Found my blog and it WELL cheered me up. Was actually wondering if the post from eons ago in which I described the breakdown of my engagement via MS paint pictures was still here, then remembered I deleted it after recieving a midly offended phone call from my ex. ah, life
Anyhow, having looked back at 'Misfortunes, the international years' (which i intend to continue, as there are many more to be added from various locations) I realised I have regretably not left the UK in a LONG time and so it is only fitting that my returning story of misfortune should have a home setting.
But, actuaally, despite all the epically bad times in the last 12 months or so, I am so very fortunate.
'To be nobody but yourself in a world that's doing its best to make you somebody else, is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight. Never stop fighting.' EE Cummings.
I'm fed up with people thinking I should change. Be quieter. More refined. Go out and party more. Go out and party less. Be thinner. More confident. Less confident. Stop changing my hair colour. Be more ambitious. Stop being Ambitious, be content with now.
I've spent years trying to accept myself, who are you to say I should change?
I love the people in my life who accept me for who I am. Insecure, mildly flamboyant dresser, hair and accent chameleon, excitable with a good measure of decorum.
1. I talk to animals. With farm animals I occasionaly try to warn them of their impending doom, but perhaps I should let ignorance be bliss.
2. I hate wearing shoes.And not just after 2am and 2many glasses of rose Trips 2 sainsburys, in the office.....beee free my feet.
3. I'll always choose to sit on the floor over a chair. Closer to the rats.
4. I think 'Who are you?' is an acceptable way to greet people
5. I don't care if people don't like the way I look, as long as I do:
I liked my peroxide blonde that looked about as natural as a manatee on the high street.
And I don't mind being a dark shade of orange. I feel exotic.
...The wide selection of buskers: bollywood-style guitar player, guy doing chris brown impersonations, guy playing the drums on trash, middle eastern trumpet quartet, and the man with the singing dog. something for everyone.
Apparently Leeds is the only place in UK where you do not need a liscense to busk. Shrug.
Oh and Madge from neighbours, Chris Moyles and The Kasier Chiefs can be spotted (I served a Kaiser Chief at work once. Dunno which one)
1. I was supporting Ghana from the start, and I am wise. Follow in my ways.
2. They are the only country with a marked link to the UK left in the tournament: Former colony, LOVE the Queen. One might argue the British weren't always incredibly nice to the country in colonial times, so It'd be a nice peace offering, if a paltry one.
3. It would really suck if we lost our world cup spirit in wake of the Ger-turmoil. I'm not gonna lie, it bought a massive lump to my throat when I saw some Japanese guys crying at the end of the match, and kissing their England shirts goodbye (no, I dont get it either).
4. Brits can learn a lot from their shameless self confidence. To quote Asamoah Gyan: "I asked God to make me the greatest striker in the world, and he did".
5. Celebration at a Ghanaian foot ball game is awesome. Celebration after a Ghana game is awesome. To quote Marcel Desailly (ITV Commentator from Ghana)
"I can imagine now, there will be dancing, beer, and singing, and there will be a goat just there *points* "
6.They are in the quarter finals, i.e still in the contest.
7. THEY KNOW THEIR NATIONAL ANTHEM!
8. Entertainment factor: Scraps, drama dives, praying on the pitch, yellow cards agogo, more gestures than P-diddy at a night club doing sign language.
seriously....wouldn't you rather look like this...
than like this?
(incidentally my fave pic that I have taken so far this summer)
.....so everything must be going swimmingly on average. However:
1)It's 3:28, and I'm sat up waiting for the police to come round on account of an attempted burglary at my dear abode about 15 minutes ago. The scary thing is I was due to move out tonight, and as my bedroom window was the port of call for their attempted entry, they might have just skulked in unnoticed.
2)Yesterday, after frolicking in the park and playing basketball, I got on the bus. Whenever I get on a bus, It is guaranteed that the drunk,disheveled, mentally unstable bloke will accost me. Today, It went something like this:
*Bloke sits next to me*
"F****in hell, your nails are disgusting!! I CLEAN mine."
I would like to point out that my nails are not THAT dirty, and it must have taken some fairly close inspection for him to observe the feint, bohemian traces of dirt under my fingernails, which were only there due to park-frolicking and basketball twirling.
Often in the process of working a 6 day week, I manage to find the time to daydream. Today, I found myself recounting previous travel mishaps, and wondering why I didn’t publicize them more. I know, everyone has funny, ‘This one time, in Africaaaaa, I like, drank water and it was SO not purified ’ stories.
Mine are more just a mockery of my general misfortune.
Chapter one: Vivé Brasil
I’ve always had a problem of needing to pee whilst on public transport. One time, in another very hot country, I almost didn’t go on a trip of a lifetime because I was so scared I’d pee myself on the 14 hour coach ride. Luckily there was one bathroom break on this occasion, and was sweating so much there was no need to pass water.
Ahem.
On the incident in question, I was traveling from Trancosco (a), to Caraíva (b), a coach trip of around 6 hours. Which, in somewhere the size of Brazil, is pretty much the equivalent of popping over the road to buy some toilet roll.
