THE LAST DAYS OF SUMMER, OR IS IT?

The other week I sat on the roof terrace, watching the last rays of the sunset on the hottest day in October in over a 100 years. This was, because, I told myself at the time, the last proper sun I would see for months. I felt a pain of sadness take over me, like saying goodbye to some close friend. The summer was gone I told myself as the sun vanished behind the buildings and my enemy the winter was coming ( I hate the cold)!
The winter set in, the nights appeared earlier and my unemployment was a continual worry, but the thing about this industry is, how quickly things change, you never know what is going to happen next. I went from low's of despair to all the buses coming at once, in the space of a week. I got a phone call to do a day working on a film, which turned into me working on it a week. During this time though I received a very surprising phone call. I was sat on set freezing once again, feeling I'd had a enough of the British winter already, when I answered the call.
"Hello, is that Carly?"
"Yes it is."
"Hi I'm a costume designer and someone recommended me to you. Are you available, I need someone to come and work with me as soon as possible."
"Well I'm booked till Friday, but after that I'm free" I replied.
"Great! So I need you to get on a plane to Morocco at the weekend."
"Morocco!" I'm in shock.
"Yes Morocco. Is that a problem?"
"No!" I'm still in shock.
"Good. We are filming in the desert at Ouarzazate for two weeks, then we go out to the coast at Essaouira. Do you know it?"
"Yes!"
"Good. Right I'll give the office your number. See you in Morocco."
So I now find myself sat at Luton airport getting ready to board a plane to Marrakech. I'm excited, but nervous, as I haven't got a clue what the next couple of weeks has in store for me. All I know is, it's going to be an experience, good or bad! I've got a feeling there are going to be some good blog posts from this! It looks like my summer isn't over after all. Winter can stay on hold for a bit. Morocco here I come.

OKTOBERFEST

Desperate times call for desperate measures and these are desperate times people, we are in a God dam recession and the worlds economy is in tatters! Well this is my excuse anyway for degrading myself by donning a silly fraulein outfit and serving drunken people in a tent; not because I thought it might be fun; not because I like dressing up in silly costumes and not because I wanted to flirt with lots of men! No it was for none of these reasons? It was purely done for money due to lack of costume work in these hard times? Well you can believe what you want, but there is one thing I'm not going to lie to you about: it was one hell of an experience! Here is my day by day account of my Oktoberfest experience!

