OK. I have returned, though for a brief moment only. I know I said my last post was going to be my last post but please forgive me for I can't help closing the circle for good. It's because my concept of 9/11 is slightly different. (Luckily enough, you don't have to read this if you were greatly relieved once I stopped posting.) A year ago today I moved to England. A year ago at this very hour I was probably on the train nervously heading towards my new home, my parallel life. A YEAR. Do I have a problem (very possibly) or do people actually think about these things? I mean the year ago exactly stuff? Whatever the answer, it's going to be a proper year-ago-today seven months for me. I'm feeling funnily melancholic as well as a bit nostalgic though nostalgic might be a wrong expression because it's only been a year, not a whole decade or something as horrible as that. You know, when I was young and oh those golden days. My new friends from uni are currently running about the town racing from bar to bar but I didn't really feel like going – I'm as exhausted as after starting working at the hotel last year! Hard work, socialising. And I don't feel like drinking tonight. A year ago Charlie Fink sang in my post: "Tonight's the kind of night where everything could change". And it did. Oh my, it did.
I'm sharing a video with you since this is my last chance to do so and since I completely forgot to post it outside of Facebook a couple of months ago when it was all fresh. So yeah, some of you might have seen it already but it's quite nice so watch again maybe?
Knowing is strange. One minute you don't know, the next you do. Something or someone. Like when you start something new, be it studies or at a new job, you don't know what to expect. You can't imagine what it's going to be like. How the place is going to look. All the people you're going meet. However afterwards, it all just seems so obvious, doesn't it? You're thinking: of course these are the people, it was always going to be these people. They had to be these very people. Who else could they ever have been? 10 months ago I left for England and I didn't know what to expect. 10 days ago I went back knowing. I knew pretty much who I'd find at the reception. I knew exactly who would hand me the keys. I knew who I'd find in the kitchen. And I wasn't in a need of a map like last September. I remember what a maze the hotel was!
The Gentlemen Of The Road was a really nice, small festival. You could even see the Lewes castle proudly standing there behind the stage and I feel embarrassed only having noticed this on day two. It was all great, though while Mumford & Sons were playing I ended up standing right next to a girl with the most horrific and shivers-down-the-spine-sending, deafening scream. A really high pitch one. To make matters worse she very much enjoyed singing along and didn't seem to mind not staying anywhere near the tune, which is quite alright as long as you get the lyrics right, which she didn't do very laudably either ("rate yourself and rape yourself") so I had to squeeze my way away from her. Late in the evening the whole site turned into what seemed like a huge outdoor nightclub, everybody was dancing. That was quite cool.
Leaving part II wasn't as bad as I thought, nowhere near as bad as the first time, which took me by surprise really. In April the thought of leaving was absolutely impossible. I felt I CAN'T go. I just can't. I had to rip myself off the town, the people and the country, and it hurt. You know, like a plaster that sits on your skin perfectly and will stay put for a long time to come unless you need to get rid of it. This time me, the plaster, was starting to come off by itself. It felt like a right time to go, that I'd seen enough for now. I almost felt a circle closing. I'm happy it all left such a good taste in my mouth for I don't think that was guaranteed. It didn't feel so final, either. (I didn't even close my British bank account so maybe that's part of the reason!) I feel confident that the people I wish to keep in my life will stay there. Oh and it was nice to REALLY see the people. I felt sane again. You see, it was the same thing while I was still in England. I kept seeing old friends and acquaintances everywhere, you know, oh he used to go to the same school — wait what? I'm not in Finland! The weirdest it felt when I almost said hi to someone before realising I wasn't in the right country to do so. All in all, I had a really lovely six days. It felt like home being back. There's just this one question. When am I going to see these people again? All I know is I don't know, and it breaks my heart a little, but I'll learn to live with it knowing the day will come.
It's been almost a year and this is about to be my last post. Probably not the last ever, cause as it turns out blogging works well for me and it will be weird not to do it, so I might start a new one. And talking of weird, it will be weird going to university after a year of not studying. Well, at least there's a compulsory exchange year waiting for me. Anyway. To finish with, I want to share a moment with you. I was coming back from the town, walking alongside the hotel building when it hit me pretty much out of the blue — I'm actually living my dream. I AM LIVING A DREAM. I've dreamed about having a place in England I can call home. I've dreamed about knowing people from all over the world. I've dreamed about living life in English. I've dreamed about seeing bands and places and now I have! I've been mistaken for English so many times it doesn't feel special anymore. I've made irreplaceable, international friends. I've seen KT Tunstall. I've Henry Hoovered more than enough. I've served countless English breakfasts. I've been to an English festival and there was no mud there. I've tried Marmite. I've been attacked by a seagull. I've become a regular of Tesco. I've become a regular of a pub. (And Boots and HMV...) I've been in England without being a tourist. I've spent hours on the train but I never got tired of the view. I've learned how to say mean things in French. I've learned how to say fuck in Polish. I've learned how to polish cutlery and glasses. I've watched the sunset on the pier. I've started drinking beer. I've tried mince pies and yuckkhhkh. And hey, I've high-fived Dan of Bastille after a fair while of chatting with him. Though I don't mean to brag. (Yes I do!!!) I've come back to Finland richer than ever. These things are part of my past and some of it, I hope, my future too. I am lucky. Remember, it's better to be grateful for all the things you've had, than to cry over things you didn't have. Please don't just pass the previous sentence by and take it for a cheesy aphorism. Mostly cause I came up with it myself. Which doesn't mean someone else hasn't come up with it as well. But I'm asking you to think about it. Really.
Thank you ever so much for reading what I've written, hearing what I've had to say. I hope my blog has accidentally inspired or encouraged someone to do this kind of thing for it's the best thing I've ever done. To be honest I'd be happy with one person. Let me know? Live and keep your eye out for a new blog!
A big fat CHEERS,
I've been back in Finland for two months today. It's stupid how it always hits you hardest on the exact dates though it shouldn't be like that. What difference does it make if it's been 60, 61 or 62 days? That is 59 days too many at the least. Though I can't complain about the weather, it's been truly non-Finnish and warmer than in the UK. Ha ha, in your face. I've even caught some sun so my what I call Swedish look is starting to develop. That is, my hair gets whiter while my face gets more tanned, boom, a double effect with the result of me looking like a Swede. Well never mind, that's just a theory of mine and totally out of the point. Having been here for this long also means I'll get to visit England and Worthing again soon. I don't know what's it going to be like. It's a little scary actually, going back and seeing how much things have changed in a relatively short time. I'm trying to keep my hopes down a bit, I'm not even sure what I'm hoping to see or not to see. Besides the bands — the main reason I'm going. Or the "main" reason. But this time I'll have to leave without another ticket already waiting. Considering how much I cried on my flight last time and how many times the polite British gentleman next to me had to check whether I was OK (Yeah yeah sure, never better, doesn't that show?) it's not going to be any easier. Oh god. I know I'm going back, I might even move to England one day, but I don't when that's going to be. Somehow I'd have to program myself into thinking that it's a lovely, second chance given to me. Like it is something in addition to everything I've already had! A positive, nice thing. Which it is, of course. But on the other hand there's this voice in the back of my mind saying what's wrong with you, one goodbye is horrible enough to bear, why do you willingly have to make it two, for fuck's sake? I'd be fine now, without ever going back. Because I never had that last look. Easy. But after facing everything and everyone again knowing this time it's for real?
