europrattle

On your knees, Europrat

2006-01-09T23:06:00.000+01:00

Picture the scene:

A bin bag. Containing, among other things, half a kilo of quinoa ("keenwah", apparently), which I am throwing away because although it has the texture and granularity of boulgar wheat (hideous substance), it is nowhere near as appealing. Unsurprising really; it's one of those 'miracle foods' that people like Carol Vorderman tell you that you ought to eat, so it was always going to have the taste of cardboard. I bought it around the same time as the seeds and coffee grinder, with which I was going to garnish my morning Weetabix, thus embellishing my diet to new heights of optimum nutritional standards.

Suffice to say, all of the above faddy rubbish came with me to Brusssels, wasn't touched once, and I'm certainly not going to allow it to take up valuable car space on the way back 18 months later.

Anyway where was I? Oh yes. The bin bag.

Split, outside the door to my flat.

On the third floor.

Cue half an hour spent vacuuming small bits of white off the carpet of (count 'em) sixty stairs, while neighbours look on in amusement: "ah, c'est noël!".

Now, back to the oven.

*sigh*

x

No more cleaning

2006-01-08T23:00:00.000+01:00

My hands are chapped and sore.

My wrists and arms ache from scrubbing.

But still, still the flat is not yet clean enough to leave. I still have to do many things before I will be allowed to leave. They are evil, the landlords. Evil.

For now I will sleep. But have chocolate first.

xx

Cleaning

2006-01-08T11:57:00.000+01:00

So as everyone knows, upon leaving rented accommodation, if you want your deposit back, it's a good idea to give the place a thorough clean.

Of course, with M being back in London, this pleasant task falls to me, toute seule.

(I can't complain; he has found us a flat there and by the time I arrive on Saturday will have enlisted four of his friends to move all our wotnot out of storage and into the new place. The least I can do is a bit of cleaning.)

Now, I don't mind a bit of cleaning, when I'm in the mood. I can quite happily devote inordinate amounts of time to, say, dusting the surfaces, or getting out a really stubborn spot on the fridge door. However, the key clause in my first sentence is 'when I'm in the mood'. That mood has often tended to coincide with, say, the run up to an important exam or essay deadline (while at university), or, over the last few months, the times when I should have been writing job applications.

Of course now, the cleaning itself is taking on the stature of an essay deadline, looming as it has been in my personal calendar. I have already put it off once; I was going to do it yesterday but of course the shops were open and the sales were on - an event not quite the same as in the UK, where sales seem to happen every month; in Belgium, they are strictly in January and July only - and I thought it made more sense to shop on Saturday, clean on Sunday. After all, what else is there to do on a Sunday?

So, today is the day. Of course, given that I'm typing this, I'm obviously not doing the cleaning. It appears that with the cleaning itself becoming an essay deadline-type-event, writing posts here would seem to have become the new displacement activity. Rather like the new black.

Perhaps I'm being a bit harsh on myself. I have made a start: last night I took all the oven racks and soaked them in the bath, as per the piece of advice from 'Bernadette' on this page here. They mostly came out very well, and are certainly a new shiny colour, the likes of which haven't really been seen since we moved in. However, the oven itself is proving rather more tricky. I have now made three attempts at cleaning it, using pretty much all the suggestions on this page, except for the ammonia one which scared me a bit, because how does it work? Why does putting a bowl of ammonia in your oven overnight mean the dirt just wipes off come morning? It's freaky chemistry and I don't like it. However, given that smearing pastes of combinations of baking soda, white vinegar, lemon juice and washing up liquid doesn't appear to be working, and that the glass door still has brown flecks of burnt on grease attached to it, I may have to try it.

I also have to, at some point today, remove the gross looking stain from the sofa which is a result of getting rid of a red wine stain; the red wine disappeared but the act of getting rid of it spread the ingrained dirt out into a patch that looks remarkably like someone has had a pee on it.

Ugh.

Wish me luck.

x

PS From my window, it looks like the Council of Ministers building is either (a) on fire or (b) burning funeral pyres. Obviously there is no other possible explanation; it has to be one of those two things.

Merry 06

2006-01-04T22:17:00.000+01:00

I have made some resolutions. I'll tell you about them, right here.

They are:

1. Take all that hard work in Ki-Box classes (basically, aerobics with boxing gloves on) and actually turn it into an ability to do sport: namely, join a kickboxing class upon return to London and become really, really excellent at it, resulting in new fit, lithe and marvellous looking self in time for the summer. *ahem*

2. Cook more. Even if it means forcibly restraining M and not letting him in the kitchen (which will be difficult in our new flat, which has an open-plan kitchen-living-area). Do not let lack of imagination become a prohibitive barrier: recipe books are there to help.

3. Do a good job at new job. Do not procrastinate and read blogs all day.

4. Write own bloody blog a bit more often.

That's all. I'll stop the weird pseudo-Bridget Jones voice now.

So what can I tell you?

It is bitterly, bitterly cold at the moment and for the last two evenings I've got home from work feeling faint and light-headed. I have no idea if this has anything to do with the cold (I imagine it's more to do with the speed at which I walk and late afternoon low blood sugar levels, the combination of which requires me to eat a big Eat Natural bar as soon as I get in, accompanied by a glass of orange juice) but it has prevented me from finding the will to go out again to a fitness class. This is poor form, I know, especially in light of Resolution No. 1, but I really can't face it. Perhaps tomorrow. Is that so wrong? And if I spend the time at home being productive and doing sorting out-type things in preparation for moving back to London, does that make it better? I think it must do, really. Surely?

It is quite odd being here at the moment. As we're off back to London, all of our stuff is in storage there, and indeed M himself is now there on a permanent basis; I will join him late next week when we move into our new flat. But for the time being there's an odd sense of pause. I'm living in a flat devoid of any entertainment possibilities save for the computer and one book (the book is Wild Swans though so it's not all bad), by myself, with nothing to do but go to work, and come home again, with some occasional packing/tidying/washing/exercise-avoiding to do.

What I should really do is make the most of this time to do improving things, precisely like exercise, or at the very least meeting up with friends for goodbye dinners and drinks. But all I feel like doing is staying in and battening down the hatches.

Oh. Oh yes. I remember. It's January. We've covered this before.

x

Site statistics

2005-11-23T19:25:00.000+01:00

I tell you what, site statistics are great.

For instance, I can tell you that over the last two months of pretty stony cold silence from me, most visitors to this blog have got here because they searched for "the difference between a hurricane and a tornado", which took them to this page. I hope I was of service.

Also though, there are the regular visitors. (Not many of you, but you do exist, to my continued amazement.) You have admittedly dwindled over the long 60 days of silence, but I'm hoping that some will be excited at the following news:

We're moving home!

Watch out London...

... for, er, a pair of middle class idiots dressed in Euroblazers and brogues, grumbling about the cost of living compared to Belgium.

x

Birthday cake

2005-09-26T21:51:00.000+02:00

I was looking at cake in the patisserie this morning when the following thought sequence went through my mind:

Ooh look. Cake... haven't had cake for a while. Mmm. Lemony one looks nice. Probably last time I had one was for someone's birthday in the office.

Birthday...

*pause*

Office...

*low groan*

You may remember that I work in an office of just five employees. It is an office where a bizarre level of emphasis is placed on people's birthdays; we are routinely subjected to a *surprise* afternoon break, consisting of half an hour's banal conversation around the meeting table, some gooey chocolate cake, a mug of lukewarm coffee and a gift voucher for €50.

Of the four employees who are not me, two are nice, and two are batty. Last week, by some quirk of office diaries, I and one of the nice ones were left alone for four whole days. It was bliss. On Wednesday, he brought in some pastries for breakfast.

"Oooh thanks!" I said, "that's excellent coz I didn't have any breakfast this morning. You must be psychic!"

It was, of course, his birthday.

Now, admittedly, I have been a bit crap here. It wasn't that it wasn't there for all to see on the office calendar. It wasn't that I haven't been going on about it for about a month, because (can I admit this?) we actually forgot it last year too.

