DAM IT! I'M HOME SICK!

10 THINGS I MISS ABOUT ENGLAND 

* People that get sarcasm.  It's wasted here! 

* Sunday roasts

* Topshop (I know this is Materialistic, but I don't give a Dam)! 

* Goggle box ( I can't believe I just admitted to that)!

* Purdey's vitamin drinks ( I have addiction to them and right now the cold turkey isn't feeling good)!

* BBC radio 6 music

* Queuing! Some one pushed in front of me the other day in H&M! Do they not know how much that annoys an English person? We love a good orderly queue!

*  People understanding everything I say all the time and not everything being lost in translation! Actually I take that back, as no one understands what I'm saying back home half the time and their English.

* Being able to find a good avocado (first world problems)! 

* My friends and family. 

So now I need to counteract that with with 10 things I like about Romania 

10 THINGS GOOD ABOUT ROMANIA

* It's cheap!

* It doesn't rain that much!

* Everyone is nice. Well apart from one person who actually just one of the most evil people I Have met!

* The bread is good!

* It's cheap! Shit I've already said that one! 

SORRY THATS ALL I HAVE TO GIVE, ROMANIA RIGHT NOW.

"Mum! Something terrible has happened!"

I'm face timing my mum for like the second time that week! She's in shock! I never contact my family that much. It's not that I don't love them: I do lots! It's just that I've always been very independent. I'm Carly the lesser spotted. A sighting, or a call is a rarity.

"I'm homesick!" I say.

"Oh my God!" Is her response.

At the age of 36, the girl that has travelled most of the world on her own, with never thinking about coming home; and who is fiercely independent, is home sick for the first time in her life and it's a horrible feeling! I remember when people use to tell me they were home sick when I was travelling. I would look at them weirdly as I could not emphasise with them as I'd never had this feeling. I always thought they were weak. Now I take back that view, because it's one of the worst feelings I've ever experienced. It's like a constant nausea and discomfort. I can't sleep and my appetite has more or less completely gone. All I can think about is getting on a plane home. It's all come as quite a shock to me this feeling, and I don't know how to make it stop. I have days better than others but the feeling is always there. 

To counter act my home sickness I'm try to make things as English as possible.  I'm doing this by:

* Saying lots of English little phrases, which we have lots of. I'm also calling everyone love a lot (which is very northern thing to say)! Most of the time this is completely lost on everyone as no one else on the crew is English and there are mainly tumble weeds of silence.

* I'm watching lots of English TV as I've downloaded Astril which allows me to watch stuff probably illegally? (Life on the edge)! This means I can watch as much crap TV as I want (which we have lots of in the UK) and I suddenly feel completely at home!

* I'm finding I'm ringing a lot more uk companies for Enquiries than other countries, which means I can talk to English people and spend a lot more time on the phone talking to them than I should do about such crap like the weather and should we leave the EU? How terribly English! 

CONCLUSION TO ALL THIS!:

I'm a idiot and just need to get over myself! As Scarlet O 'Hara famously said:

"After all; tomorrow is another day!"

ISTANBUL: WHAT A RIOT!

What I like about my job is you never know what is going to happen next. One minute your sat at your friends, having dinner,unemployed, wondering where the next job is coming from, when you get a phone call like this:
"Hi. Is that Carly?" A voice asks. She continues, "Becky gave me your number. She said you were very good. I need some one to come and help me do costume on a promo in Istanbul!"
The conversation continues for a couple of minutes before I hang up and looking a bit shell shocked look at my friend and say "I think I'm going to Istanbul in 3 days!"
Alex my friend looks at me and says
"Isn't that where all those riots are?"
"Oh balls!"