I hosted an England themed party for my friends last night. I was about to post some photos but then my Photoshop collapsed and I got too pissed off to do everything all over again so you'll only get one. And I shall write about the rest. I served things we used to serve at the hotel: Pimm's cup, prawn cocktails, little triangle sandwiches. I even baked a black forest gateau à la Vilma. (It turned out to be really nice I must say.) Would they take me back? If I don't get into uni this year? Well, I wasn't being completely serious. It would be a whole different story with different people in it. A failing attempt to relive what I had before. I'm not saying it would be a worse story, but it wouldn't be the same so I might as well go somewhere else and start a new one. But sometimes I'm thinking I wouldn't mind serving a couple of English breakfasts. After all it was just very nice. All the things that at times annoyed me to hell about the job have pretty much disappeared, it's golden memories now. But honestly, it wasn't bad there, not at all. Writing this is making me miss working there. Word by word. I could actually shed a couple of tears! I don't miss speaking English as badly anymore, mainly because it hasn't been a part of my everyday life for weeks now. Conversations with myself don't count. For that part I'm practically English.
Ps. Please don't think I'm posh cause I served Pimm's to my guests, I drew inspiration from the weddings back at Chatsworth and the bottle is a souvenir. You have to admit the label is rather classy, don't you? I know. Alright, I will get back to you after my trip probably. Bye for now!
I got home. I got home and realised I used to like my hometown. I used to like my hometown until I travelled and saw what else the world has to offer. I mean, I still like it, it's a nice town, but's that's pretty much it. It's NICE. I know now that there's so much going on somewhere else (too, I may need to add not to sound far too negative) and I'd like to be in the middle of it. It's one of these grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side effects, but then again I've been on the other side and it was really green. Greener? For some parts, absolutely, but at the end of the day I don't know. No matter what my life is where I am. There can be life in England, but there can also be life in Finland. I'm trying my best to hold on to that thought. However, I liked feeling exotic. Ok, shut up, Finland isn't very exotic, but let me explain. I liked it that my hair was the colour all the English girls were after. I liked it that I came from somewhere else. I liked having something the others didn't have. I liked being one of a kind. In my hometown it's not like that. I'm just like everyone else. Or that's how other people see me — it's not how I feel. I hate it that people can't see your history written all over your face! I wish everyone could see where I've been cause it kind of defines me.
What surprised and disappointed me about coming back was I remember everything too well. Everything here is too familiar, almost as if I never was away, and that I don't like. The only thing I keep doing is I keep passing people on the left hand side. It's particularly dangerous when you're riding a bike. And at first I had to focus to thank people in Finnish. I only failed once. The weirdest thing I came across were the forks we have at home. They are the weirdest and most ridiculous forks ever. I bet you a hundred quid my family's having a laugh and they've changed them while I was away. The only thing is... they didn't. For now, being here feels somehow pointless, it's still like what am I doing here? I miss speaking English SO BADLY. I miss the politeness. I miss the seaside and the pier. I miss the people. I miss a lot of things. (I don't miss waking up at half past five, though!) My friends need to understand that for me it's not only good to be back, not everything about it is nice, but it's not because of them. Only by doing what I did you'll understand. There's nothing I can do.
The thing (or problem) with so many people is, that if they're mostly satisfied with their lives, they don't feel like they need anything else. They don't want anything else, because they can't miss anything they don't know exists. And that's why they never go anywhere, they never leave their hometowns, and shame on them. They are missing out. I think it's better to miss something than to miss out on something. Oh yes. I'm so lucky having been where I've been, having seen what I've seen. It was time well spent.
(It's not about the video, it's about the song but I had some trouble trying to post music and I really need to post this)
Oh I remember the careless days my answer to the question about me going home was "In April". Now it's "On Tuesday". Seven months, people. Who'd have known? Yesterday was my last Saturday, today is my last Sunday. I could go on for your pleasure, but you know how it goes so I'll save myself the trouble. Today is MY LAST DAY AT WORK. I'm panicking enough without completing the (brief) countdown. The feeling is more or less like the one I had before coming here. I don't really understand I'm leaving. And the mixed feelings are back, too, only stronger. I took the dockets I've saved off my wall and my room looks so weird. And I printed my travel documents. I gave up studying a couple of days ago cause I can't concentrate anymore. There's no point to read and then realise there are five other things on your mind. Like am I going to be able to squeeze all my stuff into my bags. That's a real concern, by the way. Because I. Just. Don't. Know. It might fit (not well but FIT anyway) or then I might be encountered with a mission impossible. I'm actually trying my best to avoid starting the packing because I'm so scared hahahhaha. That was like the nervous laugh pretending not to be nervous. Dear friends, please don't expect me to bring you any souvenirs. Firstly, this hasn't exactly been a holiday, and secondly and more importantly: there really is no room for any extra and I'm sorry! Yeah, but I couldn't keep studying as a priority these last couple of days. Fuck it. I'll be happy to suffer a bit more at home. Besides, I only have two chapters to go so I ought to be proud of myself. And apparently I've learned something, because one morning I was listening to some customers, and the first thing that came to my mind was "Aha! Non-standard English!" — I even surprised myself there.
In a way it will be a relief to put my bum against the aeroplane seat and fasten the seatbelt. Close my eyes and take off. To know the worst part, waiting and also worrying about practical stuff, is over. If I could I'd just skip the last day. I'd sneak out without saying goodbye to anyone. Selfish and rude, yes, but I would. It's called self-protection. I hate saying goodbye. What hurts the most is that it's just another morning and just another flight for the other people on the plane. They're coming back from a lovely little weekend break or a monthly business trip, perhaps. They don't know that I'm leaving behind seven months of life. Different life but real. That I'm travelling with so much more than they are. Metaphorically AND literally. And the thing I feared the most came true. The weather's all lovely now which makes it a lot more depressing to leave. You can see summer coming, the town is starting to wake up and come alive and I won't get to live that. I'm sad because of it. It hurts. Yes, I'm coming back in July but only for a couple of days and I haven't had enough even in a couple of months. And those were the "crappy" seasons.
This is probably the last post I'll write while I'm still in England. I'm afraid I won't have any spare time later. Today I'll get the last taste of everything, so to say: one more breakfast, one more lunch, and one more dinner. Three birds with one stone. Two down dead, in two hours it's time to kill the last one. Let's do this.
