter) and then insist on him accompanying me to A&E.

Also, I wanted to share this quote from Tiny; "You know when you see a woman, and she's so ugly, you think, who would ever shag that? I shag that woman". After a good ten minute discussion I had to abandon my attempts to convince Tiny that I have never looked at a woman and thought, "who would ever shag that?".

My last post was really whingy, so here are some fun photos! The sexual harrassment does suck (WAHEY) but there are loads of good bits about being a Lady Butcher which ultimately outweigh the bad bits. 

Hello Laydeeeez! This is top butcher totty - on the left is Marc, he is Mitzi's boyf. They used to snog each other when they were kids then they grew up and went off and got married to other people and had kids and got divorced and now they are back together. I swear to god, it is so romantic. They love each other so much. The one with the grin is Chris, he's a bit of a geezer. Irresistible!

 Roe deer and fallow deer at either end of the photo, in the middle is burnt pork. I think there is some kind of health and safety issue with the pork because Mitzi keeps telling regulars that this is their last year to get it and when I ask why she just gives me a look.

 This is Larry, he goes to Smithfield market to get meat for us and he always wears a flat cap. Also, Larry's voice is quite posh. I believe that beneath his cap there are MANY SECRETS.

This is Ian, Jessie and Mitzi at The Block. The Block is where all the meat gets chopped. At the end of the day it has to be sanded down to keep it clean so there are big grooves in it like where Homer sits on the sofa. Usually it looks like some horrible animal farm warzone but you can't really tell from this photo/these guy's faces.

This is Pedro, I like him but he can be a right fucking prick.

Here's a bunch of stuff we sell! I should have turned the flash off. 

The other day some man asked me if this was "Bambi's mum" and then pissed himself for ages. Another man asked if the venison hanging outside were "dear" but it was such a shit joke I didn't even realise it was a joke until about an hour later.

This is Tiny, he is about 8 foot. He is pictured here with Teddy, my favourite customer. Teddy likes to come in and sweep up. He says precocious things and gets in the way. Work stops when he arrives as even pervo-sexist-dickhead butchers find him completely adorable.

This is me! Don't laugh at my outfit because it is fucking freezing in the butchers.

Is it okay to wear your bunny suit to bed even though it has a small amount of water buffalo blood around the cuff? I know it's not fine, but is it okay? It's the warmest thing I own and the butchers is freeeezing cold, so I had to wear it there. That decision made itself. But it's also my favourite, best-ever pyjamas. And it's cold here at home, too. And I forgot that I cannot truly relax unless I am wearing this all in one. And what's so bad about water buffalo blood, anyway? I mean, hey, we all wear leather shoes! IT'S PRETTY MUCH THE SAME THING.

Y'ALL DEAD MEAT, AND ME, I'M JUST A BUTCHER

So I'm feeling pretty settled in at the butchers now. I know how everybody takes their tea, the regulars have learned my name, and I can do basic butcher binizz like using the mincing machine or chopping steak (the other butchers don't even hover nervously whilst I attempt these tasks! Maybe they are simply lax and/or indifferent to my personal safety, but I think that they TRUST me! They think I am semi-competent at my job! And perhaps also a little bit the thing about being lax and/or indifferent).
Some of the customers even seem to think I know what I'm talking about! I do make an effort to smear my butchers coat with blood and entrails at every opportunity in order to inspire respect and fear, so it is good to see that this is paying off.
EVEN MORE IMPRESSIVELY (!!!!!),  if you can credit it, nine times out of ten I can shove my hand in a pile of chicken hearts/lambs kidneys/diced venison/etc etc and emerge clutching almost exactly the amount of meat the customer asked for. When I say "almost exactly" we're talking, like, a ten gram margin of error. That is some serious shit, my friends. I was born to butcher. I'm so relieved - I was getting worried I was born to teach or something shite like that.

Here's a picture of me and some sausages! 

 I made Amy get in the meat fridge with me to record this special moment. I love it when people take pictures of me.

http://amyhonour.tumblr.com

Today I did a shit-tonne of real butcher work! I learnt to use the mincing machine, I peeled and dewinged about twenty chickens, and I used a meat cleaver! It was all really exciting, except for the peeling part. I believe the correct term is "skinning" but you do literally grab the tuft of skin at the top of the chicken's neck and then peel it the entire way back, to the point where you assume you take a knife and slice the skin apart from the meat. Only you DO NOT use a knife, you must use brute force to wrench the skin from the meat, even though the skin is incredibly slippery and super, super cold and often pings back into your face when you finally rip it free. I can't see why you mustn't use a knife, but that is The Butcher Way.

 I also learnt some useful butcher etiquette: you must never use another butcher's knife, or their mug.

So today was my second day of being a butcher! And I don't want to brag or nuttin, but I still have ten fingers! A promising start.

 For the next month I will be working at M. Feller, Son and Daughter - which is a prestigious organic butchers located in the Covered Market in Oxford. I know that I am, essentially, a Christmas temp, but even so I feel quite honoured to be working there. If you live in Oxford, or have visited the Covered Market around Christmas, you will know Feller's as the butchers which is festooned with pheasant, rabbit, goose, boar and turkey carcasses. Like some grisly, profane Christmas tree decorated with the sole intention of upsetting vegetarians. No! The Christmas display at Feller's is fascinating and traditional and probably only upsetting for vegetarians who are already having a bad day. It's where all the most devoted, ethically-aware carnivores get their meat. It's a Big Deal, you guys. And now, their reputation is in my hands! Sort of, anyway. It's a lot of pressure. I'm honoured, but on the other hand, I am SHIT SCARED.

The hardest thing about being a butcher, so far, is the weights. People ask you for six kilograms of diced venison, 2 ounces of lambs liver and a pound of beef scrag like it aint no thang, and then stare at you with unblinking eyes as you frantically try to convert everything into metric because that's what the scales do and then you realise you don't even know what metric is and your only real idea of weight is that 8 stone is skinny and 11 stone is fat so you just grab a handful of meat - a big handful if the customer is a man, a smaller handful if the customer is a lady - and shove it on the scales and then everybody balks and your stomach drops because that's not SCRAG you IDIOT that's NECK. Except scrag and neck are the same thing so that's a bad example. I think they are the same thing, anyway. I just googled and scrag and neck are the same thing, but you can only get scrag from a sheep. Lawks amercy! As I said earlier, I still have ten fingers.

I've got a lot to learn before the Christmas rush begins properly, when we work 4am-11pm and the queue stretches the whole way out of the market. I really, really want to do a good job and learn a bit about being a proper butcher before I leave, because hey, this is a a RARE and fascinating opportunity.  I should really make the most of it. Also it is important to always Try Your Best. Before I started I vaguely pictured myself as some kind of butcher-Jesus, benevolently handing out sausages to adoring disciples who spoke of the miracles I perform in awed whispers. HA. HA, ME OF THE PAST! You dumb bitch! The more I learn about being a butcher, the more overwhelmingly complicated it seems to be.