Tuesday, December 29, 2009

A Very Rabies Christmas

A Very Rabies Christmas To Me! (to you!)
A Very Rabies Christmas To You! (to me!)

Christmas 2009 went down like this:

Christmas Eve in the Winter Wonderland, a themepark set up in Hyde Park to cater to ride lovers and shmucky yuletide festivities: German Sausages, Sauerkraut, Mulled Wine, and Eggnog!!!!!!!!! My whole life I have watched John Hughes Christmas Movies (home alone) and wanted to see what the hell this Eggnog business is all about??? BUT the one night of the year which is the most Eggnogy night of all, they stick me with this "we only sell Eggnog on weekends" pfffffft. So no eggnog for me, and the circus was sold out, so no circus lions or crappy yoke drinks this year.

Christmas Day, first time in London, there was no snow, but plenty of breezy cold weather. I cooked up some festive treats - including chef-ing up a roast and some ham.. let's talk about Ham.. Londoners don't really get ham. They sell this stuff called Gammon which is uncooked ham, and never having cooked a ham before I didn't want to start this year. I asked all around about Ham that is ready to go, but noone knew what I was talking about, finally my Christmas Ham Adventure came to a crux when I found a fistful of honeyed ham on the bottom shelf of Sainsbury's. London: 0, Christmas: 1.

Other things on my christmas menu included: mulled wine, pumpkin pie, and roasted chestnuts. We thought it would be nice to take some nuts to the park to feed to the squirrel's in Holland Park, and that is was, until one of them mauled me!!!
Nothing says Christmas like getting rabies from a Squirrel who is so full of christmas passion from my roasted nuts that he can't tell the difference between my fingertip and a nut. After Fluffy McFlufferson's chomped my hand off we had to find a chemist.. which is really easy on Christmas Day when everything is closed.

It was kind of hard to choose what we would do: a) run around London for some Squirrel-Off, or b) just suck it up and hang around the house seeing if my hand grew fur. My thoughts were we could just soak my hand in some Whiskey and hope for the best, and presto! No Rabies. although I did devour an entire bag of nuts, so whose to say that a little squirrelly vibe didn't rub off on me.

The rest of the time was spent eating and drinking, then eating, and drinking, and then some eating, followed by some drinking. Lots of Pear Cider and Pumpkin Pie, and Pannetone! This christmas brought to you by the Letter P!

Friday, December 18, 2009

Death to Wind chimes

When we moved into our new apartment we met our neighbours, there was an Aussie girl living under us, the person who used to live in our apartment was a french guy, and we met our upstairs neighbour who was pleased to note that we weren't psycho's.

Apparently the French Guy living there before us was a bit weird, as in didn't want to make small talk on the stairways when they passed each other, and just gave off a weird vibe. Having never met the guy I can't make assumptions on his weirdness. It is nice to know that I have been branded the normal neighbour, but unfortunately I am going to have to break that illusion because I am way more freaky than the anti-social Frenchy.

I have said this before but I absolutely deplore wind chimes. I hate wooden chimes, I hate seashell chimes, I hate tinkly aluminium chimes, I would seriously be shooting myself if I moved in next to the wind chime lady who lived in the Wind Chime House from Twister.

There is nothing worse than trying to get to sleep when you have to listen to someone else's wind chimes tinging in the breeze. It's like noise pollution. I equate it to leaving a festering pile of garbage outside in the blazing sun to rot all day and waft in through your neighbours windows. Keep that shit to yourself. If you like the sound of wind chimes hang them inside your apartment, and I in return won't play the drums in the communal stairwell.

You see?! how can I say this to my neighbour who thinks I am normal??

The positive thing about all this is that I appear normal from the outside (like a serial killer) who one day scales the building like a cat burglar to cut the cords on your freakin wind chimes like a shadow in the night.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Chunky Town

Wont you take me too... Chunkytown!
Wont you take me too.. Chunky Town!

