Mummy dearest

April 3rd 2011

Today is Mother’s day and I want to dedicate this post to my mummy dearest.

I could start off by telling you how beautiful she is but as a picture is worth a 1,000 words, I present you my mum:

I first met my mum on the 19th of February 1990, it was no coincidence that it was my birthday, being my mother and all. Although it was the first time I actually saw her (she said I opened my eyes straight away) I knew her voice already as she’d spent most of her pregnancy talking, reading and singing to me. She loved and nurtured me, teaching me how to walk, talk, read and go to the toilet a lot quicker than other children. Although that may have had something to do with me being a super baby too . I was so far advanced that I skipped infant school and went straight into first year.

She taught me to love books and I have devoured them all my life, giving me a great vocabulary and probably what made me go into languages later on. As she was really young herself when she had me (16) we have always been as close as sisters but she has also been able to be disciplinary when needed.

She’s incredibly creative and crafty which allowed us to spend more time together. When I was about 9 years old, we’d go to the supermarkets with my little brother and pick up empty cardboard boxes and buy dishcloths and bin bags. At home we turned the boxes into an awesome doll’s house for my Barbies and used the dishcloths to make tops, skirts and dresses for them, the black bin liners turned into ‘leather’ trousers and jackets for the ‘rebellious’ Barbies.

Another time we went and got buckets of finger paints and giant sheets of paper then laid them out on the living room floor. Mum, my brother and I got into our swimming costumes and instead of using just our fingers we covered ourselves from head to toe in paint and started rolling around or stamping different parts of our bodies onto the paper. The bum prints had us all in giggles.

My mum is also a brilliant painter. In our first house in Sheffield she painted a mural of a dolphin jumping over the sea in the sunset on her bedroom wall. It was beautiful but before she could paint anymore we had to move house. The next house we lived in was pretty cool but had really bad décor. Mum decided we could paint it any colour we wanted and we set about stripping wallpaper and lifting carpets. The living room became dark blue and bright green, the corridor was peach and a different shade of green, the carpet was a deep purple… I got to paint the upstairs bathroom by myself but I was only 12 and not very good so I ended up using a whole bucket of paint on 2 walls. We decided to leave it half done as we could see shapes in the bits where the paint had been running out and it gave us something to look at in the shower. Mum decorated the ceiling with an underwater scene including a blonde mermaid with sea shell bra, various fish, jellyfish and crabs as well as some seaweed and corals. Her bedroom was a deep red on one side and dark blue on the other. Mine got decorated as part of my 13th birthday present (somewhat of a tradition, I’ve come home on 2/3 birthdays to find my room re-done and I helped do my brother’s on occasion). Each wall was a different colour, one corner would have splashes in the colour of the last wall. I was pretty chuffed as my room had been a complete tip with boring off white walls.

However, it’s not just painting houses she paints using acrylics on canvas but has been known to experiment with oils, watercolours and sketching. She was commissioned to do a painting of someone’s houseboat a few years ago and I remember she painted an amazing purple dragon in some dark mountains for her birthday. Here’s an example of her work:

One of her earliest hobbies was story writing, she filled a series of notebooks from the ages of 7 to 13. I read through the stories and they were really good, specially for a child, although some were a bit silly. She also wrote a diary throughout her pregnancy with my little brother as if she were talking to him. She told him about how her day went and how she loved him and couldn’t wait to meet him even though he was pain and wouldn’t let her sleep.

For my brother’s 10th or 11th birthday she wanted to make him a dinosaur cake, so that’s what she did. We went into town and got some madeira, fruit and chocolate cake squares as well as some icing mix and food colouring. We used the main blocks for the body then cut off little bits and shaped them around until it looked dinosaur shaped then covered it in the green icing and drew on eyes and scales. It was really nice and everyone was impressed with it. On his 15th birthday she made him this Xbox 360 shaped birthday cake:

As she doesn’t like to measure things out the icing went a bit funny and Danny (my bro) and I laughed at its ’cellulite’.

My mum is also a caring and intelligent person. She finished her nursing degree in May, 2008 and is now working at a nursing home. She likes looking after the elderly who have so much to tell but so few people listen. I remember her saying that everyone wants to look after babies but not many want to look after the elderly who often need as much, if not more help.