I have two identities. My inherent Finnish identity and my English identity I've grown little by little. To be honest I like the English one better. I feel like I'm a better person in English than I am in Finnish, so to say. Should I be worried? Probably, for I can't keep speaking English to everyone in Finland without making a fool out of myself. "Who does she think she is? Is she trying to be exotic or something? Puhu suomee vaan että ittekki ymmärrät. LET ME LAUGH." This might have something to do with the fact that after six months of constantly speaking English everything has started to sound helplessly ungraceful and awkward in Finnish — more than before, that is. Although you're basically saying the same things they are not the same things. The shade is always somewhat different. And all the things you simply can't say in both languages! And it has to do with the culture, too. For example, I can't tell people I'm happy to see them in Finnish without sounding uneasy, at least inside my own head, but it's easy to say "Nice to see you!" and to actually mean it. We're just not like that and you don't hear that a lot. Or some of us are, I'm not. And all the pleases and thankyous the Finnish people leave out. Not to forget swearing. Swearing in English is so much more fun than that boring and rough swearing in Finnish. Well, I can keep swearing in English all the same I think. Anyway, note I'm not speaking of two different personalities here. (I don't have mental health problems, at least not of that severe kind.) Of course deep down I'm exactly the same person, I just express myself slightly differently. I've got to know all these people in English so they only know my English side. I wonder if they'd like the Finnish one as much?
Whether my English has improved — I can't really speak for myself. I know it must have, though. You'd be a failure in case you spent half a year in an English speaking country and didn't improve your English. There is one thing I've noticed, which I assume can be labeled as an improvement. At first, if I wanted to say something the process was like this: What do I want to say? How am I going to say it? Say it. Now the process is more like this: What do I want to say? Say it. I no longer have to think.
On Monday I took a great risk. Or well, it wasn't really a risk since I had nothing to lose. I knew Bastille was playing at Concorde 2 in Brighton but for my great disillusion the gig was completely sold out and I couldn't find anyone selling tickets online or anything. The worst thing was I'd seen ticket's being on sale like two months ago but didn't buy one. (Yeah... why make life too easy?) I decided to go to Brighton anyway, just in case I got lucky. At least I'd hear the soundcheck if I got there early enough. So I stood there in front of the venue freezing to death. I stood there for a long time. There were all kinds of people coming and going in and out. Then I saw Dan, the man behind Bastille himself, coming out of a yellow tour bus with a bunch of other people. OMFG. He disappeared quite quickly. I continued waiting. I bet they all thought I was some psycho stalker standing there with my hood on waiting for my chance to strike but I didn't care, I was absolutely freezing. Then I saw Dan coming out again, shaking hands with a woman I assumed to be a journalist, and they both got in the bus. Then I met this lovely German girl who was also looking for a ticket. We stood there together now and I told her what I'd just seen. And that once he'd come out I would strike. Dajana, the German girl, promised to take a photo. And I did strike. I still can't believe it but I did. Just like that, totally cool, like no biggie. WHAT'S HAPPENED TO ME? I think the cold had gone to my head. It must have. He was the sweetest man on earth, no exaggeration. Just like a normal person and not a great artist. When I asked him if we could take a photo together he asked if it was alright they'd (they = Dan and Will, another band member) go do the soundcheck first and then come back out for the photo. It was all surreal for god's sake. We listened to the soundcheck outside jumping to the beat trying to feel our toes again. And they came back out — just for us. They were warm also physically, so thank you Dajana for it took you such a long time to find that camera phone, it was not a problem for me to wait at all! Take your time. And a bit more if you like. I've got their autographs now and a photo of us. We talked. Dan high-fived us!!! That was the best part — I've touched the hand of talent. Woah. And this whole story has a very happy ending, too. It seemed really really really desperate for a long time, nobody was selling tickets and the bloody posh kids kept flooding in chauffeured by their parents, but we both got in in the end. I bought the only spare ticket we could find (Dajana let me get the first ticket, what have I ever done to meet such good (or foolish) people?) and Dajana managed to get on the guest list so she didn't even have to pay. We spent the whole night taking turns telling each other how we couldn't believe we actually got in. The gig was awesome. I have a feeling (and so do all the music magazines btw) Bastille are going to be huge. And I can always say I've met them personally. And I made a new friend. So yeah, it was worth going to Brighton that night, I got a bit more than I ever hoped for.
Never has coming back from Brighton taken as long as it did the other day. It was rush hour and it was the clammiest bus ride, and by the time we reached my dear destination all the bus windows were fogged up by the breath of the people that were too many to fit in the bus at any rate. It was no double-decker but a normal one. I was sitting next to a young man, who was listening to music and reading a paperback at the same time. I've never seen the point of doing that, because you (or at least I) end up missing both — what you've just read and what you've just heard. And I can't read on the move anyway for it makes me feel sick. I'm a bit bitter because of that. Perhaps his only goal was looking cool. Which he pulled off quite well. There was an old lady eating a chocolate bar. One piece, after a couple of minutes another one. A man in his mid-thirties playing a game on his iPhone and by the way he sucked. And then his phone rang and he failed to answer and he had to call back. Fail. At least three people checking what's going on on Facebook. People coughing. People breathing. People fogging up the glass and some people wiping off the fog trying to figure out when would be the right time to hit the stop button. But Brighton itself was really nice, the weather was really nice, I was out wearing only my denim jacket. I mean not ONLY, I was wearing other things too to cover up other body parts. Don't picture me wearing just a denim jacket, please. I know, it's too late now. But I need that kind of days to cheer me up, to make me feel alive and kickin'. To make me want to absorb every last thing there is to be absorbed. The see and the sun and the streets. The Englishness? Especially the sun.
We have more staff now, three French students. For now they seem alright. However, now that I've said that they might turn out to be a nightmare. There are two things about French people that never fail to amaze me. Number one: no matter how pathetic, childish or hopeless a man is, or even if he is a complete twat, he is without an exception wearing cologne. Number two (and this is the last time I'll ask, putain de merde): is every fourth man seriously called Thomas? Yes, we've got another one. Last night I asked two of them how old they are, and after telling me they're 17 and 19 the 19-year-old smiled widely and said, clearly being very proud of his English skills: "I'm a big gay!"OK, everybody knows he meant guy but the French accent came badly on the way this time.
Right, I was wondering why it was getting a bit chilly in here cause it's been boiling hot in my room the last few days, but I found a logical explanation: my window was open. I'm such a Sherlock. It's less than four weeks now, folks, and I'm feeling fifty-fifty. I'm going to the town now. To study. I'm not posting music this time because I have huge trouble deciding what to post. Nothing seems to be spot on. Laterz!
