Jimmy Eat World - It Just Takes Some Time Lyrics:
"Hey, don't write yourself off yet
It's only in your head you feel left out or
looked down on.
Just try your best, try everything you can.
And don't you worry what they tell themselves when you're away.
It just takes some time,
little girl you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything (everything) will be just fine,
everything (everything) will be alright (alright).
Hey, you know they're all the same.
You know you're doing better on your own, so don't buy in.
Live right now.
Yeah, just be yourself.
It doesn't matter if it's good enough for someone else.
It just takes some time,
little girl you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything (everything) will be just fine,
everything (everything) will be alright (alright).
It just takes some time,
little girl you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything (everything) will be just fine,
everything (everything) will be alright (alright).
Hey, don't write yourself off yet.
It's only in your head you feel left out or
looked down on.
Just do your best, do everything you can.
And don't you worry what the bitter hearts are gonna say.
It just takes some time,
little girl you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything (everything) will be just fine,
everything (everything) will be alright (alright).
It just takes some time,
ittle girl you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything (everything) will be just fine,
everything (everything) will be alright (alright)."
Sunday 27 June 2010
The soundtrack to London living
There are some days that are harder than others, to be away from the people and places that own my heart, and at some point I realise that I have to make room for a little something else in this heart of mine. Unfortunately, everything here that gets compared to Cape Town falls short in some way or another-with specific reference to mountains that cannot be seen or the seas that have no sand here. I'm starting to acknowledge that it may not be that place that matters so much as the people that make the place. You'll be delighted to know that I can now count my friends on more than one hand....the numbers are rising slowly.....very slowly. But one has to be cautious-you can't just be making friends with everyone you meet.....background checks are necessary, particularly i a place where so many people from all over the world have congregated. I'll tell you what though, there are some undercover odd-bods here, not the type of people I'll be bringing home to meet the high-cape tea club anytime soon.
Now before I indulge you with brilliant literature I must add that I have added sound tracks to some of my clippets in case Guy Ritchie or Britney Spears decide to make my blog into a movie, thought I would help them out a little.
I'll give you some examples:
Exhibit A:
I'm on the bus.....wait let me tell you a story about that bus first.
I tfl'd (transport for London) my trip to shepherds bush last weekend-tfl is supposed to give you the shortest route to your destination via train/tube/bus etc-So I get my pen and paper and write down my route which tells me to take the 37 bus to Earlsfield or wherever.
Super, wait at the bus stop....see a 37, hop on......10mins.....20mins......30mins.....no sign of Earlsfield anywhere. Then stuff starts getting awkward as I look around to notice that all the pale faces have ducked off the bus at least 5 stops ago and I am the only pale face left amongst 30 something Caribbean/Jamaican/Nigerians.....awkward.
Then did I only click that I got on the 37 going in the wrong direction, I should have caught the bus from the other side of the road. I was on route to Peckham.....where all the Somali pirates in exile live. I got off that bus so quickly....without thinking about that fact that instead of being harboured safely on a bus I would be roaming the Brixton streets with every other pimp and hustler. I was already 40mins late for my braai (bbq-lame) and now I was basically in the Hillbrow of London. Now because I lack a compass in the form of an iPhone....or for that matter, I lack google maps because my phone was the first Nokia ever made, I couldn't google my quickest route home from there. So I had to backtrack(Took half an hour to locate a bus stop that looked like it was going in the right direction), when I got back to my original destination I decided to phone a friend as I'd already exhausted my ask the audience option, said friend broke my heart by telling me that in fact there was no need to have been on that bus at all. I could have in fact got a train straight from Clapham to Shepherds Bush(10min trip) as opposed to my hour and a half round trip. Needed to get that off my chest-life is too short to take the wrong bus! Soundtrack for this blunder: Diamonds from Sierra Leone. Kanye West.
So back to the weirdo's:
On my return trip from said mission to braai which was in fact a burger bbq:Fail, I sat in the front of the bus....ctrl alt del. I wish. I feel like a bad person talking about this, but seeing as this blog is an honest reflection of my experience I have to share it with you. This rather sizable Indian fellow was standing in front of where I was sitting. He had a large Taliban beard but a very kind face, well it was kind until I noticed all the drool stuck to his beard and the string of it attached to his chest. The entire trip he was counting something, I couldn't figure what though, it may have been lamp posts, or bus stops, just mumbling and counting. It broke my heart a little I have to say. I wanted to help him count or something, he looked mentally unwell and I don't suppose he should have been alone, but he was and it made me sad. Soundtrack: Jack Johnson. The News.
Exhibit B:
The African(Afro-American) gangster in the back of the bus wearing boys of London-yes they still exist. This chap was wearing reflective sunglasses and 40 million kgs worth of gold around his neck that could have probably bought Zimbabwe's economy back to normal. I had to sit facing him because the bus was full (thank goodness for that otherwise I was basically a raw fillet steak in front of a tiger). This dude starts tuning me that I am avoiding him, so I'm like uh, OK.....I'm going to look out the other window now and pretend you are not there. Then he starts telling me how I can't see him through his reflective foakleys(fake oakleys) but he can see me, and he'll be watching me. No jokes, I had a hot flush, my face went on fire and my heart starting racing at the speed of a red bull on red bull. Why must he pick on me the little 6ft(almost) nerd with glasses, I wanted to report him to the bus driver-apparently bullying is illegal. Eventually this guy starts whipping out classic one liners about how he knows people who know people......at which point I chose to ignore the lines that followed, got up and got off the bus 2 stops before my actual stop just to avoid being harrowed. The incredible thing is that everyone one the bus can see and hear this chap, but no one says a word......its like people are just sucked into their own little ipod driven existence. Sound track: Keep it Playa. Pharrell Williams feat. Slim Thug.
Exhibit 3:
Part of my job is to take clients on site tours at various airports to check out their advertising sites etc. So on this particular day I was going to London Heathrow to get a feel for the pace and learn my way around. I drove their with a senior member of our team in a motor vehicle(yes they have those here, and to my surprise they drive on the same side of the road here). We were entering the main exterior entrance to Heathrow when I noticed on a few patches of grass alongside the road were people sitting on camper chairs with binoculars and camera's and the like. Just sitting on the side of the road....not in a park, not on the beach, but on the side of the road. Here is a fun fact for you......they are plane spotters. They sit daily on the side of the road and watch planes coming in to land, they write down times and plane numbers etc. A number of thought crossed my mind: 1. Losers 2. Get a life 3. You cant spend your life waiting for a plane to crash just so you can claim to be the person who saw it go down, fame does not come to those who watch planes. This hobby has become so popular that when Heathrow was revamped they built a bunker at the one end of the runway so that when it rains the spotters don't get wet!Soundtrack: I'm a loser. The Beatles.