Not hard to not need the toilet on a journey of such relatively small proportions, or so one might think.We nearly missed the bus, (due to my obsession with ‘cheesebread’ and just HAVING-TO-GET-SOME-FOR-THE-JOURNEY), but after running along a dust track and some Portugues expletives (from the driver, not us) we boarded.
The problem with Cheesebread (bao de Quejo) is that
a) its addictive, probably on account of the salt
b) due to the salt content it cannot be consumed without liquid.Seriously, that stuff is powerful.
After 3 weeks in Amazon land, I had become a bit cocky and convinced myself my bladder had the super-powers of your average giraffe.
So alongside my cheesbread for the bus, I had purchased its very best liquid- friend, 2 cans of Cola tZero (no that’s not a mistype, portugues pronouncing).
My friend Josie fell asleep, and people came on and off the bus, and we went though what I can only assume was rainforest with INSANE hairpin bends… as the 'crow flies' the journey should have taken 25 mins.
Major crisis. After 2 hours, and 2 cans of Cola tZero, I unsurprisingly need the toilet. I try to compose myself, with thoughts such as
‘I am a strong, confident woman. My bladder does not control me.’
To no avail.
I considered asking the bus driver to stop so I could pee, but having upset him earlier I was afraid he would either drive off and leave me, or watch and laugh.
Time passed.
I had no strength left.
It had to be done.
The window was open….but there was no way I could bend that way/not be seen, plus, WHO does that?!
My friend was still asleep and the people behind/in front were occupied/asleep, with the exception of one guy who was definitely AAE (alive, alert, enthusiastic). Then, in an epic must-be-divine intervention, his stop came up, and he departed.
The plan? The plastic carrier bag that I had bought my cheesebread and Cola tZero in. Fortunately rural Brazil doesn’t seem to have cottoned on to the ‘putting holes in carrier bags so small children don’t suffocate’ extravaganza
So, without leaving my seat, waking my friend, drawing anyone’s attention, or, ahem, ‘spillage’, I did it..
I’m sorry Brazil. I love you and your people and your crazy long bus journeys sem banheiro.
I always think ts polite, when calling a foreign country, to at least say "Good morning, Do you speak English please?' in the appropriate language.
I work in a government travel agent, so am familiar with this phrase in many tongues.
If you are an English speaker, in the UK, and an incoming phonecall began like so:
'Guten Morgen, Ich muss meinPferdverkaufen'
or even " Доброе утро, вы продаете сыром?" (that'sRussian by the way, which i don't try to speak, as I cant read the pictures, but I do begin Russian-bound emails with "Доброе утро")
You'd be like.....
*nervous shuffle* "....errrr, I don't think they're in the office today. or ever. please don't call back."
However one day I got a bit too big for my boots, and decided to expand from the above, to 'Hello, Please may I speak with reservations?' upon a call to Paris......
He was Scottish.
And I'm pretty sure I translated 'Reservations' wrongly.
"We can't possibly vote for the green party. their supporters have such untidy gardens"
: My Granny
"We wont tell you what to do" : Local UKIP manifesto.
"It does not appear that Nick Clegg likes the Labour Party" : The Times
"My love of hunting stags is eco-friendly,as it keeps the population at sustainable levels, venison is very tasty if it's properly hung" : UKIP leader Lord Pearson
I like you. Sometimes when you ring, I ignore you. Please don't take it personally; I just know its probably an email from Frank Rumbunkasisi. I don't know who he is, but I'd like it if you could filter him out. I find it disconcerting that you're made by a company called RIM, But I'll let you off, as you help look occupied in awkward situations, and sometimes make me look professional, at least that would be the case, If I'd brushed my hair today. Please try and make your battery last a bit longer.
So, on Tuesday, I left my friends house about 10pm, and went to get the bus. At the bus stop i bumped into my friend Johnny, which was of course lovely, but was also really fortunate for me, for reasons below. Johnny and I had a bit of banter about the Election, and then boarded the bus. Until the on the near deserted bus, a woman threw herself on the floor, and started fitting, banging her head and trying to choke herself.
Jonny, authoritatively, instructed the bus to stop, the bus driver whips out his phone and calls an ambulance, or so we think.
Actually, he was calling the bus depot to let them know he was running late.
So, My blackberry got to call 999 for the first time in its life. I didn't actually make the call, Johnny did.
I can't deal with that kind of pressure. I dread to think how a 4 month old piece of plastic felt.
So Johnny spent 10 minutes trying to explain where we were (My thoughts.....For goodnesssake were a massive bus pulled over on a hill, its not that hard!) whilst I tried to pad the bars the woman was banging her head on and stop her trying to choke herself. She was really strong and I couldn't move her hand, so I just made sure she was still breathing, whilst trying to reassure her. I actually surprised myself, normally in those situations I'm a complete awkward idiot, but I imagine from a Birdseye view I could have been on a cool medical drama like House. Or maybe something more low-budget, like Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman.
So, then the ambulance mooches up, ambulance men walk on....
'Oh, hi Phyllis' Apparently this woman throws fake fits all the time for attention.
It was quite scary seeing her be strapped down and wheeled off, and really really sad.