"It's weird to hear someone talking with an English accent", said one old lady at breakfast after I'd said good morning. "Cause everyone's here got an accent, you're the only one!" By accent, in case some of you didn't get it (not to underestimate you, dear readers) she meant a foreign accent such as French or Polish. I think she thinks I'm English. Which is quite flattering. However, I've got used to it happening by this time and it doesn't feel like such an achievement any longer. A couple of years ago my head would've got so big it might have popped. The funny thing is there are two REAL English people working in the restaurant, so what about them if I'm "the only one"? Well I guess my keep-calm-and-fake-a-british-accent attitude has paid off. And then there's this big man, he's a regular customer, and I swear to you that soon I'm not going to serve him the breakfast he wants anymore for it's simply not good for him! He eats far too much and far too unhealthy. I feel so sad for him. He walks in, helps himself to three glasses of tomato juice from the buffet, and then sits down. Every time he orders tea, white toast, and a full English breakfast with two fried eggs, two bacons, and two sausages. He leaves behind around eight butter wraps and a good pile of empty white sugars. Oh and he has jam, too. A nice way to start the day? Nice, light breakfast.
So, tomorrow it's been exactly six months. SIX MONTHS? Half a year. Do you understand, that's like half of a whole year! I. Don't. How did the time go so fast? I remember a conversation by the Splash Point one night in September. It was about this, it was about time flying, time being like a snap of the fingers. It was about enjoying things while they're still there, and realising they're there before they're gone. I'm sorry if you're tired of hearing the same old story about not understanding how the time goes — I would be — I've most likely written about it in every single of my posts, but it is really confusing and very distressing. You don't think about it at home, when you're leading a normal life and doing the things you do every day. Days go by, usually without any great landmarks. You have to go through something like this in order to understand what it's like. Something that requires counting down your days.
Some might think I'm mad. I'm still in England, and I've already booked my next trip to England. Well, it makes it a bit easier to leave. I love this country, you know that. I don't know how I'm going to be able to not live here anymore! Suddenly, I can't just go to the pier. Or to Tesco. Or what's worse, to the pub. I can't take a bus to Brighton. I can't just hop on a train and hop off in London in less than two hours. And how on earth can I buy anything without saying please??? (We don't have that word in Finnish I'm afraid, embarrassing but true, I'm gonna have to find another way to be polite.) But in July I'm going to this festival in Lewes, it's called The Gentlemen Of The Road. I'm super excited to finally get to see Johnny Flynn play live. And to see Mumford & Sons and Mystery Jets for the second time! And I've always wanted to go to a music festival in England, yay! If possible, I'll stay at the Chatsworth. It will be nice to see what Worthing is like in the summer, for I've been cursing a little over staying for 7 months and living through all the seasons except the best one. Good timing I had.
Yeah, this is just a little post I thought I'd write, now some beautiful tunes to end with!
A while ago, on my way back from the grocery I saw a couple making out in a telephone box. That was the moment I was convinced it's finally spring time. It was so warm outside! It was like Finland in April when April is at its best, and considering it was still February it was pretty nice. I'm sure it will be very nice in April! However, it got colder again, while Yago and I had escaped the little winter to Lisbon. There it was like Finland in June, with the occasional cold downpours, of course. We were like some bloody English tourists there, passing people on the left hand side, the wrong side. (OK well not exactly, thanks to Yago's language skills.) It's also a miracle neither of us got hit by a car. And excuse me, but what is this coin too flat to be a coin in my hand? Oh, 2 euros. I remember how weird pounds used to feel like, and how it took me ages to learn which coin was which cause the sizes don't make any sense. Now euros felt like distant friends — I knew you well once but I don't know you anymore. And going "home" to England was an interesting experience. Something I've always wanted to do at least once. Oh, forgot to mention! If you ever go to Lisbon, stay in a hostel called Rossio. It was brilliant, absolutely nothing to complain about. I could almost go back to that city just to stay there.
I cannot believe it's only been a week since Jatta left. I've had too many shifts and too much on my mind. Plus I'm back where I started from: I'm the only Finn. And in just another week I'll basically be playing stoppage time. See, I'm so athletic I'm using a football term. Actually, I did go running last Saturday! But mostly to preserve my mental health rather than my physical health. It's the only reason I ever do any sports. I'm probably unconsciously stressing about leaving more than I've allowed myself to think. I think I haven't really understood I'm actually going to pack all my stuff (should be interesting, totally looking forward to that), hand in my keys, say goodbye and go. Like, that was it. It will never be it. This whole experience is something I'll always have and nobody can ever take it away from me. I'm grateful for both the greatest and the worst moments, I would do it all over again. What I'm most amazed by is how did I ever have the courage to do this at all? I'm not a brave person, I'm not! For the first time I started to think in weeks instead of months, and that's what really got to me. Six weeks. Which my mind chops into three and three, and three weeks is a ridiculously short time. Then I got stuck on the idea of six weeks, and today I realised it's not six weeks anymore, it's five. Or five and a half. Either way, time keeps passing by. Alright, this got all cheesy now but it's true. I was surprised when a couple of days ago I caught myself thinking that maybe, MAYBE, it might be nice to gradually go back. It may have been because they're making me work my arse off this week, though, and I was just not in the mood. But now stop! I'm still here.
If I desire to start uni next autumn, and I do, I need to start studying for my entrance examination. Entrance examination. Even the term itself is so dull it makes me not want to do it. All along I've known this is coming, but it doesn't make it any easier. I mean, if opening the book to get started is difficult even normally, imagine after a year! Sometimes I've wondered why am I leaving England to study English in Finland, but I feel like studying in my hometown is the right thing to do at the moment. And I can always go on exchange! (It's compulsory at some point during your studies, what a shame...) I have to read short stories, linguistics, and something else, grammar and stuff. I've read one of the short stories now. It's going to be alright though, I'll only be working three days a week so even in order to not get bored I'll have to study. I hope.
I was walking on the beach one clear and cold night, it was dark, and there were stars. I hadn't really seen them here before, not that well and not that many. I blocked my view so that I could only see the water and the sky, and imagined myself standing on a frozen lake back in Finland. For a moment I really felt like I was there. I felt like I could turn around and make my way through the snow up to our little cottage where there are candles burning on the table and the sauna is hot. God, I wanted to go to sauna. I've heard there's a sauna here at the gym, but, umm, no thanks... I've already tried English ice-skating and that was enough. No English sauna for this lady.