Her caring doesn’t stop at people either and I’ve seen her bring little animals  back to health. Once on her way to work she almost stepped on young mouse, he was obviously ill. Instead of leaving him, like I probably would have, she called my dad and he came to pick him up and took him home. Mum named him Mickey and nursed him back to health, he was so well in fact that he managed to jump right out of his box and ran away! Another animal story was from a cat she rescued from one of our neighbours who was starving and mistreating her. Mum started feeding her and letting her in the house until eventually she just moved in. The thing is mum is allergic to cats but she got used to Dolly, however she got pregnant and gave birth in mum’s wardrobe (on top of her expensive satin dress that had slipped onto the floor). Unfortunately we couldn’t look after 8 kitties and as they were too young to be separated we had to take her and her babies to the shelter.

I know I don’t speak to her as much these days and we’re not as close as we used to be but we’re both growing up and physical distance makes it hard to maintain contact. On the other hand I don’t think a bond like ours could be easily broken. When people meet us they immediately assume we’re sisters; not only because we look similar but also because we tend to finish each other’s sentences or translate for each other when one of us is too tired or drunk to form a sentence. We have similar tastes in music and we often shared clothes, although she tends to go for red and I prefer purple. Once we dressed almost exactly the same completely by accident:

We were so in touch at one point that I’d know if she felt unwell as I came down the stairs from my attic bedroom. We slept on the same bed one night and, as we often used to, we told each other the dream we’d had. It turned out that we’d both dreamt about the same little boat although in a different surrounding!

As I get older going to uni, working abroad, getting engaged and generally grow up I know mum feels like she’s losing me and I’m forgetting her and my family. I want her to know that she’s always in my heart and mind even when I don’t call (or facebook), that although I’m not there and she’s not here we are so deeply embedded in each other after years of being so close that it’s almost impossible to forget, never mind stop loving each other. She has done an amazing job raising me and my brother to be confident, polite, respectable people with a shining future ahead of us and the world at our feet. I appreciate the hard work and effort she’s put in to achieve it. I mean, she moved to England at 23, not speaking a word of English then managed to get money to get me and my brother over, settled and successful. She finished a very demanding course while raising two children, made all the harder by Danny’s ADHD, whom she got help for and he’s thankfully a lot nicer now.

There are so many words to describe her: beautiful, strong, passionate, creative, daring, confident, caring, compassionate, fun, intelligent, amusing, understanding and so much more. To me she is not just my mum but a friend, a guide and a sister. I love and miss you mum and I’m sorry I can be so distant, I haven’t forgotten you and I’ll be back soon. Did I forget to say she’s also good a sewing? She’s going to be making my bridesmaid dresses too! Multi-talented that’s another word to describe this amazing woman!

Go buy your posh hat!

I realise I haven’t updated my blog in a loooong time. I’m back (I’m on the rag and ovulating… wait! what? Eminem, get out of my head!) and ready to update my whole 2 readers!

I last left you with a story of stupidness, homelessness, park bench drinking and extortion. I’ll start with the house situation then. As promised (I kept my word for once!) I handed in my notice and I moved into my new studio in the 19th arrondissement of Pari’ on the 1st of Feb 2011! That’s the good news, the bad news is I still haven’t seen my 440€ deposit or the ridiculous amount of 350€ that I handed over so John could stay for a week, which he didn’t end up doing anyway (more on that later). Basically they owe me 800€ and the chances of me getting it back are looking slim, almost anorexic at this point.  

As I said before, when I moved in it was illegal and the deposit I handed over was not protected. John got off the ship in mid Jan and was meant to come over and stay with me for ages but I had to move and since I hadn’t found I new place I was still in the ‘colocation’ (house-share) when he got off. You’d think since I was already paying loads I should be able to have my boyfriend over for a few days until I moved, but no, my housemate and his, now pregnant, girlfriend did not think so. I either moved out early, paid for a hotel or paid extra for him to stay. Figuring I couldn’t move out with nowhere to go (there’s less space for 2 people under a bridge) and even hostels costing more, I decided what the hell and paid for John to stay. I know, I know, why did you pay in advance blah, blah, blah… They pressured me, I was stressed and depressed and lonely and tired with the whole situation, generally pretty vulnerable and maybe a tad naive.

So, with that paid, John could come stay with me and help me look for a flat then we’d move into a new place and live in bliss even if it was just for a bit. However, we received some bad news about John’s dad and he went straight to his parent’s when he came back. Unable to get my money back (they had spent it on various bills) yet desperate to get out, my friend and I traversed across the city and its surroundings until on the day I had to move out I finally found somewhere. A small 18m2 studio in the north of Paris, 620€pcm inc bills on the 6th floor, available immediately. After fighting off at least 20 candidates with the worst proposal in the history of the world, I called the landlady twice and sounded desperate enough she let me have it!

