Curse of the Moldy Jam

So Im at work this morning, setting up the restaurant like a good little peach'ster and my stomach decides that it wants to initiate the next world war on the rest of my body.

Next thing I knew Nicky walked around the corner holding a hot crusty golden loaf of bread ~ fresh from the oven . . . . it was like the heavens opened and Grilled Cheesus sent down his angels of nom noms to gift me with the pleasures of a happy belly.

Nic proceeded to cut us a slice each for breakfast when her face lit up . . .

"Oh yeah! We have some Jaaaaaammmm in the cupboard"

With a surge of excitement she flung open the cupboard doors and whooped out our beloved jar of strawberry jam . . . the same humble jar that has brought sweet sweet joy to many a staff member sneaking bread from the waiters station over the years @ The One Elm

Delicious slices on our plates, buttered and at the ready, I unscrewed the lid, in preparation to unleash the fruity, sweet awesomeness, then I looked down . . . . . . .

Low and behold, our prized pot of sugary gold now contained moldy old jam - good for absolutely nothing and definitely not being spread on my gorgeous slice of bread!

Hearts broken, souls crushed, we accepted defeat and prepared ourselves for a mediocre and plainly average breakfast.

With a sudden strike of faith in the mighty Grilled Cheesus'  I suddenly remembered a secondary jar of jam that had mysteriously appeared in the kitchen several weeks back!

- Could it be? Could this jar be our breakfast savior?! -

within seconds I was back to square one, knife at the ready, new jam jar in hand, the apprehension building, the excitement - palpable!

The lid comes off, and I slowly peer down into the jar

"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FREAKING KIDDING ME!!!"

What are the chances? To my absolute horror, yet again it was not just jam staring back at me from the jar below . . . it was also a small city of mold, a hub of activity, a fluffy little civilization with its heart set on making sure that my delicious fruity breakfast has been completely ruined.

I look up at Nikki, despair and desperation spread across my pale and tired little face. . . . Breakfast - No wait - MY WHOLE DAY had officially been stamped 'SHITEHOUSE'

from this point forward, this day continued to prove to me the magnitude of its SUCKS BALLS factor ~ This, my friends, is known as The Curse of the Moldy Jam

Why is it that some days there is bound to be just ONE little thing that is destined to screw up the whole day's plan of events?!

Its a crime against humanity to screw with someones breakfast . . . breakfast is the pinnacle of ones day, if it doesn't go smoothly its a known fact that everything that happens from that moment onwards is going to be an epic fail - in fact, im sure that I read in a newspaper somewhere that its been proven that people who dont eat breakfast generally just SUCK at life!



All I have to say is . . . . Tomorrow, when I unscrew that damn jam lid, there better be some healthy looking, sweet as candy, IN DATE and delicious strawberry Jam waiting for me to spread all over my morning slice . . . . otherwise HEADS WILL ROLL

Enjoy your day people, and please, for the sake of the children, steer clear of The Curse of the Moldy Jam
 

No idea what you just said . . . But I dig it

After running some errands in town today, my belly was right on schedule with his usual mumble grumbles . . .  so I popped into this little cafe for a little somethin' somethin'

I took a seat in the window and let my poor little eyes soak in my surroundings . . . .  It was as though I had stepped onto the set of a very low-budget Italian comedy show, complete with vases full of coffee beans, baskets overflowing with bread rolls, plastic eggplants & courgettes, framed pictures of 'mama & papa' in the farmhouse garden and even a little iron bike covered in pots of flowers and herbs (all plastic, of course).

It was at this point that I contemplated doing a runner before any of the staff had seen me come in, but in keeping with the tradition of my life's roller-coaster ride of mishaps and giggles, it was waaaay too late for a swift escape.

Just as expected, a chipper little waiter approached my table, all dressed up with his vest and bow tie, a little red teatowel over his arm and top it all off, the sported the oh so very traditional European mustachio

I was like "ARE YOU SERIOUS? AM I BEING PUNK'D . . . . WHERE ARE THE CAMERAS?"

I looked up at my new little friend, his HUGE smile beaming back at me, and then it happened . . .

"Nice day to you Senorita"

It was at this very moment that I no longer cared about the cheap plastic coated decorations, or the over exaggerated "Coffee Shop" environment. I had no idea why, but the combination of sheer entertainment at its finest and the soothing powers of his cheesy little accent had totally won me over.

He mumbled a whole bunch of mumbo jumbo that I could not understand for the life of me, took my order and trotted over to his coffee machine to continue polishing a bunch of bronze nobbies and dials.

Whilst munching away at my delicious lunch I found myself bopping along to what sounded like the soundtrack of the Muppet chef during one of his killer spaghetti cooking lessons  . . . I couldnt understand one word but yet found myself singing along like I had been listening to 'Papa Giuseppe's Greatest Hits' since I was knee high to a grasshopper.

Something about this crazy little cafe made me smile on the inside (deep deep underneath the overwhelming bellowing laughter I was forcing from the surface).

