Mind The Gap…

Can we first spare a moment of silence for the man, the legend….50 Cent. The G that got rich and didn’t die trying, and recently managed to bankrupt himself in a coke storm of (borrowed) cars, gold chains and hoes.

If theres one thing that Mr Cent has taught me, its that even if you go from rags to riches on the back of successful r&b/rap songs that fetishise childhood pastimes and birthday parties, you can loose it all in a second thanks to an un-strategically placed dick.

Best give up now then.

Speaking of bankruptcy; I have recently moved to London.

I’m starting to think that when Kate Moss said “get the London look” she was actually referring to the unwashed, unshaven, fag toting, Sainsbury’s basic beer drinking mess I’m going to become if I leave the house one more time before I move out of this bloody city.

I went to use the tube the other day from Holborn to Oxford Circus and had to hand over £2.30, my firstborn child, my university degree and the clothes off my back.

Turned out it wasn’t even working, there was a tube strike on so I walked it.

I don’t know how people do it. If I stayed any longer I’d have to start letting my London Bridge down if you know what I mean.

Hint hint, nudge nudge.

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When I first got my swanky London summer job, with its decent pay at fancy establishment, I had visions of rocking up in a bedazzled black cab in head to to Chanel a la Posh Spice.

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Instead I have been reduced to hiding out on my duvet bunker and hoping for my bank to have a computer glitch and accidentally forget to “autosave” my overdraft…like those times you spend a week of all nighters at the library and and wake up to find that your essay has disappeared in a poof of smoke.

Cash donations are welcome.

Designer shoes even more so.

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HOW DO YOU PEOPLE DO IT?

P.S. London move is (thankfully) a temporary situation. T-14 days till I move to Mississippi…posts to come.

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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?

Sun, sweat and tears…

For any of you lovely readers that haven’t read my biking post…I am currently living in the middle of bloody nowhere. Like Antarctica sort of no where.

Well maybe not Antarctica…France actually…but house-in-the-middle-of-a-field-with-no-neighbours kind of nowhere.

It’s remote okay.

We woke up one morning and Rachel decided that she’d come down with a severe case of sun stroke (nausea, sickness, dizziness the lot). Our employers wouldn’t drive her and so we had to make a medical pilgrimage to the nearest pharmacy.

Two miles they said.

You’ll be there in no time they said.

It took us two and a half bloody hours to reach the little town.

After the last incident we decided to abandon the bikes and proceed bravely on by foot.

We started off trudging along quite happily with our two maps that joined in the middle.

And then the midday sun hit.

It was so hot.

So hot.

I fashioned my top into a kind of crop top (which some lorry drivers on the main road apparently found extremely amusing…and some old grandmas not so much) and tried not to let my legs fall off in long black leggings.

Why I chose to wear them on a long walk in August is beyond me.

In the heat we made it as far as the main road that lead into the town.

Then the heavens opened.

So there we were…two sad looking, sweat-drenched Brits walking along in a tropical rainstorm with abso-bloody-lutely no clue where we were going.

We arrived at the pharmacy looking like a pair of drowned rats.

Thankfully the pharmacist didn’t bat an eyelid so we could be on our way with the medicine and make the long trek home.

This return trip involved many an expletive and laments about a) the lack of a car b) the lack of someone who can drive a car and c) whether we should have carried on walking to the nearest airport and then on to home (screw the luggage and the fact that the closest airport was an hour by car WE CAN DO IT).

We finally made it home by around 4pm absolutely knackered, and drugged Rachel up.

She was fine by morning, and lived to see another day in France.

Oh Rachel the things I do for you.

Moral of the story: don’t apply for summer jobs in remote locations.

In fact don’t apply for summer jobs abroad at all.

Why oh why can I be a normal teenager spend my summer channel surfing on the sofa?

Voyage-ing…

Since we arrived in the land of sunshine and cigarettes we (we being me and Rachel, my parter in crime for the duration of this working holiday) have been on a couple of trips into civilisation.

First came Cognac for the Blues Festival.

Well I say Blues Festival.

We didn’t actually have tickets.

Instead of seeing once-semi-famous-blues-bands “rock out” to some old tunes on stage we saw post middle age men in biker gear drinking beer and having impromptu “jam sessions” in bars.

