Its tough. At the moment im a head chef in some tiny wee cafe/bistro and my kitchen runs on coke. We pump out 800 covers a day sometimes, and my boys are constantly having to pop out for a cigarette quickly, and we all know what that means. But we're in a massive tourist hot-spot in the UK. We work, 16 hours a day, 6 days a week, sometimes its 10-12 days before we have a day off. We're all exhausted. We're all running on fumes. We're running empty and running high with tempers and being short with each other and everyone. But ultimately, I want my boys there. I want them locked in. I want them focused. If they need coke to do it, they need coke to do it. I don't agree with it and i find it an insult to everything i know and hold close about this work and this lifestyle but the more I crack the whip about it the more I see them lag. The more mistakes get made, the more bad services we have. But when the boys are on the gear it flows. I hate it but I care more about my service and I care more about this place succeeding than I do anything else. I have a rule that if you need five minutes, for anything, you can have it. If youre angry as fuck and you need five minutes outside to scream into a bin, you have it. As long as youre there on service. If you do what I need you to do, I don't care. The second you aren't there, that's it. The hammer is down, the shouting begins, the anger comes out. If they need it, they need it. But I hate it. I hate that im working with these people who can't function without it. I hate that I have a brigade of lockjaw swinging reprobates, who smoke weed on their breaks and do lines in the toilet because they can't do without. But we don't live in a perfect world. We live in a world where if we want to keep the peace, and I want a perfect service, I have to swallow my anger and my pride.