Exhibit 4:
I was on a train at King's cross, a very steamy train, filled with people at rush hour. Luckily I had a seat. I am always that person that stares at people, I don't have an iPod as mentioned in every other post, so I have nothing to do but stare. I was having a squizz at the train population in that carriage and summing everyone up, when this skinny dude with long scraggly hair stands up. He had dirty hands and blood on the front of his shirt ( it may have been the left overs from his Burger king happy meal-but for dramatic effect lets keep it as blood). He stands up, and in very well spoken English starts saying "Right, good evening ladies and gentleman, I'm sorry to do this, but I'm in a very bad place in my life and really struggling and I'm sure most of you are in a better place than me" Pause. OMG this guy is about to whip out a weapon and either kill us all, hold us hostage or steal our stuff. I subtly tool my passport out of my bag along with my cellphone and wallet and slipped them into my coat pocket in case the latter occurred. Unpause. "I would like to ask if any of you have any left over lunch in your bags from lunch or a few coins, that would really help me out". I felt relieved that he didn't try kill me but still reasonably uncomfortable, considering I was dressed really well and when he came around to collect the money and nibbles I said I had nothing. In all honestly, at that point in time I basically probably had the same amount of money as him and literally could not afford to give away my left over lunch, because it was my supper too. It was like he was Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. At the next stop he hopped out of our carriage and into the next one where he preceded to give the same speech once he had his captive audience, and once again filled up his piggy bank for another happy meal of a double Heroine burger and splifs.
Sound track: Puff the magic dragon. Little Jackie Paper.
I don't suppose you'd want me bringing the above specimens home......no?not so much.
As you can see, it is very difficult to weed out the riff raff from my sample of people I could possibly make friends with. My POA when I arrived was to make a new friend on public transport every day....seems I should look elsewhere.
I got paid last night...you should all know this because I am no longer looking in dustbins for my meals nor eating in restaurants and then ducking out through the bathroom windows(I've never done this, but for the movie's sake it should be in the script). I can now say that I have Quan (Many thanks to Aidan Johnson), not everyone can have quan. Quan is money + Style + class....one day you will all know how it feels.
I should also mention that times have been tough, but the weather has been great, I have been poor, but now I am middle class, I have been lonesome, but sharing a bed, room and house with one Dina Karnis(Ntina Kharni-Greek) makes it all better, good friends are few and far between buses and trains here, I am lucky to have the quality one's. Finally my sound track which pretty much gives you a good idea of where I am at: It just takes some time. Jimmy eat world.
Here are the lyrics in case you'd like to sing along:(see above post).
Now before I indulge you with brilliant literature I must add that I have added sound tracks to some of my clippets in case Guy Ritchie or Britney Spears decide to make my blog into a movie, thought I would help them out a little.
I'll give you some examples:
Exhibit A:
I'm on the bus.....wait let me tell you a story about that bus first.
I tfl'd (transport for London) my trip to shepherds bush last weekend-tfl is supposed to give you the shortest route to your destination via train/tube/bus etc-So I get my pen and paper and write down my route which tells me to take the 37 bus to Earlsfield or wherever.
Super, wait at the bus stop....see a 37, hop on......10mins.....20mins......30mins.....no sign of Earlsfield anywhere. Then stuff starts getting awkward as I look around to notice that all the pale faces have ducked off the bus at least 5 stops ago and I am the only pale face left amongst 30 something Caribbean/Jamaican/Nigerians.....awkward.
Then did I only click that I got on the 37 going in the wrong direction, I should have caught the bus from the other side of the road. I was on route to Peckham.....where all the Somali pirates in exile live. I got off that bus so quickly....without thinking about that fact that instead of being harboured safely on a bus I would be roaming the Brixton streets with every other pimp and hustler. I was already 40mins late for my braai (bbq-lame) and now I was basically in the Hillbrow of London. Now because I lack a compass in the form of an iPhone....or for that matter, I lack google maps because my phone was the first Nokia ever made, I couldn't google my quickest route home from there. So I had to backtrack(Took half an hour to locate a bus stop that looked like it was going in the right direction), when I got back to my original destination I decided to phone a friend as I'd already exhausted my ask the audience option, said friend broke my heart by telling me that in fact there was no need to have been on that bus at all. I could have in fact got a train straight from Clapham to Shepherds Bush(10min trip) as opposed to my hour and a half round trip. Needed to get that off my chest-life is too short to take the wrong bus! Soundtrack for this blunder: Diamonds from Sierra Leone. Kanye West.
So back to the weirdo's:
On my return trip from said mission to braai which was in fact a burger bbq:Fail, I sat in the front of the bus....ctrl alt del. I wish. I feel like a bad person talking about this, but seeing as this blog is an honest reflection of my experience I have to share it with you. This rather sizable Indian fellow was standing in front of where I was sitting. He had a large Taliban beard but a very kind face, well it was kind until I noticed all the drool stuck to his beard and the string of it attached to his chest. The entire trip he was counting something, I couldn't figure what though, it may have been lamp posts, or bus stops, just mumbling and counting. It broke my heart a little I have to say. I wanted to help him count or something, he looked mentally unwell and I don't suppose he should have been alone, but he was and it made me sad. Soundtrack: Jack Johnson. The News.
Exhibit B:
The African(Afro-American) gangster in the back of the bus wearing boys of London-yes they still exist. This chap was wearing reflective sunglasses and 40 million kgs worth of gold around his neck that could have probably bought Zimbabwe's economy back to normal. I had to sit facing him because the bus was full (thank goodness for that otherwise I was basically a raw fillet steak in front of a tiger). This dude starts tuning me that I am avoiding him, so I'm like uh, OK.....I'm going to look out the other window now and pretend you are not there. Then he starts telling me how I can't see him through his reflective foakleys(fake oakleys) but he can see me, and he'll be watching me. No jokes, I had a hot flush, my face went on fire and my heart starting racing at the speed of a red bull on red bull. Why must he pick on me the little 6ft(almost) nerd with glasses, I wanted to report him to the bus driver-apparently bullying is illegal. Eventually this guy starts whipping out classic one liners about how he knows people who know people......at which point I chose to ignore the lines that followed, got up and got off the bus 2 stops before my actual stop just to avoid being harrowed. The incredible thing is that everyone one the bus can see and hear this chap, but no one says a word......its like people are just sucked into their own little ipod driven existence. Sound track: Keep it Playa. Pharrell Williams feat. Slim Thug.