I wonder if this is my new coping mechanism for not seeing Europe after 14 months on the other side of the world??

All I know for sure is that as soon as I hear a bunch of mumbo jumbo with a "Bella" or "Senorita"  or "mademoiselle" or even a "wee lassie" thrown in the mix, I am there with bells on baby!

After all, everyone loves something exotic and different - even if we have absolutely no idea what has been said - for all we know we could have agreed to live out the rest of our lives in a crate crafted from Play Doh and pipe cleaners, to be fed nothing but red skittles and popping candy and to be harvested after 48 days for our sweet sweet candied kidneys and velvety soft skin  . . . . . .

meh, its totally worth the risk!

ciao bellas! xx

Writers Block has set in . . . . . Gawd Help me!

  Turned on the radio this morning . . .

"For all you bloggers out there attempting a posting today, there has been a gnarly 4 word pile up on the M4 between Ashley's Brain and The Fingertips exit, commuters are suffering HUGE delays as words are in a standstill waiting for the damage to be cleared, authorities are working on a speedy solution, however cannot see an end to this chaos in the immediate future"

Great, thats all i need - WRITERS BLOCK

Its not like nothing exciting has happened in the past few days, we even had snow for the first time since arriving in the UK and it was AMAZING - I tried to blog about it the other day and ended up sitting here typing a few words, reading them 10 times, deleting them, writing another few words, not happy, deleting them  . . . it was a vicious circle, which resulted in me giving the blog a completely new look and then cooking halz and I a delicious dinner (You cant get a cooking block, which I find great comfort in, when there are no words, at least there will still be scrumptious food to create).

So I was wondering if there were any crazy home remedies for writers block?

Being Gen Y I did what comes naturally to me . . . . . I googled it

Found a website - 36 Ways to Cure Writers Block, and these were the first few that I read . .

• Take some Panadol - you may just have a headache (Seriously People?)
• Eat a Snack - Your brain is probably hungry (My brain doesnt have a stomach)
• Go Back to the Basics - Use a Pen & Paper (Then it wouldnt be a BLOG)
• Reduce, Reuse, Recycle - Borrow from other pieces (Mate, thats called Plagiarism)
• Lower your Expectations (Where do they get this crap from honestly?)
• Draw a Picture (Im not in Kindergarten, you wont see me whooping out the finger paints)
• Seek out your Local Shrink (I have writers block, not suicidal tendencies)
• Find God - It may be time to pray for help (Are these people smoking crack?)
• Choose Not to Write - Sometimes its best to accept defeat (I sure hope this website hasn't been written by a school teacher or child therapist, because this is not the way to handle things)
• Throw a Tantrum - If all else fails, blow of some steam (I think someone should write in to this ridiculous website and blow off some steam, this is the worst advice I have ever read)

What else do they want me to do, Hit up God for directions so I can go on an expedition in search of the last surviving unicorn and make a smoothie out of its saliva as a 'wonder cure', then stand on my head for 10 days so that the juices in my brain mix with the smoothie and I turn into the worlds best blogger and win a Nobel Peace Prize for excellence?? These people have lost their Na Na

There was ONE suggestion that was hiding at the very bottom of this INSANE website that I did take notice of  - they said to Write about Not being able to Write . . . . . and you know what, I have been typing away like a mad man for the past 15 mins about not being able to write anything . . .

I M . W R I T I N G ! !

Holy Jebus, father of the unicorns and master of Plagiarism - Its a miracle

Catch ya all later, Im off to write a review on the "36 Ways to Cure Writers Block" website - the poor sods 

I wanna get a good old fashioned Gokking!!

I wanna get myself Gokked . . . . thats right, I want a good old fashioned Gokking!! Gok me up baby with a sprinkle of Gokkles on top!

Since I dont have a TV these days I spend a bit of time trying to find entertainment online, now that I have watched every available episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians (WHICH I LOVE BTW) I have been on the search for something new . . . and boy oh boy did I find it!

Everyone, meet Gok Wan! (http://www.gokwan.com/)

He rocks my socks!! (Relaxxxx everyone, I havent converted to loving the asian persuasion, I love Gok because he is BRILLIANT, and I have been known to be a bit of a 'fag hag', or 'fruit bat' as Dan so eloquently calls me)

I watched my first ever episode of Gok's Fashion Fix today and I am totally in love, and now all I can think about is how much I just wanna get Gokked!!

Check it out peeps: http://www.channel4.com/programmes/goks-fashion-fix/4od

Get addicted people - before I know it I will be seeing status reports all over facebook of people declaring their need to get a good Gokking! IM EXCITED!

Gok ya later!

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!

Call me "Bruce"

I have been making a few trips to Brentwood to visit Hayley May of late and travel in and around London can be rather taxing on the old purse strings. Upon a long conversation with the 'Ticket Man' at Bearsted station the other day I discovered that both Hayley and I are eligible for a 'Young Persons Travel Card' which gives us several discounts when purchasing train & bus tickets

A W E S O M E !

