Virgin Broadband.

A big NO-NO. 

After spending the morning ranting and raging down the phone, I’m madder than I was before I picked up my mobile. *Quick check to make sure my hair is still attached to my head and I haven’t burnt down the house by the smoke from my ears* 

The issue? SLOW broadband. No, NON-EXISTANT. And YES I’m using capitals because I’m STILL RAGING!!! Student life is poor, you can’t afford a TV licence so that luxury goes out the door, along with heating (bring on thick jumpers and ski socks)… Say ‘TTFN ta-ta for now’ to comfy sofas, plush carpets, free printing, ‘adios’ Mother’s home cooking, and to your boyfriend only being a short walk away. So the one thing you do look forward to, the one priority of student life is internet. 4OD, iplayer, youtube, google, all-important FaceBook for those antisocial days you spend holed up under your duvet but still in contact with people further up the country, Wikipedia, and Student Central. The latter being the only ‘valid’ point for the extreme necessity of internet. 

So after moving in to our very basic student house and having our top package Virgin broadband fitted (because we really needed someone to come in and plug a box into the wall for a £40 fee) its rather maddening to discover that we might as well not have bothered. Back to the house of Starbucks where wifi is only a small Latte away, sat upstairs on a comfy sofa and a sticky table (a cut above student living!) for the joys of internet. Although you do get a few odd looks when it appears that you are talking to yourself (i.e. When using Skype). 

I called up today steaming from the cerebral cortex over the fact that once again, I’d spent 2 hours NOT getting anything up on screen. TWO HOURS of refreshing, ‘connection timeout’, running upstairs to turn off/on the box, running downstairs to retry the internet connection on my laptop, back upstairs to reset the damn thing, downstairs to attempt to load Google… well, I definitely didn’t need a spinning class today! Another thing that got my cogs going was their premium number for their helpline. WHY should I be paying to talk to Virgin because they can’t get their arses in gear? WHY? I’m a ‘customer’ - shouldn’t I get customer service included in my broadband contract? *more madness, stamping around and raging* IT’S BARBARIC. After another 20 minutes listening to the worst ‘dance’ music in years I’m about ready to run outside and hit a small child. But no. Because it’s not their fault. THIS IS VIRGIN MEDIA’S FAULT. My house mate mentioned the other day that she saw a Virgin technical man opening a wire box in town. My immediate response was ‘did you hit him?’. 

I FINALLY get onto a ‘customer helper’ at the end of the phone line, and after calmly  expressing my problem (ok so there may have been a few mini-rants, ‘it’s insane’s’ and ‘I don’t see why I should pay anymore’) he repeated Virgin’s on-going excuse that there’s ‘building work’ in the area, and they’re trying to fix the problem. This ‘building work’ is affecting LONDON. And I am in BRIGHTON. Sounds like rather more than just a ‘problem’. I don’t CARE if there’s building work, I DON’T SEE WHY I SHOULD BE PAYING FOR IT. I called early October and was told the same thing, and that it would be all sorted by October 26th. Come November 9th and I’m STILL waiting for my homepage to load! He then said that the building work would be sorted by November 23rd. At that I literally burst into tears. ‘Literally’ I said, not actually. I did go mad at that bit though. Scratch that, quite a lot mad, actually. I may have started exclaiming profanities, stuttering before screaming another ‘THAT’S INSANE!!!!’ at him, before ‘I’m not putting up with this! What is the procedure for ending the contract now?’ and then very quickly being put through to ‘Customer relations’ after a stuttering ‘goodbye’ from the poor man. 

Onto Virgin call centre employee number two. Because they really give a rat’s arse. After having to repeat my account number AGAIN, and my area reference AGAIN, and the account holder’s name AGAIN and the account password YET AGAIN, I was speaking to someone better spoken at English, and by his voice just seemed a lot more powerful within the call centre. (That does not mean he was any use.) ‘Dazzling Deals’? You’ve GOT to be having a laugh. ‘The UKs fastest broadband’??? Yes, ultra fast at driving customers INSANE.

By the end of my FORTY-FIVE-MINUTE CALL on an 0844 number, I’d got us an oh-so-generous £33.50 credit note. *note sarcasm* They were unwilling to pay us back entirely for the last two months of NO internet usage, the stress, the struggles (two of my housemates had to run over to Starbucks last week to send their online assessments), and battles with their so-called customer ‘service’. VIRGIN is half the reason students finish university with high debt! This battle is NOT OVER. 

And now, as I can no longer feel my fingers and my nose has turned blue (yes, I am in my house) and with no internet to speak of (except whine, moan and rant at the lack of) I’m just going to bang my head repeatedly on my bedroom wall (complete with no insulation) and write a snotty letter to Virgin Media. A stamp’s cheaper than a phone call. 

A True Story...

Every time something good happens, or I achieve something amazing, it makes me want to hammer my index finger onto my screen at my blog header, defiantly yelling 'I TOLD YOU SO'. Every time something goes RIGHT in my life when people thought it wouldn't, and I take another step into the big wide world, it reminds me of that weekend of hopelessness - no university offers, a not-so-outstanding results sheet, and being told I was in 'cloud cuckoo land' over the idea of living in France. *points at screen singing na-ne-na-ne-nana*

I've had to put up with people around (few people, I must add), but those people who automatically had me down as 'unsuccessful' for not going straight to university, who didn't see any options for me other than to retake a school year or do a year's college course, and end up as a 60-year-old waitress or a 'lifer' at Sainsbury's. And I've proved them all wrong. But it was never about them - it was about proving it to myself. Proving my independence, finding my confidence, and pushing my own boat out. 

And yet another amazing feat has come out of the year, granted that this whole year has ironically happened 'backwards' if you compare it to the average life 'plan' (date, co-habit, have kids...), but getting to the point, Miss Independent has finally bagged herself a boyfriend! The same guy who was my 'knight in shining armour' with offerings of cough sweets and medicine not so many months ago. And we have FINALLY hit it off. *keeping calm and cool, resisting all urges to jump around like a six year old*

This is definitely my year. :) Right now, I can officially say that I love my life. And there have been times where I never thought that would happen. So to everyone out there, go and inspire yourself. 

In other news, the new house is pretty good, and I love my room, despite it being half the size as my old room. I did buy myself a very cute dreamcatcher from an Earth-saving shop, and a dreamcatcher is something I've always wanted. Seriously, ALWAYS. 

 

The Stratford Pimm's® Trials

Rosie and I have decided, during our summer holidays of nothing-ness, to test out all the bars and restaurants of Stratford-upon-Avon. Seeing as she's been too busy revising to get out much and I've been.. too busy juggling kids and houses to get out much. So in the last week, we've set about our evenings trying out Pimm's in the local pubs. Of course, had it been over the course of a night we'd have been on the floor and probably not able to tell the difference between Simon Cowell's pee and a glass of Pimm's, so it's just as well we've spread out our taste-tests.

Let's start with the basics. According to the Pimm's advert which cunningly incorporates people dressed up as fruit and dancing overzealously down a street, a summer Pimm's drink should contain a bit of everything of the following: Ice. Lemonade. Orange. Mint. Cucumber. Strawberry. And of course, a 50ml measure of Pimm's. On with the trials!

