So I'm still here living in Wales! In fact I've still got another 202 days of living here! Not like I'm counting down the days or anything (202! OMG! What kind of living Hell is this)! As I said not counting down the days? Look, I'm really trying to like Wales, really I am. It's just proving very hard. The reasons for this are:
1. It rains all the time! And when I say rains, I mean it. I have never seen anything like it. It doesn't stop from the moment you get up, till the moment you go to bed. My feet are constantly wet and my hair turns into some 80's perm, to which people start saying I look like Stevie Nicks (being compared to some drugged up Fleetwood Mac singer, does not make me happy)! You might think I'm being a little unfair on Wales as it seems Britain and a lot of Europe have been suffering under the same cloud with the heaviest rainfall since records began, but I'm sorry people, I have been stuck in Wales whilst this has all been happening so I'm afraid this is what the place is now associated with, for me: RAIN!
2. The Welsh are the worst drivers in the world! No honestly they are! Yes, readers, I have braved rush hour in Mumbai, took my chances on numerous Tuk Tuks across Thailand, rode a chicken bus in Latin America and nearly got crushed by the motor bikes of Ho Chi Min city, but none of this comes near to the sheer bad driving of the Welsh. So what makes them so bad, you ask? They might be lovely friendly, laid back people, but as soon as you get them into a car, their alter ego, the Car Demon comes out, which makes them aggressive, psychopaths who drive right up your ass or try and push you off the road. The Car demon is not just restricted to unruly teenagers, but to all ages and types including the mother with her children and sweet old Grandad types! So if you decide to drive in Wales, be it on your own heads people. You have been warned.
3. The style or lack of it in this case! OK I don't expect everyone to look the same in life, but really I just don't get it when people feel the need to look like the love child of a human that has mated with an orange! Honestly I have never seen so much fake tan (actually Liverpool maybe)? And it's not just the women, the men are just as orange and a lot of them seem to wax their chests, which they show off in low cut V neck T-shirts; and pluck their eyebrows. Look! I'm all up for men looking after themselves , but I like a man to be a man and not take longer in the bathroom than me! It also seems to be the rage to show as much flesh as possible. This starts from a young age as most 12 year olds seem to be walking round in hot pants so short it puts my slag hot pants to shame. I think the influence comes from the adults though as when there is the slightest bit of sun, the Welsh seem to think its the Costa Del Sol and strip off to vests, shorts and flip flops, even though it's still bloody freezing and I'm walking around in a coat and boots. I guess it is hot for Wales though, so I'll give them that one.
I guess what I'm trying to say is I don't really like it here, if you hadn't got that already. There is one saving grace though. My costume team or as I like to call them "My dysfunctional family!"
I've always been drawn to mad people, and since I left my childhood home, I have found myself little surrogate families all over the place. After leaving my family in the Wick, my costume team had become my new family now.
At the head of the family is Howard, who we also affectionately call "Daddy H". I have worked for H on and off for 7 years during which he has never shouted, or lost it with me once, even though there are times I know I deserve a good shouting at. He says me and Kat are like daughters to him. He listens to our problems, puts up with mood swings and has to deal with the odd cry now and again. He likes our outrageous behaviour and loves to ask "What have you little feigns been up to now?" to which we supply him with stories of a wild weekend. H likes to listen to classic FM, never crosses the road without the green man, and it is the worst person with modern technology I have seen (I've tried to make him get an i phone but he says he doesn't believe in them as they stop people talking properly)! H is an imposing guy, being tall, always dressed in black and with hair like Aslam's mane, but he is actually one of the nicest people you will ever meet.
Kat is, if I think about it, probably the closest person in my life right now. We work together, live together, in fact, particularly do everything together. It's a bloody good job we get on so well. Kat looks as if she is straight out of some 1950's high school with her style ( I love the way she dresses), she likes to read retro Mills and Boom books; loves all things vintage; has one of the best sense of humours ever ( she has me in stitches all the time); her perfect man is James Spader during his 80's hey day and she loves really bad knit wear (which she seems to make look really good)! We are quite similar in ways, as we are both as silly as each other and have the same naughty, wild streak. Kat has become like my baby sister and I'm extremely protective over her as she is quite fragile in some ways, though she is protective with me if I think about it. She has become my rock in Wales and I couldn't do this job without her.