DAY 1
We turn up at the tent in shoreditch park. My housemate Alex, who roped me into doing this is a bit over hyper (she gets like this with new people and situations)! Stephanie who is in charge of us Frauleins, shows us our new uniforms. This is not the easiest thing to do when you have 16 competitive girls trying to get the best uniform. It turns into a free for all:
"I want this one!"
"I don't like this colour!"
"I'm a size 8, this is too big!"
In fact all the uniforms seem to swamp the girls. Instead of looking like a sexy fraulein, I look like I'm wearing a sack and a long one at that! God the girls they have in Germany must be big, I think to myself! We then meet Daniel one of our German bosses, who is to show us how the whole ordering and cash system works. Daniel has only one facial expression and that it is straight. He says everything very matter of a fact, has no emotion and is extremely funny because he is so unfunny. So basically very German. After over an hour of trying to explain the system to 16 very loud interrupting girls, Daniel should look like a rabbit in the head lights, but no it seems he is still devoid of any facial expression. We are all allocated our own areas to serve, but it's completely dead. I just have two really pissed up guys at my table, who bless them do give me a little tip every time I serve them and talk to them, not like I can understand what they are saying as they are so drunk! Now I've been to Germany a few times and the Germans pride themselves on their food especially their meat. At least I'll get some good German Bratwurst (Oh! That sounds rude!) from this job, I thought. Wrong! The British get called for having bad food, but this must have been some of the most awful food I have ever seen in my life! The sausages looked processed and White; the mash was instant; the chips oily and the chicken overcooked. All this is finished off with mayonnaise and ketchup slopped on a plate by a grumpy German chef and presented on a paper plate, with plastic cutlery. At nearly £10 a pop, I feel slightly embarrassed at placing it down in front of the customers and asking them for the money. Most of them are to drunk to notice so due to this most of them don't say anything, apart from one man who as I put down his "Bavarian surprise" dish in front of him, said:
"Surprise! Surprise! That's definitely one word for it! What the f**k is that? An anemic sausage?"
I can't lie to him, and all I can say is:
"Yes sir, it's a surprise anemic sausage!" I think he saw the funny side, though I didn't get a tip!
Another bad thing is the music. Germans don't have good music or taste in it. Come on, any nation that chose to have David Hasselhoff singing at such a historical moment as the Berlin wall coming down, in leather trousers, can have no taste. Besides I went out with a German for 2 years and all his music was rubbish, especially the German rap! The music selection consists of the Birdy song and Cotton Eye Joe! Then there is the live German band who decide to grab me and Gemma who is also tall and blonde and make us into their go go dancers! The next thing, I know, I'm on stage still in my sack dress, now with Ugg boots (I was cold!), trying to follow a dance routine I don't know, to German music. All I can think is; has it really come to this!
The night has come to a end and I couldn't be happier. I cash up my float with Daniel only to find I've only made a measly £7 in tips. Actually no I haven't even made that, as Daniel says:
"Carly this is not a £2 coin, it is a Turkish lira. I have to deduct from your tips. Here is £5.
"What Daniel! Are you joking?" I look at his face, it straight as usual, he's not joking. I continue:
"That's so tight Daniel. Anyway you probably gave me that coin in my float!"
"No, Carly. I would never make that mistake" he said, still completely emotionless. No of course you wouldn't I think to myself, you and your bloody German efficiency! As I cycle home, Alex informs me she has made £60 in tips. What the hell! How did she manage that? Right this calls for action!

DAY 2
As soon as I wake up I set to work; on my uniform that is! I work in costume, for God sake, one must use the skills they have. Up goes the hem, take in the waist, lace the bodice, leather boots, and knee high socks with a bow. Legs and the biggest breasts I have ever had in my life. Now this might feel a little bit like prositution, but if it gets me more tips who cares! It seems I'm not the only one that has done alterations, as most of the Frauleins hems have gone up to the max and breasts are everywhere.
Luckily I have a lot more people this night and in one hour I have already made more in tips than the night before. This is maybe because most people are looking at my breasts rather than my face, a first for me. My favourite customer of the night is the drunk Japanese tourist, who seems to be wasted after just one litre, but he's funny, tells me he loves me and tips well. He also makes me get up on the bench to do YMCA with him, though I do feel like everyone is looking up my skirt, while I do this. Worst customer of the night is some drunk guy who thinks it's fine to pick me up and carry me around.
1. Not with the length of this dress. 2. I'm wearing a thong. My whole arse is exposed to a tent full of drunk people.
My supervisor Stephanie comes over and tells him,
"I hope your going to give her a good tip for that!"
The next thing in his drunken state, he shoves £25 in crumpled notes into my hand. Suddenly he becomes my favourite customer of the night.
"Anyone else want to pick me up?" I ask.
The most persistent customer of the night is a Brazilian guy from Rio. He keeps hugging me and telling me I'm the most beautiful girl there. Funny I'm sure I just saw him hugging another girl and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. He finds me at the end of the night as I'm clearing tables.
"Will you come for a drink with me after work?" he says.
"I'm sorry I have a lot to do and then I have to go to bed as I'm back here again tomorrow" I said.
"But it's my last night in London" he protests.
"I'm sure you can go to a club and find lots of girls to have fun with, I know you Brazilian men have lots of charm".
He still persists. "Just come with me to the toilets for a little bit and we can have some fun!"
"What you want me to go and make out with you by the Portaloo's!"
"Yes!" he replies.
"What do you think I am? I don't think so mate!" I retort.
"Not even a little kiss?" he asks.
Oh my God! "No!" I shout.
"Sorry I can't help it. I just love your sexy outfit."
Oh! Bugger off I think, as I walk off and leave him, muttering "The Portaloo's! How vulgar!" under my breath!
As I cash up that night, my tips are a lot better. Look what showing a bit of leg and your breasts does for you I think. God men are so fickle. Alex still has double the tips I have and has smaller breasts. How's that work? Must learn her secret!