Bonus points for our Pimm's taste test:
- A fancy glass
- Straw added in by bar staff
- Shaped ice
- Cocktail umbrella
- Fruit on rim of glass
- Crazy coloured people singing the Pimm's tune
- Fireworks display as the glass is passed to you
- Any form of Freebies.


Pimm's 1.
Before a trip to the cinema on Sunday evening, we decided to sit in the Picture House Cinema Arty-farty bar and enjoy some Pimm's. This proved more of an investment as we were charged £4.00 per drink, served up in a narrow beer glass and contained no fruit and no straw. EXTRA Minus points for the slow barman who spent more time flipping his peroxide fringe back and forth. Should have thrown the drinks back at him! I've also recently been informed that Pimm's comes in three different 'flavours' - Pimm's mixed with either rum, vodka or gin, hence the Numbers on the bottle (e.g. 'Pimm's No.1') which up until now I'd never paid any attention to. But after knowing this valuable piece of info, I was able to taste the strong rum in this drink which ruined the delightfulness of Pimm's rather. If I wanted rum, I'd have ordered it!

However, by chance we'd walked into a night of music in the bar, so technically there WAS singing going on, although no necessarily the Pimm's theme tune... But for a pleasant evening of music, we'll definitely go back. Plus we were able to take drinks into the cinema. Score: 2 cucumbers out of 5. Not a great show (but the movie itself was brilliant)!

Pimm's 2.
After the cinema we took a detour on the way home and found ourselves at Hole in the Wall/Bar Room Bar. There we ordered two Pimm's - each £2.80 - which included cucumber cubes and a token slice of lemon. HAS NO ONE SEEN THE CRAZY PIMM'S ADVERT?? IT HAS COLOURED PEOPLE! Rating: 3 cucumbers. Price was excellento, but if I'd wanted that much cucumber in my drink I'd have ordered a salad.

The next day...

Pimm's 3. 
Rosie and I met for a very enjoyable lunch at Cox's Yard during the stress of yet ANOTHER moving day, so once again treated ourselves to PIMM'S. It was hot, summery, I was wearing flipflops which happens once-in-a-lifetime, and Pimm's tends to round up all the happiness and blissfulness of summer into a chilled drink. Cox's Yard is definitely a tourist trap, but one of my newfound favourite places in Stratford. Love love love! (And Pimm's pimm's pimm's!)

 

I was also very pleased to see that the bar at Cox's actually had an official Pimm's fruit tray, which consists of a long storage box with individual compartments to hold each - AND EVERY - bit of Pimm's fruit from the mint leaves to the strawberries. In case you can't read the photo, or got distracted by the mouth-watering picture of Cox's Pimm's beside, a glass costs £3.75, and a '3 pint jug' (a Pimm's Pitcher) £15.25 - the latter I feel is rather a tad too pricey, particularly if you get onto our Wetherspoons experience below. Rating: 4.5 cucumbers. We definitely had 'all the trimmings', and we even had straws put in for us, which, judging by the failures of the last two bars, is a bit of an achievement.

Pimm's 3. 
We figured a good place to have started with - to mark out a 'standard' - would have been Wetherspoons. There is ALWAYS a Wetherspoons wherever you go. Not to mention good value for money, picture menus for the children (YOU GOTTA THINK OF THE CHILDREN!), and by total chance and luck, the place where everyone else our age in Stratford hangs out. I'd started to wonder WHERE THE HELL everyone was! No straw, and a pitiful lemon and lime, but a good chilled atmosphere. Despite the fact it was Wetherspoons. Suitable for anybody in winter wanting to pretend it's summer. Rating: 4 cucumbers.

 Where are the fireworks and belly dancers??

 

Very good priced, but not a classy night out.

It can't have been all that bad as a couple of nights later we were back and ordering a REALLY good priced-pitcher of Pimm's, costing £6.90. This was after a very disappointing trip at The Encore... (keep reading!)

Pimm's 4.

The benefit of doing a Pimm's trial all in one go is that by the time we'd have hit The Encore, we wouldn't have had enough money anyway to afford these. NINE POUNDS FIFTY!!!! NINE POUNDS FIFTY FOR TWO DRINKS! I think this is APPALLING! Extra EXTRA minus pounds for the abominable prices! My temper was somewhat eased out after finally being able to relax into one of the absolutely fabulous Zebra armchairs I've always seen yet never tried... Truly exquisite, I'll buy FOUR. 

So, what is included in the £4.75 drink? Well, we did get not-one-but-two straws, and a range of fruit including an unexpected raspberry, and Rosie seemed to think it tasted particularly good until I said that 'Pimm's is Pimm's...' and until we went on to Wetherspoons for the pitcher which was stronger and cheaper! But if Rosie can taste the difference then I'd better add on an extra point. Rating: 3.5 cucumbers. Stylish setting, scandalous prices! 

  

 The price won't have us coming back for more... But the chair, the chair!! 

Setting an example.

And so not with a fizzle but with a bang, here's how the experts do it. This was the first evening in my new house, so please excuse the lack of straws, herb garden containing fresh mint and a room of belly dancers or something equally as carnival-istic, but visualise a pretty damn good Pimm's: a heap of MIXED and Pimm's-RELATED fruit at the top (including strawberries), the froth of fresh and chilled lemonade all mixed with an estimated measure of Pimm's. (Newby said a capful was 50ml but moving house is such a hassle I was beyond caring!)

My favourite place for Pimm's must be Cox's Yard for a laid back summer evening with friends. I still can't get over their scanners as well - there is no need for notepads or pens there, all the staff and waitresses carry small scanners and books of barcodes, so anything you order, be it food or drink, they just scan the code which send it automatically through to the tills and the kitchen! Neat, huh? Wetherspoons was amazing value and a good place for randomly bumping into people you haven't seen for ages... or saw just yesterday. But good student digs in the small town that is Stratford. Worst Pimm's is the rum-ridden rip-off from the Picture House Cinema bar, and priciest goes to The Encore (no encore this time!), but I wouldn't object to one of their Zebra chairs for the same price as a Pimm's! 

Life in Reverse

After the jail house debacle, I was feeling pretty positive about the next house viewing as, to be honest, nothing could be any worse than the half-way house. Why is my life never simple? I feel like I'm doing The 'Backwards' Plan - starting with 3 kids, moving house and paying bills, living with several guys before deciding I might possibly like one of them *no, I do not obsess about playing with his curly hair*... CAN I JUST MEET SOMEONE and start off with the basics? Like, a DATE? (And the co-habiting comes months/years later?!) But let's not complain. Just so long as I don't marry a stranger on a drunken night and then have to get to know him, such as in 'What Happens in Vegas' (although no complaining if I end up hitched to Ashton Kutcher)!