I was feeling so lazy yesterday I got out of bed (or actually not even that cause it's the only comfortable place to sit) around half past two in the afternoon. All I did during the whole day was watch Skins. First I thought about blogging later, but got a bit addicted I suppose. It's nice to discover songs you listen to playing in the series, makes me feel cool every time. Earlier today I popped into a couple of card shops (I've never understood why there are so many different shops that sell cards here) cause I'd like to greet my friends on Valentine's Day. I wouldn't even have thought about it yet, but the shop windows are oh-so-red-and-pink-and-rosy and full of hearts and pretty much anything that's got I LOVE YOU on it. And I found my task slightly more complicated than I'd expected. It's very clear now Valentine is a different story in England. It's all about love and lovers, wives and husbands, boyfriends and girlfriends, not so much about friendship. As far as I'm concerned, back home it's mostly about friendship. (Isn't it?) I might want to keep on looking for something a bit more neutral than the greetings I've seen so far!
A couple of weeks ago we were supposed to have that famous staff party at the hotel. Mean punch, they said. When I asked Tinsley what's in it, he said a better question would be what's not in it. However, the party got cancelled "due to bad weather conditions". One morning stepping outside on my way to work it was snowing. I was so happy for I'd thought I wasn't going to see one snowflake this year. But the snow melted before my shift ended. Then a few days later, in the morning of the party, I opened my hideous curtains, the window was steamy (it's not what you think, it's always like that when it's cold outside) and I just thought it looked weird somehow. So... white. I opened my window. Woah. There was a lot of snow out there! Excuse my englishness for it wasn't really a lot for a Finnish person. Approximately an inch. Maximum. But believe me, no matter how funny I personally find it, it's not a joke the whole country turns upside down when it's snowing. You might have seen something on the news about England being hit by snow. On the news it basically stated "DON'T GO OUTSIDE IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO", people didn't know what to wear so I almost froze to death myself only by looking at them, trains were delayed or not running at all not to even mention flights, schools were closed and so on. Amateurs. No, really, I understand they're not prepared for anything like that, but cancelling a party that's inside the hotel for the staff who live inside the hotel? Really? We went out to the garden and built a snowman. You may think everyone knows how to do that, but no, they don't. Brazilians don't. It was quite sweet, though, I must say.
A friend of mine stayed here for 10 days, which was nice and strange at the same time, just like when my family was here. She had a room of her own on the same floor. We did some shopping and clubbing in both Worthing and Brighton, and took the train to Reading for my friend wanted to see a football game. I liked that town, it was different. The last two nights we stayed in London at a hotel right opposite the King's Cross station. My inner Harry Potter fan was indescribably pleased with that. (And there was a Harry Potter shop there!!!! Speaking of which, want to know what's a horrible feeling? When you just can't afford a wand.) We were being proper tourists since I hadn't been to London even once during my almost five months here. Why? I just don't know and now I wish I had. Still I managed to show her around town and use the tube laudably — I'm so proud of myself. We visited the London Eye and Madame Tussaud's plus checked out the basic attractions like Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, and Buckingham Palace. And took a stroll on Oxford Street, of course, with Chris Martin repeatedly singing in my head about how he took his feet to Oxford Street trying to right a wrong.
We threw a little party before Marika left on the 28th of January. And she thought she could sneak out without one, haha! It's all so weird, I feel like she just came here for four months, and now she's gone. Me and Jatta are the only Finns left. I'll never get used to the people coming and going thing.
Whooopsie daisy! Long time no see again, sorry about that. The first thing I have to say to you all is fantastic New Year 2013! I'm hoping my new year would be even half as unforgettable as the last one, which is a lot said. A LOT. I didn't make any great resolutions, I don't tend to. It's a bit overrated and most of the people fail to keep them anyway. I somehow made it through the busy period, and it's good to know the worst is over. Looking back I'm not quite sure how I did it, but I suppose that's not important. My family paid me a visit, which was well nice, but it was also extremely weird seeing them here!
Today I reached my 4 months. I didn't even realise it before I accidentally saw the date somewhere and thought hmm, the 11th, I know there's some trick there. I had a very refreshing day. The weather was really nice (this is how the stories of nice days in England usually begin) so I took a long walk to the left, towards Brighton. I'm always taking long walks back home for there's something so calming and head-clearing about it, and on top of everything the surroundings here are ten times nicer. The sun was low but still shining, and it lid up the city and the white rocks in the distance. It was absolutely beautiful and I had one of those wow-i-really-am-here moments. I couldn't help thinking Brighton truly has it's bright on. I kept on walking along the coastline, it's so nice for it's impossible to get lost, and after a half an hour walk, just when I thought maybe I should go back already, I got to some kind of park. Brooklands Leisure Park it stood there in a sign. I loved it there! I was thinking this is the kind of place I like, why haven't I found this before? Green grass, traditional English bush, trees, paths, old benches, and a pond with little boats, swans, and funny birds that kept swimming next to me (I wasn't swimming!) for they were convinced I was carrying food. And mini daisies. I also ran into a very happy and muddy dog, or he ran into me, so now my blue jeans need washing. However, I don't mind. After that there was a strange moment I caught myself thinking "If I had a dog I'd always walk it here." and then "What? I DO have a dog!". I'm definitely going back with a better camera. And without a camera, as well. You know, the sunset is gorgeous by the sea. Well. The sun setting behind the hills and trees takes it to another level. It might have something to do with my personal obsession for trees, though. My first word was "tree" — in Finnish of course — "puu". Which is remarkably close to the English word "poo" by the way so now I don't know whether I was a very nature-loving baby or just very international.
There are two things that have made me think more about leaving — new year and other people going home. I used to think I'm leaving "next year" so no worries, but now what, that year is here. And the others. One by one they're starting to go (a lot of parties coming up), and I can feel my own turn approaching. Armand left about a week ago, which makes me the most experienced waiter. (Now applauds, please, everyone!) We're sad for he's gone, but he is happy. Basically, at the moment the thought of leaving bothers me. It's not that I'd necessarily want to stay in this hotel for longer, it's the people who have become very dear to me. I feel a knot building inside me every time I think about possibly never seeing them again. I hope I will. It's funny, isn't it? You share a tiny part of your life with someone, it means the world, and then they're gone. It's so wrong, but it's life. I've started to think what if I'd stay a bit longer. That's no solution, though. It only puts the pain off. And I'm only talking about two weeks or so, after that I have to go. I have to study. So I'd go in April? I'd still have time, I could even start studying while I'm here. Hello, English, England? Why not. I'll have to think about it.
Today is the day the we celebrate Christmas in Finland. Not tomorrow, you English fools, today. I don't feel very christmassy even though I've got the world's smallest and cutest real Christmas tree, and the one present underneath it (thank you Kersa) is bigger than the tree itself. That might the problem. I should go to bed soon as I'm going to watch some traditional Christmas stuff live online in the morning (I'm really too tired to explain what "Joulurauhan Julistus" and "Joulupukin Kuumalinja" are, my apologies). One thing is for sure — it's going to feel weird. I'm a bit disappointed because my friends and family still haven't received the cards I posted 11 days ago. 11! Anyway, my Christmas will be very multicultural this year: Finnish-English-Polish-Spanish-Brazilian, something like that. I'll get back to you later, most likely after all the Christmas hustle at work is over. We've got a long week ahead here!