But, in my defence, is it not a little weird that he didn't mention anything? I mean, he's a lovely guy, and I do feel terrible, but when it's my birthday, I forewarn people. For their own good and mine - I don't want them to forget, and I don't want them to forget and then remember and know that I knew they forgot. It's not a test, after all. I know that my colleagues can't really be arsed with my birthday. But I also know they'd feel a bit rubbish if they forgot it, and, to be honest, so would I, a bit. So I do the decent thing and drop heavy hints for about four weeks beforehand, to save us all the embarrassment of them forgetting.

I suppose what I'm really saying is that he brought this whole thing on himself by being so secretive. He should bake me cake, to make up for putting me in such an awkward position. Selfish git.

x

Fat lady

2005-09-22T20:32:00.000+02:00

No, I don't mean me.

Almost every day, as I walk to work past this graffitti, I also walk past a really very plump lady, on a moped.

She's there almost every day, and she always looks a little sad. Today she was not sitting on her little yellow moped as usual, but leaning against a wall, still with her helmet on, still looking sad.

What does she do there? Why at 9.15am every day?

Answers on a postcard. Or in the comments box, if you like.

x

gnh...

2005-09-17T13:41:00.000+02:00

Oh heavens.

I have that feeling of doom that comes after a night of too many white wines, not enough food and far too much conversation, during the course of which I may or may not have said embarrassing and personally revealing things.

Oh dear.

I keep having those moments where things that I did/said come back to me and, even though I am on my own today, make me cringe and let out a low, but audible, groan. For instance, I have a dim recollection of letting out a hiccup (if I'm honest, it may have been a burp) as I bought water on the way home, and giggling at the shopkeeper like a mad lady.

I must go. There are activities I must undertake that will distract me from this feeling of having acted like an utter muppet.

x

Toiletry* and household goods innovations

2005-09-11T18:24:00.000+02:00

Some product developments in the field of toiletries and household goods are, definitely, good.

I could cite, for example, the development of moist toilet tissue. The simplicity and sensible-ness of this innovation needs no explanation from me. And if you don't know what I mean, you probably live in India, where (in principle) people manage this sort of thing in far more sanitary fashion anyway. Suffice it to say that for those of us who live in countries where paper, not a hose/jug of water is the norm, moist toilet tissue is a positive development.

Also good is the Oil of Olay (Ulay? Olaz? meh) body puff: a revolution in making not much shower gel go an awfully long way. Which is very good considering the price of Oil of Olay shower gel. Toe separators are also (admittedly surprisingly) a good thing. And I don't know where I, or indeed my cuticles, would be without orange sticks.

All of these things should make marketing/New Product Development type-people very proud of themselves.

However.

Some product innovations are blatant attempts at creating a market where one need not exist. I am currently most annoyed with embossed toilet paper, the need for which I really know not. But *new and improved* washing powder (including tabs, liquids, soluble plastic packlets, little net bags for tabs - all of that redundant flim flam), Swiffer, most female beauty products (including, in no particular order, eyelash curlers [the results of which last all of 37 seconds], under-eye cream, anti-cellulite /firming creams, home waxing strips [there is a reason you get someone else to do waxing: it bloody hurts, and you're not meant to inflict pain on yourself], etc, etc), whitening toothpaste and many other things that are currently not coming to mind all fall into the same category.

They do make me cross.

That is all.

x

* Is it possible to use 'toiletry' as the singular of 'toiletries'?

Katrina

2005-09-07T20:26:00.000+02:00

I read this today (via Random Reality), which absolutely blew my mind. You'll see what I mean.

Work is definitely getting back up to usual levels of busy-ness after the summer lull. It's true what they say about mainland Europe; everything does slow down to a snail's pace for the whole of August. But as soon as September launched, that was it: back to it. My boss has sent e-mail after e-mail of lists of things that need to be done within the next two weeks. Seemingly forgetting the last one as he types the next.

*sighs*

Anyway. On a happier note, may I introduce you to my other blog. It's devoted to the single topic of M's sleeptalking. I hope you enjoy it.

And my final bit of news: look what was released this week! Huzzah!

x

PS Sorry. That was a very dull post. I promise to do better soon.

Thank god...

2005-09-02T23:54:00.000+02:00

...for that.

WHY did it take four days?

x

Wedded bliss

2005-09-01T21:38:00.000+02:00

I have been asked, rather sternly as it goes, why a certain wedding has not yet featured on my blog.

This is of course simple oversight on my part, the wedding itself having fallen during europrattle's fallow period. I will rectify the omission right now.

Aside from drawing your attention to the fact that the lady of the piece had to wait so long for her far-too-laid-back boyfriend to propose that eventually she resorted to doing the asking herself (ten years. TEN YEARS! Dude you were lucky she didn't give up altogether!), I have ten wedding observations to share with you.

1. A specially-commissioned Routemaster really is the *only* to travel to a London wedding.

2. Although I consider myself to be a right-thinking, modern young woman, emotional weeping is an automatic physical reflex upon seeing a bride in a dress. They just always look so pretty and special and I can't help it, I've got a lump in my throat even now.

3. It is inadvisable to buy a skirt from Marks and Spencers to wear to a wedding and expect to be the only person wearing it.

4. Civil ceremonies involve a lot of standing up and sitting down, rather in the manner of musical chairs but without the music and the wandering around.

5. It is impossible not to well up at the Father of the Bride's speech when the father of the bride is welling up himself.

6. Men make friends with other men at functions through the medium of cricket. Women compliment each other on their appearance.

7. Lead singers needn't be famous to be rock stars.

8. Stevie Wonder's "I believe (when I fall in love it will be forever)" is an excellent choice of first dance.

9. There is nothing like dancing to the Chemical Brothers with a load of people from university to take you back to fabulously long, filthy nights out at grotty student clubs in the wrong part of town.

10. A wedding, like love itself, is a wonderful, wonderful thing.

I feel all warm and fluffy now. I've even put Stevie Wonder on.

:-)

x

Link etiquette

2005-08-31T19:19:00.000+02:00

I have been having some trouble fathoming the etiquette for linking to other people's blogs. I have a few that I read daily and I would like to share them with the world. However, is it poor form to link to them without having asked them first? Will they think that I expect them to link back to me in reciprocation? Will it look like I'm stalking? Should I start by commenting on their blogs first? (aargh too shy....)

Well. I am saved. Because today is apparently Blog Day; the day on which those with blogs are meant to link to five other people with blogs to, you know, spread the lurve.

So here, in no particular order, are five blogs that make my lunchtime go quicker (and sometimes other sneaky bits of the working day too).

Rhodri. One of the first blogs I ever read; still definitely one of the funniest. He has an intimate knowledge of Muswell Hill and a thorough understanding of grammar, and spells well. All plus points.

I stumbled across Cliff Jones today (not literally, you understand). His 7 August post made me splurt tea through my nose.

I would mention a Free Man in Preston but everyone knows about him, so I won't.

This is lovely.

Step forward PixelDiva, whose birthday it apparently is today. Happy birthday! *waves*

And, last but not least, little.red.boat, without whom I would not have known about this whole Blog Day thingummajig, and whose blog I sought out after reading this.

Bugger, now I do look like a stalker.

x

Scrooge McEuro

2005-08-30T23:17:00.000+02:00

It seems that, unbeknownst to me, I've become frugal to the point of offensiveness. Today, on the spur of the moment, I popped into Toni & Guy to see if my hairdresser could trim my fringe for me; it's been five weeks since it was cut and it was looking a bit lank, but wasn't in need of the full works. He duly got nifty with the scissors, and spruced me up with a swift little blow-dry at the same time*. It looks lovely, and I sauntered out of the hairdresser's pretty chuffed, with nary a care in the world.

Did it occur to me to pay? No it did not.

Not until I was halfway down the street and was suddenly struck with the feeling of having ruined someone's faith in humanity.

A bit like the time my step-mum left her handbag in a taxi. I tracked down the taxi driver, who went out of his way to bring it back to my office. What did he get for his trouble?

"Merci monsieur, c'est très gentil ! Au revoir, bonne journée !"

Does the fact that both episodes make me cringe with embarrassment make it any better?

Thought not.

x

* Is it just me or does that sound rude?