The next day I've arranged to meet my boss at her studio. She's late as she has had a run in with TFL for not swiping her Oyster card and has been fined on the spot for it. She is frazzled by it all, as I'm trying to find out the details of the job, but she is still annoyed about her morning and doesn't really relate to what I'm asking her. When she does calm down she asks if I have my laptop?
"No" I reply feeling really unprofessional. I rush back to my flat. This is not a great start.
Finally we sit down, lap top in hand and talk about the job at hand.
"So we have to do 150 costumes. All different teams representing their country in the Olympics" my boss continues "And we need to take them all out to Istanbul with us."
"OK" I smile. "So how many do you have together so far?"
"None!"
My face drops.
"I have only just had my designs signed off" she says.
"When are we going to Istanbul again?" I ask.
"I go Friday morning. Your flight is at 4.30pm from Heathrow, the same day."
"OK" I say still smiling, "Do we have any sizes for people?"
"Not really! We have a few but they don't really make any sense!"
I look down at the piece of paper with the few measures on it. She is right! They don't make any sense!
"OK" I say still managing to smile and look calm.
"I just need you to get on with it and start sourcing costumes" she says.
"OK!" Still smiling.
"Oh! And we are on a type budget as well! She says finally.
"OK!" I think my smile is actually frozen to my face now as I'm in shock. It's Wednesday morning. I have two and a half days to get 150 costumes together, to fly to Istanbul. I have not really got any sizes and I have a tight budget. I feel like I'm going to be sick. "This is impossible" I think to myself, "I can't do this." I must admit I sit on my laptop for the first half an hour, just kind of looking at the screen in shock, pressing some keys, every now and again, to make it look like I'm doing something. Then I remembered my GCSE's exams where you have that sudden freak out when you look at the paper and realise you haven't revised any of the questions, but then something kicks in and your like "I can do this! I can do it! I can do anything (Ok that last bit isn't quite true)!" Then you are just writing down the answers. My GCSE head comes into play. "I can do this!!!!!"

The next 2 days are a blur of phone calls, internet searching, and shopping, and when I say shopping, I mean shopping. Rolling suitcases round shops, bulk buying shirts, trousers and shoes, to which I get funny looks and comments, like I have some kind of weird fetish. It's on one of these occasions while buying 50 pairs of the same white shoes in Primark and throwing them into a suitcase, the cashier goes:
"You must really like these shoes hey?"
Now I don't whether she is being funny or serious, but I'm stressed and tired and not really in the mood for it.
"What! Do you really think I would be buying myself 50 pairs of white Primark shoes for myself? Really? What kind of person do you think I am?" I retort.
"Should I put the receipt in the suitcase?" Is all she can reply.

It's Friday morning. 3am to be precise! I'm still at my bosses studio working. We are surrounded by the remains of a Chinese take away which was ordered with great difficulty at 12am as nearly every take away was shut. I'm exhausted! My boss on the other hand is still going strong! This girl isn't normal. She just doesn't get tired! I think we could of been there all night if I hadn't told her that she was actually being picked up to go to the airport in 2 hours and still hadn't packed. She left for the airport not having been to sleep.

Later that afternoon it's my turn to leave for the airport. I'm with two of the trainees; Jenifer and Isabella who will be coming with me to Istanbul. Isabella is so calm, if she was anymore laid back she'd be dead! I'm feeling pretty calm myself for once. I just have to pick up some jackets from the tailor on the way to Heathrow and I'm just waiting on a order of missing trousers, but that left ages ago and should be here any moment? I wait! I wait some more! Nothing. I ring the supplier.
"They were delivered ages ago!"
"They weren't! I have been here and nothing had arrived!" I say in a panic tone "I need them now. I'm leaving for the airport!"
"Well I have a note to say they were signed for" he says. He starts to reel off the address and my face turns white.
"No! No! No!" I scream down the phone, "That's the wrong address! That's the production office! I haven't got time to argue about this!" I slam down the phone.
I throw a load of money at Jenifer.
"Right get to soho to the production office and get those clothes and meet me at the airport" I yell at her.
"Isabella! Let's get in a taxi and get to the tailors!"
I think I might of aged about 10 years in the 2 hours that proceeded this. We were always cutting it fine, but with the added London traffic I feel sick. Luckily we make it and to my relief at Heathrow Jenifer is waiting for us with the parcel, looking at bit worn. Then me and Isabella entertain a group of onlooking Indian tourists by her sitting calmly on the already bulging suitcase while I try to shove more clothes into it. I sit in the airport feeling like some one has run me over and I'm not even in Istanbul yet!

The Istanbul riots started first on May 28th as a sit down protest for future plans for Istanbul's Taksim Gezi park. The peaceful protest was met with brutal violence and a forced eviction that caused outrage nationally and internationally. Due to this, protests became wide spread throughout Turkey, but were met with more brutal force by the police and Army which caused huge conflict. This was most widely seen in Taksim in Istanbul, which became the heart of the protests and conflict.
"Where is are hotel?"
"Taksim!"
"Shit!"
Me and Isabella are being driven to are hotel, by one if the production drivers who speaks bad English but has managed to tell us that our hotel is right in the middle of the riots! I have no idea what we are driving into: A war zone? In fact it was actually completely the opposite. It's calm, dead in fact! "There is nothing to worry about here" I thought, as I closed my eyes that night "The press blow everything out of proportion!