Exhibit 3:
Part of my job is to take clients on site tours at various airports to check out their advertising sites etc. So on this particular day I was going to London Heathrow to get a feel for the pace and learn my way around. I drove their with a senior member of our team in a motor vehicle(yes they have those here, and to my surprise they drive on the same side of the road here). We were entering the main exterior entrance to Heathrow when I noticed on a few patches of grass alongside the road were people sitting on camper chairs with binoculars and camera's and the like. Just sitting on the side of the road....not in a park, not on the beach, but on the side of the road. Here is a fun fact for you......they are plane spotters. They sit daily on the side of the road and watch planes coming in to land, they write down times and plane numbers etc. A number of thought crossed my mind: 1. Losers 2. Get a life 3. You cant spend your life waiting for a plane to crash just so you can claim to be the person who saw it go down, fame does not come to those who watch planes. This hobby has become so popular that when Heathrow was revamped they built a bunker at the one end of the runway so that when it rains the spotters don't get wet!Soundtrack: I'm a loser. The Beatles.
Exhibit 4:
I was on a train at King's cross, a very steamy train, filled with people at rush hour. Luckily I had a seat. I am always that person that stares at people, I don't have an iPod as mentioned in every other post, so I have nothing to do but stare. I was having a squizz at the train population in that carriage and summing everyone up, when this skinny dude with long scraggly hair stands up. He had dirty hands and blood on the front of his shirt ( it may have been the left overs from his Burger king happy meal-but for dramatic effect lets keep it as blood). He stands up, and in very well spoken English starts saying "Right, good evening ladies and gentleman, I'm sorry to do this, but I'm in a very bad place in my life and really struggling and I'm sure most of you are in a better place than me" Pause. OMG this guy is about to whip out a weapon and either kill us all, hold us hostage or steal our stuff. I subtly tool my passport out of my bag along with my cellphone and wallet and slipped them into my coat pocket in case the latter occurred. Unpause. "I would like to ask if any of you have any left over lunch in your bags from lunch or a few coins, that would really help me out". I felt relieved that he didn't try kill me but still reasonably uncomfortable, considering I was dressed really well and when he came around to collect the money and nibbles I said I had nothing. In all honestly, at that point in time I basically probably had the same amount of money as him and literally could not afford to give away my left over lunch, because it was my supper too. It was like he was Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. At the next stop he hopped out of our carriage and into the next one where he preceded to give the same speech once he had his captive audience, and once again filled up his piggy bank for another happy meal of a double Heroine burger and splifs.
Sound track: Puff the magic dragon. Little Jackie Paper.
I don't suppose you'd want me bringing the above specimens home......no?not so much.
As you can see, it is very difficult to weed out the riff raff from my sample of people I could possibly make friends with. My POA when I arrived was to make a new friend on public transport every day....seems I should look elsewhere.
I got paid last night...you should all know this because I am no longer looking in dustbins for my meals nor eating in restaurants and then ducking out through the bathroom windows(I've never done this, but for the movie's sake it should be in the script). I can now say that I have Quan (Many thanks to Aidan Johnson), not everyone can have quan. Quan is money + Style + class....one day you will all know how it feels.
I should also mention that times have been tough, but the weather has been great, I have been poor, but now I am middle class, I have been lonesome, but sharing a bed, room and house with one Dina Karnis(Ntina Kharni-Greek) makes it all better, good friends are few and far between buses and trains here, I am lucky to have the quality one's. Finally my sound track which pretty much gives you a good idea of where I am at: It just takes some time. Jimmy eat world.
Here are the lyrics in case you'd like to sing along:(see above post).
Tuesday 22 June 2010
Thoughts on things that have been thunk:
On the weather:
There are not 4 seasons in this city....the weather man lets you think this so that he keeps his research hours to a minimum, the TV channels let you think this so they keep what is usually an not so attractive weather man on air for as short as possible(bar Derick Van Dam-I would) and the papers keep their weather section short so there is more room to sell advertising space....its a cut throat world out there and one can't just be taking things at face value, there is usually not much value in face value anyhow. Let me enlighten you, although I too would like to leave space to sell advertising; There are in fact 4 seasons and an additional x amount ( x= the number of tube and train lines in the London borough). I walk out of the house in the morning and begin my 6min38sec waddle to the bus stop freezing-usually adorned in a jersey and a coat as well as stockings. Yes, people tell me everyday that I will die in winter, how kind....it is falling on deaf ears, I do not want to acknowledge an early death due to freezing. Once at the bus stop I hop on a bus for a 7-10minute trip to the station where I am cuddles up to the nastiest ginger in sight.....never a belter, although I always try stand behind one in the queue in the hopes that we might have to cuddle as they try to fit 200 people onto a 60 seater bus. Things begin to heat up....and no its not what you think-if you're looking for PG stuff you've come to the wrong place my gran reads this), it merely gets a little warmer due to the sheer amount of morning breath gathering in a small, enclosed area sans ventilation.Time for the train from Clapham Junction station to Waterloo- at which point I usually try and strip off one layer ( I try to start with the coat-taking off stockings on a train is awkward). All this while I am preparing for the steamiest sauna on earth, think Dubai in summer....enter Bakerloo line from waterloo station, my longest trip. Apparently the Bakerloo line averages 33 degrees daily. Kiff. I may as well never have showered, or washed and straightened my hair or put any clothes on at all. If I was dramatic I can safely say that I would suffer from heat exhaustion and chronic fainting syndrome on a daily basis. Then back into the chilly air of my final destination ( which is Paddington by the way). It doesn't stop there though, I walk into my office where blizzard visuals may as well be showing in 3-D on the TV screens in the office. My point here is that throughout an hour long journey to work, I experience multiple weather conditions of which I have not been forewarned, had the weather man played any sport in school and made it out of the whatever lab does weather he might've been more active in doing more thorough research. I general though, on an average day, there is usually some sun with blue skies, a gust of wind, black clouds and then rain, don't bother trying to dress according to the weather, just don't even bother.
On runny noses:
I always have one.
On doing grocery shopping:
Probably the biggest hack of my entire life. Love catching a bus with 50kg's worth of groceries and then having to walk like 2k's home with them.
On wearing trainers to get to work:
Don't do this. It's uncool, wrong and an insult to all the people who make nice shoes....and clothes for that matter, an sassy little dress looks like tennis kit when paired with trainers.
On airtime:
Don't bother smsing me, I won't reply. No-one is worth my dinner, and that is basically what it costs me to use mobile telephones these days.
On my job:
First week was awesome, I'm working in a great team-all of whom have a fantastic sense of humour/ I am learning the ropes and how to tug at the right ones very quickly. I have my own telephone with my own voicemail, and 3 pens of my own as well as a company diary. This excites me.
On new friends:
Under construction.
On London kids:
If I hear another one saying the F word or see another one pulling a zap at me, I am going to start a petition for population control in this country.(I'm talking 3 years old type kids).Sis.
On Tea:
It is like England in a cup. and they call it a brew here.
