Packed down after the sports ground and sat on the trailer step to change my shoes. The moment the laces loosened, my feet seemed to spread an extra size. Not sore exactly, more like they'd been holding their breath all service. Auntie came out with tea and I stayed there with one sock off, cold air on a damp foot, heat still hanging round my face from the fryers. Very glamorous business owner. Once I stood up, the heel complained, so I finished the last bits slowly. The clean bench felt properly cold under my hands by then. I could finally tell the cooking was over.

Testing a sauce that tastes great straight from the jar and disappears once it meets the burger. Mum says more salt, my brother says more of everything, neither of them is paying for the trial batch. I reckon the bread is swallowing the sharpness, so next go I want to change one thing and taste it in the actual meal, not standing at the bench with a spoon. This sounds obvious written down. In my defence, the spoon version is excellent. I've labelled the jars properly this time because last night I confidently preferred the one I thought was new and it was the original. Scientific leadership, eh.

My youngest brother handled a grumpy customer while I was stuck at the fryer, and I could hear him explaining the wait without promising anything silly. Proud as. Then I opened my mouth and repeated the whole explanation myself. He looked at me afterwards and said he'd already done it. I knew he had, I'd literally been pleased about it ten seconds earlier. Felt a bit stink. Told him his explanation was good, and he said, yeah, I know. Fair enough, boss. I let him close the window at the end and resisted checking every napkin he put away, though I definitely noticed where they went.