I’m a Blogger Get Me Outta Here…

We’re surrounded by bugs.

No not the the sickness kind (for once can you believe haven’t gotten ill this whole holiday *touches all the wood* not that kind of wood you filthy beggars).

CREEPY CRAWLIES.

Now when you consider the occupational hazards of working in the South or France I bet you wouldn’t think twice about being terrorised by six legged creatures.

We sat down to have dinner with one of the families staying here and very soon the menu changed form a respectable barbecue to Croquets a la (giant fucking) Beetle, Burger aux Moths and Gnat Sausages. YUM.

Every time a beetle hit a plate or bowl it made a loud chinking sound.

*Shudders*

And at 2am, with empty bellies since lunch time and tipsy guests who didn’t much care about our bug companions, we had to dig in.

I still get flashbacks.

Where’s ant and dec?

This insect buffet was followed with a storm of flying ants that covered EVERYTHING with a thick coating.

Yes like the bible (but yo know…with ants).

No god was not trying to smite us.

We’re good girls.

I digress.

FLYING ANTS.

And no they were not all dead by morning like they were supposed to be, they decided to stick around for the weather. We tried hosing them off and away but for the following days their hatchlings kindly made an appearance too.

Such fun.

Not only did we have to deal with creatures of a six Keyes kind but also the winged kind.

BATS.

Where was the last time you saw a bat? Safe and sound behind a glass cage at tropical wings?

Have you ever had…say…100 of them flying at you?

Unbeknownst to us there was a little bat cave in the alcove of one of the cottages.

In order to get rid of them we had to light a barbecue and smoke them out.

(No bats were harmed in the making of this barbecue).

Well we expected one or two to fly off to safety. There was hundreds!

Duck and cover more like scream and run.

The group of us looked like the characters in the Sims when the house sets on fire, waving around panicking like twats without doing anything to help or moving out of the way.

This was followed by two separate pool cleaning incidents where we found mice in the pool filters.

Yes MICE.

Well I say we…Rachel found them. I ran away and refused to enter the danger zone.

Fuck THAT.

Thank god for science students.

*Dons full protective clothing like on a crime scene*.

Sunbathing anyone?

Tour de France…

On our Tuesday off we decided we would make like the French and go for a bike ride through the sunflower fields.

We’d have the wind in our hair and and a baguette in our baskets.

A soundtrack of French music would be playing softly in the background.

French boys would wave from their balconies and throw us roses.

Too far?

A girl can dream ok.

Suffice to say, it didn’t quite happen that way.

The first problem being my bike was far too big; the second that we had abso-fucking-lutely no idea where we were going.

Being 5’1″ it’s not always easy finding bikes that fit me comfortably.

This one happened to be at least two whole sizes too big.

I had to jump to get on it, and fall off to get off it. I was doubled over forwards trying to reach the handlebars and the bike seat was wedged WAY too far where the sun don’t shine.

Despite this I tried to suck it up and make do.

Mistake!

I have never been more uncomfortable in my whole life.

This combined with my sorely lacking fitness levels meant I came off feeling like I’d been put through a spin cycle.

EVERYTHING hurt.

And we had a very pronounced case of “the bit”

Oh yes the dreaded “bit”.

Where that very bony part of your undercarriage meets the bike seat…

…and hurts like a MOTHERFUCKER.

I was walking sideways for three days.

And not in a good way…if you know what I mean.

Not only was I performing some kind of advanced yoga move on top of a two wheeled death trap but MY GOD it was hotter than summer in July.

Well it was summer in July….but….you know.

It was fucking hot!

If you happened to be in a remote area in the south of France on Tuesday and saw a small blonde girl horizontal on a blue bike and absolutely drenched with sweat.

That would be me.

I really hoping google maps wasn’t taking pictures that day.

And you think after all this effort we reached our destination?

NOPE.

Having been given no less than THREE sets of different directions we ended up even more in the middle of fucking nowhere when we started.

Who’s idea was this again?

Rachel I’m looking at you.

*Lies down in the recovery position*.

Oops I did it again…

A week ago I (very literally) crash landed into La Rochelle airport (thanks Ryanair) to begin my working holiday in the South of France.

Yes, I really did do it again.

Whoops.

#I’mABloggerGetMeOutOfHere.

The baby poo and sleepless nights of Spain apparently just weren’t enough to deter this…err…serial…working-holiday-ist? from another summer in the sun.

Yes well done Laura excellent use of your English degree to create concise and grammatically correct sentences.

*Slow clap*

Not only have I decided to spend yet another summer hundreds of miles away from family and friends and the comforts of home, but once again I’ve managed to wind up in the middle of nowhere.

Did I miss the memo about the existence of cities?

I’m starting to think that dropping geography in year nine was a bit of a mistake.

The warning signs were early….first of all we weren’t allowed to disembark the plane because the airport was too small for two aircrafts. Then as we were driven along the long winding roads past open fields and countryside the familiarity with rural essex, the land of horse-related train delays and escapee cows, became all too obvious.

It’s so peaceful you can hear a pin drop.

I am currently ensconced in a little shared annex with a fellow student from Leeds university for the next nine weeks.