Basically the same thing right?

Cognac itself was a quiet sleepy little town with not a lot to offer.

Well, except Cognac, but we didn’t drink any of that either.

Just as we were about to give up and sit down to eat our home made French baguettes (more like a soggy school lunch sandwich but you know, when in Rome….or…errr, France), we were surrounded by a marching band and serenaded with WHAM!’s ‘Careless Whisper’.

20 good looking French boys blowing their trumpets for us?

Don’t mind if we do.

Next came La Rochelle, a gorgeous port town where we behaved like sensible adults, dining in a French bistro, spending all of our weeks wages on clothes and jewellery (Rachel) and riding on a Ferris wheel.

Even though it tipped it down with rain when we decided to have a sit down by the river, we never wanted to leave.

Finally we had a trip to Saintes to celebrate Bastille Day on the 14th of July.

I treated myself to a candy floss bigger than the size of my whole upper body #health, and was banned by Rachel from going on the French themed merry-go-round because I was too old and it would be too embarrasing.

*Sulk*

I was very disappointed I didn’t get a ride on a giant cock.

Cock as in cockerel you filthy people.

The animal, not the….

My god.

*Tuts*.

Just before the fireworks started, we heeded warnings about the idiots with deck chairs who found themselves nice comfy spots an hour before the display only to find that their view was obstructed by trees.

We sat down all smug a few minutes early on a comfy little grass verge with beautiful views over the river and a clear view of the sky.

Well, so we thought.

Guess which twats couldn’t see the fireworks.

These ones.

Yes, we had to get up and run, and ended up in a giant crowd on tip toes trying to peer over some very tall persons shoulders.

Such fun.

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.

Props and frocks…

Anyone that knows me knows that I’m the worst person ever to take to a formal social event.

Stuffy balls and formal pow wows seem to bring out my naughty side.

The euphemisms are real with this one.

Oi stop snickering behind your screens. This is a serious blog with serious…oh who am I kidding?

Our university summer ball, however, was an outdoor garden event with live music, dance tents and zorbs. Perfect for this country bumpkin.

What could go wrong?

Rain.

Much rain.

Exeter city centre became a witch hunt for reasonably priced and outfit coordinating wellie boots, and I’m afraid to say I was no Matthew Hopkins.

You know the famous Essex witch hunter?

No?

Ahhhh I’m such a history geek.

I returned home sans-Wellington boots and decided to wear my lovely new faith heels I bought for the occasion.

Well they did match my dress that I’d painstakingly searched for over the course of the summer term (no it had absolutely nothing to do with exam procrastination, how very dare you, it’s completely normal to buy and return six dresses and two pairs of shoes before a big event).

I almost got away with it.

Turns out being 5’1″ you can fit your entire body into a zorb, and so when someone runs into you and pushes you over, though you may be stuck legs akimbo for ten minutes waiting for professional help, you stay fairly mud free.

Bloody fantastic.

Add that to my CV…”doesn’t get wet in zorbs”.

Hey it’s 2014, I need all the help I can get.

In the end it was the mud pit that was once the silent disco tent and the slide (yes slide) into the dance tent that had me caked like Percy the pig.

I didn’t much care. Turns out overpriced jaëger and energy drinks both protect you from the bitter cold and reduce the general number of fucks given about anything.

That was until it was time to go home.

The Ball organisers decided it would be a wonderful idea to try to transport a thousand students back to campus on two fifty-seated coaches.

Cue a sea of very annoyed and sobering students and a general air of rioting.

I decided it was better to sit at the back and watch the drama unfold, of which there was plenty.

Turns out my jaëgerbomb coat came in very handy.

Luckily, by the early hours of the morning, we got dropped home right outside our accommodation as quite happy, if not very broke and muddy, campers.

Every cloud has a silver bus.

P.S. It rained so hard at one point that we got stuck inside the music tent with some very drunk rah’s smoking cigars. Can you get any posher? I of course added even more class to the proceedings by very attractively wolfing down a hotdog.

P.P.S. Even though I lost my shoes (well ok I managed to scrub them up but they did almost go to shoe heaven), I did not meet Prince Charming at the ball. I’ll keep you updated on that one, it’s a work in progress.