On updating my blog:
I will be better at it in future, unfortunately daylight savings does not in fact make your day 25 hours long contrary to reports.
I have recently received some fan mail which I will post upon my next blog update. I have fans.
There are not 4 seasons in this city....the weather man lets you think this so that he keeps his research hours to a minimum, the TV channels let you think this so they keep what is usually an not so attractive weather man on air for as short as possible(bar Derick Van Dam-I would) and the papers keep their weather section short so there is more room to sell advertising space....its a cut throat world out there and one can't just be taking things at face value, there is usually not much value in face value anyhow. Let me enlighten you, although I too would like to leave space to sell advertising; There are in fact 4 seasons and an additional x amount ( x= the number of tube and train lines in the London borough). I walk out of the house in the morning and begin my 6min38sec waddle to the bus stop freezing-usually adorned in a jersey and a coat as well as stockings. Yes, people tell me everyday that I will die in winter, how kind....it is falling on deaf ears, I do not want to acknowledge an early death due to freezing. Once at the bus stop I hop on a bus for a 7-10minute trip to the station where I am cuddles up to the nastiest ginger in sight.....never a belter, although I always try stand behind one in the queue in the hopes that we might have to cuddle as they try to fit 200 people onto a 60 seater bus. Things begin to heat up....and no its not what you think-if you're looking for PG stuff you've come to the wrong place my gran reads this), it merely gets a little warmer due to the sheer amount of morning breath gathering in a small, enclosed area sans ventilation.Time for the train from Clapham Junction station to Waterloo- at which point I usually try and strip off one layer ( I try to start with the coat-taking off stockings on a train is awkward). All this while I am preparing for the steamiest sauna on earth, think Dubai in summer....enter Bakerloo line from waterloo station, my longest trip. Apparently the Bakerloo line averages 33 degrees daily. Kiff. I may as well never have showered, or washed and straightened my hair or put any clothes on at all. If I was dramatic I can safely say that I would suffer from heat exhaustion and chronic fainting syndrome on a daily basis. Then back into the chilly air of my final destination ( which is Paddington by the way). It doesn't stop there though, I walk into my office where blizzard visuals may as well be showing in 3-D on the TV screens in the office. My point here is that throughout an hour long journey to work, I experience multiple weather conditions of which I have not been forewarned, had the weather man played any sport in school and made it out of the whatever lab does weather he might've been more active in doing more thorough research. I general though, on an average day, there is usually some sun with blue skies, a gust of wind, black clouds and then rain, don't bother trying to dress according to the weather, just don't even bother.
On runny noses:
I always have one.
On doing grocery shopping:
Probably the biggest hack of my entire life. Love catching a bus with 50kg's worth of groceries and then having to walk like 2k's home with them.
On wearing trainers to get to work:
Don't do this. It's uncool, wrong and an insult to all the people who make nice shoes....and clothes for that matter, an sassy little dress looks like tennis kit when paired with trainers.
On airtime:
Don't bother smsing me, I won't reply. No-one is worth my dinner, and that is basically what it costs me to use mobile telephones these days.
On my job:
First week was awesome, I'm working in a great team-all of whom have a fantastic sense of humour/ I am learning the ropes and how to tug at the right ones very quickly. I have my own telephone with my own voicemail, and 3 pens of my own as well as a company diary. This excites me.
On new friends:
Under construction.
On London kids:
If I hear another one saying the F word or see another one pulling a zap at me, I am going to start a petition for population control in this country.(I'm talking 3 years old type kids).Sis.
On Tea:
It is like England in a cup. and they call it a brew here.
On updating my blog:
I will be better at it in future, unfortunately daylight savings does not in fact make your day 25 hours long contrary to reports.
I have recently received some fan mail which I will post upon my next blog update. I have fans.
Wednesday 9 June 2010
Let's get down to business...
Its all good and well me sharing the oddities of London with you, but I feel I have neglected to fill you in on what's really going on....What's really going on is that I am engaged to be married to a sheik from Dubai....he paid me a lot of money and has promised to buy me jewels to fill a cellar and a blackberry. I did it for the blackberry really, I might also ask him to throw in a canon EOS 550 camera. So That's about it, I never have to work again so my job search in London is over. Why look for a job when you can get a sheik to buy you stuff?
Now that I've just broken my parent's heart, I have to apologise.....I fibbed, told an untruth. I am not in fact engaged to be married, but the truth in that lie is that my job search is over.
Yes folks, I just nuzzled my way into a really great company in London. They are Number 1 worldwide in airport advertising and number 2 worldwide for Out Of Home media, I am the national sales coordinator.....boom. I start on Monday, and can hardly wait to charm my way to the top-watch this space peopolas, "Feel it, it is here!" (My job is here I mean), as for the World cup-well, that's not here.
I keep seeing all these pictures on your guys' face pages of cars decked out in SA gear, and I have to admit that initially I thought nothing of it, but I am feeling reasonably left out of the madness. Looks like people back home are maxing it out though, doing us proud......except for one thing. I was sitting on the tube the other day (no that's not a round shaped bench-its a train) and got give the Metro, which is a free newspaper. What's on page 2? Headline, "SA government not concerned over World cup safety", the picture under the headline shows a huge stampede involving spectators and police, where apparently a riot broke out before (BEFORE) a friendly match in Soweto last week. Really? a week before the world cup, and Jolly Africans are still digging the riot/stampede/lets all act like we're from the jungle vibe?And the worst part was that I thought people would skip over it because it was on page 2....not so much, I looked around and everyone in my carriage was reading page 2!Then a guy opposite me makes a comment to which I reply, and he looks up in surprise and asks if I'm South African....No I'm Australian. No I'd never say that, but it did cross my mind.
New amendment to my working situation(this story does have something to do with the above one I promise), I no longer only have one job, but 2. I started working at a pub this morning, which Ill work at nights and weekends to catch up on some much needed cash. So, I'm behind the bar and this Pom introduces himself to me, hears that I'm South African and starts questioning me about the world cup. So, I'm trying to wipe away his fears with soothing words by telling stories of lions that roam the street and tame monkeys as pets, and he just has one thing to say to me. He reckons everyone going to South Africa from all over the world aren't going there for the soccer..no, he reckons that they're coming to get some action from all the African Prostitutes that have been shipped in. He did the hand gestures and everything....he has a good heart though, he hopes from the bottom of his heart that they don't get robbed while they're doing the dirty in an alley way.Kiff.