So I took 2 of the application forms and went on my way

Whist bored on the train (during my ridiculous, long winded, 3 hour commute by train to Brentwood - would have only taken me 35 mins if I had a bloody car!) I was reading over the application form and discovered that you must produce a passport photo of yourself for use on the card.

At Maidstone station they have one of those funky photo booths where you jump behind the curtain that smells like extremely mature and undesired cheese and nanna's old talcum powder, insert the same 2 coins several times before the bleedin thing accepts them, pull an expressionless and slightly constipated face, press the slightly sticky button, try not to blink as the obscenely bright flash tries to blind you and wait an extended period of time while the booth shakes and grinds before out pops a selection of little replicas of you're very own face . . . .  ingenious!!!

Once I finally arrived at the Haus of Halz, I proudly whooped out my shiny new passport photos and we compared them to my passport, obtained merely a month before we left on our 'soul searching mission to the glorious United Kingdom' and the difference between the photos is insane!!

Take a look at that!!

Did I have a moon face or what! And check out the size of my earrings, it looks like I have inserted frankenstein's bolts into my earlobes and dubbed them 'industrial chic'!  hahaha

Halz and I were joking that in this picture I looked as though I'm the head biatch at the High Security Womens Prison where I would 'illustrate' the others with my homemade tattoo gun made of a sharpened metal chair leg, some barbed wire, an old hair straightener and the remnants of my chewing tabacco used as ink during our 'freetime', that my fellow inmates feared catching my gaze from across the quad as though it was the death penalty and was affectionately referred to as Bruce


We soon had Hayley's passport out too and decided that with the Jet Black and seriously straight mane, thickly spread dark eye makeup and pale white skin, she looked like Bruce's Bat-shit Crazy cellmate Tanyaa who everyone avoided in fear that she may suddenly spaz out and stab someone with the closest inanimate object, like a fork, or toothbrush or unripened banana . . .  she is the one who hums songs from the muppets whilst rocking in the corner, uses merely one finger placed under someones nose to stop them in their tracks mid run and can stare blankly into someones eyes for hours without blinking once . . . . . Tanyaa is not to be fucked with!



Isnt it amazing how much ones appearance can change and develop over the course of 12 months - And . T H A N K . G A W D . that it did! hahaha

Im sure there will be twisted tales of Tanyaa and Bruce soon enough - stay tuned!

Whats that over in the corner there? . . . Oh, whoops!

Long time no blog I hear you say . . . . I know, I am horrible, I have neglected our friendship, left my poor little blog to gather dust bunnies and spiderwebs in the corner . . . and I am truly ashamed

I guess you have been wondering what has occurred of late!

I will sum things up in a brief, yet informative, bullet point listing of the goings on since I last graced your humble screens with my blabbering;

• I moved to The White Horse in Bearsted, Kent. Lovely charming village, great people, I quite enjoy the lifestyle in Kent, as it is the aptly named 'The Garden of England', and all it has to offer and have been working a 'colourful' 50 hours a week

• Have become quite the bookworm during the absence of my sister AND a television, quite enjoying the silent pleasures that reading has to offer and if my calculations are correct I should now personally own 3/4 of Waterstones

• Christmas and New Year were rather flat and tiresome, their first occurrence since leaving the family in Oz and they just didn't quite fulfill their hype . . . firstly it was not WHITE, there was no snow whatsoever! The festive season mainly consisted of work, work and more work, followed by serving other families whilst they enjoyed the festivities together and the grand finale of ringing in 2012 during a 14 hour shift, serving the population of Bearsted copious amounts of booze whist being 40 miles away from your Best Friend/Little Sister - Joyous!

• Decided I was going to undergo the pilgrimage back to my homeland in February to visit my family, friends and loved one for just over a month. Resigned from my position at The White Horse and got myself all excited . . .  however upon looking at the finer details, pulled the plug a few weeks from leaving and decided to move back in with the soul sista in Brentwood instead to save money for traveling at the end of the year (to be honest I seriously need to move closer to Hayley May anyway, just to prevent myself from turning into an expressionless mute due to complete and utter loneliness and lack of social stimuli)

Well - there you have it!

And what am I up to now you ask? Well considering I am technically unemployed, I am on the search for what I hope will be a 'real job' one that will not consist of constant back breaking physical exertion and strings of never ending split shifts for a pathetic hourly rate . . . 

W I S H .  M E .  L U C K

I am also in the midst of planning our European Extravaganza that we hope will kick off in mid July! How very exhilarating!!!


Stay posted for updates on the job hunt and the quest for the ultimate backpacking adventure - not to mention the big move back to B-Wood, Valentines day and My 24th Birthday are all just around the corner . . . . and Im sure their dials are all set on "SHOCK AND AWE" (or atleast on "FREAKING AWESOME", if im honest, our life hasnt seemed to cater for anything less than that so far and im sure that wont be changing any time soon)


Love you all big time, long time, phong time!