DAY 3
It becomes apparent from the start that today (Saturday) is going to be a 100 more times busier than anything we have experienced yet. I still manage at the beginning of the shift to get on the stage and do my dance routine with the band. I'm actually getting quite good at it now and am even starting to enjoy myself doing it. Besides I think the German drummer is quite cute, so I don't mind jumping up and down in front of him in a short dress. Me and Gemma getting on stage seems to be causing some resentment with one of the other Frauleins! I don't like to mention names (so I will just refer to her by the name of, annoying) is bitching about why it's always the blonde girls on the stage. I don't care. I've always found annoying, well, annoying from the start. She likes to be the centre of attention and is sooooooooo dramatic and this is coming from a drama queen (she makes me look like a wall flower)! Anyway I soon have no time to do anymore dancing, because the place turns into pure chaos. We are under staffed as a load of girls rang in sick in the morning, and there are not enough glasses to go round. Soon the queue is around the tent and people are just grabbing me.
"Serve me now"!
"I've been waiting ages!"
"Can I get food off you?"
I don't stop. I have no time for food, drink or even to go to the toilet, and if we do stop for a drink of water we get shouted at by the Germans. Slave drivers! The litre beers we have to carry are so heavy. As I'm a weakling I can only manage 5 at once (some girls can do 8). Carrying litre after litre of beer has made me knackered! After carrying over 14 litres of beer to a drunken table who had been asking me to serve them for ages, I go to take the payment.
"That will be £120 please."
"Sorry love but we didn't order these!" says some drunk guy.
Now the problem is this; the Germans have constructed a master plan of any none payments come out of our wages. Well there is no way I'm loosing £120. Besides I know they ordered them. There playing me for a fool and now I'm bloody angry.
"Right!" I scream "Let's just get this right, I'm totally sober, though right now believe me I wish I wasn't and you are all very pissed. Do not mess me around, I know you all ordered these drinks, so I suggest you cough up now or I get security over and get you all chucked out"!
There is grumbling and they slowly start to remove cash from their pockets, but it is like trying to get blood out of a stone, and I'm stood there while they count all their small change. To add insult to injury, one of them at the end says laughing;
"Here you go! Here's a 5p tip."
I explode
"You know what? You can stick your 5p tip and if you think I'm coming back to this table to serve you again you've got another thing coming. Your all a bunch of rude idiots!"
I storm off. No more nice Carly. It's time to get ruthless. I'm being approached every two seconds by beer hungry men.
"Can you serve me luv?"
"Yeah! If you tip me well, another wise no!"
It seems to work. In no time the tips are flying in. The stag parties are the best as they tip £20 a time.
By the end of the night I'm exhausted and haven't had a proper break in 11 hours. I see Daniel looking a bit forlorn. Earlier in the day I had seen him being bombarded by Customers complaining about the lack of service and asking for their money back. It looked stressful. I go and ask him if he's OK.
"Ya! I'm fine Carly. Why?"
"Well you looked, not to be having the best time before" I reply.
"No Carly. I am very happy. This is my happy face" he says totally straight faced.
"That's your happy face?" I look surprised, "Well I'd hate to see what your sad face is." Actually, I think, it's probably just the same.
Cashed up, I find that I have made £125 in tips and the nightmare of the last 11 hours doesn't seem that bad. As we are getting ready to leave, Alex informs me that it is gone midnight and now officially my birthday. So my 32nd birthday was celebrated in a stale smelling beer tent, tired and exhausted, dressed in a sexed up Fraulein outfit being sang Happy Birthday to, by 15 other Frauleins. Well I guess it was different.
I get a new lease of life, it now being my birthday, and me Alex and Stephanie decide to head to a house party we have heard of going on.
"Let's just go in our uniforms, it will be so funny, everyone will be like, what the hell!" I say.
Oh no they won't, because it turns out the house party, is a fancy dress one! Everyone is dressed in stupid outfits! Our moment in the spotlight is gone, though we do get lots of comments on how much effort we have gone to with our costumes.
"It's not my costume! This is my uniform! I wear it everyday!"
The last straw is when our friend John swaggers up to me and says,
"God, Carls. You look like you have turned up for a porno audition" while talking to my breasts the whole time.
"Thanks John! Thanks!"
There is nothing else to do but down a gin. HAPPY BLOODY HAPPY BIRTHDAY CARLY, I think to myself!