Anyway. House number 2 was a flat, A WHOLE FLAT. I felt so adult! :) We were greeted by a very yummy Tim Henman-lookalike (with a strong handshake) who showed us round the flat, starting with the larger bedroom. I was too busy ogling at the two pieces of testosterone in the room to realise what Tim-man had just said to cause a 'no... no.. erm.. we...' reaction from Newby, but after a quick rewind of the conversation through my head I corrected him by explaining we weren't together together. Nope still only in my dreams... *sighs*

We decided against the flat in the end, and it's nice that we then both individually found good house-shares nearby on the same day, so one wasn't abandoning the other. I'm pretty excited about my new house, but nothing will beat my current house! No pictures for now, but the new landlady was lovely and the rooms very cool and youthful with super-cool sinks. OH the sinks! It's still in a good area, similar distance to the gym and close to the town centre, and the kitchen is humungous. And not a jail bar in sight! 

Tomorrow faces a House Content Sale organised by my current landlady, so I'm envisioning tomorrow evening sitting cross-legged on the floor with no table, chairs or sofa and eating takeout with plastic cutlery. But that's all the fun of moving house - realising you've packed everything you still need/ sold it all off. 

Carbooty and some Jail Booty!

Today started bright and early for my carboot sale, creeping down the stairs at 6 am (yes, I managed to get out of bed this time round!) with a bundle of coat hangers and into my car. A great way to meet a very 'interesting' range of people, from polish Mafia and Christmas fanatics to feet-wielding chatterboxes and the odd granny who thought my car was for sale. ('Car BOOT Sale', NOT 'CAR SALE'!). But, by the end of a VERY long morning, 2 rain showers and being chatted up by a 60-year-old who took a fancy to my sheep skin boots, I made a total of (about) £70. No complaining, and I scored some Karma points by giving the rest of my items to Oxfam. Smiles all round! And a huge THANK YOU to Rosie - supporter, ally and enthusiast - for providing some car boot essentials (primarily a table and a clothes stand!) and willingly allowing the feeling of a non-alcoholic hangover and exhaustion to be bestowed upon her! (I FEEL LIKE DEATH AND IT'S NOT EVEN 6PM.) On the bright side, i made about £70.

 

Following on from that episode of coldness, wetness and lookalike 'tip' sales, this afternoon I went with Newby to check out house number 1 on our viewing schedule. And WHAT A JOKE it was! I think I must be beyond the past of exhaustion that I actually spent the whole time trying to stop myself from rolling on the floor in hysterics whilst crying in desperation and leaping round the house like a lunatic. Fact numero uno. It was like a half-way house, or an in-patient psychiatric unit. No, WORSE. The main room (eating room) consisted of a bucket-sized freezer (no joke), a table, and a notice board. A NOTICE BOARD. I was expecting an office with a house mistress in, or a wall of tuck lockers (oh, those are still to come!). And there was a door 'forbidden to housemates'. There's nothing quite like home sweet home then, is there?! Then through into the 'kitchen', or rather, a corridor with a mish-mash of kitchen facilities, would have been horrendous for a group bigger than ONE to cook there in one go (considering that there are seven house mates living there...), and cupboards with room numbers and LOCKS along the wall. Oh, how I miss boarding school! (Do we get evening activities and a canteen as well then?)

Nombros deux. The Lounge? BARREN. The aftermath of a crime scene. Or a very dull waiting room. Two sofas, and nothing else. Not even cushions, let alone a coffee table, rug, pictures, wall hangings, TV, music facilities, books, magazines, pictures, frames, paint, plants, corner lighting (lamps, lumieres, candles, lanterns, lava lamps, chandelier, reading light or candelabra), bean-bag floor cushions, a pole-dancing pole, a karaoke set or George Clooney standing in the corner with roses. NADA. So onwards and upwards. (Do we dare?) The rooms were bathroom size. And not the sized bathrooms from The Whitehouse. Or even Cheryl Cole's bathroom. Prison cell size. Claustrophobic. The landlord knocked on cell 3 upstairs (sorry, ROOM 3) and after a good 5 minutes appeared a dorky guy with spiky hair and glasses, who looked about 40. We bundled into his room, and all stood hunched in the door frame peaking into his cramped bedroom, which smelt oddly of weed. *More laughter inside my head. Could this get anymore hilariously worse?!* it turns out, the bathroom (the only bathroom) was bigger than even two bedrooms put together! I had to leave the house clutching my sides and trying to save all my jokes and puns for my blog instead of hurling them full-pelt at this landlord who seemed to think it acceptable to have everyone confined to their cells (ROOMS goddamnit!) and have 'Forbidden Rooms' downstairs. 

We left. We walked. We talked. I was glad to hear Newby had exactly the same thoughts on the house as I did - I would have happily put up a tent inside the Terrestrial Army shooting grounds than have signed an application form for that house. Turns out, it is actually a half-way house for some (OH MY LORD!) and so are the two houses either side. WHAT THE HELL. Walked back home with Newby close to tears with the stress of it all. I told him he had to see the funny side of this, or I'd have gone completely insane living in France with no comical output from all the chaos! i'm sure if worse came to worse, we could live in the tower by the Stratford bridge?!

A French Success!

Well, another exam down. And it went surprisingly and amazingly well! Big sigh of relief as I chuck all my AS papers and notes (two huge ring binders' worth) into the recycling bin, and already my shoulders feel a little lighter and my head a little cluttered. I really honestly don't think I could have done much better - even with more than 10 minutes of crammed revision - OMGICAN'TBELIEVEHOWUTTERLY UH-MAZING the exam was! I don't wish to rub it in to anyone who struggled. I would like to add (and maybe include a short rant about the lucky buggers) that I am most definitely NOT one of those people who can just turn up to the exam without a spot of revision and breeze through it getting top marks. And URGH those people that moan ON AND ON about how they 'did so badly, blates gonna fail AND DIE' and yep, you got it, they get top marks. *Severe eye-rolling going on right now*

But I was secretly worried I'd either get a complete mental block in the exam, which has happened frequently before, or that I'd relied too much on the fact I'd been in France and so OBVIOUSLY French fluency and perfect grammar was just going to come spilling out the moment I opened the paper and so not revised enough. Ok, not revised at all... But it was fine. Seeing Catie brought back all those Parisian powers of mine, and I understood every word in the paper! It actually made sense! No stressing, no blocks, just pen to paper and it flowwwed. :) And when I got to the essay part, OHMYLORD firstly, I actually PLANNED my essay - I was so calm and on top of it all that I P-L-ANNED it, and secondly, I WROTE THREE PAGES. This is like, a French Miracle happening right here! Three pages of French, I may add, which made total sense and I think i had a Verbs revelation there and then as suddenly I was able to include subjunctive and past and... well, all those weird endings. 

On the other hand, I will be tout à fait [absolutely] gutted if I got a bad mark... Although I did get a B on this paper last year so it's not the end of the world. However, i do have a very bad habit of getting exaclty the same mark as previous on my retakes. Seriously, not the same grade, THE EXACT SAME MARK as before. it's happened in French AND Psychology retakes, and English GCSE... Which is quite some feat really and should result in top marks just for sheer aptitude. 

Merci beaucoup and au revoir AS French! 