It is really easy to put on weight in this town. Everything is so delicious. I cant walk through any of the supermarkets without buying packets of chocolate covered ginger biscuits/mint biscuits/chocolate covered cornflakes/chocolate pancakes. Not to mention that everything is so christmassy and there is extra yummy christmas food; turkey/cranberry sambos, gingerbread everything, german sausage festivals... Plus I have heard rumours that the water can you make you fat too, so lucky I have a gym otherwise I would be chunktastic.

I just feel hungrier here. Yesterday it was snowing (!!!) and nothing goes better than a nice cup of hot chocolate and a brownie to watch the snow with... plus the half a chicken, baked vegetables, peanut butter on toast, half a pack of biscuits, and a tub of yogurt...

I didn't have to work yesterday so I spent the day wandering around Notting Hill where I live and taking in the weather.. I was carrying my groceries home when I saw some chunky rain falling, so I stopped and did a quick survey of the skies, and OMG snow.. it was really quite pissy tiny sleety snow, but still I was excited.. then actual flakes started falling, and finally it was snowing proper. Sometimes when things like this happen I have to take a reality check and laugh because am I really carrying groceries home in the snow???? Laughable. this must be a dream.

So my wednesday was spent running in and out of the house like a kid all day to check out the snow.. which required a billion footwear changes as you need grippy warm boots to run around in the snow with, otherwise you will slip over and crack your head open, which is really uncool because most of my boots are really sexy yet impractical in that case.

Because I realised all my shoes were a death trap I went to the one place that Australians can go and feel right at home - Westfield. There is only one Westfield in London, so it's a relatively new phenomenon for the British to have every shop under one roof, wheres personally I would rather sit on a bicycle with no seat than go through the migraine inducing drama that is walking around a Westfield. I found a lot of expensive items that I want, including 'snow boots' 'snow hats' 'snow jeans' 'snow bras' 'snow vase'... but upon consulting my peeps we decided that £90 was too much to pay for a hat, even if the hat is totally cute.

It is supposed to snow bad on Friday, and when they say 'bad' I cant really comprehend, they are talking about not being able to come to work, tubes stopping, no buses... wtf? Oh well, snow day means more eating, more expensive hat buying, and more eating....

mmmmmm food.

Friday, December 11, 2009

I have a call from Smindoo

I am very new to this country. I admit that. However this is a predominantly english speaking country so I figured I would settle in quite easily and not have to walk around with a translator to figure out where the toilets and exits are...

I really need a translater though when I am answering phones at work.

I don't know if it is just the english dialect, or the fact that London is an exotic melting point of nationalities, or if I am just partially deaf and pretty stupid, but I can not for the life of me ever understand what anyone says when they phone up and ask to be transferred to someone.

So I just go with what I heard.. and so far I have heard some pretty weird things..These are the people I have transferred calls through to today:

"uhh hello I have Smindoo on the phone for you..."
" hi there, Nigaaaaart is on the phone"
"Nick from Hermee Ooffoo is on the phone"
And when someone Japanese comes in I just put a bunch of letters together "yeah mr awahsheki is here"

Who are these people? are there people running around called Smindoo?? Are we living in Lord of the Rings???

The worst part is when I have called up and said 'Lateeshfart from Derem Penergen is here for you' then they just look at you and go 'ummm .. i said Craig...' sorry it's my Australian Eardrums, they obviously have British Dyslexia.

I would like Anna Faris to play me in the movie about me.

Gifted Pedo's

If you ever wanted to describe to someone who doesn't speak English what 'internal struggle' means, then talking about Gifted Paedophiles would be a good starting point.

I get a lot of joy from movies/music and art.. but when the the enjoyment in question is the brainchild of a kiddy fiddler, does that lessen the scale of enjoyment? Example:

Jeffrey Jones

Arrested on Child Pornography charges, and on the Sexual Offender Registry since 2003. Bad Bad Man. But verry funny in Beetlejuice and Ferris Buellers Day Off. I love these films. Love them. Should I feel bad for getting such enjoyment out of watching his performance? Should children be taught that if you draw a door and knock 3 times that rather than opening a door to a portal to the undead you could be opening the door to Jeffrey Jones who is gonna put you in lewd poses and post the pictures on the internet?