I WISH YOU ALL A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS!
This is my favourite festive tune this year, enjoy.
Only 14 days left of this year. My goodness it's gone fast. I'm in the middle of my time here now, and if the rest it about to rush past at the same speed... well it's a bit frightening. I am so grateful to myself for being so sensible and deciding to stay for six months instead of four. I'd be in trouble having to go in three weeks. Many of the others are leaving soon, which is sad. In no time I will have turned from the newest waiter into the oldest one. The oldest and the wisest. (Wise my arse; sometimes I still have no idea what I'm doing, the only difference is I just do it.) It feels strange to picture myself back home. Lying on the sofa. Walking the dog. Seeing the people. Like nothing's changed, like I never was away. But I might as well quit thinking about it now, I'm still here! I've still got plenty of time to do plenty of things. This week we all have a lot of time off, because next week is going to be super busy. Tomorrow Yago and I are going to the Isle Of Wight. It'll be interesting to see the island again after two and a half years.
Now let me take you back a couple of weeks. One Saturday night after work I was sitting on my bed scrolling down Facebook when after seeing people's party-related statuses I suddenly realised what day it was. (This happens to me every weekend.) But this time it was different. It was Saturday and I'd be off on Sunday, and I thought WHY AM I NOT OUT? The thing is, unfortunately you don't get many chances to go out in the weekend unless, of course, you don't mind going to work after two hours of sleep or no sleep. The idea isn't exactly very tempting. People do it, though. I marched upstairs with the intention to knock on Marika or Jatta's door, but to my surprise I ran into Jatta in the corridor. She was on her way to ask me whether I'd like to go to Brighton with them, to have a night out. You can't just ignore such coincidence, can you? So we jumped on a double decker. I like sitting in the front of the upper floor even though every time the bus turns it looks like the vehicle is about to hit the street lights, traffic signs, and buildings. Even people. Exciting! We stayed in Brighton all night and took the first train back to Worthing. We had to wait on the station for over an hour, and it was freezing cold. We all almost fell asleep on the train, but somehow just when it stopped at our final destination my eyes opened and "Where are we??? In Worthing! OUT!". I was back in my room at 08:04, went to bed, and woke up at 4 o'clock in the afternoon. It sounds bad, but here it actually feels rather natural to sleep that late on a day off. To stay up almost till it gets light, and to get up when the sun is starting to set. Even on a normal day without the nightclub factor. Yeah, it messes up the whole routine but then again, what routine? One morning despite the fact I was off and could have slept long I got out to see the sunrise as it was absolutely gorgeous the day before, and all I got to do was admire it through the window between serving customers. Well, all I can say is bloody clouds.
I can't remember what day it was anymore, but for it was a very sunny day I took a walk on the beach. The tide was low so I could walk quite far. I was listening to Christmas songs and it felt extremely strange. It could've as well been summer when I closed my eyes, the sun was so hot. I'm not kidding. And it doesn't look like winter anyway. Some people still go out in shorts (mad people they are, but still). You can actually find all kinds of interesting clothing combinations here. Like shorts and a winter coat. Or flip flops and a winter coat. That's my favourite actually. And what's the point in wearing a winter vest on the top of a t-shirt? Some things I'll never understand. But back to the beach — I found what I think was a dead shark! It's not what you're thinking right now. It's not a 10 feet tiger shark. It was little, about 1 foot, but very shall I say sharky. (I've spent endless hours watching nature documentaries when I was little so trust me, I know a shark when I see one.) There were also three people riding horses along the beach. The sound of the hooves against the wet sand was quite funny. Funny isn't the right word. I can't think of any good word to describe it. Hollow and smooth. Yeah it was both hollow and smooth. If you know what I mean. No? That's probably my bad.
Last Saturday I was at the Jools Holland Show in the Brighton Centre. I got the day off! Now I've seen KT live, she's really real. Though her appearance was only a brief one (I knew it would be, she played three songs) it was worth every penny. Otherwise the whole show was like a huge party full of middle-aged people who after a pint of beer got in a serious groove, got off their bums, and ran (yes, RAN) in front of the stage to twist with the other middle-aged people who'd done the same. I thought perhaps it's their only opportunity to ever dance since they're too old for clubbing. The only difference being the music was rhythm and blues, not dubstep. I was comfortable in my seat. Sitting. But it was fun to watch.
I've been really popular these last few days receiving parcels and cards all the time. Thank you!
I am sorry, my lovely readers, for having been absent for so long. Somehow the days have just gone floating by springing nothing specific to write about to my mind. I'm not saying it's been boring or that nothing has been going on (there's always something going on in this place).
Finally this morning I started to feel a growing urge to get some text out of my system. Looking out of the window at 06:30 the grass in the Steyne Gardens was frozen — something I haven't seen here before. It was so calm out there. Crispy but calm. Everything was still, no wind, no people, nothing. Only the rising sun, clear sky, and the glittering frosty grass. It was so beautiful, and I think it is about time it starts getting more wintry. It's December, which equals Christmas. It's December, so I can listen to Christmas songs (how I've been waiting for this day to come)! It's December, which means I'm seeing my family this month. Is it really this month? It is. It's December, which makes me think about what to get everyone for a present. Back home I often have the problem I can't think of anything. It's simply because there's nothing nice enough. Well, here the problem is the opposite: what NOT to get. Everywhere I go there's an endless sea of nice and even nicer things. I was very excited at first, but now that I think about it, I don't know which is worse! Posting huge parcels to Finland isn't free, you know. Don't get your hopes up, friends... Oh and I managed to get myself a real teacup, can you believe it, no more drinking from the old yoghurt pots!
I love the Christmas lights on Warwick Street. They keep changing colour from red to purple, from purple to blue, from blue to turquoise, from turquoise to green, from green to yellow, from yellow to orange, from orange to red. Now read that again, please. Just kidding, you don't have to. I also decorated my own room with £5 colour lights to make the nights a bit warmer and brighter. I didn't know it gets dark so early here as well, I've always thought it's some kind of a North thing. Because Christmas is well on it's way, I had really started to long for the seasonal drink we have in Finland. We call it glögi. I had assumed they wouldn't have it here, and had my family post me some. (Googling "posting liquids" made me feel rather desperate, by the way, so to save you from that feeling let me just tell you it IS possible.) And they sent me a pair of brand new, granny-made woolen stockings, too. However, I found something that's very very close to glögi, they call it mulled punch. I believe that's the non-alcoholic version of mulled wine. I bought a bottle to see whether it would be anywhere near to glögi — and it was! I opened the bottle, smelled it, and almost cried. Then I invited my Finnish friends over to have a mug. Now with the real thing I have to be really careful about who I'm going to share it with. Not to say, Jatta and Marika, that you two wouldn't deserve it! I'm sure I've got some for you. My kettle isn't too happy with this, though.