Perilous

2005-08-29T22:09:00.000+02:00

This afternoon there was a huge bang outside our office, the sound of a motorcycle screeching away, followed by the sound of a woman yelling at a quite impressive level of decibels. My colleague S and I (that's me and colleague S, not colleague S and colleague I, although I do have a colleague I, although she wasn't with us at the time), never ones to miss an opportunity to leave our work untouched, ran to the front door. There we found a very sleek, half-parked black BMW, with its passenger window smashed, and a very sleek, furious blonde woman running back towards it, still yelling. My French not being what it should be at the best of times, let alone in a crisis, I can only guess that she was the victim of a *smash and grab* TM: two gits on a motorbike with bugger all to do except look for handbags on the passenger seats of cars, *smash* the window and *grab* the lolly. (Can you tell I've thought about this?)

But this was in the middle of the day! On an office-lined street! Surrounded by passers-by!

And now, I've just had an e-mail from someone I met recently telling me that she was mugged on the tram this evening, and that Not. One. Person. came to her aid. Shouting "arrêtez!" to the tram driver made no difference. The doors closed and the tea-leaf ran off with her phone, money and assorted personal belongings.

Now. I don't want to become one of those ninnies who says "What is the world coming to?" and straps her personal belongings to her inner armpit for fear of the ubiquitous thieves, but, really.

What is the world coming to?

x

PS I had a tuna baguette for lunch and a baked potato with tuna for tea and now I feel sick.

PPS By the way, have you seen this? I sometimes wonder at the European Commission - is there not enough hate-mail coming in to the Berlaymont? Did they feel like starting La Rentrée in the way they left off at the end of July, with fisticuffs with the Brits at dawn? Is it all a plan to get Britain to naff off? (Perhaps don't answer that.) "Hands off our pints!" The Sun will cry tomorrow morning. I betcha.

Tan

2005-08-27T11:51:00.000+02:00

Something I meant to share ages ago, but of course forgot.

I came back from my two weeks of lovely holiday in Italy a while ago, tanned, relaxed, feeling good about myself and the way I looked. On my first day back in the office, my boss shouted to me from his office: "Come on then, let's have a look at you and see how brown you are."

Over I popped.

"Oh my god, you ARE brown aren't you - you look like a gypsy!"

Who needs to watch The Office?

x

I am fickle.

2005-08-26T19:19:00.000+02:00

I am definitely fickle. This much is clear. I don't post for months and then, whoosh, off goes M for a week of Greek sun (and, I shouldn't wonder, debates on the finer points of Nietzsche and Dostoesvsky with his two super-clever companions) and within a mere matter of hours, my blog is the proud owner of a brand spanking new post.

No matter. Here I am anyway.

It is likely, actually, that I'll be hanging around here a little more often from now on. Not only is M away for a week, but my two best friends here came to the end of their European adventure and have gone back to Canada. So I now have, like, three friends left here. And two of those are colleagues.

The Last Lunch with one of the departing friends was yesterday, which should have been a sad occasion. However it is impossible to be melancholy in the company of a golden retriever puppy (who my friend was dogsitting), who oscillated between fighting with her own lead, dragging my friend twice round a lamppost, and flirting in the restaurant with a man who gave her prawn crackers (the dog, not my friend).

Not much else to tell, I suppose. M and I are hot on the trail of jobs back home. Yes, we too have come to the end of our time here, and lovely as it has been, I am keen to get back to Albia now. Also, I am thoroughly cheesed off with not actually earning enough money to live off and watching my savings slowly trickle away. It's depressing.

So. That's me then.

x

2005-06-01T23:19:00.000+02:00

Another month, another complete lack of any posts from me.

Well, I suppose the big news for a Europrattler like me has to be the French rejection of the (Treaty on the) European Constitution (which seems to be being followed by a similar reaction from the Dutch). So I suppose this evening's main question has to be: what does it all mean?

I have several theories.

1. The French voters think the constitution is an Anglo-Saxon plot to destabilise the Franco-German "moteur" of Europe, and thus rejected it.

2. The French are fed up with their M. Chirac and decided to show him.

3. The French decided that the proposed Constitution was a threat to their social system and therefore kicked it into touch.

4. Nobody, not even the French and Dutch (lest we forget, two founding members of the original Coal and Steel Community), knows what *Brussels* is up to, and decided to use the only democratic opportunity open to them to point this out to the powers that be.

All in all, whatever the reasons, this is a testing time for all concerned. I even heard a Frenchman today say that he was "ashamed" to be French. If only I'd had a tape-recorder...

No I'm joking, I'm JOKING. I like the French.

x

Busy bee

2005-04-27T22:24:00.000+02:00

Let me share with you my vision of hell, dear reader.

1. A conference.
2. Conference takes place in warm, dimly-lit auditorium.
3. Speakers are uniformly white, middle-aged, male, and French.
4. Entire conference takes place in French.
5. Conference consists of two interminable four-hour sessions, with no coffee breaks, and a 'bugger off and buy your own' lunch policy.
6. Subject matter of conference is so philosophical and ephemeral as to be of no practical use, not only to me, but to any of the attendees.

These aren't the products of my overactive imagination. No no. They are last Thursday.

Other than that, all is well. The Devil's Project is behind me now, so life is back to normal. At least, as normal as it can be when your boss is an incoherent gnome.

x

Lazy blogger

2005-03-29T22:20:00.000+02:00

That's me. Lazy blogger.

Lazy, TWENTY-NINE-YEAR-OLD blogger. That's right: yesterday, I turned the last of my twenties.

In 364 days I will be 30.

Actually, as some of you may know, I'm not too worried about becoming 30. I think I was born to be 30. I've been 30 all my life - far too grown up for my own good. It's quite nice to think I will be able to be myself and feel that I'm sort of acting the right age for my age. I can buy from Boden with impunity. Have naps at the weekend. Go to Glastonbury and enjoy the English National Opera more than the bands.

Thirty-one, of course, will be difficult. From there on it will all be downhill.

*sigh*

I've just had a week off work, if you can call it that, given the number of telephone calls/text messages/e-mails I got from the office while I was supposedly off. Their combined weight had the depressing effect yesterday (did I mention that yesterday was my birthday?) of making me more stressed than I was before I actually went on holiday, and today, that stress added to the stress of actually being at work, reduced me to tears. Again. (Actually that's not too grown up at all, is it? Perhaps I need to take another look at whether I am actually cut out for a life of thirtydom.)

The crying is really not good. I have never cried so much in a job as I do in this one. And it really isn't that I'm upset or hurt or anything. It's sheer frustration at the people I have to work with, the lack of resources and therefore time I have to do my job properly, and the utter futility of what I am currently working on. This project takes up pretty much all my time and, although deadly dull and in no way important, requires minute attention to detail and an awful lot of chasing up of lazy/overworked/busy/stroppy (French) people. It's soul-destroying to have to spend your weekends and evenings slogging your guts out to meet an arbitrary but utterly binding deadline for a piece of work that you know isn't worth the effort, that nobody will read and that won't generate the income that it has been budgeted to achieve but that your twit of a boss has his chubby little heart set on you producing. The feeling of powerlessness to do anything about it; the knowledge that even if the worst came to the worst and I resigned I would still have to finish this sodding thing in the six week notice period; and most of all the fact that my boss landed this project on me in my first month and has given me basically sod-all guidance on what he wants out of it until now is what really makes me go *grrrrrr*....

Grrrrrrr....

But all of that rational reasoning aside, crying in the office never ever looks professional. I can tell that it's wearing thin on my colleagues, for example, and my boss (never the most empathetic man at the best of times) is very soon going to stop taking me seriously at all. What can I do? How can I stop myself from crying? The more I cry the more it makes me want to cry. And there's nothing worse than being the poor flower in the office who *cries*.

I'm not a poor f*cking flower! I just hate my f*cking job!

But enough of this or I'll start all over again. On to larks.

At the end of our week off M and I visited Amsterdam! Hurrah! I'd never been before, and I have to say, it was marvellous.

We had been meant to be going skiing, which was why we had the week off in the first place, but unfortunately once I did my sums I worked out that (in addition to it being a right arse) my job doesn't actually pay me enough to go skiing. Even when I live a train ride from the Alps. (*grrrrrr*...) So, instead, we spent a little more than we would normally have done on a weekend away (but much less than we would have spent skiing) on three sumptuous days in Amsterdam. Yes, I know sumptuous is not how most people would describe Amsterdam. But oh, we did it ever so well. Cosy little apartment in nice area right in centre of town! Silly amount of shopping for soft leather goods and other birthday accoutrements! Even sillier amount of money spent on a trendy-fancy meal!