Confessions of a Multi-Tasking Waitress (2)

A birthday party of 31 gather around the bar, a melange of Italian and English spoken. A quick burst of thought flits into my head about the idea of going to Italy at some point for a short break, but is quickly obliterated as I'm too busy panicking about the people - the huge amount of work I'll have on my hands once they're all seated and making sure everyone's drink is topped up before Boss no.1 notices (she always notices). 

The baby on another table I'm also juggling is busy splattering ketchup everywhere and using the cheese off the cheeseboard as a play-dough substitute. I shiver at the mess around the floor, and at the macerated cheese grinding into the velvet-covered chairs. I don't do babies. Not on velvet chairs or with cheese anyhow!

Back to the party, and after a successful 3-course meal inside, they're all out in the garden for coffee and cake. Although no cake for the staff working their butts off to make this anywhere near to a success. On the subject of cake, I have the honourable job of bringing out the cake. Well, one of two cakes (two birthday's within the party), so quite naturally I 'shotgun' the Barbie Cake. Yes, the BARBIE cake. It is truly insane. No amount of description will equate to the utter amazingness of this sugar creation. So on this occasion, I will let the photo I sneaked do the talking. After all, a picture is worth a thousand words!

I follow out a colleague who has a Thomas the Tank Engine birthday cake (not half as phenomenal as the Barbie Cake, and may I just add that both cakes are for people over 30!), and within moments of entering the outside breeze all candles puff out. It's my own Indiana Jones moment - holding the Holy Grail of cakes, although in my opinion nothing can quite beat Marks and Spencer's Caterpillar Cake, and wouldn't it just be so funny if under Barbie's icing dress was chocolate sponge - there'd always be one to make a joke about her cacking her pants! The next stage of The Plan is singing The Song. I have spent three years of waitressing building up the courage for the bloody birthday song. I have to admit that by now I just get on with it, no fussing. When I say 'get on with it' I mean START IT. Those first 'Haaa-py Birth-' are my solo. ALWAYS. Not because I WANT to sing it - I HATE singing, and always admit to only singing 'in the shower' - but no one else has the guts (or talent haha) to start the Happy Birthday Song. And so really it saves a lot of time and embarrassment if I just get on with it, and make the best out of those first three syllables instead of a mumbled, out-of tune and wobbly attempt which only seems to encourage surrounding people to stand and watch for entertainment and deliberately not join in. OH!, and that high note in the third line is always a cringeworthy, mortifying moment, more than when you suddenly realise halfway through that you don't actually know the name of the person you're singing to... By then you rely on the fact that the party-people have used their initiative and loyalty to their birthday-friend/relative and joined in after you started singing and you can shut-up yourself and just give a cheesy smile by the third line without any singing at all! 

Well, it's the first of my Listening/Reading/Writing French exams tomorrow, or third out of all four French retakes. I know this won't get any sympathy reaction whatsoever and more like a raised eyebrow and a 'you really should know better and have worked harder for this' speech from the people interested in seeing me NOT fail in life, but buying domestos and making pretty price tags for my next car boot sale is just SO much more interesting than revising about mobile phones, family life, and the media. Riveting! 

To top the evening off, I decided to cook Shepherd's Pie for the house. My Shepherd's Pie speciality. Newby is my Come Dine With Me bud, and suggested how totally awesome it would be to do a CDWM in the house... even though Disappearing Dave has always...well, disappeared, and Luke's always on a no-carb diet - until the next McDonalds! Anyhow, the Shepherd's pie was a hit, with Newby giving me a 7/10 score - he marked me down on the fact it wasn't three course (as in CDWM), and he had to provide his own drink (his beer)... and there was no entertainment in terms of Belly Dancing, Magicians or bongo drums. But 7/10 is still on the way to a winner! :) 

Confessions of a Multi-Tasking Waitress

You are all probably aware by now that by daytime and regularly night time I am a waitress at a local village restaurant. I say restaurant because it definitely isn't as tacky or low-standard slap-up meals as you may find in a pub, and the word 'pub' seems to suggest (or from experiences as a small 6-year old) dingy rooms full of smoke and beer bellies. Minus the smoke nowadays, some village pubs still aren't the nicest of places. Anyway, step into this restaurant and you're transported away to a beautiful French-styled restaurant, highly expensive and elegant chairs that I can only stare at with jealousy, old fashioned duck-egg shutters on the walls and delicate lace curtains in the conservatory room and exquisite grey/lilac velvet curtains in the piano room. I do love where I work, and the chic decor definitely makes up part of the reason why I've kept my job there for the last year! 

I'm certain that anyone working to serve people every day will agree that you definitely meet a highly 'interesting' range of people, not all 'good' I must add... But these people keep my shifts turning and pass the night away and the more people I get the quicker it goes. So I shouldn't complain really.

I can only roll my eyes and scream VERY LOUDLY (inside my head) at some of the antics and words our customers come out with, and yesterday was no exception. We start the shift tying on lunchtime's apron, and polishing some cutlery. Polishing cutlery must probably be the bane of most waitresses lives - I was delighted to discover upon switching from a previous pub that the waitressing staff didn't have to polish cutlery (drying and polishing every piece of cutlery that has gone through the wash), and that was down to K.P. ('Kitchen Porter', AKA pot-washer, another one of my side-line and occasional jobs!). But this evening KP wouldn't be in for another half-hour, and we were already out of knives so I got my white towel out and started the mission of polishing. (Oh, it's a mission alright!)

Back to the bar and we're busy catching up with each other's busy lives. Sorry, I mean, getting to work on the many important jobs prior to our guests and customers arriving, such as wiping sauce bottles, polishing salt and pepper shakers, checking ashtrays constantly and making sure all the cutlery laid out in the restaurant is perfectly aligned. This is where OCD habits are applauded and creates a natural eye for the high-standard of neatness and perfection that is upheld at this restaurant. So whilst standing around at the top of the bar, welcoming guests and waiting for our next bookings to arrive I find myself stuck in a conversation with someone very intent in telling the whole world every single item in her household made by Apple. Did you know, she has two iPod Nanos, 2 touchscreen iPods, they all have iPhones, mac computers.... did I mention their iPad? And oh yes, of course, their iPad2, and... you get the picture. Breathing slowly and keeping calm - it's only the beginning of a very long night. I lovingly think back to my MacBook and trusty iPod which has survived a washing machine and a very hormonal cat. I bet theirs isn't PINK. 

On with the evening. My worst nightmare, of fourteen cronies coming through the door, and into my 'section'. I spend the evening losing my voice having to practically spell out the soup of the day, and take a simple order. Upon putting the first drink down, the man-in-charge is all set to order. 'Just let me finish getting your drinks over and then we can sort out ordering!' I HAVE TWO HANDS. Later on, the man-in-charge is all set to get onto dessert whilst half his table are still eating. Does he want me fired??