Cue *somber mood for rest of journey* The thing I found most sad about it was how troubled one must be to let yourself be patronised like that.
On Wednesday I started using my bike, far safer. I think.
So, because my blog doesn't have a particular theme, I end up rambling about my life and views on the world. Which may be entertaining for some, who knows.
But due to the fact I am not anonymous in the blogosphere, I feel as though I must severely edit what I write, because I may ruffle someones feathers.
I would never purposely insult ANYONE.
Maybe if I want to be honest I should keep it to a diary. But I do love to write, and get feedback.
Hm.
NB: This was written in relation to a post I have since deleted. Nothing exsisting on here is THAT contaversial.
This question haunts me for many reasons. Most of the below conversations are factual, the internal monologue that I have given other people are not, it just goes to emphasises my neurotic nature.
Circa 2008-..Me= age 20.
*conversation dries up*'so....are you a student?'
Me: "Yep, I study worldwide famine solutions (read: International development)"
'What year?'
Me: 'First year'
This then either results in said person saying....
a) "Oh, i would have thought you were older than a first year" (subsequently making me think 'DAMMIT! ARE YOU SAYING I CAN'T PASS FOR 18??)
b) "oh, right." (making me think WHAT THE HELL? THEY THINK I'M 18? AM I THAT IMMATURE?
Circa 2010.....Me age 21 3\4
"So....youre a student then?" (which subsequently makes me think....Why would you assume I'M A STUDENT? is it because I look like I don't shower. Because I do. So there.)
Me: "No...I...er...work ...er...part time in an art shop'
"Oh so you have kids then?" (because obcviously thats the only reason for part time working, nothing to do with the jobs vortex that surrounds Leeds.......
I look like Ive had kids? Is it my baby bump? because that's the product of too much wine.)
Me: "er, No"
"But youre married, right?" (******* IMPORTANT NOTE ...most Christians believe in, aside from the bible, the doctrine that you must marry once you are no longer a student.)
Me: "er, No...I was engaged but not anymore"
*AWKWARD SILENCE* (In which i laugh heartily in my head for purposely making the other person feel guilty.
How to bring my age related complex into balance? Slather on the anti-wrinkle cream, pour vodka on my cornflakes...but also get myself a subscription to The Peoples Friend and a bag of werthers original for a dose of maturity.
A hotbed topic, according to the Daily Star*
Immigration. Whats the big deal? The daily star says 'THIS COUNTRY IS FULL' (In bold lettering, crap, they must mean business)
Seriously. Go for a drive in the country.Not only will it do you good to get away from drinking Stella and wishing you were Peter Andre, but you will realise that there's plenty of space!
Now, obviously, I'm not saying it'd be good for the whole of England to become some kind of battery farm. Actually, I plan on emigrating as soon as I'm qualified to do anything so I don't care.
But, when considering that, apparently, the non English speaking world considers the English to be pill popping, obese weirdos with an unhealthy obsession with our ex- prime minister (please see previous post, or click here ), i think we should take it as a compliment, that a few, educated, probably more attractive than us, enterprising people take it upon themselves to get to England by any means possible.
The length some people go to to get here is heartbreaking, and the fact that some people get kicked out is also heartbreaking. I'm sure I don't need to comment on the dodgy boats, drug smuggling, trading in your life savings and goat farms that people are prepared to go through. I think the effort deserves a reward.
My boss thinks that it should become like a game show....'Overcome Sharks, hurricanes, malnutrition, scurvy and CUSTOMS...and win a lifetimes supply of ENGLAND!!!!!!
Ill leave you to decide whether that's funny or immoral.
I should probably point out that all my best friends are foreign, and probably wouldn't have been able to live in England if the daily star had had their way.
I am sitting in the Language library doing my german homework.(Library, homework, what?????) & listening to a Portuguese news report.
The girl next to me is obviously studying English as a foreign language (i deduced this from the nature of her textbooks). I just looked at her computer screen, and and it says her English exam conversation topics are:
The Phantom is once again with us. In case a few of you didn't know the extent of the hauntings of our flat, a phantom appears in our shower now and again. The shower turns itself on BUTTT not just on by the pully thing, in fact the tap turns aswell.
In which, normally I scream and my flatmate runs to scare it off HOWEVER, this time Hannah came across the new sensation of the phantom. Except, this time it "banged" hmmmm. Has the phantom developed human mannerisms? I hope not. It'll be opening doors and creating a facebook account next.
Now we are laughing at ourselves to be so ridic as to think a phantom would have nowhere better to be.Anyways, life has hit an all time low. Hannah just ate mould because she thought something had 'dropped' in her pesto. What a woman.
I live with 4, wonderful female creatures, in a flat that looks like we are in some kind of witness protection program (boarded up doors and windows on account of our neighbors penchant for snowballs).
Once a beautiful time we were all single ladies of free lancing passion and pleasure, but after 2 weeks of this bliss we seem to have all been taken agag!
Anyways, so I would like to reiterate the point that the single ladies life has not left the flat. I think that we all imagine oursleves to be in a sex and the city episode, this is not the case.
We merely just prance about, warn each other when we are going to the toilet-shower-moving-eating-boiling the kettle or logging into facebook.