As I said, marvellous.

Other than that, not too much to share.

x

PS By the way, speaking of Boden, don't you think this lovely model looks like my cousin H?

Shameful lack of creativity

2005-02-24T20:06:00.000+01:00

I hope you will excuse my silence of the past two months. I have no real defence other than a simple lack of time, and, on the one occasion I sat down at the computer to write something, a stunning lack of anything interesting to say.

But I have rememberd that it doesn't matter if I have anything interesting to say. And so I will prattle on here until I run out of even boring things to say.

Well. Since I last wrote, I have had Christmas (great fun: even the cat chilled out); New Year (even greater fun: got down some Alps in my own inimitable style, but, better, inculcated M in the Way of the Snow); January (cold, depressingly dark); and have almost polished off February (more cold, less depressingly dark [it's light when I wake up now], and snowy), and now I'm waiting for March to jolly the place up a little. Does anyone else feel the way I do about January and February? That they are months to be *got through* before the world feels habitable again? I know that that is a fairly defeatist attitude, but I find it really hard not to just hunker down for two months and try to avoid sudden movements.

Have humans ever hibernated? Perhaps not. Maybe I'm actually a bear.

So in the manner of a hibernating bear (albeit a technologically literate one) I have been comfily cooped up with M for much of the time since our return from the Alps, watching DVDs and watching my midriff get yet fatter (we really must stop eating all the time).

Now there's an unpleasant thing. In our flatlet, right beside the chair at which we sit to type on the PC, there is a mirror. It's a full length mirror, positioned at precisely the right angle to give one a perfect side view of oneself in a sitting position. And, for me, what a charmless sight this is. Slumped shoulders, belly nowadays overhanging the entire waistband of my trousers - nearly as sticky-outy as my boobs - and a nose that appears to get bigger and nobblier every day. It's really not something I want to see when I'm blogging quietly to myself, minding my own business.

I digress. Fat acquisition aside, hibernation is good for the soul I think. When the sun eventually does come out, I for one will make the most of it, which towards the end of summer one never does. Perhaps that's the benefit of having seasons - just when you're getting really fed up with one sort of weather, along comes another and compels you to change your approach to layering, social activities and accessories.

On a less ponderous note, I have some actual news regarding a former school friend. If any of you reading went to school with me, e-mail me and I'll tell you who it is (intriguing, no?). Suffice it to say that she is a lovely, lovely person who I am very pleased to be back in touch with.

And tomorrow, I visit London! So I things are looking up.

Take care y'all

x

2004 in 40 questions

2004-12-15T16:17:00.000+01:00

I have shamelessly ripped this idea off someone else's site.

1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before?
(a) Was whisked away to Venice for my birthday by M, and (b) moved in with him.

2. Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
No. I said I would try a new recipe every week, but in fact I've tried about three. I think I also mumbled something about the clarinet. Next year I will not make any. It will be nice to be free of the guilt.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Sadly not. Try harder next year please, ladies.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Not this year.

5. What countries did you visit?
Barbados, Italy (Venice: a-may-zing), the Czech Republic (Prague), France (Paris), and Lithuania (Vilnius).

6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004?
A digital camera and a flight to New Zealand.

7. What dates from 2004 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
31 July, for being the last day in my best job yet with lovely, lovely people.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Moving out of North London and into the great French-speaking world.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Not speaking French too well.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Thankfully no, at least nothing you people need know about, anyway.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
My bowling ball.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
Probably M's, for being so generally splendid.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
The PR Manager in my former job. He was not so lovely, lovely.

14. Where did most of your money go?
I don't know. If someone finds it I would be grateful if they could let me know.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Going ten-pin bowling. No, honestly.

16. What songs will always remind you of 2004?
Hey Ya! Outkast
The Ride of the Valkyries, Wagner
Seven Nation Army, The White Stripes

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i) ...happier or sadder? Happier. But I was happy anyway so I'm doing well.
ii) thinner or fatter? Fatter.
iii) richer or poorer? About the same.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Hanging out with Ben.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Worrying.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
In the bosom of M's family stuffing myself with his mum's delicious food.

21. How will you be spending New Year's Eve?
Up an Alp.

22. Did you fall in love in 2004?
No, I didn't need to, I've been in love for ages.

23. How many one night stands?
None, thank you very much.

24. What were your favourite TV programmes?
Six Feet Under. Marvellous.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No.

26. What was the best book you read?
A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth. (I have to say that because it was so long it left me little opportunity to read anything else.)

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Glastonbury.

28. What did you want and get?
A new life outside the UK.

29. What did you want and not get?
A fabulous job. But I suppose I had one for the first half of the year so I mustn't complain too much.

30. What was your favourite film of this year?
Chinatown. Why did I never see it before?

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I was 28, and I celebrated by inviting all of my friends for lunch at my favourite pizzeria (Pappagone) in Finsbury Park, then making them stay for dinner too and spend rather more money than they might have hoped.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
No blips with the boiler (this is inevitably coloured by my current situation, in a flat with no hot water whatsoever).

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004?
About three months behind everyone else. And with rather too much emphasis on accessories.

34. What kept you sane?
Nothing I can put my finger on. In fact I simply don't know how I managed it.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Thierry Henry.
Jack Nicholson in Chinatown.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
Band Aid 20's shameless self-promotion.

37. Who did you miss?
Mabel.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
Dan.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004
Don't eat tomato-sauce covered pasta in white clothes.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year
Oh please.

x

Ouch.

2004-12-03T20:23:00.000+01:00

Hi to Rob Woodhead, who specifically requested his name be mentioned here. *waves*

I have lots to tell you, having been silent for a good two weeks, but the only thing I can think about at the moment is an event which occurred on the train to Ipswich this afternoon, which I imagine will haunt me for the rest of my life:

Whilst trying to retrieve a heavy suitcase from the overhead shelf, I lost control of it, and...

dropped it, REALLY hard, on a woman's head.

There was a sickening thud and a smattering of gasps from the assembled passengers. All she said was "did it not enter your mind to ask someone to HELP you?" Actually, it had occurred to me to ask her to move, but I didn't really want to put her out. (Instead, of course, I almost knocked her out.) All I could do was apologise profusely. I'm not sure it really helped.

Still I suppose I might have killed her so it wasn't the worse possible outcome. But I did hit her so hard it made her eyes water.

*cringes*

x

"Feed the, er, who is it again?"

2004-11-16T18:54:00.000+01:00

I was going to have a little rant on here about Band Aid. But the basis of my argument has already been nicked by Rhodri, a person who I don't know, but whose blog is very good.

Can I just add three points to further illustrate my distate at the whole thing:

1. Justin Hawkins of the Darkness and Bono competing over who's going to sing the line "So tonight thank god it's them instead of you"

2. The entire bunch of them needing to be shown a video to remind them what they were really there for

3. It sounds rubbish anyway (go here, go to 'pop' on the right and select Chris Moyles's Tuesday morning show, then fast forward an hour), and poor old Dizzee Rascal (God love the little rapscallion) is just plain wrong in it.

Still, I will obviously still buy it, and so should you if you've listened to it via that there link.

Yours cynically.

x

Euroland

2004-11-15T21:51:00.000+01:00

I'm going to land myself in trouble one of these days.

I was chatting away with my fellow French students during our break - an Italian, two Spaniards and a German - and we got to talking about why we'd moved to this particular part of the world. I innocently chimed in with something about having wanted to try the "European life" again.

At first glance I think that sounds like a fairly innocuous statement. It was only when four people yelled "Mais tu étais DÉJÀ en Europe!" ("But you were ALREADY in Europe!") that I realised, even as a fairly pro-EU person (complete inability to understand economics aside), I don't see the UK as part of Europe. Admittedly, that has something to do with it being an island - often when I refer to "Europe" I am thinking about the continent. But it isn't the first time I've unwittingly made such a comment (in fact I think it's the fourth), and been metaphorically strung up because of it. And if even I think like that, what hope is there for British integration?Having said that, the others did reveal their tales of woe from their home countries. The Italian in particular mentioned a government advertising campaign which ran post-Maastricht, which had a slogan like "let's get into Europe!". This from a founder member of the European Coal and Steel Community. I let myself feel slightly better after that.