And so continues the evening. Table six don't want bread but want bottle water. Still. No, sparkling. No, still. Actually sparkling. I wait oh-so-very-patiently by the table whilst all my other tables are demanding dishes, drinks and desserts as well, and I'm STILL standing at a table who can't make up their mind over WATER. Table three need steak knives before their steaks arrive, table eight are sitting with open dessert menus but I know they're too busy gassing to have even noticed they were put in front of them. The lovebirds on table two are quite happy sitting, staring borderline-obsessionally into each other's eyes, which is all very well but I need to spray and relay it for the next booking on that table who have already arrived and are waiting at the bar. Meanwhile, in other news, table one are tugging on my apron (WHO DOES THAT?????), the kitchen bell for food is ringing and table seven are waving at me for the bill, Jedward plan to make a movie about their world takeover and Lindsay Lohan begins her house arrest with roof-top sunbathing. I think by this point it would only take for an old granny from the W.I. party to patronisingly pat me on the arm, yank me down to her level and squawk 'KEEP YER HAIR ON LOVEY' for the screaming to actually start coming out from my mouth. 

By the end of the night I'm manically laying up tables, perfecting the straightness of cutlery and blowing out candles like a very excited six-year-old. Chairs are linted (see what I mean about high-standards?!), ashtrays washed and polished and the outside chairs brought in, and with that I think it's fairly safe to say we can all sign out and depart. UNTIL NEXT TIME. I sprint to my car and shamelessly speed all the way home - I DON'T CARE about low-emissions and saving fuel, I JUST WANT MY BED!

A Spot of Bother...

Everyone loves to hear about everyone else's misfortune. Fact. And the ability to turn misfortune into a good series of hilarity and clown-acts makes it even more comical as you're actually giving the 'OK' sign for people to laugh. 

So I'm going to attempt to make light of a very bad series of unfortunate events. My good karma seems to have run out - did I hoover up one too many spiders? Or pay back for all the tricks I played on my brothers in our younger years? And so misfortune has had a good go at hitting me from all angles in under a week. It started with a letter. I knew before opening it wouldn't be the best of letters...  It came after a few house viewings, structure surveyors and then weeks of silence. WEEKS OF CONTENTMENT. And then the letter. Or 'letters' - as we all received one. Living contently, the perfect household, destroyed by the blow of a letter. Intrigue all built up yet? The house has been sold. I am absolutely DEVASTATED. This is coupled with working full-time at the restaurant this week to compensate for not-one-but-two staff on holiday, and my best friend going away for the next 2 years. All I can say, the silver lining to the thunder storm, is THANK GOD it's Friday. I feel emotionally and physically drained with all this stress. Just when I've got my next and final French exams. Words or sound effects cannot describe my utter frustration and... aggravation! I feel like King Kong beating his fists at the top of the Empire State Building, batting planes from the skies. Only in my story I'd be jumping up and down on the kitchen roof, beating my fists whilst making a bonfire out of the 'sold' sign which has taken obstinate standing at the front of our drive. 

OK YOU CAN LAUGH. It's fine. I will allow you to give a splutter of disbelief and incredibility at my misfortune. Ok, let's stop laughing now. I lasted two months on the breath of good Karma and luck before crashing down like Apollo 13. I have to add it was a bloody good two months though! 

So I spent the afternoon between work shifts searching for more house-rents, bewildered and lost between crazy, lonesome cat-lady's and a house which claimed to have two 99-year old's living. After a brief consideration of pitching up a tent at the bottom of the KES football field next to the garden, or moving into Tesco's 24/7-store cleaning cupboard, The Newby returned home and suggested if we could rent a flat together. *Jump up squealing, race around the room and do a crazy dance*- sorry, I mean, 'give a small completely NON-desperate smile' - and said that yes, of course, that would be a totally amazing idea and far better than crazy-cat ladies and nursing homes, and we should definitely look into it. Maybe misfortune is there just as that pinch to prove you're not dreaming... But head up, keep strong and don't let the bastards bring you down! (That's the spirit!)

Things to do when you are positively BORED OUT OF YOUR MIND.

What to do when there's nothing to do...

1. Iron random peoples’ clothes. ‘Random’ being housemates. ‘Clothes’ being the heap of clean washing that’s been sitting in the kitchen for a week. [Occupation rating: 10-30 minutes. Add a bonus 10 minutes for holding your hand under cold water due to iron burns.] Spice up your evening when a mystified housemate enters, wondering if there really is a washing fairy in the house. Or scare the hell out of him by informing him that his mother has moved in. 

 

2. Arrange the household’s DVD collection in alphabetical order. [Occupation rating: 2 minutes for under 20 DVDs, 5 minutes for under 100.]

3. Strip and remake your bed. [Occupation rating: 10 minutes for double bedding, add an extra 5 for cushion arranging. Interest level: 2/5, or 4/5 if you bang on some house-pumping music and make your bed whilst doing Gaga-esque dance moves.]

4. Clean out the waste-paper basket, leaving only the nice and interesting newspapers in to be used for fire lighting. Put any old and crumpled papers or leaflets in the recycling bin. [Occupation rating: 2 minutes, Interest level: 1/5, or 4/5 for any OCD’ers out there who get a kick out of throwing crap out and tidying things up.]

 

Before and After

5. Tidy up the cutlery drawer. [Occupation rating: 2 minutes, Interest level: 1/5, or 3/5 if you’ve gone out and bought a pink tray to add a female-touch to a house with 3 guys.]

6. Set an all-new high score on Bop It. EXTREME. [Occupation rating: 10 minutes-10 hours, Interest level: 5/5]

Modern Day Fairy Tale

I cannot work myself up in a tizzy over this… but it seems that today’s knights in shining armour come with cough medicine and throat sweets in the place of helmets and horses. The last few weeks I’ve spent coughing up my lungs and keeping my ab muscles in very tight form (I’m expecting a six pack any day soon!) as I had the worst sore throat in a long time (I seem prone to things like tonsillitis and sore throats) which then transgressed into the worst hayfever in a long time. I even went to the doctors about it, so it must have been serious as I NEVER go to the doctors unless I am literally dying. So you can imagine my frustration when she sent me home and told me to ‘rest’. 

So back to the cutesy story… I was up one night doing some more ‘dying’, when there was a knock on my door, and when I opened it, standing before me was The Newby (newest addition to the house), with a bottle of cough syrup and throat sweets in his hands. *Sudden burst into smiles of delight* I apologised if I’d kept him up at all in the last few days (he has early morning starts), and explained it was my hayfever which had reached the point of asthmatic attacks and coughing fits (particularly in front of customers at the restaurant, where I’d be holding in my cough thereby causing my face to turn bright read and my eyes tearing up… hmm, attractive!). He immediately recoiled his hand with the cough medicine saying it wouldn’t help, and said he knew of something else that would help. I explained I used over-the-counter drugs for hayfever, such as Piriton and Benadryl, and he wrote down for me this crazy long drug name I could buy from Boots, which was Piriton in a more basic form and without the brand name so heaps cheaper. Turns out The Newby has a Masters degree in Pharmacology. Someone with brains! (And nice hair!) 

Newby has also turned into my new-time film-bud, as we discovered yesterday in the spare room half of Blockbusters. And no, I don’t mean my own vast DVD collection, I mean HALF OF BLOCKBUSTERS IN THE SPARE ROOM. It even puts my DVD collection to shame!! So we picked out a mound of films, and ended up watching ‘Youth in Revolt’ with Michael Cera, and it was really hilarious! So a good evening. :) Plus, I’m feeling much better. 