DAY 4
It's my birthday and there is no way I'm working. I go and get drunk with my friends in the pub instead. Yeah!

DAY 5
It's the start of our second week (We do Thursday to Sunday). Me Alex, Stephanie and little Celia (my housemate Oli's niece) cycle in 5 minutes late. The Germans decide they are going to deduct half an hour off our wages. I don't think so! As Stephanie correctly points out none of us have had the legal breaks we are initialled to, so they shouldn't be deducting anything! The Germans don't like back chat, hence I don't think they like English girls that much. We are a feisty bunch and they have got more than they bargained for. I think there more use to placid girls who will work all hours and give them no trouble. Well sorry we don't work like that.
It's quite quiet so me Alex, Stephanie, and Gemma get sent out on flyer duty. After running a gauntlet of horny builders we found ourselves at Old Street tube handing, out flyers. Oh my God! I think to myself, I hope no one I know sees me dressed like this. This is a all time low. Most of the flyers we give to men as they seem very happy to take them off us, while most of the women ignore us and look at us like where whores! God I hate women sometimes. In fact I hate doing flyers full stop! I don't know how some people actually do this as a living. We get back to the tent and I'm feeling rather defeated with it all. Luckily the rest of the night is quite quiet and goes with out much hassle. Thank God. Me, Alex, Celia and Stephanie go for our now routine after work drink at jaguar shoes bar, and yes, we are of course dressed in our Frauleins outfits as always!

DAY 6
As soon as I get into work there seems to be a tense atmosphere. Everyone is fed up and grumpy. Though to be fair I can see why. None of girls ever get a proper break. Actually it seems that most of the girls have taken to smoking lots just as an excuse to standstill for 2 seconds without being shouted at. Also the food that they give us to eat is totally horrible and Alex is now demanding that they give us something green to eat. We set to work. It's busy but the band still manage to grab me up on stage and Celia too ( I think the lead singer is in love with her)! I'm getting a bit of a pro now at the dance routine and I'm still perving at the drummer. My table becomes suddenly packed with a huge corporate group of over 30. As I'm dashing back and to, in the kitchen, I see Stephanie looking harassed.
"Are you OK?" I ask.
She informs me that all the girls are bitching and moaning saying they haven't got prime position tables or that other girls are going onto their turfs. I tell her not to let them get to her and to tell them all to shut up and get on with it. God the place has turned into some school play ground mentality and will not get myself involved insuch bitchy childness behaviour. Well that is until I find out annoying, has been slagging me off behind my back! She as gone to the manager and told him I'm not serving my table properly; all the customers are complaining and that I'm just dancing on the stage! Oh! That's what it is! It's the, me dancing on stage thing again and she hates it! The final straw is when Alex tells me, annoying has been slagging me off to her. That's it! Kevin is out and the bitch is going to get it! I storm straight up to annoying and confront her!
"Sorry annoying but could you tell which of my customers have been complaining about me"?
She looks startled. "Oh well they don't seem to be anymore".
"Funny that isn't it?" I shout "Can you not slag me off behind my back in future, especially when I'm working my ass off"
I walk off but she grabs me by the shoulders and turns me back towards her and shouts,
"Listen here you! I ain't said anything about you"!
"Rubbish!" I scream " Don't lie to me annoying I heard you myself. I'm not one of the young girls you can boss around, so you stick to your table and I stick to mind, and mind your own business"!
I storm off. Annoying never really talks to me again. BOTHERED! The night becomes more drunken and I get the usual array of drunken men groping me and making comments about my breasts, but this night we have a group of lesbians in and one comes up to me and asks me why I won't dance with her.
"Because I have to work! I tell her.
"Don't worry about that baby!" she says and the next thing she is grinding up against me and feeling my breasts! Oh my God! I have to push her off me. I have had everything done to me now, in this outfit! That night I had another much needed stiff drink at Jaguar Shoes.