Anyway in the manner of something with a short attention span I have moved on from that, with the news that smoking is to be banned in all indoor public places in England (the government is launching a White Paper tomorrow morning), except for private members' bars, and pubs whose only food offering is crisps and nuts. To be honest, I think I'm 90% OK with this as a strategy. I understand all the arguments about nanny states and individuals' choice and so on (that's the 10% that feels a bit mean), but frankly, I think it's time we faced up to it: Smoking Is Bad. And not only are smokers damaging themselves and their bank accounts (nearly £5 a packet! I'm amazed anyone in the UK still does it for that reason alone!!), they pollute the atmosphere they share with everyone else. And as for all that guff about the pub being "where smokers go". What about all those who don't go to the pub because the smoke makes them feel ill?

Oh dear, I promised myself I'd play nicely like a good liberal and look, I've gone off on a rant that we've all heard it a million times before. I'm sorry.

But just before I sign off, have a look at these new cigarette pack warnings. Particularly this one.

Sleep well.

x

Melancholia

2004-11-14T22:24:00.000+01:00

This evening is Sunday evening, to my mind the most melancholy of times. Monday morning is looming ominously, our guests have gone back to the vim and vigour of London town, and I am left here, bereft even of M (who is back in Hull for two days), staring into the void.

I hate Sundays. I always have. When I was about five, a family friend and I made up a song about hating Sundays and how they were interminably boring and should be wiped from the weekly slate, and replaced with something swooshy and trendy like, say, Friday (but that was before Thursday became the new Friday). Sundays have come quite a long way since then: the teenage years introduced me to the happy delights of the lie-in, British shopkeepers realised the error of their ways and opened the shops, and my mum and I took to watching episodes of Poirot by the fire of a Sunday eve. But over here on t'Continent, everything is closed, and there is, alas, no Poirot (although strictly speaking he should be somewhere hereabouts). I am even, in the manner of a teenager once again, putting off doing my French homework.

My goodness, a solo Sunday evening is a pitiable thing.

x

Appearances

2004-11-08T22:26:00.000+01:00

Good evening.

Today it's all about the appearances. I have two short anecdotes for you and then I shall leave you to your cosy Monday evening.

Anecdote 1

My boss, after a few minutes in the same room as me this morning, asked me if I'd had my hair done. When I replied that that was indeed the case, he said "well it was either that or you were having a flat hair day", which I found charming.

Anecdote 2

Yesterday M wistfully bemoaned my lack of toenail polish "nowadays". Now, here is where I'd like to set the record straight, lest that sort of comment get me a reputation as a cohabiting lady letting herself 'go'. Heaven forfend. No. The simple answer is as follows:

1. I don't paint my own toenails. Life really is too short for that. I pay someone to do it for me.
2. In order to reach that person, I have to leave the house.
3. In order to leave the house, I have to wear shoes. (Can you see where this is going?)
4. When one has one's toenails, or even fingernails (for it is the same process) painted, one must leave them alone - and in the case of a foot that definitely means sockless - for about an hour to ensure that the polish has sufficiently hardened.
5. I can't be walking back from the pedicurist in my flip flops in this weather.
6. Thus, during the colder months, my feet go unadorned.

I hope that goes some way to explaining my otherwise easily misconstrued behaviour. I feel it is my duty to make this case, on behalf all bare-toed women (and for that matter, men - I do not wish to be sexist about this) who share these wintry climes.

A travelling pedicurist with their own foot-pretty-making wotnot with could make a mint out of me.

x

Cat's pee cheese

2004-11-07T18:51:00.000+01:00

I went to the supermarket yesterday (it's still mahoosive, but not quite as exciting now that I've been there a few times), and on a whim bought some Chimay cheese, which I spent much of the drive home salivating over. Chimay's informative website says it appeals to "every sensitive palette" (that's every sensitive palette, mind) but I beg to differ: I say it appeals to people who like the smell of cat's pee. It really was quite arresting. However, luckily, it was one of those occasions where the smell didn't match the taste, which was quite a relief.

M, the Canadians, some others and I went bowling on Saturday night. Some readers may know of my love of the pins: indeed, some may even have spent one or two birthdays with me at Chav Central in Finsbury Park. Saturday's alley definitely had an element of the chav about it, but doesn't really hold a candle to Rowan's. But even the staff at Rowan's would have had to admit defeat in the crap service stakes in comparison to this shower.

The lane was booked for 8pm, and the evening didn't get off to a great start when M and I arrived at 5 to 8 to find we were the first arrivals and that the staff, of whom there were only two, sniffily informed us that we should all have been here on time and that they could hold the lane for us for a few minutes but not too long. We were all present and correct by about 20 past 8, and found were allocated lane number 1. I never like having lane number 1. Lane number 1 in Finsbury Park sucks - it's got a dodgy pin that tends to not get counted when you knock it down. Anyway, we were definitely cursed with the, er, curse of Lane Number 1. Perhaps it was our comeuppance for being a bit late. But anyway, every time anyone got a strike (admittedly that wasn't too often) the whole system jammed and one of the two staff had to come and fix it. At one point all of the balls got stuck, and when they eventually dislodged themselves came popping back up like so many gobstoppers. Flowing, they were, across the lanes.

But the real problem was the staff. Did I mention there were only two of them? They absolutely and completely summed up the lack of service in this country. I mean, I come from the UK, which is definitely not a place where you expect to get good service, but this bunch were unbelievable. There was no apology - not even an acknoweldgement that it was pretty poor to have a bowling lane that you can't bowl on for more than five minutes at a time. Imagine! There were nine of us - it took us three hours to have two games! And when we said that, actually, we weren't going to pay full price because we hadn't had a full service (so to speak), they looked flabbergasted. We had to get on the phone to the boss, who eventually did let us have some money off.

Only when I mentioned that, surely, with only two staff it was probably as annoying for them as it was for us to have a lane that needed fixing every five minutes, did they concede that it was a shambles. And then, oh, yes, then, they completely understood the point.

*Tsk*

xx

Headless chicken

2004-11-06T15:28:00.000+01:00

How long can a chicken live without its head?

TWO YEARS, I learned on QI last night. And here he is.

Genius.

x

A cocoon of anonymity

2004-11-05T20:36:00.000+01:00

Those of you who are regular visitors to this blog might be wondering why I've moved it. The extra-observant of you (all two of you) might have noticed that there is now no mention of my name, where I live, who I work for, or the name of my, er, partner. (Partner? Boyfriend? Companion? Petit-ami? Live-in lover? Is there any decent term that doesn't make me sound gay, divorced or 14?) There's a reason for this.

Anonymity.

While a little tiresome to maintain, it will give me the freedom to be as honest as I like without fear of recrimination, unlike this poor lady. I was starting to fret that my words could identify me to my boss should he ever stumble across them, and as I'm not always complimentary about him that would be a bit of a faux pas. (I won't even go into my feelings upon having to endure the spectacle of him flinging himself across a dancefloor to dreadful Eurotechno on a business trip last week. I should have blogged it at the time but I was so horrified I couldn't bear to re-live it.) I got especially worried last week when he asked me, innocently as it turned out, "do you know what a blog is?".

Anyway, upshot is I can now tell you whatever I like. Yay! Unfortunately, there is nothing more interesting to tell you than that yesterday I had a haircut. (Thinking about it, details like that are going to give me a way in the end anyway aren't they? Oh sod it. There's only so much I can do.) I find having a haircut in a foreign land is always a bit stressful. It's not the sort of vocabulary they teach you in French classes, is it: "Can you thin this out a little, layer it here, make this bit heavy but choppy, and slice into that bit?" I started out bravely suggesting that we speak French except if I had a problem explaining myself. Then I realised, I couldn't even start to explain what I wanted. So I mumbled the whole thing in English and was despondent throughout.