Brits Abroad…

In the last week of May my flatmates and I decided to go on an impromptu trip to Malaga in Spain.

Excellent use of student loan I must say.

Yes yes, I’ve realised that it is currently July. I’ve been busy.

Actually I’ve been lazy but I’m turning 20 in two months and apparently adults are “busy” not “lazy”.

*Stoic face*

*Adjusts wire rimmed glasses and straightens pantsuit*

*Smooths hair tendrils into smart work-appropriate chignon with…*…ok you get the point.

I digress.

^ See adult posh word.

As it turns out it wasn’t quite the typical “lads and ladettes on tour” holiday that you would expect.

Well except for the first night where we decided that buying a massive European priced bottle of Smirnoff vodka between three of us (the others arrived later) and drinking it all as screwdrivers was a good idea.

I drank the most and spent the whole night with my head down the toilet.

“Woo party!”.

Bleugh.

There were no late night clubbing adventures (we tried to go clubbing, it was more like a year 9 school disco where everyone was cramped onto a dance floor the size of a toilet and amazing tunes such as ‘Summer Lovin’ were blasted out to a near sober crowd), the alcohol was kept to a minimum….well for me at least, (I have since gained the nickname “pukette”), and there was no sex on tap (well the non-monogamous-long-term-loving relationship type…that’s what you get for living in a flat full of couples).

But we did see a lovely castle which we were given a grand tour of by the famed and internationally revered resident local tour guide (and apparent owner) Mr Abraham (thanks Kolujo 😉 ). And an amazing Flamenco show, and a beautiful cathedral, and we ate some authentic paella and we caught some rays on Malagueta beach and, and….I’ll stop. Haha.

#Tourists.

*Facepalm*

Highlights of the trip included me getting sick (as usual, did you even have to ask) and having to make a confusing and bloody expensive trip to Malaga General Hospital (could we have found a GP? Hell no); accidentally eating at the dodgiest of all dodgy cafés with questionable results; meeting a 30 year old married German man and his best friend on the beach (who surprisingly didn’t try to chat us up but did talk for a bit too long and took a few too many group pictures), meeting som Spanish boys who did try for a bit of how’s your father (with the line “do you like my body”) and arriving at the airport 6 hours to early because we thought our flight was at 6pm rather than 12am.

All in all a very successful adventure, don’t you think?

Greece anyone?

PS, Malaga is wonderful you should definitely go and visit, we stayed in a lovely flat in the heart of the city centre using airbnb.com which was a steal for the location and price! A big cheers to my flatmates for the best holiday ever :).

The Liebster Award

*Makes a swishy entrance in large floppy hat, kaftan, bangles and sunglasses*

Oh hello there, haven’t seen you for a while…I’ve just been busy…you know, traveling, finding myself, learning the arts of yoga, hybrid flowga and feng shui and uncovering the true meaning of life through my own self improvement and discovery.

LOL

Actually I’m sat at my uni kitchen table in a blanket hanging like a wet jumper on a washing line.

JÄEGERBOMBS ARE POISON.

I really don’t have an excuse as to why I have failed to blog for over a month..or two (shhhhhhh).

I will accept my punishment.

Not that type of punishment you filthy beggars, put down the Fifty Shades of Grey…yes that’s it…now step away slowly…you can do it…no stop it…stop…put your hands away…in your pockets…well done.

Did you miss me?

Not even a little?

On my grand return to the blogosphere, I discovered that the lovely Bella, fellow blogger, Exeter lass and all around girl about town (I don’t know this for sure, I’ve never met her but she has a very lovely blog so one must make assumptions…go check her out, that’s an order) has nominated me for a Liebster award, so sit back and listen to me waffle on about myself.

Vain?

Me?

Nooooo

Here are the rules:

  • Share 11 facts about yourself
  • Answer the 10 questions set to you
  • Come up with 10 more questions
  • Nominate some other bloggers to take part!