Although my friend had agreed to help me move out, by the time I had signed the contract and the bureaucratic BS required then returned to my old place, packed (last-minute as always) and was eventually ready to physically move out it was 1.00am on a Tuesday. There was no way in hell my mate was gonna get out of bed after having lost her  weekend helping me, go to the other side of the city to help me carry my minimal but heavy stuff back into the city and up to my new flat. I gritted my teeth damming my own stupidity once more, called a taxi (30€ by the way!) and arrived at my new abode. Did I mention it’s on the 6th floor with no elevator? What ensued was half an hour of single-handedly pushing/pulling/shoving and various other verbs up the freaking steps with a suitcase that weighed about the same as me and a washing basket containing a mini suitcase full of stuff.

Finally, feeling like Rapunzel (tallest room of the tallest tower and all that) I was able to lay down on my pull out bed and snuggle in… well, not quite. Although it was a furnished apartment with an equipped kitchenette, I had no covers and no pillows, but I had stolen the sheet off my former bed. So using my old sheet and my coat as a pillow I spent my first night in my wonderfully housemate free apartment. I felt bruised and battered for the rest of the week but content, even buying some cleaning stuff. I didn’t have enough time to buy bed stuff that week though and I went to see John in England that weekend.

I was overjoyed to see him after so long, knowing I’d get to keep him for longer than a few hours in some random port. I was even more ecstatic when on the 20th of January after some drinks with friends and a lovely get together with his family we went up to his room; then after making me close my eyes and teasing me by placing various of his childhood toys in my hands he eventually produced a diamond ring and asked me to marry him. After some tears, of happiness of course and hugs kisses (while I got my voice) and finally said “yes”.

As often happens in life, however, happiness and sadness are never too far from each other. Shortly after his father took a turn for the worse and unfortunately died on the 23rd of January. It’s not my place so I won’t say too much on the subject but he was a loved and caring man who lived well into his 80s and will be missed by many.

I had to go back to work and he stayed with his mum and siblings getting things prepared but when I returned for the service I was able to take him back with me on my return to Paris.

We happily laid in bed and watched TV shows half wanting to go out and explore but using the crappy weather as an excuse to stay in and cuddle instead. We did do some of the touristy things but we realised we’re much more interested in staring into each other’s eyes than into the Mona Lisa’s. He was here with me up until 2 weeks ago when he had to go back onto the cruise ships (see the second post I wrote for reference). Once more I’m alone in my little studio which now holds memories of his hugs and kisses, which make me feel happy but lonely if I let them.

I have to focus on my referral work and hope the cheery, sunny weather keeps going as it makes me feel better and seems to make time go faster. Not long until July, when I will be able to go back to what I consider real life, back in Sheffield with my John, Uni essays to do, jobs to find and now even a wedding to plan!

Rose-tinted glasses

When I first thought about coming to Paris I had envisioned a beautiful city full of history and art. I had pictured myself in an interesting  job where I wouldn’t count down the seconds to go home. I knew I would miss my family and my boyfriend but I thought that I would enjoy my forced freedom and spend evenings and weekends traversing the streets and exploring the cultural buildings and works of art. I would live in a cool bohemian apartment in the middle of town with other placement students where I would be able to practise my language skills on a regular basis and make life-long friends along the way.

I pictured a wonderful life. I am a realist though and realised it probably wouldn’t work out like that. I was right, the second time. I have been here three months now, having arrived on the 5th of July 2011. I am getting pretty tired… correction I am always tired! That means that all those cool riverside walks by the Seine and endless explorations of the museums are still but a dream. My cool international house in central Paris, is also a dream. I live in Rosny-Sous-Bois which is in zone 3 of the Paris area towards the east. However, as it’s not in the 20 arrondissements  it’s not actually Paris (3 stops so 20 mins by RER-train to Paris centre).  It’s nice enough and it’s not one of the really dodgy ‘banlieus’ (areas around Paris, literally means banished areas), it is also only 2 stops (10mins on the RER) to work which would be more like an hour away from central Paris. I do like the cool shopping centre across the road (Rosny 2) which reminds me of Meadowhall back home in Sheffield.

When I went to the viewing to see my house I really loved it. The building itself is a lame block of flats with other blocks of flats around but they all have a nice garden/playground area in the middle. There is also a Lidl 2 minutes away which comes in really handy and a Carrefour (big supermarket, a bit like Tesco’s)  in Rosny 2. The flat itself has 2 double bedrooms, a large living room, big kitchen (specially for Paris!) a bathroom and a separate toilet. My housemates are a muslim couple (he’s 31 and she’s 23) and they are nice. At first it was all perfect. I had my own double room in a modern flat near work for only 460€ (£404) per month inc bills. Then I messed it up.