I hate having my hair cut at the best of times. In London I had one hairdresser who was excellent and I travelled from north to south to see him on a bi-monthly basis at his flat in Tulse Hill. But even he got it wrong sometimes (instantly springing to mind is the evening where my haircut was to be followed by dinner for me, him, his flatmate, her boyfriend and M - as he frantically chopped away at my hair all I could focus on was three pairs of staring eyes, trying [utterly in vain] to disguise their horror at what this man was doing to me). Well, yesterday, having greatly admired the hair of one of our visitors (Anna. I can say that without damaging my anonymity, surely. Everyone has a friend called Anna with good hair.), I decided I wanted a fringe.

And now I have one. But it doesn't look like Anna's, which is effortlessly trendy and flattering. Oh no. It's floating a good centimetre above my eyebrows, giving me the look of a slightly haggard Amélie, without the cute element. It really is quite unfortunate.

At least it will grow. *sigh*

x

The Finnish line

2004-10-18T23:21:00.000+02:00

Evening.

Just a quick one.

Today I bumped into one of the two tall blonde ladies from my first evening out, all those weeks ago - the one who was not the Finn. In fact, I was lucky enough to bump into her twice, giving not one but two sets of passers-by the chance for a smirk, dressed (by chance) as we were in exactly the same coat.

Anyway the second time, after having once more congratulated each other on our choice of outerwear, we had a rather enlightening chat.

It seems that the Finn, for all her boundless enthusiasm for life and gutsy blonde power-mingling, has lost not only her job but also her flat, and is moving back to Finland this week. I didn't want to pry (well I did, but it would have been unseemly) so I don't have all the details, but those are the basic facts. And if I'm not mistaken, despite the fact that she was supposedly her friend, there was more than a millisecond of comprehension between the tall blonde lady and myself as to why both an employer and a flatmate might have seen fit to draw their relationships with the Finn to a close.

So, la fin de la Finn.

;-)

Remiss of me

2004-10-14T23:16:00.000+02:00

I can’t quite believe that it’s been over a month since I last wrote here. It’s like when I used to keep a diary (except that wasn’t published to the entire virtual world) – I’d be great at it for ages and then two months would go by and I wouldn’t have written a thing. And I can't even claim it's because my life has been desperately full and exciting.

Well I’ve been working for a month now (what a coincidence). I have to admit I’m not entirely sure that this job is going to work out. It remains to be seen. I can't go into too much detail here (this being in the public domain and all) but there are three things which are niggling at me at the moment:

1. I work in a team of five people. And they comprise the entire organisation. Previously I worked in a team of seven people, all of whom were doing parts of what is now entirely my job. We were one team in an organisation of 700 people. Of those seven people, five (not including me) were people that I could, and hope to for the foreseeable future, call my friends. (Basically, one was an idiot. The rest of us are achingly cool.) In my current job, two are nice, and two are strange. One of the nice ones is not permanent. The strange ones argue like cat and dog. One of them is my boss. He does things like 'sleeping on' whether he would give me four days off that I requested for the start of January. FOUR DAYS!! The other strange one does things like explain to me what a fax confirmation form is, and step-by-step how best to manage the filing thereof.

2. I'm not convinced about the overall aim of the organisation. I'm not sure it's really me.

3. They pay me naff all.

However, there is nothing else around at the moment that I could apply for, so I'll keep with it for the time being. It's not the worst job in the world.

So what else to share with y'all?

Went to Paris the other day - it was so exciting! There were people! And light! And things happening! And colour! And then I came back, on a train sat next to a man who wanted my phone number and continuously referred to himself as an 'entrepreneur', whilst eating five raw carrots in a row and talking in squeaky English. Zut alors.

M and I have received four sets of visitors over the past four weeks, which has been entirely lovely. This weekend we will receive our penultimate guest for the season, who will be treated to an art exhibition, where 100 artists exhibit 100 works of art. Visitors are given a pad of Post-Its each upon arrival, which they then stick beside works of art of their choice, detailing their offer of a swap for the art and their phone number. The offer is binding, so if the artist agrees to your swap you get the art and have to keep up your end of the bargain. I plan to offer an old hairband for the crappest item. And if anything's really good I might offer to be the artist's chauffeur for a week. I'm not sure what else I have to offer (no lewd suggestions please).

Right, it's time for bed I think. I have a big, exciting meeting* in the morning.

* It's not big, or exciting.

What's the difference between a hurricane, a tornado and a cyclone?

2004-09-12T01:27:00.000+02:00

The above question was one of many that M, the Canadians, an Irish chap and I pondered last night, during a long afternoon and evening of wine, beer and grappa. (If I never smell grappa again it will be too soon.) The answer turns out to be something to do with windspeed, location (i.e. land/ocean) and duration. And, interestingly, it turns out that a typhoon is just what people in the Pacific call what those near the Atlantic would refer to as a hurricane.

So now you know.

Other than yesterday's boozery, this week has been low-key. The most exciting thing to happen was on Wednesday, when we were witness to what I can only describe as a canine skirmish. It was almost enough to put me off my Canasta. M and I were in our flat, enjoying a post-prandial card game, when a series of howling sounds wafted up to us from the street below. We ignored it for a bit, resigned as we now are to the more bizarre European ways of life, but it continued for so long, and was soon accompanied by such frenzied human howling, that we took a look out of the window. And there they were - two dogs locked in combat, one clearly with homicidal tendencies, its jaws firmly clamped around the other's ear. The scene was being observed by the neighbourhood's more gleefully bloodthirsty children; an old lady with a walking stick; and several young chaps who looked like they ought to have been able to to intervene, but didn't quite know how. And us, hanging out of an upstairs window. Eventually, an onlooker (quite possibly one of the dog's owners - it was hard to ascertain the precise dynamics, especially from our 3rd floor vantage point and with the whole thing taking place in manic French/frenzied dog-howl) managed to get in and prise the offending dog's jaws apart and free the other dog, only for the mean one to wrestle his way free again and chomp into his opponent's back leg. It finished up with the jaw-separating-man lying flat out on top of the murderous dog, and the meeker animal being led away. The police, predictably, turned up 20 minutes after the whole thing had ended.

The entire episode was unseemly, but grimly fascinating - I couldn't tear myself away from the window for quite some time. I was also seized with that uncontrollable urge to laugh that you sometimes get in inappropriate situations. I don't think M was very impressed, being a dog-lover, and he definitely muttered something about "curtain-twitching".

I, of course, am more of a cat person, as you may already know. And I have been reminded that I haven't shared the story of Mabel's house-move (Mabel being my London cat, who I couldn't bring with me when I moved here) with you. So here it is.

The fate of Mabel was one thing that was hanging over my head for a long time prior to the move to Europe, as one of the few things that wasn't project-managed to within an inch of its life. So I was very relieved when M's sister and her boyfriend offered to take her in, particularly as of all the people I know, I knew they would be most likely to give Mabes a good home (which, after her traumas sharing a house with two other cats and a dog, was music to my ears). As they live in Yorkshire, we agreed to do the handover at Leicester Forest East services on the M1, a few days before my move.

Getting Mabel into her blue-plastic-wire-fronted-very-this-season cat box was something of a trial in itself, as she's not a fan of confined places, however well-appointed, and it took three attempts and a lot of tuna to get her in. But eventually, despite her desperate-sounding mewing, I wedged the box into the footwell of the passenger seat, and we were on our way.

But, after approximately an hour on the road, Mabel, who had been intermittently fretful but for the most part reasonably calm, had a full-on attack of the nerves, despite my best attempts to keep her calm with relaxing words about centring herself, breathing deeply and focusing on her inner well-being. She was so fed up with the situation that, in a feat of super-feline strength, she pushed the wire-door of her cat box so hard that she forced a small gap between the box and the door - through which she then pushed her head, and then the rest of her body. She proceeded to meander about the car, miaowing, and giving other drivers her best "this-woman-is-catnapping-me" face.

This being a situation I had not previously encountered whilst driving a car at 80mph on a motorway, I could only laugh. And I laughed, a lot. Particularly at the sight of Mabel, with her back paws on the passenger seat and the front paws on the dashboard, looking like the jaguar on Jaguar cars, only furry, chubby, and inside the car rather than cutting a dash on the bonnet.