DAY 7
I wake up Saturday morning feeling like some one has hit me with a sledge hammer. I'm totally exhausted. We are rushed and I have no time for breakfast. On the way to work we stock up on Red Bull for that extra needed boost we need for the day. As soon as we open, the Place is rammed. It is also the hottest day in October in over a hundred years. The tent is like a sauna. I feel bad, so I decide to take my first Red Bull. I notice that I'm shaking while I'm drinking it, it's then I realise I haven't eaten in nearly 24 hours, (I haven't had time to eat)! I quickly grab some food, well if you could call it that. It's more like crap on a plate. I'm struggling to eat it but know I must. I head straight back to work. After serving 24 litres to a huge stag party, I'm feeling knackered and slightly dizzy. It's unbelievably hot now. I'm grabbed by some other guys and as I'm taking their order my legs just buckle. I'm leaning against a bench and the room is spinning and I can feel myself coming in and of conciseness. Luckily the security guys see what is happening and come over and carry me like a rag doll to the medic's area. Little Celia has spotted what has happened too and as the security carry me pass the huge queue of customers waiting for the bar, they start shouting abuse like,
"Look at her! She's drunk!"
"Shouldn't let them drink on the job!"
Celia doesn't like her aunty Carly (that's what I'm now know as, as she is only 19 and me and Alex look after her) being accused unjustly, so starts shouting back,
"Shut up! She's not drunk! She's fainted you idiots!"
Thanks Celia you made aunty Carly proud.
The medics get me outside, and lay me on the ground. I'm shaking all over. One of the medics elevates my legs. Oh my God! Everyone can see my knickers, but then I calm down as I remember I've got on a really nice pair today. After half hour, drinking lots of water and eating fruit I'm feeling human again, though I'm still shaking and my body feels like jelly. The medics tell me that my sugar levels had got too low and that I shouldn't go back to work. I walk back through the tent looking a bit disheveled and see it's absolute chaos. I feel guilty about leaving the girls to deal with this, but there is no way I can carry anymore beer. I go over to the boss.
"Why are you not working!"
"I fainted and now I'm really weak!"
"Does that mean your not going back to work?"
"Did you not hear what I said? I fainted! The medics have told me not to work anymore!"
"OK then!" he snaps angrily at me and walks off! You German slave driver, I think. I'm off home and I don't feel one bit guilty about it! That night I sit curled up eating fish and chips with the boy housemates, feeling very happy to be away from the chaos.

DAY 8
It's the final day and I'm so determined to go to work. This is because the day before, the German boss called the English lazy and that we Need a good kick up the arse!
1. The UK has some of the longest working hours in Europe. Much more than Germany.

2. I'm not lazy! I usually work a 14 hour day, sometimes 6 days a week.

3. In the UK we like things doing properly, which means giving workers proper breaks so we don't faint with exhaustion!!!!!!!