I can't but help smile when I'm walking around the streets here....even on the most miserable of days. It started out, that everyday when I walked around I would put my music player(that is not an ipod) in my ears and choose a soundtrack for the day. Try it, best thing ever...basically thought I was in a movie, even walked with a catwalk sway in case I was. But since the death of my MP3 battery and the fact that I didn't bring the charger other things have been keeping me amused. For instance I'm walking down the road today, and my black jeans are full of flour (I had to make pancakes at the pub this morning cos the chef didn't know how to make them.Enter Claire. Saved the day), and I walk past this van full of, I don't know, paramedics or something and I avert my eyes to avoid awkward comments but one pipes up "you o'wight there luf?", and the other joins in with "oh my word, you are beau'iful, stunneen....I've ne'er seen anyfing laaik i'"....the cherry on the top of my smile was the last one who got down on one knee and asked for my hand. This is officially the 4th time I have been proposed to on the streets of London- so maybe my first story isn't so far off. How can you not smile?
Now that I've just broken my parent's heart, I have to apologise.....I fibbed, told an untruth. I am not in fact engaged to be married, but the truth in that lie is that my job search is over.
Yes folks, I just nuzzled my way into a really great company in London. They are Number 1 worldwide in airport advertising and number 2 worldwide for Out Of Home media, I am the national sales coordinator.....boom. I start on Monday, and can hardly wait to charm my way to the top-watch this space peopolas, "Feel it, it is here!" (My job is here I mean), as for the World cup-well, that's not here.
I keep seeing all these pictures on your guys' face pages of cars decked out in SA gear, and I have to admit that initially I thought nothing of it, but I am feeling reasonably left out of the madness. Looks like people back home are maxing it out though, doing us proud......except for one thing. I was sitting on the tube the other day (no that's not a round shaped bench-its a train) and got give the Metro, which is a free newspaper. What's on page 2? Headline, "SA government not concerned over World cup safety", the picture under the headline shows a huge stampede involving spectators and police, where apparently a riot broke out before (BEFORE) a friendly match in Soweto last week. Really? a week before the world cup, and Jolly Africans are still digging the riot/stampede/lets all act like we're from the jungle vibe?And the worst part was that I thought people would skip over it because it was on page 2....not so much, I looked around and everyone in my carriage was reading page 2!Then a guy opposite me makes a comment to which I reply, and he looks up in surprise and asks if I'm South African....No I'm Australian. No I'd never say that, but it did cross my mind.
New amendment to my working situation(this story does have something to do with the above one I promise), I no longer only have one job, but 2. I started working at a pub this morning, which Ill work at nights and weekends to catch up on some much needed cash. So, I'm behind the bar and this Pom introduces himself to me, hears that I'm South African and starts questioning me about the world cup. So, I'm trying to wipe away his fears with soothing words by telling stories of lions that roam the street and tame monkeys as pets, and he just has one thing to say to me. He reckons everyone going to South Africa from all over the world aren't going there for the soccer..no, he reckons that they're coming to get some action from all the African Prostitutes that have been shipped in. He did the hand gestures and everything....he has a good heart though, he hopes from the bottom of his heart that they don't get robbed while they're doing the dirty in an alley way.Kiff.
I can't but help smile when I'm walking around the streets here....even on the most miserable of days. It started out, that everyday when I walked around I would put my music player(that is not an ipod) in my ears and choose a soundtrack for the day. Try it, best thing ever...basically thought I was in a movie, even walked with a catwalk sway in case I was. But since the death of my MP3 battery and the fact that I didn't bring the charger other things have been keeping me amused. For instance I'm walking down the road today, and my black jeans are full of flour (I had to make pancakes at the pub this morning cos the chef didn't know how to make them.Enter Claire. Saved the day), and I walk past this van full of, I don't know, paramedics or something and I avert my eyes to avoid awkward comments but one pipes up "you o'wight there luf?", and the other joins in with "oh my word, you are beau'iful, stunneen....I've ne'er seen anyfing laaik i'"....the cherry on the top of my smile was the last one who got down on one knee and asked for my hand. This is officially the 4th time I have been proposed to on the streets of London- so maybe my first story isn't so far off. How can you not smile?
Monday 7 June 2010
Haiku- a selection of highly commendable haiku's that describe London By Claire Danielle
Dirty hands
Public displays of affection
London tubes.
Hustle and bustle
Sweaty armpits and bad breath
Rush hour.
Silence and stillness
Quiet whispers sweep the streets
Non-existent.
Sun bows down to kiss a cheek
Hesitation as it fights cloud
Rain.
200 languages
One city
Londonese.
Strolling the night streets
Counsel Housing Adolescent Vigilantes(CHAVS)
Run.
Bright night city lights
Dinner and Wine
Hangover.
Public displays of affection
London tubes.
Hustle and bustle
Sweaty armpits and bad breath
Rush hour.
Silence and stillness
Quiet whispers sweep the streets
Non-existent.
Sun bows down to kiss a cheek
Hesitation as it fights cloud
Rain.
200 languages
One city
Londonese.
Strolling the night streets
Counsel Housing Adolescent Vigilantes(CHAVS)
Run.
Bright night city lights
Dinner and Wine
Hangover.
Sunday 6 June 2010
Diseased and displeased: Warning this blog contains no humour.
For those of you who take everything I say with a pinch of chilli, and thought me to be over exaggerating at the concept of catching deadly diseases on the tubes....I have caught the dreaded influenza and hope that you are now satisfied with the fact that I am living(slowly dying) proof of this fact. It is a fact that cannot be exaggerated enough and I believe that in such a time as this where new viruses are discovered everyday-it should be compulsory for people to wear masks in public. As my unemployed status still lingers, I thought that I might serve a public duty and stand outside the station handing out masks tomorrow morning-masks and coffee. I might also hint at the fact that H1N1 has now mutated to H3N4, to ensure that masks are in fat made use of, all in the hope that I will cure tubes of their disease ridden status. My next service to the tube nation will be standing at the entrance spraying hygiene hand disinfectant on peoples hands as they walk into the station, to rid the population dirty nail syndrome, and hand in mouth disease. The point of this paragraph is merely to point out to you that I have caught the flu, and I caught it from the granny coughing on the train, and I am now displeased.End of story (please refrain from sending flowers to me in this hard time as they merely remind me of how quickly things die, food packages and cheques would be of far more use).
There is one other situation that may have led to my falling ill, it began I believe, on Thursday. It was a beautiful day in London (thank you sun for the Y-back vest tan), I had just left an interview which I felt went reasonably well and was meeting a friend in Wimbledon for a coolie. I waited for her outside the station in the blazing sun and after she arrived needed to strip down to my vest-jerseys are unnecessary in this heat. Wait I take that back.Too late. ....
On our walk up to Wimbledon Village I slung my jersey over my handbag, all the while thinking, Claire Danielle, every time you do this your jersey falls off; at this point my thoughts must have been interrupted because I thought nothing more of it until alas when I went to open my bag to grab some quidage(my new gangster terminology for cash) my jersey was gone. So we had to retrace our steps, I might add that there were alot of steps, all the way back to the station. No jersey....my first experience of Crime in London. Yes South Africans, you are not so hard done by, I was robbed too.