In France it is illegal to sub-let. The official reason is that if something happens to you, during a fire or something, you’re not registered so everyone could get in serious trouble. The other reason is that landlords don’t like people to pay for one medium size rent when they could get 3! I had been told not to open the door when they were out as we’d all get in serious trouble if it was the landlady. I bet you can guess what  happened last sunday can’t you?

That’s right I was on my own and I had had a pretty good day I had talked to my boyfriend on Skype, gone to see how much it would cost to get my laptop sorted (it’s irreparable by the way) and I had tidied up the whole house. I was drawing in the living room when the doorbell rang. Admittedly I did hesitate and heard the little voice in my head saying ‘Don’t go! Don’t open it! It’s the landlady!’ but promptly ignored it as I remembered how my housemate and I needed to ring on someone else’s door the day before when we had been locked out.

So making up my (stupid) mind I got up and picked up the receiver then panicked as I heard the woman on the intercom telling me it was the landlady. ‘Ah merde!’ I thought. It was too late. I had to open the door. I said hello and told her my housemates weren’t in then she asked me if I had a pen and paper. I had been drawing, so yes. I passed them to her and as she scribbled away she started asking me questions:”So, who are you?” I panicked again and taking inspiration from the mop next to me I (stupidly) said “I’m the cleaning lady”. Cue mental facepalm. Which is when she said:

“Uh huh (sarcastically). OK look, various neighbours and the guardian have told me that you live here so I want you to be honest with me.How long have you lived here?”

“I came to Paris in July” I replied sneakily not admitting to living there. Then she asked me my name and introduced herself and carried on.

“Are you a student?” ‘Stop asking me questions leave your note and go away! I don’t want to get into more trouble’. Obviously I didn’t say that and she didn’t leave me alone. ”I’m doing a placement.” I said timidly.

“Where about?” I told her where and then she was even more sneaky and said “OK then Karen I will come by next week and I will draw up a contract for you three. ” Then she stuck her hand out and obviously I panicked again and shook it!

“That’s great Karen. Now you won’t have to worry about being scared to open the door and I won’t get in trouble if something happens to you so all in all it’s a better situation for us all. Here’s my number. Can I have yours?” A bunch of swearwords and mess were going through my head… ‘what the hell was I supposed to do? My housemates are going to kill me!’ I gave her my number as I couldn’t think clearly of anything else to do or say.

“Nice to meet you Karen. I will see you next week so we can sign your contract.”

After she left I started thinking. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get a contract I would be legal and I can get help from the gov. and stuff.’ I read the note she had left:

Dear (my housemate)

You need to sort out the house insurance as soon as possible (In France it’s the tenant’s not the landlord’s responsibility). I met Karen by the way I left her my number ********. We need to talk. Then her name.

That didn’t seem too bad… A couple of hours later my housemates arrived. He looked at the note and his eyes welled up. That is never a good sign. I won’t go into it but after shouting over the phone in French and then in Arabic I was told that I would have to move out and find an apartment tomorrow. So I started packing… and crying, lots and lots of crying. They had talked (shouted) on the phone and apparently my housemates were also being kicked out but as they had more than one suitcase (like me) they had 2 months. More mess in my head and I realised that it would be a good time to have a drink so I went outside sat on a bench drank and cried. I realised how crazy alcoholic that was so I called my friends who were just getting off a plane and arranged to meet with them at Gare du Nord.

I’ll cut the rest of the story short as I have to get back to work and I just realised this is turning into a lengthy essay.

I was homeless for three days I went to a couple of viewings and stayed at a friend’s house then when I went to give my key and get my deposit back my housemate said he had news. All in all I ended back up in my apartment but I have to pay 600€ (£528) per month bills inc. So I am going to hand in my (3 month) notice and look for a central place in Jan or Feb when John comes for a month and a half. I will then experience life living by my lonesome for the first time in my 20 years. Unless John gets a job here (fingers crossed, living completely alone does not look like fun).

Any who that’s why I haven’t got rose-tinted glasses and why I haven’t had a chance to put up the first chapter of my book like I said I would.

My book!

I haven’t been keeping up with  this blog too well but I did warn you (first post). However I got into writing again and I am currently writing a novel. It’s about a girl who wants to be a model and she starts off with a really good life but once she gets her dream she finds it wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s a story about growing up and finding yourself which also takes a look at modern celebrity culture and its effect on young people.