I go in and work my arse off, unfortunately the kitchen staff seem to be working at half gas. There slow, the kitchen is upside down, the floor is a death trap, and the food is not ready. Who needs a kick up the ass now, I think!
Today even though it is busy, seems quite subdued after the other days, but there are still enough drunken animals to go around, and most seem to be at my table. I have two drunken kiwi's who keep giving me tips but only if I speak to them in a German accent and tell them my name is Greta! I think it turns them on. As they get more drunk, one of them wants to know if he can take me for a drink after work, still wearing my uniform. He can hardly walk, or talk and is covered in beer! Why do I always get them?
"I think I'll give it a miss thanks!" I say.
Angus and Oli, (my housemates) decide to come down for a visit even though, I've told them it will be their worst nightmare. Besides they don't even like beer that much. In no time the boys have downed 2 litres each, and are quite drunk and actually having a good time. Well wonders will never cease.
As I'm cashing up with Daniel at the end of the day I decide to be a bit cheeky with him and say,
"Daniel, I saw you weren't wearing your lederhosen today, which is a shame as I think you look really sexy in them."
"You really think? Thanks carly."
And for one split second I actually think he might of smiled, but then it's gone and he's back to straight faced. I can't wait to give back my beer stained uniform, and I'm glad that it's all over. I'm exhausted, it's probably some of the hardest work I've done in my life. Would I do it all again? Of course I would, it's me after all. I like an experience good or bad, and it's wasn't all bad, in fact at times it was hilarious, it's just that I need a year off to recover before I do it again!

There was some terrible music played at Oktoberfest but this was by far the worst. Its cheesy, kitsch and just God dam awful. Is it wrong to say it grew on me and I actually like it now?

FRIENDS REUNITED: THE RETURN OF THE PUSSY FAGS (WELL SOME OF THEM ANYWAY)!

Life is all about chance meetings isn't it? I often think that. Just imagine if I hadn't stayed in that dorm in that hostel in Taganga in Colombia, if I hadn't woken up when I did, if I hadn't been angry with them, if I hadn't spoken to them and if I hadn't decided to go with my impulse and follow them into the jungle after knowing them for only half an hour. If I hadn't of done all these things I would of met the Pussy Fags and had the time of my life with them (If you need a recap on this story please click on impulse for the post). But I did and now 5 months later I found myself at Heathrow airport, waiting in arrivals to pick one of them up, Biskey AKA Arnold, that is. When we were in Colombia he told me he was coming to London later in the year, so I said he could stay with me, and as I always mean what I say, here I was waiting for him at the airport, at six in the morning, full of cold and with no make up on! He appeared and he hadn't changed, still friendly and super chilled. We hugged and began to catch up.
"God" he begins " It seems like only yesterday, since we were all hanging out together in Bolivia".
"I never travelled with you in Bolivia Biskey" I reply.
"Really?"
"Yes really! I only travelled with you in Colombia!" I retort
"Oh yeah that's right?"
I'm hoping it's the jet lag. Later as the conversations continue, Biskey continues,
"Remember when we were in Playa Blanca and Italian Ed and Reuben were.....
I interrupt "Biskey I never went to Playa Blanca with you guys remember? I went to Bogota instead".
"Really?" he sounds confused
"Yes really!"
It turns out it's not jet lag. Biskey just has the worst memory ever. I ask him what he would like to do in London; where he wants to go and what he wants to see.
"I don't know. I know nothing about London" he replies.
"What you booked a ticket to the other side of the world and you know absolutely nothing about the place?" I ask in shock.
"Yeah! I thought it would be fun" he says calmly smoking his cigarette out of the car window. God I had forgotten how laid back Biskey was. If he was anymore laid back he'd be dead.
Biskey from the moment he arrives, fits into my house and the wick like part of the furniture, though it does help that he has brought whiskey and cigarettes for the housemates as presents as they seem to go down very well. There was one noticeable difference with Biskey though: He wasn't drinking! Now in Colombia him and the guys drank alcohol like it was water. Him and Reuben had decided to go dry for a month, which when I first heard about it, I thought it was a joke; it seems it's not. Biskey does very well, considering I seem to take him to places where everyone is drinking and getting drunk.
As I'm hanging out with a guy that I met while traveling and has come all the way from Australia, I get the usual questions from people,
"So what's going on with you and Biskey"?
Nothing actually! We are just good friends. In fact nothing ever went on with me and the seven guys I was traveling with in Colombia. I just loved their company. A girl can actually be friends with a guy without any stuff going on. Besides Biskey says I'm like a older sister to him (if not a little bit of a dysfunction one)!
I do get introduced to a new side of Biskey during his stay with me. I get to meet Business Biskey!!!!! For some one that is probably one of the most chilled people I have ever met, there is a switch which turns on when Biskey does work. Biskey is a computer programmer and so was skyping all the time his clients back in OZ. This is when business Biskey came out. I would compare him to a mix between Alan Sugar and Simon Cowell. Let's just say he doesn't take any shit.