 

  1. I hate talking about myself. Really…you don’t believe me? And this doesn’t count as a fact? Ok fine I’ll do another number one.
  2. I LOVE watching movies…I’m pretty sure I’ve seen every rom-com since the turn of the noughties. I’m currently taking a film class which means I can put this hobby to actual use.
  3. I stand at the grand old height of 5’1. Yes, I maybe pint sized but I’m hella powerful…I can totally lift like 3, 4 pounds…on a good day.
  4. I am a walking furnace. I radiate heat like the depths of hell. If the ice age ever returns, you have permission to grab me for life saving warmth.
  5. Despite this fact I adore summer, even though I “glow” like the north star. Nothing better than lying in the sun for a good couple of hours…or 20. Oh how I miss the luxury of holidays…oh the tan, oh the cocktails *le sigh*
  6. I am famous in my student flat for my undying love for the Taco who doesn’t love tomato-ey beef in a crispy shell covered with cheese *foodgasm*.
  7. And on that Mexican note…Tequila is my kryptonite.
  8. I am also addicted to crisps, to the extent where my mum even sent me an article on the fact that its the crunch of the crisp that I’m actually hooked on. Probable one of the most unhealthy addictions you can have. Please tell me there’s a crisp addiction clinic…do any of you know hypnosis?
  9. My biggest movie crush is probably Jude Law in The Holiday *drools*.
  10. At the grand old age of 19, I still have a little bit of a Sims addiction. Freeplay anyone? I know, I know, I’m just that cool right?
  11. I am the modern day Imelda Marcos, I am a self proclaimed shoe-aholic. I have too many pairs to count…don’t ask, my GCSE maths doesn’t stretch to those kind of figures.
  12. I don’t play any musical instruments…or any sports. Tried piano once, couldn’t move one hand separately to the other #epicfail.
And here are the answers to the questions Bella set me:
  1. What did you want to be when you were little? A teacher, a dancer, a mummy, a princess…ohh the fun I had dressing up my brother and cousins.
  2. Was there a particular blog that got you into blogging? What was it? Not in particular, but I started off reading fashion blogs from my favourite YouTubers.
  3. Where is somewhere in the UK you would love to visit but haven’t yet? I have always wanted to go to Ireland. This has absolutely nothing to do with the Irish accent. Nothing at all.
  4. What’s your biggest guilty pleasure? *Cough* food *cough*. If you hadn’t already noticed from the above.
  5. If you could only listen to 1 song for the rest of time, what would it be? My Baby Just Cares for Me by Nina Simone. Oh the times I pranced and trotted along to this tune.
  6. Where was the first place you went on holiday? My first holiday was to Disneyland. I was too young. I remember nothing. I will never forgive my parents.
  7. What’s your favourite month? September, the month of birthday presents, Indian summers and golden leaves.
  8. What’s your favourite book? Probably Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.
  9. Describe your dream house (briefly!) It has a jacuzzi and an indoor swing. The rest is negligible.
  10. What’s your supermarket of choice? ASDA all the way *slaps bum to advert theme tune*. Cheap? Who me?
My questions are:
  1. Where do you want to travel to?
  2. Tell us a funny story.
  3. What is your dream job?
  4. Why did you decide to start blogging?
  5. Who would play you in a movie about your life?
  6. Do you have any secret skills/party tricks?
  7. What is your favourite film?
  8. What would your super power be?
  9. Tell us your favourite/worst chat up line.
  10. If  you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?

I tag Kate, Zooey, Alex, Pretty Vacant Pirate, Drown in Melancholy and Seb, (should they wish to answer my terrible questions) and anyone else who wants to join in!

 Ready, set, GO!

Merry Christmas!

I’m a 4 year old.

I actually woke my mum up this morning because I was so excited for Christmas (well to be honest I do this every year but hey).

I don’t know if its the fact that I’ve been away at Uni, or just purely the fact I’m a Christmas nut but I just can’t contain my excitement, I’m bouncing off the walls.

Its one of the only days of the year where its guaranteed that I’ll wake up feeling elated…you know when you feel like you could just burst from happiness?

Would you like some hamburger with that cheese, Laura?

photo(21)

Anyway, in the Christmas spirit, I would like to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who has read my blog this year, left me comments and been generally supportive. The other day I reached over 1000 views and I couldn’t be happier so THANK YOU.

I wish all of you health, happiness and prosperity, and the best Christmas Day (or whatever you may celebrate today) you could ask for.

Love,

Laura

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”