Chatterbox, blabbermouth, busybody, confabulator, clack, gossip, magpie, windbag, circulator, flibbertigibbet, gossipmonger, informer, newsmonger, parrot, discourser, prattler, babbler, scandalizer, talebearer, conversationalist . . .

Although all of these words are accurate, I like to think of myself as more of a sharer of wild tales, a storyteller illustrating the events passed and present, of hillarious stories and incessent ramblings. When in all seriousness I am just someone who doesnt know when to stop talking, a constant noise in the background, the chatter of meaningless random words playing in the corner . . . the person you try and block out when you're head is pounding and you just want SILENCE!

However for a select few out there I am entertaining to some degree, so if you're up for a bit of a giggle, the latest slice of juicy gossip or some mind numbing drivel, grab you're cuppa, put you're feet up, and join in on the gab, you're more than welcome!

- Ash

Saturday, 28 January 2012

Loosing my damn mind

I was all ready for work, just about to walk out the door, grabbed my swipe card, my pen, my phone . . . . . . . where the hell are my pub keys?!

I have a routine, when i finish my shifts I wander in my door and head straight to my bookcase, I empty my pockets and place everything on the shelf and from this point they do not move until I leave for my next shift - whether that be a mere 2 hours later or a few days down the track - they are always there waiting for me

N O T . T O D A Y

My keys are nowhere to be found!

Let me just stress the importance of this particular set of keys - they give the beholder access to the front and back doors to the pub, all of the wine cases on display, the cellar, the wine store, THE SAFE and the office. You could almost even compare them to those you would find attached to the hip of the warden of a mental institution or a prison. Its as though I have left the keys to the White House underneath the doormat, begging someone to let themselves in and take what they like . . 

I . A M . I N . D E E P . P O O . P O O . K A K A

So here I am, merely minutes before my shift starts, ripping my room apart like a crazy woman, clothes are flying across the room, followed by shoes, pillows, books, towels, my pony, an accordion, and anything else I can get my muggy little mitts on . . . I am officially freaking out

With time not on my side, I wander downstairs with my tail between my legs, ready for my beating . . . . . . . Low and behold, Lucy just laughed at me as I stood there explaining the dilemma in my shaking, panicking, manic state and handed me her set!

As soon as I finished work I ran upstairs and started raiding the only other room I access in the staff quarters - The Kitchen, hahaha, typical I know

Whilst I am in mid destruction of the kitchen, my little Russian friend, Artur, comes in with a puzzled look on his face - Im pretty sure he already assumed I had a screw or two loose, but at this point in time when im standing in the middle of the kitchen up to my tits in paper roll, bread and jars of condiments, he is 100% sure I am from another planet altogether . . .

I look up from my mess, plonked myself on the floor and let out my inner 2 year old with a high pitched and defeated whiny:

"Artieeee . . . I've lost my keeeeeeeeyys and Yanis is going to killlll meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!"

He simply shook his head and said "No , I have keys, remember?" and pulled them from his little pocket and jingled them in front of me

I . C O U L D . H A V E . D I E D

How could I be so stupid to forget that I gave Yanis my keys as Artur was going to be in the pub late to re-paint the walls in the kitchen!

I have officially lost my mind!

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