So a drink with Gilly went down smoothly (the jersey became the least of my worries at this stage), I then headed onto Bond street to meet Nicola for an after work drink at All Bar One in this neat little courtyard behind a little dark alley (obviously after HER work drinks, because I don't work) and when I got out of the station on the other side....Gee wilikins, a little breeze that blew in from Alaska had settled-cold it was!All I could think about was my jersey for the duration of our drinks, when Nicola suggested I pop onto Oxford street and buy a cardi quickly (Did someone just suggest that I go shopping?How could I refuse?). So I trotted over to Oxford only to realise that it was 5 past 9, and Thursday night late shopping closes at 9...great timing. Luckily for my, the little I love London wagons were still open and haggling with tourists left right and centre. So I got in there, "Excuse me, hello, Yes I am from South Africa and I love Justin Bieber,so do you have a tracksuit top that says I love Justin Bieber?", Reply "aah I love London?", uuuhhhhh really, do they sound the same or is it just my accent?. Anyway I settled for the subtle, "I didn't go to Oxford University so I bought an Oxford University Tracksuit top so that you would think that I went to Oxford University" tracksuit top. It kept me warm, but the damage had already been done, I reckon the influenza must've gotten me on the way to the London wagon. Uncool.
Friday went by with a few thousand sneezes, but I assumed that it had something to do with the fact that I was basically a rabbit in a burrow however many meters underground in a warren of tube stations covered in miles of dust, is that so unreasonable?Bunnies sneeze an awful lot too.
Put the sneezes on the shelf for a sec, and analyse with me the second possible influenza contact.
I arrived at Bond street station and as I walk past another wagon (God forbid), this Israeli/Egyptian ( as offensive as it may sound, I cannot tell the difference) man, with long black curly locks stops me and says "I know you, you look like my wife to be".....Claire's Brain: "Think quick: does he look like a drug dealer?Yes. Could he be in the sex trade, selling girls off to dodgy places never to be seen again: yes. OK what should my response be?Head down and walk away".....Actual response "Haha, you're so funny, that's the fourth time someones told me that this week!". Fail. So this man, tells me I must throw all my boyfriends away and marry him, and that I have the most incredible accent he's ever come across. I was like, dude-that's just bad English, you're getting them confused. It turned out he was a sales man trying to sell me this hand salt and nail buffer, I washed my hands with this salt and to my amazement my hands felt like a baby's bottom. He made me hug him twice throughout the sales pitch....this is either the point at which I got the influenza or when I got Greasy hair.
Friday night finally arrives and Karene and I head out for Nicola's pre-birthday, birthday drinks. We go to The Explorer,that place was rocking....hip hop all night, they even played our request- Skee lo - I wish "I wish I was a little bit taller, wish I was a baller, wish I had a girl with a kid I would call her....". I was at the bar at one point and had a guy come up to me and say "My Friends fink you're really fi' (fit) and they re a li'l shy bu' (but) they're over there a' (at) the table"(a table of gangsters with flat caps, thick chains and knee jeans-the ones you wear around your knees).....at which point I laughed at him (poor guy-I literally laughed AT him) and said that's ridiculous, you'd only know I was fit if you'd seen me run. Needless to say he walked away. Notice in his spoken sentence, Londoners drop there T's wherever they see fi'(fit), which makes me wonder how they ask for directions to Topshop when they're asking you for 'opshop?
I did some poppin and lockin, and some booty droppin....met another Afrikaans bouncer, they're everywhere. In fact the world just becomes too small at times, we're sitting outside at a table and I hear these two girls speaking die mooiste taal ooit, and ask them if they're from Suid Afrika (dumb question-that accent is unmistakable)? They say Ya but we are, we arrrrrrrre actually from Bloemfonteeeeeeeeyn (Ill let you add the accents)Meet Maria and Karissa. So Nicola pipes up, ah I love Bloem, the men there are soooo hot. Especially this one guy I used to swim with-George Durant...mmmm, you've never seen anything like it, she starts gesturing as to the size of his bum in his speedo just as Karrissa points out that George is in fact Maria's brother.
After 2 great nights out, one always has to push for a third-or if you're in 1st year, 42 in a row. Karene and I headed to Borough Market on Saturday morning, absolutely love that place, but while ambling along symptom number 2 kicks in (number one was the sneezing), scratchy throat. That's when you know its gonna get'cha. So following Borough market, and an amazing roast pork baguette with stuffing and apple sauce, we headed to Nicola's for her birthday drinks, Nics was still up from the night before and wanted some partners in crime, so of course we volunteered our services. An afternoon in the sun, with pyramids of Gaymers (peach cider) did nothing but fast forward the multiplication of the influenza virus in my body. At round about 9pm, my body clocked out and said thanks for coming but I'm going to sleep. Terrible feeling having a healthy mind but an incapacitated body. So I hopped on the tube and prepared for the hour long trip home, harrowing trying to stay awake so as not to miss the next stop, even more harrowing however, is the thought of catching an STD from the couple next to me who were basically horizontal...PDA here is a pandemic that has gotten out od control.
Alas, I arrived home safely and awoke this morning on my death bed, which is why I have spent this post moaning about my fate. I cannot afford to be ill, literally, I cannot afford medication or a doctor.....so be off with you H2N2/tube virus.
There is one other situation that may have led to my falling ill, it began I believe, on Thursday. It was a beautiful day in London (thank you sun for the Y-back vest tan), I had just left an interview which I felt went reasonably well and was meeting a friend in Wimbledon for a coolie. I waited for her outside the station in the blazing sun and after she arrived needed to strip down to my vest-jerseys are unnecessary in this heat. Wait I take that back.Too late. ....
On our walk up to Wimbledon Village I slung my jersey over my handbag, all the while thinking, Claire Danielle, every time you do this your jersey falls off; at this point my thoughts must have been interrupted because I thought nothing more of it until alas when I went to open my bag to grab some quidage(my new gangster terminology for cash) my jersey was gone. So we had to retrace our steps, I might add that there were alot of steps, all the way back to the station. No jersey....my first experience of Crime in London. Yes South Africans, you are not so hard done by, I was robbed too.