Michael Jackson

We all know what he did, or what he supposedly did.. Maybe I am brainwashed from all the Michael Jackson Bad Touch Crotch Thrusting Documentaries, but I truly think he did bad things. And during normal hours if someone said "something something michael jackson" my brain immediately screams KIDDY FIDDLER!!! but if i'm in a bar and a Michael Jackson song comes on my brain thinks "time to dance!" There is no denying that MJ was an incredibly talented musician/songwriter/dancer, and it's a shame that he will forever be synonymous with rubbing hairless dicks all over the world on his 1992 Dangerous Tour (dangerous is your name is Jordy Chandler). But I still love his music. I just need to give my ears a good clean after I am done listening to it.

Roman Polanski

Ahh Roman. Roman Roman. The problem with the Roman Polanksi Internal Struggle is that you know for a fact that he did really bad things. I've read the court transcripts. He drugged, molested, and anally raped a 13 year old, and even got up to answer the door before going back to continue raping her. This isn't like Michael Jackson's assumed guilt, or Jeffrey Jones banging one out to pictures of 4 year olds in his study. Roman committed a crime, was arrested and escaped justice. BUT!!! I really really love his films. The Pianist was One Million times better than Shindlers List. Rosemary's Baby is a timeless classic, but they are the vision of a depraved sexual deviant. I can't help but think that in a parallel universe all of Roman Polanski's films would have been taken out of the mainstream and burnt in a bonfire never to be seen again by critiquing eyes. We don't allow sexual predators who are locked up in prison to make films and distribute them to the public, lest our brains become infested with the madness that drove them to commit such dastardly acts in the first place. If we can't buy a painting by Ted Bundy, then why should we be able to watch films by a Child Rapist??

They are really good films though. You just need to take a cleansing bath afterwards to rid yourself of any deviant madness that may have attached itself to you through the magic of the silver screen.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

I'm Home

Well, I finally have a postcode. Which means I officially have a home. Just like East 17 were singing about all those years ago, I am a West End Girl.. east end boys in a dead end world, East End Boys and West End Girls. West. End. Girls. deh neh neh neh.

One thing that is fairly prevalent when you are searching for a house in London, is the underlying inner racist that resides inside you (that you probably weren't aware existed), when you decide which ethnic group you want to be surrounded by. Shepherds Bush and Clapham are rife with Australians, so I definitely did not want to live there. And it all comes down to who you would rather be mugged by, the Brick Lane Indians in the East Side, or the Jerk Chicken loving Caribbeans in the West Side. Personally, I would rather be mugged by a Jamaican. I've always wanted to be friends with some Rastas who can take me under their wing and teach me how to wear gold jewellery and giant sneakers. Plus I love the soothing percussion of a steel drum band.

I have to say, moving 17,000 km's across the world really doesn't feel any different from moving a suburb away in Sydney, when you accidentally destroy a shelving unit in London, you still need to bang nails into the wall. Accidents are a global phenomenon.

My new apartment is in Ladbroke Grove, one street parallel from Portobello Road, which will come in handy on saturday afternoons when I go and haggle with a fruiterer for a £1 box of produce. mmmm. We have high ceilings, wood floors, heated towel rack, and on sunday night we discovered our Mystery Room.

When our apartment was advertised it said 1 Bedroom + Study.. well there was no apparent study when we inspected the place, unless the they were counting our walk in wardrobe an extra room?? So we just decided that whoever wrote the ad was clearly too busy smoking crack and eating jerk chicken and making up real estate lies.

However... we had 2 extra keys on our keyring. What were the keys for?? we didn't know.. we stuck them in every key-hole available and they didn't do anything. Maybe they were special Annoying Keys, designed to do your head in and stay up all night wandering what the keys do and what magical door they open.

Well we discovered which door they open... on our floors landing there was this door. We thought it might have been another apartment, or a switchboard room, so we tried out our Annoying Keys and lo and behold.. our Study!!!!!