A couple of days ago I did something totally on impulse. I had already given up on the thought of doing it once, but then, I just did it. I bought a ticket to Jools Holland Show in Brighton to see my biggest-idol-ever-all-time-favourite artist KT Tunstall. I've been listening to her music for ages, I've learnt so much from her, I've been singing and playing her songs over and over again. I can't put down in words how big a deal this is for me. Even before coming here I used to say that during those six months in England I'm bloody going to see her, no matter what. I know what this probably sounds like, at least to someone who isn't that into music. A concert, how is that a matter of life and death? It fucking is. So I've got a ticket. Now I need the night off, and that's where the problem lies. For now I've been told no, although it wasn't the final answer. The night happens to be the busiest of all nights, and everyone should be working. Which means that most likely no one will be able to cover me. If she tells me no, I seriously don't know what to do. I might have to call in sick (though I know how see-through that would be) if my personality lets me. I'm not the kind of person to rudely skip work just for fun. I'm not the kind of person who lies to people like that. But let me just say it would be absolute torture to be working that night knowing what's happening only a couple of miles away at the very moment. UNBEARABLE.
Alright. I'm going to end with a weird thing that happened to me a while ago. One morning I was hit by a sudden hunger for marmalade and butter on toast. Orange marmalade. I don't even like orange marmalade! So what can you do, I had that for breakfast, and was very pleased afterwards.
So here's me, alive and well, hope to get back to you soon! :)
Even usually, time is a funny concept. Here it becomes particularly funny. It's our two month anniversary today — me and Chatsworth's. One third down, two to go. If I had to tell someone how long I've been here without knowing how long it's been, just based on the feeling, I don't know what I'd say. I really really really don't. Also, could someone please explain me why you achieve so much more in between your two shifts than during a whole day off? I mean not always! But it happens. It's November, which to me is pretty close to late September in Finland. The sun is shining, and I feel guilty for not going out. I've always had this problem. It drives me crazy sometimes. Because you know in some parts of the world it's not everyday you get the privilege to see the bright thing in the sky. I will go out after finishing this, I have to pop into the post office for some secret business. I hope the sun hasn't set by then. It probably has.
Last week I was ill. It started as a little cold and ended up as a fever of 39°C. Thank goodness that was only one day, it is not enjoyable in any way. Or well. At least it vanished all my sleep debt for a while. I obviously wasn't able to work, so I stayed in bed for three days. Getting from the bed to the sink felt like taking The Ring to Mordor, and if you've been in my room you know the distance. (For the rest of you, it's half a metre.) There was a moment I felt very low, but it lasted like 10 minutes. When you're ill you just want to be home and looked after. But I'm grateful for the personal room service I had. I was a little worried about the upcoming MJ gig, but luckily on Wednesday morning, not a bit too soon, I woke up and the fever was gone.
So on Wednesday evening I went to Brighton. It was still over two hours until the doors would open for I had decided to be early. The first thing I did was I found the bus stop from which to catch the last night bus after the show, and then I checked out the venue. It was only a 15-minute walk. It's by the sea kind of in the middle of nowhere, so apart from occasional joggers there was basically no one there. THEY WERE HAVING A SOUNDCHECK. I could hear Blaine Harrison. I was so blown away I had to call a friend just to say I just heard the band play! There's something so thrilling about hearing what you're not supposed to hear, and I have to say that was the highlight of my night. Yes, before even entering the venue. I'll post the song I overheard. Two hours and one pizza later I was queuing in. Then the girl in front of me suddenly went "I like your coat!". It turned out she was half Swedish, half English — the perfect combination, don't ask me why. She was called Miranda (real name) and I was struggling to keep my mouth shut. I don't think I can ever take the name seriously again. She had come alone too, and was well nice so we stayed together for some time. There was a third girl with an Irish name as well. She weirdly reminded me of a certain friend of my friend's. However, we got drifted apart quite soon because of the mosh pits. You don't expect mosh pits at a small club gig. It's not normal! I personally like to concentrate on the music instead of keeping myself in one piece. It doesn't make me a worse fan. Maybe, had I been completely well and feeling extremely adventurous, could I have jumped in. Since the event allowed in 14-year-olds, there were some annoyingly arrogant drunk teenage girls in the crowd kissing each other and getting tossed around. But the band were brilliant. And so were the two support acts. And I'm still alive.
There was a dramatic factor to yesterday's wedding. I was clearing the tables when I saw a man holding a plate looking somehow disgusted and as if he'd wish to get rid of it as fast as possible. It didn't take long to see why: there was a huge spider on the plate. I think it was a little boy's plate. Alrrrrright, let me just take that! While I was carrying the plate the spider got all covered in sauce and curled up, a couple of legs still stretching out. I'm not afraid of spiders, but it was a disgusting sight. I actually felt more sorry for the spider than the customer. Just a tiny wee bit sorry for the little boy in case he was scared. But that's me. I collect earthworms from the pavement then throw them back on the grass. Why not rinse a spider. I didn't cause they threw him away.
Ps. I finally have an English number! It was the last thing on my "Shit to do" list.
So has Yuletide arrived at the Chatsworth. That’s what they’ve been warning us about as long as I can remember — if you for some reason don’t happen to like Christmas this place is not for you. Well, luckily I happen to like it very much, but we’ll see whether my feelings will have changed after two months of constant Christmas spirit. Yesterday after breakfast the decorator a.k.a “Father Christmas” started to decorate the restaurant, and by dinner time there were Christmas lights, fake icicles, poinsettias, glass balls, and spruce branches. I kind of liked it, but then again, IT’S OCTOBER. I also started to think if that really is someone’s profession? A Christmas decorator? What does he do all year long, he’s like Santa Claus, he’s got nothing to do! Or perhaps he spends the whole year planning the next Christmas. Or perhaps he’s just a decorator, and does other stuff, too. It has to be so. Ah, peace of mind. At least they’re not playing Christmas songs yet, however, my head is quite good at it. Every time I see the ornaments: “Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la laa, la la la la! 'Tis the season to be jolly…” To be jolly for two months? When it’s chaotic at work for we don’t have enough waiters? Everyone’s going, except Armand, Jatta, Marika, and myself. Even the new Frenchies are going home just in time for Christmas. The old Frenchies are gone and now replaced with new ones. So we’ve had six French boys here so far, four of whom called Thomas. How is that even possible? It’s not. It is (French accent now) impossible. But it’s true. Anyway, I have my family and some friends coming over in January, which might make it a bit better, you know, having something concrete to look forward to.