So a drink with Gilly went down smoothly (the jersey became the least of my worries at this stage), I then headed onto Bond street to meet Nicola for an after work drink at All Bar One in this neat little courtyard behind a little dark alley (obviously after HER work drinks, because I don't work) and when I got out of the station on the other side....Gee wilikins, a little breeze that blew in from Alaska had settled-cold it was!All I could think about was my jersey for the duration of our drinks, when Nicola suggested I pop onto Oxford street and buy a cardi quickly (Did someone just suggest that I go shopping?How could I refuse?). So I trotted over to Oxford only to realise that it was 5 past 9, and Thursday night late shopping closes at 9...great timing. Luckily for my, the little I love London wagons were still open and haggling with tourists left right and centre. So I got in there, "Excuse me, hello, Yes I am from South Africa and I love Justin Bieber,so do you have a tracksuit top that says I love Justin Bieber?", Reply "aah I love London?", uuuhhhhh really, do they sound the same or is it just my accent?. Anyway I settled for the subtle, "I didn't go to Oxford University so I bought an Oxford University Tracksuit top so that you would think that I went to Oxford University" tracksuit top. It kept me warm, but the damage had already been done, I reckon the influenza must've gotten me on the way to the London wagon. Uncool.
Friday went by with a few thousand sneezes, but I assumed that it had something to do with the fact that I was basically a rabbit in a burrow however many meters underground in a warren of tube stations covered in miles of dust, is that so unreasonable?Bunnies sneeze an awful lot too.
Put the sneezes on the shelf for a sec, and analyse with me the second possible influenza contact.
I arrived at Bond street station and as I walk past another wagon (God forbid), this Israeli/Egyptian ( as offensive as it may sound, I cannot tell the difference) man, with long black curly locks stops me and says "I know you, you look like my wife to be".....Claire's Brain: "Think quick: does he look like a drug dealer?Yes. Could he be in the sex trade, selling girls off to dodgy places never to be seen again: yes. OK what should my response be?Head down and walk away".....Actual response "Haha, you're so funny, that's the fourth time someones told me that this week!". Fail. So this man, tells me I must throw all my boyfriends away and marry him, and that I have the most incredible accent he's ever come across. I was like, dude-that's just bad English, you're getting them confused. It turned out he was a sales man trying to sell me this hand salt and nail buffer, I washed my hands with this salt and to my amazement my hands felt like a baby's bottom. He made me hug him twice throughout the sales pitch....this is either the point at which I got the influenza or when I got Greasy hair.
Friday night finally arrives and Karene and I head out for Nicola's pre-birthday, birthday drinks. We go to The Explorer,that place was rocking....hip hop all night, they even played our request- Skee lo - I wish "I wish I was a little bit taller, wish I was a baller, wish I had a girl with a kid I would call her....". I was at the bar at one point and had a guy come up to me and say "My Friends fink you're really fi' (fit) and they re a li'l shy bu' (but) they're over there a' (at) the table"(a table of gangsters with flat caps, thick chains and knee jeans-the ones you wear around your knees).....at which point I laughed at him (poor guy-I literally laughed AT him) and said that's ridiculous, you'd only know I was fit if you'd seen me run. Needless to say he walked away. Notice in his spoken sentence, Londoners drop there T's wherever they see fi'(fit), which makes me wonder how they ask for directions to Topshop when they're asking you for 'opshop?
I did some poppin and lockin, and some booty droppin....met another Afrikaans bouncer, they're everywhere. In fact the world just becomes too small at times, we're sitting outside at a table and I hear these two girls speaking die mooiste taal ooit, and ask them if they're from Suid Afrika (dumb question-that accent is unmistakable)? They say Ya but we are, we arrrrrrrre actually from Bloemfonteeeeeeeeyn (Ill let you add the accents)Meet Maria and Karissa. So Nicola pipes up, ah I love Bloem, the men there are soooo hot. Especially this one guy I used to swim with-George Durant...mmmm, you've never seen anything like it, she starts gesturing as to the size of his bum in his speedo just as Karrissa points out that George is in fact Maria's brother.
After 2 great nights out, one always has to push for a third-or if you're in 1st year, 42 in a row. Karene and I headed to Borough Market on Saturday morning, absolutely love that place, but while ambling along symptom number 2 kicks in (number one was the sneezing), scratchy throat. That's when you know its gonna get'cha. So following Borough market, and an amazing roast pork baguette with stuffing and apple sauce, we headed to Nicola's for her birthday drinks, Nics was still up from the night before and wanted some partners in crime, so of course we volunteered our services. An afternoon in the sun, with pyramids of Gaymers (peach cider) did nothing but fast forward the multiplication of the influenza virus in my body. At round about 9pm, my body clocked out and said thanks for coming but I'm going to sleep. Terrible feeling having a healthy mind but an incapacitated body. So I hopped on the tube and prepared for the hour long trip home, harrowing trying to stay awake so as not to miss the next stop, even more harrowing however, is the thought of catching an STD from the couple next to me who were basically horizontal...PDA here is a pandemic that has gotten out od control.
Alas, I arrived home safely and awoke this morning on my death bed, which is why I have spent this post moaning about my fate. I cannot afford to be ill, literally, I cannot afford medication or a doctor.....so be off with you H2N2/tube virus.
Friday 4 June 2010
Part i: I'm a party starter
Its been a week now since my last update, slack to say the least, but one must take into the account that I am now a Nomad, an unemployed nomad...and internet connections don't come easily to such individuals.
Let me take you back to last Friday....and walk you through my soul-destroying near death experience(I nearly died of coldness and desperation).
Friday May 28 (Yes, now that I am a Londoner I write dates that way)
Happy Birthday Lisa!
Karene and I....who are currently co-habitating (definition: living under the same roof) decide that Friday evening would be a great evening to have a glass of wine in front of the tele and watch a classic Rom-Com or just a com-com. One beverage down and my foot starts tapping to the beat of the background music thats playing, and before I can stop it, my leg joins in. Through no fault of my own I felt complelled to have a little razzle. The idea of walking around Camden at night was hugely appealing, considering what the day life is like there, I can only imagine what crawls out at night. So off we go for wardrobe change numero uno-from sweat pants to boyf jeans...ready for Camden. Karene recieves a msg from a friend of hers telling her that she absolutely MUST come to Clapham South for a party. Wardbrobe change numero....two?..little skirts and boots. Done, off to Clapham we head, tube bar in Evian bottles: check. Mr vain & No Limits on the headphones: check ( I say headphones because it is a touchy subject for me to have to disclose the fact that my music maker is an MP3 player that I got for free as opposed to the Classic i-pod), House keys: pffff who needs to check that?