The Next Chapter of my Life: Moving On

... Or Moving In?

Apologies for lack of posts recently - this last week has been a huge blur of madness, mess and picking my life up again! But also lacking in my life is an antagonist… oh, dear Caroline, where art thou to create chaos and mayhem?

But nevertheless, it is most certainly a lot more peaceful and calming without crazed lunatics in my life other than myself! 

*BEFORE*

 Sunday - Moving In..

 

It’s hard to believe I’ve been here a week. It feels like forever, but in a good way! Last Sunday I looked round the house for the first time - amazingly even better than the photos, and then after carrying box after box up the stairs, I then decided to put up Rosie’s trampoline (she lives round the corner!) and bounce my troubles away. Yes, putting up a trampoline in the middle of moving house, ha! A week later I am just about unpacked, thanks to the help of my fantabulous bookcase to hold my own personal Blockbuster-sized DVD collection and several under-the-bed boxes for my mass of clothes despite the 3 bin bags of ‘clothes for car boot’. And my cushions fit in beautifully. :)

One of the first nights here, I was unloading more clutter from my car (I cannot believe how much clutter has propagated since I left! I SWEAR this must be proof that my belongings have minds of their own. I throw something out and they breed another 40! They’re like magnets in a room of iron filings!) Anyway, I always walk around outside in socks, which is never a good idea for many reasons, and I came back to my room realising I had something stuck to my foot, so pulled it off, and immediately had a panic attack as I realised I’d trod on some horrendously HUGE spider and I was TOUCHING it. It was IN my HAND. I threw it at the floor, leaping over my suitcases and strewn clothes to my life-saving box of tissues (always there to the rescue to clear up/swat bugs!), and then cautiously returning to peek round the bed post. And all I could think about was that my Dad wasn’t there to rescue me! Life is so tough when one is alone. I guess maybe I shouldn’t be one of those old, lonely cat-ladies as I’d be useless with live mice tearing round the house (I once woke up with a live rabbit hopping madly around my room, brought in by my cat). I can just imagine vaulting up onto a stool holding a broomstick with this mouse scuttling for it’s life around the table… So the reality of living independently: No one to save you. 

I also had another ‘foreign’ experience (I thought I was rid of all that now!) when I went to the mini Tesco’s nextdoor to buy my first pot of washing machine soap. I knew the brand - the one I’ve grown up with - but just got so confused by all these ‘liquitabs’, gels, and powders, and they didn’t have the big bottle my mother uses… It reminded me of cleaning products etc in France where I’d have to decipher the labels searching for the word ‘bacteria/bacti/bacterium’ (all Latin roots, so translation is easy!). In the end I called Dad, before settling on the Fairy Non-Bio Liquitabs. ‘Softening your world’, one sock at a time… :)

And taken this morning: 

Let's close this chapter and move on

Survived the night without a barrage of police led by a very batty and crazed Caroline, and we left early to get on with the journey to Calais with the hope of catching an earlier ferry. We passed several of near-deserted towns - small clusters of houses in the middle of nowhere where you expect to see horse-drawn carts and vegetables growing on every scrap of land. It made me realise how lucky I was to have been so close to Paris, and sympathise any au-pair who had fallen for ‘we live in a quiet friendly town’, to then pitch up and find they’ve been transported back to the World War aftermath to barren wasteland.

We took a break at the Canadian Memorial to expand on my poor history intellect, and find inner peace after Caroline’s Crusade. It was quite amazing the surroundings, almost like being in some Buddhist sanctuary - green clean grass, tall forests of trees, serenity. 

When we finally arrived at Calais port I seriously thought at Passport control that I’d come up as some wanted criminal, but nevertheless I was allowed through. *wipes bead of sweat away*

Just to emphasise, that most au-pairing opportunities are very exciting and fulfilling experiences, complete with loveable dogs and happy children, and there is probably a very rare minority to have deranged lunatics for host ‘mothers’, the threat of an army of police and a rotavator (garden plough) thrown into the mayhem. Really, au-pairing is fun! And if I’ve certainly come away with an experience, good and bad, including handling crazy French women, being scammed, fined and harassed (all in good humour of course) and surviving the French way of life. I am grateful though that I’ll never have to be surrounded my grated emmental again however, as it really does smell revolting...

And to all my lovely readers, have no fear - independence doesn't end here! Wipe that tear, this blog is about my year so let's continue on this blogosphere! :)

Fleeing from France

My belongings have conclusively bred, in objection to my leaving. Really. And my hatred for the three flights of spiral stairs has depended since having to make tens of journeys up and down with shoeboxes. So once I was cleared out of the house and Dad had saved me  arrived, we took the train into the centre of Paris one last time to Charles de Gaulle, by the Arc de Triomphe. After climbing (and consequently descending) the 284 steps to the top of Arc de Triomphe we walked from the monumental arch, sorrowfully leaving the stunning I-don’t-have-a-pair-like-those-already elegant trousers from Zara on the rack, buying an ‘I Love Paris’ t-shirt (couldn’t leave without one!), down to Notre Dame, up and down the right bank three times in search for Shakespeare and Co which we eventually found after giving up, and down to Bastille. A sunny and relaxing day. Until Caroline’s intrusion. And I seriously had no idea how ‘crazy’ she could get.

Tip 1. Establish a ‘PAY ME’ routine from the moment you arrive as an au-pair, and always keep on top of it - so you make sure you get paid on the same day each and every week. I tried. I really did. It sounds a lot easier than reality, particularly if you have parents coming and going and trying to avoid you or pull the ‘we paid you didn’t we?’ trick. But Connie doesn’t give up easily, no siree. So I pretty much chased her round the house, in a completely polite and un-obsessive way (!) as each time she’d walk out or mumble something and disappear. In the end she ACTUALLY disappeared… back to Paris! 

So Friday she spent trying to reason why she shouldn’t pay me two-weeks’ pay, including the debacle with the garden plough. Tip 2. Have family on hand, even on speed dial. My granny ended up doing more of the battling than me! But over the 24 hours I felt like I was in the next French 100 years war with this ever-increasing irrational French woman. What have I got myself into? Is it ever possible for me to leave somewhere without burning bridges?

Late afternoon consisted of waiting for Margot to never turn up, resulting in no tennis, and Caroline demanding I bring Marie on the train to Paris (Charles de Gaulle) to drop her off with Caroline (of course, it was up to me to pay for our tickets…), so we headed off to Paris still with no response from Margot. Once again we spent a long time searching for Caroline - such irony that the same exact thing happened on the first day I arrived with Marie - due to the numerous exits around one of the main monuments of Paris. She handed my money over, relatively stress-free,  and I returned home on the train pulling along Marie’s rejected school bag. Once at home I discovered there to be no sign of Margot, so my Dad came and collected me, I left all my keys on the table as Caroline had requested and closed the door for the last time. Let’s close this chapter and go home! 