We have two new additions to the family, Gemma and Lauren. Gemma is a local to Cardiff and probably the quietest of the group. Thats not to say she is without her quirks. Gem nibbles cereal from the bowl without milk, loves chocolate (she has her own constant supply hidden in draw); worries a lot; likes a certain kind of poly pocket; and loves T K Maxx. She also never says anything bad about anyone. In fact I wish I could be more like that!
Lauren is our trainee. I met Lauren briefly on a film last year as she was doing work experience. I thought she was sweet and hard working. It also turns out she is great fun too. Lauren is probably the most chilled person ever, nothing seems to trouble her. I'd love to be in her head. Lauren has also gained the name "Sugar Tits" due to the fact that everyone in the department has a mug with their initial on it. As Lauren was a late comer the only mug I could find had "Sugar Tits" written on it, and I jokingly tell her all the time that it's OK to call her that, as she is the trainee. In fact I think she has got off pretty easy as I was called "Young Twat" for over a year when I was the trainee.
Now your truck driver doesn't usually get classed as part of your team; sometimes you don't even know who they are, but it's different on this job. We have Andy! Andy is probably the nicest, partly insane, funniest people ever. He speaks in a board Somerset accent, has a lot of tattoo's and is ex army (he likes to say he's the best trained killer who can sew)! Andy likes to play stealth with us on the truck. This is where he sneaks up behind us in an army fashion without us realising. He gets great amusement out of it and we get scared senseless! Andy is also my favourite truck driver ever, as he gets us gifts such as chocolate (usually stolen from the caterers!); Somerset cider (which I wasn't sure about at first as it came in a bottle that looked like it contained bleach and had "Contains Sulphites" written on the side, but it actually turned out to be very good) and writes strange post-it notes, like "Andy woz ere", which he hides around the truck (usually under the photocopier lid)! I like having him around as I'm on my own on the truck most of the day and he tries to constantly amuse me, especially when he can tell when I'm fed up by telling me inappropriate stories about Shanghai massage parlours or the best strip bar ever in Canada from his army days. I also give him some counselling when he has fallen out with Martine, his wife and childhood sweet heart, again. One minute she's a bitch and he's going to divorce her, then the next she is the love of his life and soul mate. It's kind of like looking after a small child, but one with tattoo's, who smokes and drinks cider!
We also have Fraser on this job, but he is based in London, so most of our relationship is conducted down the phone. He pops in every now and again, like a long distant relative; tells us stories of the Mecca that is London; says he doesn't feel part of this; I tell him to shut up; and then he merrily goes back on his way to the chosen land, at which point I usually want to go back in that car with him.
I have also an important announcement to make. There has been an addition to the mansion. We have a new house mate! Yes readers I am proud to announce I am living with a lord! No word of a lie, a real lord; he's called sir and everything like that! Sir Gareth, owner of the mansion has turned up as he has got a job in Wales and will now be staying with us 3 days a week (it's about time I lived with a lord, being a lady)! Sir Gareth is a proper blue blood, posh, British eccentric and delightfully entertaining. He tells us the craziest of stories, which have so far included a dead labrador in a suitcase (This story is worth a post on its own); his gap year in America which was apparently " A bloody waste of time. Didn't learn a bloody thing!" and about gate crashing a Gwyneth Paltrow play! In return for this we have made Sir Gareth, fajita's and introduced him to Tesco's rotisserie chicken ( How many people can say they have introduced a lord to rotisserie chicken, hey)? One to tell the gran kids.
So it's seems I have myself a new dysfunctional family, surrounded by crazy people again, the way I like it. Oh! what of me? You ask. Well I'm the perfectly sane one out us all. Aren't I?