I’ll post the first chapter once I edit it and I’m happy with it. If I get good feedback (5+ comments, I’m not fussy) I’ll post a chapter a week. I hope to actually finish this book as I have tried being an author before but never made it past chapter one. So far I’m on chapter 3 so I’ve broken my record. Hopefully being older and more mature will be enough to let me finish it.

I’ll try to do more posts more often, even if not a lot of people are reading them. Although I’m surprised that there actually are people that actually read it. It’s doing better than some of my work sites which is quite impressive considering the amount of money they spend on publicity.

Anyway it’s home time now and I need to go get the rent out. Goodbye. Have a nice day!

Nom Nom Nom

FOOD! We love and hate food at the same time, it’s everywhere we look, on tv, in the shops, in games, and more often than not right in front of our faces! However as much as we love food we are also obsessed with being thin and looking good, again all over tv, magazines, games and just flaunted in our faces by ‘the beautiful people’. The thing is we don’t know what to do with it… we really, really want all those foods advertised at us with their deliciousness (artificial more often than not, take doritos for example: boring healthy-ish nom until it’s covered in that gorgeous tasting orangey stuff, then it’s just irresistible!) but at the same time it’s being advertised by a beautiful group of people who I’m sure spit it right out as soon as the cameras are off them in order to keep their perfect shape!

The truth is I can’t actually remember when I learnt about calories and general nutritional information, nor do I remember who I even learnt it from, either way by the time I did it was already too late. I love eating and I specially love eating crap, this is down to a few things:

1. I DETEST cooking, seriously detest it, I have not got the patience to peel potatoes and slice onions and stir sauces while I wait for the rice to boil or whatever. Therefore out come the microwave meals and super noodles! Fast, easy and delicious, just don’t look at the nutritional info!

2. The few times (and I mean like 3 ever!) I have attempted to cook something other than pancakes (yes I consider that cooking, you mix stuff and put it on a hob) it just hasn’t come out right. Although I vaguely remember taking a cooking class when I was 11 and my parents swear I was brilliant, the things that stuck with me were the horrible heat, scalded and cut fingers and the bossy chef. Ready meals and fast food have already had someone put the effort into making them so I don’t have to

3. Why pay loads more for something that requires more effort (organic stuff) when I can just get something pretty cheap and enjoy it more than I would an organic pumpking and oregano soup or something?

Anyway, as much as these things stand I realize that if I don’t eat healthy and move off my voluptuous derrière every once in a while I won’t be able to fit into pretty clothes and more importantly I’ll have a coronary and die at a tragically young age. Which would leave my gorgeous (and healthy, he enjoys excercise pah!) John free for the taking and I am not having that! Also I think that I should genuinely try to make an effort for him as he does for me and he genuinely cares about my health, plus I would be happier and more energetic too. Don’t get me wrong I’m happy and confident and I love my (size 12 in case you’re wondering) body. I also know that I am not huge and that I am not yet in the ‘horrendously obese’ section, nor will I ever let myself get there, but I do realise the health risks that being even just a few kilos overweight can have and I am too lazy to have to deal with health problems (ironic huh?).

Therefore I have decided to try to get healthy, but don’t worry I’m not about to get over my dislike for making food I have found the perfect housemates instead . As you know by now I’m living just outside Paris and I managed to find a house with a lovely muslim couple, she’s from Normandy and she converted to Islam with her boyfriend who’s originally from Morocco but also from Normandy. This has some advantages: for starters they’re genuinely really nice people, I have been learning about their religion without it either being forced on me or from sources that don’t know what they’re talking about, they only speak a few words of English between them so it is perfect for me to practise my French, he LOVES to cook as much as I detest it and he makes us delicious and healthy mediterranean food using products from his parent’s house/farm in Normandy ! I was looking at diets and stuff to lose weight and it turns out that basically I just need to stop eating take aways and junk food and eat exactly what I’m getting at home. Brilliant!

So I’m already halfway there I just need to start doing the pesky exercise thing… but I have started, now whenever I’m heating up noms at work (leftovers from the night before or some shop bought cous-cous/salad bar stuff) I jump around like a mad woman, do stat jumps and run on the spot. I’ve also taken to using the stairs all the time or walking down escalators when I’m late and doing some sit ups and half run/walk to the RER stop. I know it’s not much and prob not enough but it’s a start and I plan to build on it.

I’m aiming for Jessica Alba/Kelly Brook but me at my skinniest 2 years ago will do me just fine too, at leat I’m not at my biggest anymore like in Feb this year ‘eugh’. I’ll put a pic at both times up so you can see the difference.