But not quite. Later that evening when I went back to my phone I found several messages and calls from Caroline, launching into vicious texts of threats and accusations that I’d ‘abandoned’ Margot before reducing to literally begging me to rescue her because she’d gone back to the house (despite me bringing Marie all the way to Paris…) and realised she had no keys. She DID have keys, as I was the one who had to go to the key-cutters three times in one day to get her some spare keys: she’s such a scatterbrain that I knew she’d lose them within moments. And apparently it slipped out of her brain the fact she said and I said I’d leave all my keys on the table for her, just in case I turn out to be a crazed-lunatic who returns to the house of hell in the dead of night to pinch their much-beloved cereal. Exactly. 

So after a night out with Dad converting me into the world of Sushi, we returned to the hotel and I was delighted to find he’d got me my own room, which was more of a small apartment complete with kitchen area, cupboards full of utensils, two study desks and a large bathroom. I was in heaven. Well, I would have been had I not been paranoid that a battalion of French police were going to crash through my door at any moment. I still don’t even know why Caroline got so crazed and angry! I eventually had a reply back from Margot, delightedly informing me that ‘so sorry I forgot about tennis, I’m staying at a friends Gros Bisous!!!’. Maybe it’s just as well I’d fled the house just so Margot wasn’t around to savagely throttle. 

It's feeling like a game of Jumangi here... Anyone who has seen the film will know it's about a magic board game which descends the players into a living nightmare with a host of dangers that can only be stopped by finishing the game. Is it time to throw it back into the sea yet?!

One Day to go!

Another rushed day. But my last night here! And I'm not one bid morose about it. I was expecting William home to pounce on him for payment, but instead I was required to collect Caroline from the station in the next town. I was halfway through cooking tea, so drained the rice (which fortunately was cooked) and left the meat in the pan (un-cooked) to spend half an hour driving round looking for her. To add to that, she told me she was at the train station, so I arrived there to the discover she was actually at the Metro. Which is the other side of the town. Why she couldn't have stayed on until the next stop in our HOMETOWN is beyond me. We returned, and she immediately demanded dinner... despite me having sat in the car for the last half hour. Do you see why I won't miss this bit? She then proceeded to guilt-trip me by the fact she hadn't managed to find another au-pair. Total cringe, total awkwardness, total 'can I just dig my grave and jump in now?' moment. I didn't bother to slip in the fact I may have helped her had it not put me in contempt of false advertising by going along with an advert anything like the one I saw last summer.

I am already down one child, as Juliette disappeared off on holiday this morning. It's like the Sound of Music again, where everyone's escaping at the slightest possible chance! William is apparently back on his skiing trip, and it transpires that the dog is 'a la montagne' which just makes me think of 'it' sitting looking very bewildered on top of a snow peak. But, there are no mountains in Paris so I am safe.

So I spent the day wandering round Chatelet and the shopping mall there, it was unbearably hot though - reaching 30C.

My room is looking much emptier now, although resembling more like Brantano's Stock room than a bedroom, as I've ended up packing everything... into shoeboxes. And I swear, my stuff has BREEDED! I didn't even know I HAD this many shoe boxes (I did not buy all the shoes to go inside, I may add), but I am sitting facing a wall of them. I do have a super-cool photo of my wall, but Blogspot is telling me I'm up to my 'upload limit'. Since WHEN do blogs have an upload limit? This is actually very frustrating as I am SO CLOSE to coming to the end of my au-pair time. Like, 3 pictures more 'close'.

And after an evening of being terrorised by Caroline, cold-shouldered by Marie and the kitchen once again in an absolute mess to sort out tomorrow, I am unsurprisingly extremely relieved to be leaving this house once and for all! I did get slightly emotional when I was looking at a map of Paris earlier, and realising that 'I'm off to town' is now 'Stratford-upon-Avon' and not 'Paris' in a day. But still, we'll always have Paris! Hopefully next time I come (oh yes, I'll be back!) I can enjoy the city for all that it is and stands for, without worrying about the school run, food shopping or bumping into either of the parents whilst I'm trying to have a life!

A Day in the Life

7-8.00 is the hour of rushing up and down around three floors attempting to get the girls out on time. It's the last Wednesday, we'll MAKE it a good one, starting with being on bloody time! Marie suddenly appears at 8 as we're leaving - I didn't even wake her up but apparently she has communion. At what point did this become a regular activity? The next hour is spent doing a typical school run, arriving bang on time. Turning into a bit of a WonderWoman here (but no lycra red leotard, sorry guys)!

9-10 is surprisingly an hour of contentment. Contentment? On a Wednesday? Who'd have thought! William's out, so no over the top lunch expected, so this morning is BLISS. Yes - Au-pairing, wednesday, school run, bliss. Then back in the car an hour later hanging around by school for kids who are consistently late. It's become a new past time - sitting in a Scenic made incubator. And it is 26 degrees outside! I am literally melting.

12-1.00 observes the house transform from calm to chaos, Juliette's guitar lesson commences which only encourages her to play the SAME SONG over and over and over and over and OVER again (seriously, this week, it's not the dog making me insane, not to girls, not even the parents, it's that horrible, SLOW, soppy, uninteresting, mind-numbingly boring song she won't stop playing on her guitar. Accompanied with the same, slow, pitiful, 'moan' singing. *Screams into pillow* It actually makes me want to whack on some screamo music - I can see why Margot likes it so much. Lunch is a success, helped by the fact I don't have the parents standing over me, demanding pork, chicken and frankfurter-mush (that was a couple of weeks ago), and helping but not helping, and wanting to eat outside, and then me laying the table outside... today, it was LEI-SURE-LY.

By 4.30 I'm exhausted. I'm officially worn out. Pass me the stretcher and I'll just die now. I have been an ANGEL and spent the afternoon entertaining Marie. And entertaining young kids is not easy, hardly ever fun for you, and physically and mentally DRAINING. We did skipping (ok, well I initiated that..) but then we went on to 'cats cradle' with the most enormous elastic ever, so it was full-body cat's cradle... And when I needed the loo she clung onto my arm and wouldn't let me leave... I should get compensation for a stretched bladder!! Sod's law though that neither parent was around to see HOW GOOD an au-pair I am. Her friend arrives the time we should be leaving for Juliette and Margot, I'm sick of constantly running up and down the entire house - I just want to SLEEP. When will this stop?? Three more hours. *Bangs head on keyboard*

Another hour down. I made it successfully on the mission-impossible trip from Tennis to Ice-Skating for the last time, crash-free, everything and everyone still intact including myself and my dignity, and on time. Everything ran fairly smoothly, despite Marie attempting to stab my with the blade of her ice-skates and soon I was back in the car, manoeuvring myself around a police car which had pulled over a Clio of Rastafarian's complete with beehive-bonets round their head. At least it wasn't me they were weapon-searching. *Swift escape* Back home I run to the freezer and pull out my Last Resort meal. I have transpired into cooking a frozen pasta meal. I'm so exhausted though I'm past caring. I JUST WANT SLEEP! The half an hour passes quickly and I'm back off like a crazed-chicken to do my LAST EVER ice-skating drive. This, I am truly thankful for, as the ride home with two 9-year-olds on cola and brioche is NEVER FUN. Ever.