A whole new room complete with shelving, electric sockets, a window with a view of the gorgeous church across the road.. What the hell?? what are we supposed to do with this room? It would be fairly inconvenient to sleep in there considering you'd need to unlock the main apartment door to get inside to use the bathroom or kitchen. What do you do with a room like this??

I suppose if you had people stay over they could stay in the Mystery Room and pee out the window. or you could rent it out to a family of illegal immigrants (again, you gotta sort out your own pee situation) At any rate - it is now our room of 'where anything ugly goes' - ie: suitcases (responsible for said Shelving Disaster) ugly chairs/ugly tables.. but the potential is endless.

*cocktail party room
* dead body room
*drug addict room
*coats, bags, and shoes room
*tiny rave room
*Lenny's Apartment

All we have to do now is get acquainted with our area, loads of cool looking pubs and bars, restaurants and clothes shopping. I think I will probably explode of excitement and go broke over the coming months.

And FYI to any whinging londoner who gives me shit about moving to London from Sydney .. I am really sick of this shtick I get from people about moving here, 'why would you leave sydney??' umm because Sydney is boring and London is exciting... There are more important things in life than a Beach. Beach Shmeach. They go on about how London is horrible and grey all year round.. Example:

Grey all year round huh?? that looks like a pretty fabulous blue sky to me. Just The Monument outside the building I am working in at the moment. That's pretty inspiring. More so than walking past the Matrix Fountain in Martin Place every goddamn morning.

Bondi Beach can kiss my ass, anyone who is stupid enough to go there deserves to stand in the copious amounts of dog poo left on the street to dry, and slide around in the spew from the drunk backpackers, and mingle with piles of festering garbage. .. or you could go to Europe for a quick Mediterranean getaway. but sure I can see how Bondi would be an equal comparison (not)

Weather isn't everything. If you're miserable in London, chances are you'll be miserable anywhere. Ladbroke Grove Forever. Bondi Never.

That's my two pence.

Wednesday, December 02, 2009

Measurement of Coldness

You know how cold today was: Dicksuckingly Cold.

I say this because that is the only way I can describe how cold it is so you get the full picture of the coldness. I don't know about you, but I have really sensitive teeth, and no matter how much sensodyne I use, I still can't eat cold things, and just thinking about eating something cold makes my front teeth hurt.

So today when I left home I noticed after awhile that my teeth were hurting, well my friends that would be because it was dicksuckingly cold.

- 1 degrees

Now i've rugged up to the best of my ability, and I'm actually feeling quite cosy and somewhat over-heated to be honest, except my goddam teeth are freezing.

There really isn't anything you can do if it's so cold your teeth are freezing, so I did the only thing I could do.. I walked around with cock-sucking face to keep my front incisors from freezing up and falling out.

What?!? What choice do I have until some genius makes me a toasty warmer tooth beanie?? the only way to stay warm teeth-wise, is to curl those lips over your teeth and try to breathe through your nose...much like the lady above is doing.

No wonder people were giving me the side-eye. Lucky I was walking around Soho which is the cocksuckingest capital of London so noone would have noticed anything too out of the ordinary.

Tuesday, December 01, 2009


I thought I would escape the monotonous "hot enough for ya" talk when I moved to London, but I have instead landed in a world of constant "ooh its cold out there"..

really?? is it?

Plus its not just the constant repetition of the blaringly obvious about the cold weather factor that is weird, its that they talk about it like it's never happened before...

I'm pretty sure it's been cold in London for ooh a few thousand years, and everytime around this time of year the whole cycle repeats itself and it continues to get cold again, just like it did the year before, and the year before that.

I really don't think it's that cold. If you have a warm hat/gloves/scarf/jacket then its fine. You can't go outside in a pair of thongs and a sun visor. That's not going to do shit.

Can not wait to move into our own place so I can have a party and make the very scrummy Mulled Wine.. Mulled Wine being a big factor in my excitement of moving to London, yet upon arrival it seems that mulled wine is about as classy as a warm beer. Damn my culturally uncool tastes.. Will I ever get it right??

Next up: Squirrel Pie!!!!!!!!