Anyway, drink water, eat fruit and try to exercise… even if it’s just a little bit :-p Wish me luck!

Great Expectations

“All Work and no play makes Homer something something- Go crazy?- DON’T MIND IF I DO!” – The Simpsons

Looking for a job has never been an easy feat specially now in ‘the current financial climate’, so it is no wonder that we all get so excited when we find a new job (or in my case work placement). We think it’s going to be the best job in the world and the solution to all of life’s problems; “yes! I can pay those bills now and get those shoes and go to watch that film…” and more often than not we’ve already mentally, or even physically, spent our wage before we even start.

However, once we get started after the original excitement and motivation wears of we’re often left disappointed and wanting to move on but often can’t because of contracts and financial reasons. I think I’ve reached that point and I’ve been here less than two months. Don’t get me wrong it’s not that I’m not happy to be here I like being an ‘stagiaire’ (intern) in Paris,  just outside anyway, but there are a few things that I would love to change, but can’t. I like lists so I’m going to list the good and bad things about my job, although some of them can be put on both sides:

Good Things:

• It’s in a lovely residential area where the houses are beautiful and it’s very calm.
• There are only 6 educated people (including me) so there isn’t any of that immature gossip that you think people would have grown out of.
• Half of it is a children’s play area at the weekend so there are loads of pretty decorations and children’s drawings on that side of the room, next to the semi equipped kitchen (microwave, fridge but no cooker). There is also the tinny tiniest little toilet (and another one for adults).
• As it’s not right in the middle of Paris I was able to get a room not too far away for really cheap (Paris price at home it would be way overpriced).
• I am getting a year’s work experience in the sector I want to work in.

Bad Things:

• As it’s in a residential area there’s nothing to do and nowhere to go as although there is a shopping centre, I don’t really have enough time to go at lunch.
• There are only 5 other people and they are always working and don’t really talk so I’m usually bored out of my skull. They also eat at their desk so not even lunchtime ventures.
• It’s really cold and it kind of looks like a big, done up garage.
• Although my rent is cheap my wage is 100€ under, so I’m permanently skint :’-( even though I work 9:30-18:00 Mon-Fri.  Also as it’s in Paris zone 3 travel cost for all 3 zones go up by a lot compared to zone 1 and 2. I get half of it paid for but it still costs me 40€!
• As I am here for a year with aforementioned limited funds I don’t get to see my family until Christmas. If you read my other post (long distance relationships) you’ll know that I don’t get to see my beloved very often either. 

There, I tried to make it as balanced as possible so I don’t sound too whiny but there are some flaws, which I can do nothing about. I also find that as I am getting paid so little my motivation is seriously lacking and I find I’m not really applying myself, hence writing a blog during work hours. I do appreciate the experience and I think that I have, and will, learn a lot of valuable things. I know I should also stop complaining as I am in a really privileged position compared to many and it’s my own fault for having gone for the first job offered to me, but I’m human and I will complain as much as I like.

I can truly understand the whole living for the weekend thing now and although I prefer it to my last job (housekeeper at the Hilton Hotel) it’s also depressing to think that I got paid more there for 15 hours a week than I do here for 40.

Anyway you got a little bit more insight into your favourite stagiaire’s life :-p Have a nice day at work, or good luck finding one!

My life in 20kg

As a Languages and Tourism student I have done an Erasmus period in Florence Italy and I am on a work placement in Paris, France. As home is England I have to travel around Europe quite a bit. I love my course but it does cost quite a bit to move around so I always go with EasyJet as so far they have proved to be the cheapest way to get around. The bad thing is they only allow you 20kg in your suitcase and one solitary piece of hand luggage, of any weight but within specific size limits. In order to avoid paying the hefty extras for excess luggage and weight I have learnt to pack my life in 20kg. (Please note this is a girl’s list and there’s mention to girl’s stuff which most boys won’t have trouble with. If it wasn’t because boy’s stuff is generally a lot heavier I would say they have it tons easier) Here’s how:

1. Hand luggage should be your laptop, it means you get to keep it close to you at all times and it doesn’t get killed in your suitcase.

- Try and fit as much as possible in your laptop bag, but more importantly your phone, purse, passport, tickets, map, power cable (less importantly but useful on a plane*: DS, book, MP3, pen & paper, camera and phone charger). Think about this when choosing a laptop bag, make sure it not only holds your laptop in securely but that it has extra pockets and good shoulder padding as they will hurt a lot.