So we razz and dazz all night long, even get whisked off in a cab to an after party somewhere- Look I know people who know people, and I could probably get you into one of these places too. We razz dazz a little more there... I met a few South Africans, ah in fact for those of you who know him, I bumped into Marc Spitzer on the side of the road-world gets smaller everyday, and they say that climate change is the problem.pfff. Back to the story, I met an Italian-looked and sounded Italian, and everyone else I met was unenglish, there is no other way to describe it, because I have no idea where they originated from, I just heard un-english being spoken. 4am-ish arrives and members of our possi are getting asked to leave the club, they do that here....if you stumble they usher you out like a herdsman. No bouncers here, just shepherds, looking after their sheep. If you have no concept of where in London I am at this point, dont worry, neither did I....but to help you orientate yourself go to http://www.goooglemaps.co.uk/ google magic my friends- and type in Indigo Bar, Clapham South or maybe it was in Wandsworth.
Basically we were down South I think, and had to catch a cab up North to Maida Vale-not a cheap cab, but it had to be done. By the time we arrived at the front door I have never been so ready to love a bed in all my life. I just wanted my PJ's and comfy bed....and munchies.
Arrive.Front door. Get Keys. What, did you say keys? I dont have the keys, you do!No, I don't have any keys. Operation empty pockets, bags, check shoes. Thats a negative on the Keys Kilo Alpha Romeo Echo November Echo.Bummer. So no keys, then?No comfy bed and Pj's?No munchies?
Enter near death experience....I was freezing and dying for bed, sitting on the step outside the house while the sun was rising, really believing that if we emptied the same bag 40 more times, the keys might fall out.Lost cause, plan B came into action. There was no plan B though, so we meandered down the road and caught another cab, all the way back down to Collierswood, now I dont know where that is, but it is extremely far away-40 quid far away.Stayed at some persons house, awoke to pouring rain, and negative one hundred degrees(keep in mind I am wearing a skirt), now had to begin the mission back home to sit on the steps I presume, and empty out the bag again incase we were blinded the previous night.
Long story short, it was the longest most harrowning tube ride home, and a painful walk of shame as I was wearing last nights outfit, with last nights make up which was completely inappropriate for that day's weather. We spent the afternoon at a friends house who lives nearby...again still in inappropriate attire, and still hungry from the night before. These kind soles filled our belly's and gave us a couch to rest our aching heads, bless them. Then operation get someone to climb up to the third floor of the building and squeeze through the window to let us in commenced, and alas it was a success. Ben is a hero, following this rescue, he was photographed for the paper the next day (not actually, but that would've been cool). We were in the house but now couldnt leave as we had no keys to get back in, which at this stage didn't matter, I was just so happy to be able to shower, get into PJ's and sleep.
Again, my fingers are cramping......so take a break while I get going with Saturday Night's American Frat party in the most aweome warehouse apartment I've ever seen, and where I learnt to play flip cup and drank beer. I DRANK BEER!
(Sorry okes, my spell check isn't working, overlook any errors and don't judge).
Let me take you back to last Friday....and walk you through my soul-destroying near death experience(I nearly died of coldness and desperation).
Friday May 28 (Yes, now that I am a Londoner I write dates that way)
Happy Birthday Lisa!
Karene and I....who are currently co-habitating (definition: living under the same roof) decide that Friday evening would be a great evening to have a glass of wine in front of the tele and watch a classic Rom-Com or just a com-com. One beverage down and my foot starts tapping to the beat of the background music thats playing, and before I can stop it, my leg joins in. Through no fault of my own I felt complelled to have a little razzle. The idea of walking around Camden at night was hugely appealing, considering what the day life is like there, I can only imagine what crawls out at night. So off we go for wardrobe change numero uno-from sweat pants to boyf jeans...ready for Camden. Karene recieves a msg from a friend of hers telling her that she absolutely MUST come to Clapham South for a party. Wardbrobe change numero....two?..little skirts and boots. Done, off to Clapham we head, tube bar in Evian bottles: check. Mr vain & No Limits on the headphones: check ( I say headphones because it is a touchy subject for me to have to disclose the fact that my music maker is an MP3 player that I got for free as opposed to the Classic i-pod), House keys: pffff who needs to check that?
So we razz and dazz all night long, even get whisked off in a cab to an after party somewhere- Look I know people who know people, and I could probably get you into one of these places too. We razz dazz a little more there... I met a few South Africans, ah in fact for those of you who know him, I bumped into Marc Spitzer on the side of the road-world gets smaller everyday, and they say that climate change is the problem.pfff. Back to the story, I met an Italian-looked and sounded Italian, and everyone else I met was unenglish, there is no other way to describe it, because I have no idea where they originated from, I just heard un-english being spoken. 4am-ish arrives and members of our possi are getting asked to leave the club, they do that here....if you stumble they usher you out like a herdsman. No bouncers here, just shepherds, looking after their sheep. If you have no concept of where in London I am at this point, dont worry, neither did I....but to help you orientate yourself go to http://www.goooglemaps.co.uk/ google magic my friends- and type in Indigo Bar, Clapham South or maybe it was in Wandsworth.
Basically we were down South I think, and had to catch a cab up North to Maida Vale-not a cheap cab, but it had to be done. By the time we arrived at the front door I have never been so ready to love a bed in all my life. I just wanted my PJ's and comfy bed....and munchies.
Arrive.Front door. Get Keys. What, did you say keys? I dont have the keys, you do!No, I don't have any keys. Operation empty pockets, bags, check shoes. Thats a negative on the Keys Kilo Alpha Romeo Echo November Echo.Bummer. So no keys, then?No comfy bed and Pj's?No munchies?
Enter near death experience....I was freezing and dying for bed, sitting on the step outside the house while the sun was rising, really believing that if we emptied the same bag 40 more times, the keys might fall out.Lost cause, plan B came into action. There was no plan B though, so we meandered down the road and caught another cab, all the way back down to Collierswood, now I dont know where that is, but it is extremely far away-40 quid far away.Stayed at some persons house, awoke to pouring rain, and negative one hundred degrees(keep in mind I am wearing a skirt), now had to begin the mission back home to sit on the steps I presume, and empty out the bag again incase we were blinded the previous night.
Long story short, it was the longest most harrowning tube ride home, and a painful walk of shame as I was wearing last nights outfit, with last nights make up which was completely inappropriate for that day's weather. We spent the afternoon at a friends house who lives nearby...again still in inappropriate attire, and still hungry from the night before. These kind soles filled our belly's and gave us a couch to rest our aching heads, bless them. Then operation get someone to climb up to the third floor of the building and squeeze through the window to let us in commenced, and alas it was a success. Ben is a hero, following this rescue, he was photographed for the paper the next day (not actually, but that would've been cool). We were in the house but now couldnt leave as we had no keys to get back in, which at this stage didn't matter, I was just so happy to be able to shower, get into PJ's and sleep.
Again, my fingers are cramping......so take a break while I get going with Saturday Night's American Frat party in the most aweome warehouse apartment I've ever seen, and where I learnt to play flip cup and drank beer. I DRANK BEER!
(Sorry okes, my spell check isn't working, overlook any errors and don't judge).
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