Collect the girls, and on returning home for the umpteenth time today, discover that half the pasta I cooked has... vanished. Gone. Been eaten. The suspect weapon: a fork lying beside the pan. I serve dinner up only to find that William isn't having any AND he needs me to take him the the station. NO NO NO NO 'Yes, bien sur!' shall I roll out a red carpet and fan you as I'm driving as well? But it's now 8pm and my day is over.  I feel absolutely run-down, exhausted, dead and like I've been hit by a dozen freight-trains, BUT I'VE MADE IT. And the relief is that I never ever have to go through an Au-pair's Wednesday again. They should come with health warnings.

This is the Last Time..

Last time ever doing food shopping for this family. Sad? Not in the slightest. Relieved? Yes siree. Going to miss the Ed chain stores? Not. One. Bit. i have to admit though, I was getting very speedy with the trolley around the store, managing the whole food shop plus paying and loading up the trolly in under 20 minutes! But I am SO GLAD it's over. You know, today, they did not have SOAP. What? Yes. SOAP. They were out of SOAP *mini heart-attack*, and don't even assume they'll EVER have something as complex at moisturiser, dishcloths or kitchen foil. But done and dusted, and fortunately for me I have a spare emergency travel-pot of my favourite hand soap. because I am CLEAN like that. :)

Then I headed off to Le Marais (vintage vicinity), and traipsed up and down between Bastille and Hotel de Ville, but I do want to go back there on Thursday (it is SO amazing) so today wasn't a 'Goodbye Marais' for good. I held up my tradition of constantly being late to meet Catie, and ran into Starbucks like a crazed lunatic 6 minutes late. I want to take the time now, to apologise to Catie for the many many many times I've been late. I actually think I can remember exactly THREE times where I've arrived before her. It's shocking, I know. I'M SORRY CATIE! So we had our final hour together in Paris in the Starbucks where they're actually starting to recognise us now... 

This afternoon was so hot and sunny, which helped continue my happy mood. I carried on packing - I'm short on storage boxes, so I've been using several shoe boxes... At least it ticks the 'light packing' check-box! And I love my Dad SO MUCH as he's booked a hotel to stay in, and I'm just so happy it's all finally in place, finally happening, and I'm actually going home in four days. FOUR DAYS!

Also, I'd like to announce the fact that this evening I cooked Pork Chops for the LAST TIME EVER. (Hopefully.) And yes, I would say they were pretty successful! Definitely something that improves with practise. I will warn you now though that I am not willing to show off my new culinary skills with pork chops, so put down your steak knives and buy some sausages. (Although those are a bugger to cook as well - you always get one side more cooked than the other. You know what? JUST EAT TOAST!)

And next comes The Last Wednesday. Huge sigh of relief... which will probably be more beneficial after the day has left me exhausted, traumatised and near-death... They should make T-Shirts aimed for all au-pairs/carers in France which say 'I Hate Wednesdays'. I only know this will sell as the 'I Hate Mondays' are very popular already.

The Dark Side of The Pyramid

Today I finally achieved a trip to The Louvre. The museum of all museums. Home to Mona Lisa and 35000 other pieces of art works. People say you couldn’t see everything within a day/week/lifetime. I have the opinion that it’s all down to how fast you walk and how long you scrutinize over each piece of art. I’m afraid to announce that I am most definitely a ‘Yup, seen it, moving on’ person… 

  

  

A lot of monuments and buildings in Paris are absolutely incredible - the architecture never ceases to amaze me, but I feel that once you go inside, it’s rather disappointing. Most of them require you to slowly walk round in a loop round the entire building - whether it’s an art gallery, cathedral, or maze of staircases, and you lose the awe and amazement you get from it’s uniqueness when staring at it from outside. 

But, it is a massive box ticked off now, and I can no longer be bullied by old people when I tell them I’ve been to Paris and still haven’t been inside the Louvre (really, I was very happy just standing beside the Glass Pyramid!). I went with Catie, who’s been there once but it proved extremely useful when needing a direct route to the Mona Lisa. Which, to my surprise, was actually WAY BIGGER than expected! Maybe because so many people go on to say how small it is, I was expecting a post-card sized canvas in a highly-embellished gold frame… so it was a lot bigger than I thought! And we also went to see the Easter Island Head, which I love purely and simply because it features in ‘Night at the Museum’. And after a bit more wandering around and admiring many more sculptures and paintings, we enjoyed a piece of modern art in the form of Starbucks. Really, making hot chocolate and Chai Latte’s is requires a great deal of skill, and I’m sure the Starbucks symbol could be classed as pop art - a big ‘movement’ in the world of art history.(‘Art is lost on youths these days'…)

  

  

Then we tired ourselves out by walking up Rue Rivoli, and all the way up to Galleries LaFayette to see ‘the one with the good ceiling’ (I love you Catie!), and check out the designer shops and beauty stalls in the woman’s department. And by ‘good ceiling’ she meant the incredible glass dome window at the top of Galleries LaFayette...

  

And a bit of a bonus… the dog has disappeared! I don’t think it was around much this weekend, I think it’s staying with Jean (pronounced ‘John’) and Sabine… but this is pretty good progress! Maybe if the parents could disappear too, or -even better- just all the mess!  If the dog has died, firstly, the family have taken it very well, and secondly, couldn’t it have gone sooner?? I endure the damn thing for 8 months and a WEEK before I leave that’s when it decides to disappear? Just to relieve you, no I haven’t slipped cyanide into the dog water, and I highly suspect that it isn’t dead (the devil doesn't want his spawn back yet… *must spread more evil*), and the dog is more likely to be taking a nice vacation elsewhere. Hopefully for the duration of the week. On the down side of things, Marie appears to be taking on a 'gunna give you hell' act for me... We'll see how it progresses this week. Maybe I could tell her the dog had died!?! [Things NOT to do as an au-pair: lie about their pet dying to make them stop being so bratty.]

Mums the word

Well, Happy Mothers' Day to all mothers out there. Except in France, and probably/possibly a few other countries... I discovered today that La fête des Mères (Mothers' Day in France) is May/June time. So no celebrations today then. 


It rained and poured today, which mucked up all my plans - primarily L'Arc de Triomphe, so instead I stayed home, planned out a list of things I'd do this coming week, and then spent an hour or so compiling a short movie for my own Mum, and then another FOUR HOURS uploading it so I could actually send it to her. It was worth it though...(it made her cry!).




And I also spent today endlessly cleaning the kitchen. I know it's my day off, but NOTHING WAS BEING DONE! It was ridiculous! I've already put through 2 full dishwasher loads, and I know there'll be even more mess downstairs this evening, all for me to sort out tomorrow. Bahh. *more whale noises*


I shouldn't care. I have FIVE DAYS. Five days. I can remain alive and relatively sane for five whole remaining days. I won't let them get to me! Not their stupid morning alarm ringtones, their screamo music from the bathroom and Avril Lavigne obsessions, the mess, the DOG (oh, the dog!), blahh five more days. And I will NEVER EVER have to cook a goddamn pork-ruddy-chop ever again. SUCH FUN!