2. Check the weather out. If you’re only going to the north of Italy/France from England in the winter months (inc February and March) chances are the weather won’t be much different and you’ll still need your massive coat. If this is the case then it’s obvious that you will have to wear it, plus jeans and boots for travelling as although you will be boiling, these are the items that weigh the most. If you’re going in summer then leave as many of your jeans as possible and opt for loads of leggings instead, then you can get shorts, dresses and skirts in without feeling self-conscious. I would suggest a last shopping spree at primark for essentials as (if you’re a regular shopper there) you will definitely miss the cheap goodness.

3. Books weigh a lot, only take the ones that you need plus an extra one if you like reading. If you need more get audiobooks and download them to your MP3 or get the 100 books in one for the DS. This will make them a lot easier to carry and environmentally friendly as you may end up throwing them away at the end otherwise.

4. Big fluffy towels are really nice but they take up a lot of space and can also be pretty heavy, specially if you’re in a rush and shove it in when it’s still damp. Shampoo and conditioner will cost around the same in the supermarkets abroad so just get some little travel bottles and fill them for the first couple of washes before you get to go to a supermarket. Only take your beauty essentials, do you really need three different foundations/moisturizers etc?

5. A lot of people like to take photos with them inc frames and albums they also find bits of broken glass entangled in their clothes once they arrive at their destination. Once again download your faves onto an MP3 or USB or upload them to Facebook then you should be able to find photo developing places/ photo printing machines pretty easily and then just look around for frames and stuff (I paid 1.25eur for 7 pics from a photo machine in a shopping centre and the quality is very good).

6. Here’s the hardest one: SHOES! They don’t roll up so you can’t make them smaller and they weigh a lot when put all together. They are also an essential and a luxury so you can’t leave them all behind. You do have to be picky as to which ones you are actually taking: 1 pair of boots that can be worn with jeans AND skirt/shorts, 1 pair of sandals that can be used for days and nights out, 1 pair of comfortable trainers and maybe one pair of heels. That’s still four pairs of shoes and I consider that the bare minimum!

7. All those little extras: sunscreen is something I would suggest you get in the UK if you’re going during summer as you may need it before you get to go to a supermarket and it is normally really expensive too. Same goes for any medicines, hay fever tablets… Batteries; take an extra pair for each thing that needs it but don’t go crazy (like I did). Maybe take a first aid kit if you still have space but sanitizer, plasters, thermometer and paracetamol should be enough. Oh and don’t forget condoms if you’re planning on that

8. If you have to think about it then you don’t need it!

Good luck on your travels and I hope this is useful. Don’t forget to take out insurance as well although that has nothing to do with packing. Have fuuun!

If you have accumulated stuff after your time abroad and you are left with things to sell then you can sell your extra stuff at:

Angie’s Boutique

Excess Baggage

*make sure all technical equipment has a plane safe mode before using it on a plane or it is switched off, ask staff if you’re not sure.

Long distance relationships :’(

 

 

I am on a Languages with Tourism course and as part of my course I spend a semester at a foreign university and then I have a work placement for a year. I did my Erasmus period from February to June 2010 at the university in Florence, Italy and I am currently doing my work placement at an office in the outskirts of Paris, France.

 As you can see this is a long way from home and I have a boyfriend.

I have a John, he is amazing and everything that I never dreamt of as it was all fairytale fiction, or so I thought. Although the setting where we got together was not exactly an enchanted castle or beautiful forest, nor was it love at first sight… we actually didn’t like each other at first (but that’s a story for another day and another blog). We got together in November 2008, during my first year and his third year at uni. We fell in love rapidly and wondered where we’d been our whole lives and how we had managed to survive without each other for so long. We moved in together and it was great, but the time for me to go off was sneaking closer and closer.

As John had some money saved up we decided he would come with me to Italy and build up his photography portfolio as he had finished uni (his degree is in photography). He bought a cool, yet untouchable (for me anyway) Nikon D700 camera, a lens and a flash. We handed the keys of our cute little flat back to the landlord and went off to Italy. There I struggled through and enjoyed my studies while John (unfruitfully) looked for a job. He worked on his portfolio as I worked on my Italian. A couple of months in we decided there was no way John was going to get a job in Italy and he started looking for a job in Paris… again to no avail. We were starting to get worried and the money he had saved up was quickly running out… then he came across a photography job on a cruise and applied. They got back to him pretty quickly and gave him an interview…for 4 days later, in Shrewsbury, bear in mind we were in Florence…

We looked at flight and train schedules, looking at the prices and wondering if it was worth it: what if he didn’t get the job?….What if he did? It was a minimum six month contract after a week training course in Miami, no holiday days and it would mean if he left in July at the same time I started my placement we wouldn’t see each other until January or even February; no 2 year anniversary, no christmas, no nothing! On the other hand $700 base wage a month plus commission and no bills, rent or food to pay as well as the much-needed photography experience. We figured since he wouldn’t be able to come with me to Paris and it was a genuine investment for our futures he may as well go for it.