My job? A mix of cleaning work, general grounds maintenance, the odd bit of cooking, playing with the kids, and….err more cleaning work.

My foreseeable Saturdays involve deep cleaning seven houses before the new guests arrive at 4pm.

Manual labour for the win!

On the flip side the hosts are lovely, the grounds are beautiful and we have a little kitchenette to make cups of tea to wile away the time….lots of cups of tea…so much tea…

In fact I think I have to go for my 47th wee of the day.

Toodaloo!

P.S. Breaking news! I’ve just today decided to switch to Earl Grey after a dire shortage of PG tips and a brief and not-so-tasty fling with Ceylon tea (which I’m told is from Sri Lanka). Yes this is the most breaking of all the news this week. #CountryLiving.

They see me tempin’ they hatin’…

I’ve been up all night, tryna get that rich I’ve been work, work, work, work working on my shit.

So, as it turns out, not only was I able to secure a little part time job at uni, but I’ve also been offered a Christmas temp position back at home (say what?).

Such fun!

(Not)

I hate it.

I’d envisioned spending the entirety of my Christmas holiday watching movies, seeing my friends, reading and soaking in a bubble bath.

Now I have to get up at 6am to catch a bus to the city.

The other day I was so tired I didn’t realise my watch was an hour fast so I accidentally waltzed out of the shop early, only to realise the actual time and have to awkwardly (and very stealthily I might add, I wasn’t voted most likely to work for Mi5 for nothing you know) creep back in and finish.

I ended this day spending five minutes trying to push open a pull door.

In front of a colleague.

Professionalism?

Nailed it.

It does have its perks though…

…like the other day I had a very funny conversation with an exasperated old man who was fed up following his wife around Christmas shopping.

I asked him if he was at least carrying her bags for her…his reply?

“No she likes carrying them…its a thing with you women isn’t it…the more bags you’ve got on your arms the better you feel”.

She wasn’t too impressed when she found him slacking off talking to me haha.

And…

And…

Ok I’m out of positives.

I spend the majority of my days manning the fitting rooms, which are empty 80% of the time so I’m insanely bored.

In fact I’ve been working on a little something something in my spare time.

“How to get Fired from your Retail Job” a self help book by Laura.

With highlights such as “have sex in the changing rooms” and “walk out before your shift ends”.

I’ll follow it up with the sequel “The Bus” an anecdotal book by Laura.

What was that?

You wouldn’t read either of them?

Well shit.

I guess I better stick at it then.

*Skulks off to changing rooms”

“Yanks curtains closed”

Workin’ 9 to 5…

So as it turns out, Overpacked may just be on her way to being paid.

Yes you did just read that right.

And yes, I am well aware that I sound like a pretentious twat when I refer to myself in the third person.

Such fun.

Not overpaid mind you, which is what I actually want…just nicely minimum waged up.

I’m actually a little bit chuffed…I thought I’d absolutely cocked up the interview.

In the first place I forgot that I even had it at all.

You know that memory wipe phenomenon you get when walking through doorways…yeah…well I had that in reverse.

There I go lah di dah di dah…walking into the kitchen at half twelve to warm up my soup for lunch then…

…BOOM.

Brain presents me with *interview at 1*.

*Hand flourish*

*Fanfare*

23 19, I repeat we have a 23 19.

Monsters Inc. reference….yes?

No?

I of course lose my shit and run flailing out the front door, calling a taxi and then cancelling the taxi when I realise it’s actually going to arrive too late.

I contemplated walking (power walking…running).

Fuck that.

Bus it was.

I arrive in the nick of time…but then of course my Google maps decides it’s going to lead me in the completely wrong direction.

YOU HAD ONE JOB.

By the time I’d reached the top end of the high street I realised how hopelessly lost I was, and had to call the interviewer and ask for directions.

Professionalism?

Nailed it.

Anyways, I must have done something right, in the New Year I should be settling into the position of Customer Service Assistance at a beautiful little high end espresso cafe.

She said they needed smiley people like me at the front of house.

I think she confused “smiley” with manic.

Personally I think I looked a little more like this:

And what do I have to do in that position you ask?

LITERALLY smile and wave boys.

Smile and wave.

…Oh and carry (smash) the crockery.

P.S. Keep your fingers crossed for me will you? Pretty please. Pretty please with a cherry on top?

Nineteen…

It’s happening….the teenagepocalypse.

I woke up the other day and realised that I have ONE more year of my entire life left as a teenager. One more year until I have no excuse not to be an independent, fully functional, self-sustaining adult.

I have exactly 330 days to do the stupidest shit possible before I turn 20 and I can no longer get away with it.

I CANT HANDLE THE PRESSURE!

To plunge me even further into crisis, I woke up the other day to the news that a girl in my year at school has just gotten engaged.

What?

WHAT?

I don’t even have a boyfriend.

…Or a job…

OR ANY FUCKING MONEY.

What is my life?

Quick someone send me a university bucket list…

…and a life coach…

…and some vodka.

*Curls up in foetal position*

*Cries*

P.S. Am I really the only one who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing with their life? Help me feel better, tell me about your life crisis in the comments below!