Eventually she settled down and went to sleep on the back seat, and I have to say that despite it being a fairly traumatic experience - I had visions of her wedging herself under the pedals in my footwell, with horrific consequences - I did feel a certain grudging respect for her. After all, she was unhappy in the box, so she got out. And once she was out, she had a nap. Can't say fairer than that. And it's a lovely last image to be left with.

Anyway, thanks for listening. I'm off now to separate M from Match of the Day. Or, more likely, tut a bit and then go and read my book until it's finished.

xx

Joining the ranks of the gainfully employed

2004-09-07T14:38:00.000+02:00

Sorry it's taken me so long to write. I didn't want to tempt fate by publishing this before I had it all signed and sealed, but I've got a job! Hooray! It's Job 2 (still haven't heard about Job 1) - the one with the normal questioning techniques and the storming second interview. It's also the job with the not-so-great pay, which is something of a downside, but having done some sums and negotiated a couple of benefits, I should be able to live on it, for a while at least. And it's a good job with a lot more responsibility, some lovely colleagues (although, let's be honest, you never can tell, as past experience has shown), and I'm improving my French and living abroad. So I'm not complaining. (Yet.)

And guess how many applicants they had?

240!! That makes me super-clever, you know.

Other than that, what can I tell you? I'm inching ever further towards getting my car registered here, so don't be surprised when you see me in England with funny-looking plates and a big sticker on. Actually it will be the car that has the funny-looking plates and the big sticker, but you know what I mean.

And I have registered for French lessons. A funny choice, you might think, for a person with a degree in French and Italian. But having not spoken French for six years I think it's worth doing to get me back up to the level I think I should be at - although I'm surprised at how much I remember. I had to sit a test to determine what level class I should be in and I got 13/15 on part 1 and 11/15 on part 2. Classes start next Monday (20th), and are round the corner from the office, which is a bonus. If nothing else, it should be a good opportunity to meet other people.

This weekend should see M completing his dissertation (which he started last weekend), so we're having a fairly quiet time. The weekend after that, however, le déluge. Five weekends of visitors in a row - it would have been six but the final group have postponed by a week. I'm looking forward to it, but I can't help thinking that we could perhaps have organised it a little better, especially coinciding as it does with the start of work, French lessons and my final CIM module. However they are all lovely people. And I'm sure they will understand when I end up hiding under my bed, bleating.

Right I have to go and chivy (sp?) Peugeot along to make sure I get my Certificat de Conformité before my UK car insurance runs out. The alternative would be disastrous.

Cheerio!

x

PS If you're interested, I will tell you where my new job is if you mail me. Can't be bandying these things about on the internet, you know. It might mean I would get recognised, and that would never do.

Weekend

2004-08-31T01:29:00.000+02:00

Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, and welcome aboard today's flight into the World of europrattle.

This evening our pilot will be taking us through the Weekend, stopping off at Victoria's Visit; then to Thai Delights via Roast Dinner with Burnt Vegetables; finishing at our destination Second Interview, where the weather is fair yet changeable.

Should the "boring waffle" light appear, emergency exits to more interesting and amusing articles are located here and here.

Anyway, enough of that silliness.

The weekend has been and gone since I last wrote - and goodness me, what a hectic social whirl it has been. On Friday, M's colleague was having some leaving drinks before his departure back to London, so as M himself was still off in London I was once again off on my tod to meet up with a bunch of strangers. It was a lovely evening actually, in a fairly cool bar, and gave me the chance to meet even more nice people. Interestingly, amongst them was a chap who has also had two interviews for Job 1 (the one where I was the mute interviewee). I was very pleased to learn that he'd had similar experiences to me, in particular the lack of opportunity to answer any questions. So that's reassuring. He also hasn't heard anything yet (me neither).

On Saturday afternoon my friend Vic arrived for two days of girlish gossip and merriment. To pick her up from the station I braved the evil Eurotraffic alone for the first time, and was surprised at how straightforward it was. Vic and I spent the next two days talking the proverbial hind legs off one another (am I saying that we're both donkeys there?), and it was lovely to see her. We went to a Thai restaurant, where I had a delicious and fairly lively Thai green chicken curry, and Vic (healthy-living young woman that she is) enjoyed a simple yet excellent stir fry of vegetables. Note to anyone coming to visit: get me to take you there - the food is great and it's really cheap. Actually I'll probably take you there anyway. I don't know that many other places.

And on Sunday, after a trip to the smaller-than-expected Museum of Cocoa and Chocolate (where they give you a biscuit covered in thick, warm chocolate - two if you ask nicely) the lovely M arrived home again, looking haggard, hungover and just plain grubby. Honestly, send him back to London for six days and he comes back a broken man. I even roasted a chicken to try to nurse him back to life, which would have done the trick I reckon had I not charred the vegetables to a crisp.

And today I had my second interview for Job 2. It actually went really really well, as well as I think it could possibly have done, so I'm quite pleased and I feel like I did my best. So now we just have to wait and see - I should know within the next couple of days. My work there is done. If I do get it, then the pay negotiations kick in. And believe me, there will need to be some serious negotiation.

May I take this opportunity to thank you for choosing europrattle as your reading material today. We do understand you have a choice of blogs to read and we're always delighted to be of service.

Cheerio!

x

Une soirée

2004-08-27T13:46:00.000+02:00

I WENT OUT last night! *gasp*

To be honest, I wasn't all that keen on going. It all started on Monday, when M and I went out for drinks with a colleague of his, who's going back to London on Saturday. As we sipped our Kirs, another expat plonked herself down with us - a distressingly chirpy (and fairly bossy) Finn. During the course of the evening, she mentioned going to a club on Thursday evening (yesterday), to which M piped up "Oh, sadly I'll be in London," sniggering, "but she'll [that's me, everyone] be here - and I'm sure she'll be happy to come along with you". Ahem. Delighted to.

After some consideration, I thought maybe I should go along. At the very least it got me out of the flat, where, without the necessary nudge, I would have hunkered down in front of the Olympics with a big bag of tortilla chips and some sour-cream dip (the irony doesn't escape me). And despite The Finn's unrelenting chirrup and manic self-aggrandisement, I thought her heart was in the right place.

It didn't get off to the most auspicious start, with The Finn postponing our meeting time twice, the second time when I was already en route, thereby leaving me stranded for 20 minutes at a metro station. But she pitched up eventually, desperately apologetic, and with a friend in tow (who was apparently the cause of the lateness - ignorant as she was of both my existence and my rendez-vous with them), the pair of them visions of high heels, swooshing long blond hair and six layers of mascara. As you might imagine I looked a little out of place. And very short.

The place itself was actually not bad, and the music, although fairly bland, wasn't dreadful Euro-crap. (I have become one of those dreadful Londoners. I can feel it. Everywhere is "OK", but "not like in London".) But the princesses were on a man-seeking mission, and I was their dutiful lady-in-waiting. The Finn was ruthless in her dismissal of men who weren't up to scratch. Of one poor chap who made the mistake of smiling at her more than once: "He isn't disabled, but he looks like he should be". I happened across another of the discarded later on, who ruefully asked if I would talk to him for a bit, as the "blonde girl wants only to talk to her friend" (I was understandably charmed).

Things took a turn for the worse when after giving two hours of dutiful service I disobeyed orders. I had got into a conversation with a lovely Canadian girl when The Finn signalled that it was time to move on, and that she was aiming for the dancefloor. I relayed this to the Canadian girl and her boyfriend, and all five of us made a move. What I hadn't realised was that The Finn was dismissing the Canadians, presumably because they were cramping her style. By this time, she had also let slip that when her friend had got to her flat they had had "a very quick beer" - perhaps the real reason they didn't meet me on time? So, somewhat incensed, and preferring to spend the rest of the evening with the nice people, I didn't see The Finn and her friend again until the end of the night, when she was so wasted that she was talking about carrying on to another club (despite the fact that she apparently had a 6am start the next day). I declined to join her and went home.

So. Not so sure her heart really IS in the right place, although perhaps I'm being a little unfair. She did inadvertently introduce me to some nice people, and she was pretty leathered so it might be different when she's sober. Plus her friend was really lovely, so perhaps she has (deeply) hidden depths.

Still, nice Canadians.

x

Holy Jesus and Mohammed

2004-08-26T01:42:00.000+02:00

Look at this man.

Now go and see him in this film. The film is good, but he is beautiful.