One day Biskey informs me that Reuben who is travelling in Europe has come to London unexpectedly. Oh my God! Two of the pussy fags in London. Great! I go to meet them in China town after work. Now in Colombia me and Reuben sometimes clashed, and had one or two arguments. In fact our farewell was I think me saying,
"Goodbye Reuben, I'm off to Bogata now. Are you going to say good bye or not!"
He turned slightly in his bed where he was lying hungover and went,
"Yeah what ever! " and went back to his slumber.
"Oh! Piss off Reuben" were my departing words.
This time was different. He seemed glad to see me and I him. We talked like adults, well as adult as we can be. Reuben being Reuben doesn't do things by half, and had booked himself into a posh 5 star hotel in Knightsbridge for the night and I found myself there with the guys drinking wine and as it got late I ended up staying over spending the night in a luxury suite in a king sized bed, wedged between two Aussies (it was all very innocent)! The next morning I get up early as I have to go to work, and leave the guys in bed. I get to the lobby looking very disheveled and very out of place, not having a clue where I really am. The receptionist spies me.
"Can I help you Madame?
I ask where the nearest tube is and he directs me. As I'm leaving something occurs to me. Oh God! I think, I look out of place here and disheveled and he probably saw me go to the room with two men and now he's seen me leaving on my own! I bet he thinks I'm a hooker! Well a least it will be a high class hooker, I'm in a 5 star hotel!
As soon as he arrived, Reuben was gone again. A nice but short reunion. He got a flight to Berlin that night. Totally crazy, totally erratic and you never know what he's going to do next, but that's maybe why I like him. I hate normal people. A least this time my farewell to him was a nice one. I think maybe we understand each other better now.
Biskey left to go to Berlin, but we arranged to meet up in Paris and and a couple of weeks later I found myself in a his rented studio apartment, in Paris.
"It's a bit small isn't it?" I said looking at a space you couldn't swing a cat in. Biskey just thinks its cool and bohemian. I give Biskey the low down on Paris as I've been many times before and he's a Paris virgin.

1. Parisians are the biggest snobs ever.

2. You can try and attempt to speak the little French you know, but I wouldn't bother as they also seem to get annoyed at people speaking bad French, so you can't win!

3. Do not get wasted in Paris, as no one really does here and it's looked down upon.

4. Make sure that everyone knows your Australia and not English as they will be nicer to you. The French hate the English.

On the Saturday night, Biskey wants to go to a nightclub, as he loves house music. I hate house music and I don't go to nightclubs anymore. I'm not very thrilled about it all but go along anyway. Soon we've made friends with a Swedish guy, I've downed a load of drinks and I'm having a great time dancing away on the dance floor (it's funny how alcohol changes your mind)! Biskey and the Swedish guy decide they want a cigarette so I go with them to the smoking area. As they are smoking I get talking to some guy in Spanish. I'm deep in a drunken conversation when the next thing I know I can see Biskey being dragged through the fire exit doors by some big burly bouncer. What the hell! Me and the Swedish guy run after him. The bouncer deposits Biskey on the street, and shouts that he's not coming back in! What's going on I ask.
"I don't know?" Says Biskey.
Rule number 4! "You didn't say you were English did you?" I ask.
The next thing I know we end up in some God awful Australia bar in central Paris. Biskey gets excited about some strange Australian beer the bar is selling. I turn by back for one minute and look back to see that Biskey is getting in a huge, nearly fight like argument with the barman. I realise then that drinking Biskey is back, and now I remember that in Colombia the pussy fags caused havoc where ever they went! "Biskey we are leaving!"