He took the plane and went to the interview… it was the first night that we had spent apart from each other since Christmas 2008 and I cried myself to sleep, thinking of all the ifs  and maybes ahead of us. The interview went well and he was due to come back and then… the volcano erupted! He was delayed but eventually he made it back. That week and a half had been hard but it got worse. As he’d been given the job he had to go to England and get his US and Seaman’s (hahahaha) visa sorted out, as well as a full medical and a CRB check… at his own expense. We stayed in our Italian bubble fo another week or two and then he had to go get his visa. We figured since he’d have to stay there a week at least to wait for them to give back his passport and I was due back in 3-4 weeks he may as well stay in the UK until I got back. So this time it wasn’t just a week it was three weeks apart, but weirdly not as hard as it had been the first time.

We were rejoined after my exams in Italian (again another story for another day) and spent a couple of weeks together at his parent’s house in Scunny (Scunthorpe) but once again the time to depart was near. We spent a night at a hotel in Luton on the 4th of July before my flight the next day… it was a lovely last night together and although we had the impending loss we had a really good time and really enjoyed it. At the airport we said goodbye in a flurry of feelings; love, excitement, sadness, loss, happiness… I cried all the way to the gate.

Going to Paris was hard, going alone was harder… I had to find a house, start my first full-time job, get my bearings in a capital city, in a country that I had never set foot in (even though I had been studying the language for the last 9 years!) and all without my warm, loving, gorgeous John. On the other hand I was in PARIS!!!!!!!!!

Finding a house in Italy had been difficult but I always had John to come with me and keep me safe and bring his excellent, yet annoying logic to stop me making silly decisions. In Paris, where it’s even harder, more expensive and everyone I knew was at work, it was super difficult. I had heard of people who had had to couch surf for weeks and even months before they found a house and although Angela (the really nice girl from the year above who was doing the same placement as me) was being super helpful and supportive I didn’t want to impose, specially as I had only met her when she’d come to pick me up at Gare du Nord.

I have since settled in and it has gotten easier but there is always one thing at the front of my mind…John, he’s started work and it’s really, very hard. although originally we weren’t going to see each other for six months, his cruise ship (THE Queen Mary 2, by the way) stops off at Southampton occasionally and I have booked my flights and trains to see him on the 19th of September, even though he will only be off the boat from 6.30am to 5.00pm and I have to get the train at around 1.45 in order to make it to my flight… yeah it sucks we have barely any time but it’s better than having to wait six months for a kiss and a cuddle  

Although it’s been hard and we’ve a few arguments, mainly about me being late or missing Skype dates, I don’t doubt that we’ll make it. We love each other too much not too, and I mean how cool are we? He’s off on a cruise taking pictures of the Northern Lights, New York and the Bahamas, while I have the University of Florence and a work placement in Paris on my CV… yeah I think we’ll be juuust fine

 

 

Diaries and Blogs

I will have to do a blog for my work placement and it got me thinking that I should start my own.

I first had a diary when I was 8 years old, I tried keeping it but didn’t do very well, later on at the age of 12 I picked up the same diary and I was a bit more successful. I kept it on and off for a couple of years and then I ripped out all the pages, threw them away and gave the leftovers to my little brother,  he was 10 at the time. He wrote in it a few times, named it Sonny and later like I had done completely forgot it and never wrote in it again. I kept the pages that he wrote as they were so cute and innocent.

I recorded the first few months of college in an A4 book that I had used as a ‘Book of Shadows’ from when I had gone through a wiccan phase during my early to mid-teens. At 16 it told the story of meeting new people and getting in trouble for coming home at 11pm after hanging out with boys. It told of the love triangle that later developed with those boys and the eventual break off from those boys. It stopped 60 pages and 2/3 months later with the beginning of the second longest relationship I have ever had (the longest being the one I am currently in). This was my last attempt at recording my life, although I tried to start an autobiography in the same book but I didn’t make it past a couple of pages.

This will give you an idea of how successful or unsuccessful this blog will be it could go on for days, months or years. I will try to make it as interesting as possible for your amusement although I’m mainly doing it for myself. You’ll get to know my thoughts and feeling, experiences and problems… if I write them and if you can be bothered to read them!