The calm and the silence permeate through the kitchen, bouncing off the white tiled walls and stainless steel work surfaces, where a matter of a few short hours ago it was like hell on earth with noise and heat and steam and aggression.
Not now. The only sounds are the noisy workmen on the damp street outside heard through that little cracked window which never closes and the fridge motors under the benches. Always there but never really noticed at any other time. It's not really sound, it’s punctuated silence and it's anticipation.
Once pressed, the little button on the top sparks the insides of the small dusty black box into life. The feeling of the room will change like it’s a different place, which is difficult to describe but it just does. The day ahead will be hard. Harder than yesterday. But the inevitable can be ignored if the room remains in a state of silence because it hasn't started yet. There is still silence.
Click. It takes a couple of seconds to recognise which song is playing. This little black box is a link to the outside world. It is a friend when nobody talks. It gets ignored when you're in the shit. It's the twelfth man. Always there and always dependable. Consistent. Valued. Trusted.
The radio doesn't ask for anything. It just gets on with it’s task on a daily basis. It is why it is there. It's always ready for the day ahead and is always the last to go silent. Nothing phases the radio. Radio has no feelings. There is never a hangover. Radio never gets offended.
Radio doesn't get involved during service. It interferes. It distracts them. Food is better when radio isn’t in the room for service. But radio will come back when needed. It goes on the journey with them through the times. Good. Bad. It has no preference. It’s raison d’etre is to serve.
There are many of them. Populating the quiet spaces. Bringing hope. Helping out. Being Used. Invaluable. Priceless.