Other than that, I found out today that I have a second interview for the job I was interviewed for on Monday, which is great. Although the pay is pretty shocking, in line with other jobs I've seen and heard about, so that's a bit disappointing. But what can you do - if all the jobs here are paying that amount, I'm going to be pretty lucky to find anything any better. Although that is not an excuse not to look, of course.

Nothing much else to tell. My life is revolving mainly around Olympics-watching and tea-drinking at the moment. It's riveting here. Tomorrow I may even take a trip to the supermarket.

x

Not so bad

2004-08-23T14:44:00.000+02:00

Afternoon.

Another day, another interview (the last in the diary - time to get cracking on more applications).

This one, at least, did not render me incapable of speech. Which is a very good thing. It progressed rather in the manner you might usually expect an interview to do, with two people taking it in turns to ask me questions, related both to the job available and to the industry within which it is operating. Again, this is good - and from past experience in this neck of the European woods cannot always be expected. All told, I think I did a decent job but could probably have done a little better, but could definitely have done a lot worse.

Anyway we'll see how I did by the end of the week, I believe, for both today's interview and the one on Friday. I don't want to say keep your fingers crossed, as I've said it far too many times already with relation to jobs, but that aside, do keep your fingers crossed.

In other news, I am about to embark on the joyless task of importing my car, and getting insurance and new plates. This thankless pushing-uphill-of-water is rendered even more difficult by the apparent absence of any online insurance companies anywhere. This is a country where you get charged 15 Euros if you want to cash a cheque because since the 1980s they've been aiming for paperless banking. But can I get an online car insurance quote? No. Not for love nor money. And can I find the name of an insurance broker? Even less likely. *tsk*

Other than that, not much more to share with you today.

Cheerio.

x

Attack of the killer nerves

2004-08-20T19:24:00.000+02:00

What is it with me? First of all I'm complaining that I don't have a job, or any interviews. And then today, I went along to my second interview for quite a good job which I had actually put quite a bit of time and effort into preparing for, and I went all nervous and couldn't speak. Like a proper mute. What's that all about? This is not usual. I can normally connect words into some sort of sentence, even when I'm drunk. Some serious work has to be done before I can go to the other interview on Monday.

However, I think I know what the problem might be, having visited the Job Predictor. It said (and I quote): "Your ideal job is a Superhero". This is evidently where I'm going wrong. I shall have to revise my job search.

x

PS I put me and M into the Love Predictor. Apparently I like to take charge, while M likes to hold hands. Fingers crossed for the future...

A brighter day

2004-08-19T19:09:00.000+02:00

Well the weather might not be any better today (I think we've got the storms that swept most of Cornwall away at the start of the week) but my mood is considerably brighter and I am feeling much more positive about everything. And - I've got an interview on Monday for a job I'm really keen on! Yay!

So apologies for the wallowing and defeatism of yesterday, and wish me lots of interview luck.

x

Bit miz

2004-08-18T21:15:00.000+02:00

Having a bit of an off day today:

1. I don't have a job. And have been rejected for all but one of the six that I had applied for.

2. M goes (a) back to work on Monday, and (b) goes to the UK on Tuesday for nearly a week. I will be all lonesome.

3. I don't know anyone here yet.

However on the upside:

1. My friend is coming to stay next weekend.

2. M and I have, over the last week and a half, honed our skills at Canasta, Sh*thead, Yahtzee and Backgammon. And Blackjack (with Ipswich rules - and don't listen to those people who call it Crazy Eights).

3. M and I found the biggest supermarket in the world today. It is mahoosive.

4. I am getting better and better at this foreign driving lark.

So there we go, chin up and all that, more ups than downs, and it will work itself out in the long run. Ho hum.

Em x

Settled in

2004-08-14T14:00:00.000+02:00

We have broadband. Not only that, but M tells me that it's even faster than the broadband you get in London. For those of you who this makes sense to, we have a speed of 3.3mbps. All it means to me is that I can now get round to replying to the e-mails that you lovely people have sent me without having to leave the comfort of my own home, and update the bloglet on a more regular basis. Hoorah.
In other news: the flat is pretty much finished now. We had a fun trip to Ikea on Thursday and some self-assembly frivolity yesterday (Friday), and the place is actually now looking like home. I will post some pics when I (a) get a digital camera, and (b) work out how to post them.

And finally, but rather more importantly, M is suffering with a fearful dose of tonsilitis. We've had two doctors look at him, the first of whom prescribed too low a dose of antibiotics so the little bacteria got used to it and carried on attacking his gullet. We had to call out the second doctor last night when a swelling the size of a ping pong ball showed itself in the back of his throat - she prescribed some serious antibiotics and painkillers, and they seem to be working much more quickly than the first batch. This morning (look away if you're squeamish) the swelling has burst and there are some vile things being spat out, although M tells me (speaking from experience) that this is A Good Sign. All this does mean, however, that he's on antibiotics for the whole of his two weeks off work, and therefore unable to drink, not to mention being in a lot of pain, unable to go anywhere, and having a fairly anti-fun time of things. :(

Right I'm off for some lunch. If you've e-mailed me and not had a reply, expect one soon.

x

PS We have mostly been watching Our Friends in the North during the sick days. It's brilliant.

Je suis arrivée!

2004-08-04T17:02:00.000+02:00

I made it! However it was something of a trial getting here. The travelling itself wasn't too bad, however the quantities of luggage were unprecedented - and this is only the first batch. (I'm back to London on Friday to pick up the car and fill it full of my remaining possessions, and drive it back on Saturday, following M's parents who have been coerced into filling their car full of his stuff and driving over.) I am amazed at myself for having so much stuff, especially as (as some of you will know only too well) I got rid of loads before I went, including at least half my wardrobe, most of my furniture and my cat.

Speaking of the cat I hear from M's sister L in Leeds that she is doing very well up there, and getting spoilt rotten with fresh tuna and grilled chicken. This is possibly a better life than the one she was having in London, bullied by two other cats and a dog and having to eke out an existence on a window ledge. She must feel like she's won the lottery.

Anyway I digress. we got here. And M doesn't need any wardrobe space anyway.

Things are going well so far, although I don't have a job yet. But four days isn't long, so I won't be too hard on myself. I had an interview on Monday, although I have absolutely no idea how it went. It was with two stern men who were playing good-cop-bad-cop, and weren't giving anything away, thank you very much. Anyway I should hear if I've got a second interview by the end of next week. And there are a couple of other irons in the wotsit, so fingers crossed. Other than that I have watched an awful lot of episodes of Black Books, read two actual books: Everything is Illuminated and Girl with a Pearl Earring. And also The Bookseller of Kabul, which of the three is probably the one that's stayed with me most, although I wasn't so keen on the way the book was written - it seemed quite bitty to me. I have to also point out Jonathan Safran Foer's rendition of Ukranian mangling of the English language in Everything is Illuminated has to be read to be believed - he is quite hilarious. Bit like Les Dawson's bad playing of the piano (I hope you know what I mean here or I'll sound like a halfwit).

Anyway, on that somewhat odd note (see what I did there?) I'm off.

x

PS: May I just take this opportunity to introduce you to my brother Ben. Seems the desire to spread one's innermost thoughts across the web must run in the family.

PPS: May I also just point out that it is bloody hot here. Like, as if we were by the Mediterranean or something. Surely this is Northern Europe, land of rain, dullness and more rain? What's going on with that?

Er...

2004-07-29T16:29:00.000+02:00

Welcome to my new blog! Yay!

I was reading Richard Herring's blog today, which was mildly entertaining, and apart from inspiring me to play silly games with number plates, gave me the idea to write more stuff. I've never had a blog before but it has always appealed as a way of venting spleen without having to actually bore someone with listening to it, and given that I am moving to mainland Europe on Saturday it is also a useful way to keep UK-based people up-to-date.

So I hope it's of interest. And if not, you are dismissed.

x

PS It might be a while before I work out how to do photos and things on here - but in the meantime you can see pics of our new flat here (this is a friend's website - the pics are, however, of our flat, although as we live in the same building he can get away with using them and telling people it's his apartment as they are almost identical). It's very nice and quite cosy without being cramped, and I am looking forward to settling into it. Only two sleeps to go...