I left Biskey in Paris to carry on with his European tour. Over a month later he returned back to London and our flat to catch his flight back to Oz and to celebrate my birthday. I realised I'd missed him a lot. He has become a good friend, and I can tell him anything. It was during one of these conversations that I discovered wise Biskey. I was moaning about men to him and the situation's I was in. He turned to me and said,
"Well Carly, I have no sympathy for you. You have put yourself in these situations, because you let these guys do this to you. You only make yourself sad. Why do you let these dick heads into your life, when they never treated you well and so never deserved you in the first place! You don't need them! Either sort it out, do something about it and stop being the victim or shut up about it, because you have done it to yourself!"
I sat there for a second feeling a bit shocked by his rant, but then realised he was completely right. It was completely my own fault because I always let people treat me this way. That night I went and erased everyone from life, who didn't treat me right, who let me down or who played games with me. Those who it was not possible to erase from my life, I changed my mind set to; I let go of them and moved on. It was time to stop making myself unhappy. It was quite liberating and I felt so much better instantly. I liked wise Biskey. He gave me the kick up the arse I needed.
I dropped Biskey at the airport where I had picked him up 2 months earlier. I felt really sad. With that chance meeting in Colombia, I realised I had made a true friend. I know I will see him again. Now I just need to, some how get my ass to the other side of the world for a full reunion with all the pussy fags. Now that will be a story worth telling believe me!

3 FILMS YOU HAVE TO WATCH

First up is The Skin I live in which is the latest offering from Pedro Almodovar.  It's dark, twisted and completely amazing, as well as having one crazy twist in the plot.  It's one of the best films I have seen in a long time and I made my housemates go out and watch it as well, so I could discuss it with them, as its one of the films you can't stop talking about.  Elena Anaya is one of the most beautiful women ever to grace the screen and Antonio Banderas is as sexy as always.  I also felt good as it was in Spanish so I felt like I might also be learning as well?


The other week I stayed in and watched a documentary film Called The Burden of Dreams.  It was about the making of Werner Herzogs film Fitzcarraldo in the Amazon jungle.  Herzog and his lead actor Klaus Kinski are totally insane; they film in the middle of nowhere in harsh conditions; everything goes wrong and basically it's complete chaos, so right up my street. Would of loved to have been on the crew. I love crazy people, it makes life far more interesting.  I want to work with Herzog now!


Lastly is the film Drive. Beautifully acted, directed and shot.  Great soundtrack too.  Oh! and I'm totally in love with Ryan Gosling, who is the coolest man in film today.  I love you Ryan. Go watch it now!

NEW DISCOVERIES

I've lived in London nearly ten years now, but there is always something new to see, some place new to discover, it never stops.  Maybe that's why I love it so much. This last week I have discovered two new places worth mentioning.  First up is a place called Comptoir Libanais.  I went to meet my friend Hannah for lunch the other day.  We were in the centre of London, which for me most of the time is hard to find any where decent to eat.  Its all chain's or tourist restaurants.  Hannah said she knew a cool Lebanese cafe round the back of Oxford street, which she knew I would love.  She was right.  It was fun, bright, modern and the food was great at a reasonable price.  They also have some cool Moroccan shopping bags, that I think I really must have.

COMPTOIR LIBANAIS

65 WIGMORE STREET

LONDON

W1U 1PZ

TEL: 0207 935 1110

Secondly up is Gordon's Wine bar. I went for a drink with my friend Oli, who introduced me to this place round the corner from Charing cross station, near the river.  From the outside you would easily walk past it, with it scruffy old wooden facade, but walk down the stairs into the cellar where the bar is located, is like walking back in time.  It's dark, smells, and is scruffy, but has so much character and looks like a seedy Victorian tavern, in a Dickens novel.  As I love history, I totally loved this place.  You should go just for the experience.

 Gordon Wine Bar

47 Villiers Street

London

WC2N 6NE

TEL: 0207930 1408