Yesterday was not my day. On Sunday night the time changed so we had to turn our clocks back one hour. I thought, alright, no problem, even if it went wrong, although it won’t, I’d only be at work too early. For once I was having the perfect morning, peacefully drinking tea and listening to music without a hurry ever in sight. I’ve bought a kettle and a bright red teapot! Words cannot describe the joy it brings to pop the kettle on in the morning, and have hot tea with Tesco semi skinned milk and Demerara sugar. I don’t know what that is, actually. Let me just google it. Brace yourselves:
"Unlike brown sugar, which is just refined white sugar lightly bathed in a bit of molasses, Demerara sugar is a large-grained, somewhat crunchy, raw sugar with origins in Guyana (a colony formerly called Demerara). Because of the rising popularity of Demerara over the years this particular type of sugar is now produced in Mexico, India, Hawaii, among other countries. Demerara is a light brown, partially refined, sugar produced from the first crystallization during processing cane juice into sugar crystals. Unlike brown sugar, which has the added molasses flavor, Demerara has a natural caramel-like flavor that hasn’t been refined out. This lends warm caramel notes to whatever you add the sugar. Also, Demerara sugar is also referred to as Turbinado sugar in many markets, which has more to do with how the sugar is processed in turbines, than where it originates."
OK. I'm much wiser now. Totally. Suddenly, Jatta comes knocking at my door: “Are you coming?”. Ummm… Excuse me what? “Yeah, everyone’s already there and José (our head waiter) asked me to go get you.” The end of my perfect morning. It wasn’t really pleasant to squeeze everything I was going to do in 45 minutes into 10 minutes, especially knowing what lies ahead. Breakfast-lunch-dinner. No time to fix anything (nor eat) before the lunch is done. Apparently, my clock had automatically changed the time AFTER I had changed it manually, so here we go, two hours back. I even made sure the automatic time change was off before I went to bed. And it was. That’s what you get when all you’ve got is a digital clock (my mobile) and nobody or nothing to check the correct time from. Never trust a digital clock on a day like that. I was easily forgiven because that particular day is the one they expect people to show up at the wrong time.
It kept getting better. Out of the blue, they started to complain about my hair. That I should wear it up, in a more tidy way so it’s not on the plates. FYI it’s never been on the plates. Quite understandably I had no time to do it the way I normally do in the morning, so I just had it in a high ponytail. Normal. But I went straight to the toilet to put it up, and managed to stumble through the breakfast service. Then, before the lunch José went: “What’s happened to your hair?”. Yes, I was well aware of the fact it looked a bit messy after hoovering the restaurant, running to my room to eat a banana to avoid starving, and running back to avoid being late again. I had no time to do anything to anything. So, I went to tidy it up. This time I put it in a ponytail in the back of my head instead of the top of my head. Tidy. After a while the same lady who had started the complaining said: “Vilma, could you put your hair up again, please?” Oh. So I put it up again, in a different way than in the morning, and asked her nicely if it was alright. Yes, it’s alright now. And then she said I shouldn’t give her an attitude if she asks me to do something like that. Give her an attitude? GIVE HER AN ATTITUDE? I wasn’t giving her any attitude. I wasn’t trying to be a rebel by wearing my hair in “the wrong way” on purpose! She also used the word “unfortunately” referring to me having long hair. What amazes me the most is that I’ve been wearing my hair in a ponytail every single day for over a month, and no one has said there’s anything wrong with it. Not even HER, and she has seen me many times. Today, all I did, was wore it a bit higher than usually, and o lo lo what a mess! But from now on I’ll have to wear my hair up, in a bun. Crazy. A storm in a teacup.
Just click “Play” (This is the only way to make you listen to it)
So, I'm in a pub called The Wheatsheaf, which is near the library that didn't have a WiFi. Makes perfect sense, doesn't it? I need the internet — let's go to the pub! The table is nice and sticky. I don't know whether I should buy a drink or something, is it wrong to just rudely use their WiFi? There's something wrong with the internet connection back at the hotel, in other words, there's no connection. And no one knows when it's coming back.
On Sunday night at twenty to two I caught myself sitting on my bed with my laptop open eating Nutella straight out of the jar with a disposable fork. I was thinking, what the heck am I doing? I still can't answer that, it shall stay as a mystery. Of course, just to be clear, the only reason I have a jar of Nutella in my room is that it's the only thing to put on a bread you can keep unrefrigerated since I don't have a fridge, and it's not cold enough by the window yet. Anyway, I had a majestic one night and three days off! Monday morning was the basic day-off morning. Nothing interesting about it. Although Monday wasn't just a normal day off, it was a "Holiday"— to be precise the first day ever in my life I'm getting paid for seriously doing nothing. Will do. I got out of bed after 12 o'clock, went down to have some lunch leftovers of the hotel guests for breakfast. A burger, chips and a piece of banoffee pie. Yes. Banana and toffee. BANOFFEE. (I didn't get it until someone explained to me.) For breakfast. It's not always as unhealthy, though. We eat all the extra food. All the food they don't eat. The veggies they leave. The spare desserts, that's my favourite part! Sometimes the food is really delish. (Urban Dictionary: Delish: A shorter form of saying 'Delicious' This tastes delish.Mmm, mmm, delish. Sorry I saw that in an ad today and couldn't resist XD) For instance the ceramic hot pot of potatoes, aubergine, and tomato topped with goat cheese, so yummy. That was the best dinner I've had here so far, I'm still dreaming about it every night. Well just kidding, I'm not. But it was lovely.
I bought a pair of portable mini speakers for I'm not coping with the laptop sound quality any longer. Unfortunately the sound quality didn't improve much cause I was being too mingy, but at least I can take those babies anywhere, and plug them to my iPod. Such fun! Oh god, where did THAT come from? I still refuse to admit having been watching too much Miranda. "Such fun!" is one of her mother's favourite phrases.
On Tuesday we had a miniature adventure with Yago as we got on a train and went to Lewes, a little town not too far away. It was very nice there, if it wasn't for the sea I'd prefer living in Lewes! They have a medieval castle there with a fantastic landscape from the towers. Now I sound like a tourist guide. But believe me it was fantastic! And a massive thank you to whoever controls the weather. You couldn't possibly have a better weather in England in October. I'm enjoying the English autumn, but funnily enough, the tree leaves don't really change colour (or if they do the new colour is brown, how uncreative is that). They just fall off leaving the trees looking somehow surprised, like "Oh, me leaves fell off!" Yes, you have to do the accent while you read. It's good to get some distance to work, completely forget that it's what I'm here for. Well it isn't all I'm here for. Actually, it isn't at all what I'm here for. I'm here to live. This is most likely the best thing I've ever done, and I'm so happy to be feeling the way I do.
Waiting at the Brighton Train Station
Lewes
Ok, I'm going to get that drink. My guilty conscience took over.
Oh and you might have to listen to the song of the day on Youtube because something's changed here, and I'm too lazy to sort it out now. :D (It's fixed!)