I knew the next day when I woke up it was going to be one of those days. We had an impossible task of dressing extras that had never been fitted or that we even had sizes for, but I put my fighting head on and got on with it. This involved stealing on iron board and iron from the hotel; trying to work a Victorian sewing machine; spray painting hats on football stadium pitch; screaming a lot at the Turkish production; and cutting up, sewing and stuffing shoes with tissue to make them fit! As I stood there in the middle of a football stadium in Istanbul watching them finally perform in the 150 costumes that 3 days ago did not exist, I felt a great sense of achievement! "We did it! We bloody well did!" I thought. With this sudden sense of relief I started to be aware of things again. Outside the stadium, there was noise, like nothing I had heard before. The sound of thousands of people and cars, shouting and beeping. As the hours passed the noise became louder. Soon the news spread that there where riots all over the city and by the early hours of the morning when it came time for us to leave, we were told that it might be impossible for us to get back to Taksim as the government had gone in that night to liquidate the square and had shut off the area. There was talk of us sleeping in the stadium but it was decided we should try. What followed was one of the craziest journeys of my life. It was like something out of a film! Our mini bus driver sped high speed through the streets, passing protesters and riot police who fired gas at them and tried to hit them with batons. I saw one guy get hit in the chest with a tear gas canister which knocked him off his perch and he fell down next to our vehicle. Our driver spun round fast sending most of us flying and the bottle of water I had been drinking fell all over my lap, so I looked like I had wet myself. After running the mind field for what felt like hours, we finally made it back to Taksim. It was a mass of riot police, and the remains of a battle. Every now and again a bang would go off in one direction and a mass of police would move. We parked in front of our hotel. As the "Good" costume girl I am, I started taking out all our costumes from the bus, but then a man from our hotel started to try and usher me inside.
"Miss! Get inside now! It is dangerous here!"
"But I have to get the costumes out!" I shouted in response.
The next thing I know there is a mist and something catches the back of my throat and I start to cough so much it's like I can't breath. Then my eyes start to stream with tears, so much I can't see. Someone drags me to the hotel as I can't really see. As I enter some one starts to throw water in my eyes and gives me water to drink to clear my throat. It takes a couple of minutes to recover and go "what the Hell happened there?"
"Shit! I've just been tear gassed!" I think to myself. We are beyond tired as we drag our costumes to the lift. The lift doors open and there seems to be a load of quite drunk men in it, all dressed in white. They cheer as we enter. Me and my boss are less impressed! The lift stops at the next floor and more drunk men dressed in white get in,but this time one is wearing a bra. I realise they are Swedish and it seems like some sort of stag do. The lift stops at each floor and more drunk men get in and out, or stand blocking the doors talking. My boss keeps asking them to get out of the doors so that the lift can move, but no one is really listening, so she just starts pushing them. The lift starts moving again and the swedes start to break into song, singing 'I had the time of my life."
The lift stops again and they are still singing while more swedes in white try to get in the lift. This is all too much for my boss!
"Get out! Get out!" She screams "I want to go to my floor!"
It's at this point I have a funny moment. It's 5.30am. I haven't slept in over 24 hours. In fact I've hardly had any sleep for he last 5 days. I have worked to myself to the bone. I've just been tear gassed and now I'm stuck in a lift with a Swedish stag party singing "I've had the time of my life" from Dirty dancing! For a moment I think that the tear gas must of killed me, for surely this is Hell! It's then, I just break down in hysterical laughter, still while my boss is screaming at the Swedes. I just couldn't stop. I guess it could of been worse. They could of been singing Abba. As I went to bed, I looked out the window to see riot police chasing and firing at people in the street. I had never seen anything like it in my life. It was a war zone. I closed the curtain. I was too tired to see anymore. It had been one of the craziest days of my life.

The next days that followed, I saw more violence. I got tear gassed again. I was stopped from going to taskim square. I saw people water cannoned, and beaten. Tanks roamed the streets and it was impossible to go outside with out a gas mask on, and then all of a sudden it stopped. The city which had been a war zone returned to normal, like nothing had happened. I could walk the streets freely and see the city and it's sights in all its glory and believe me Istanbul is a glorious city, one of the most beautiful I have seen. On my last day in the city, I took a bus to Taksim Square. The police and army were there, busy cleaning up the aftermath. Washing away the evidence, that anything had ever happened at all, but it did happen. 11 people died. 8,163 were injured. 4,900 people were arrested, all because they wanted the right to have freedom of speech. I suddenly realised how lucky I was and that my freedom was something I would never take for granted again. Istanbul and this job was something I would not forget, not in a long time. In fact never!

HAUNTED!

I have just finished two weeks of night shoots, most of which of consisted of overnight stays in the Brecons. While most of the crew were scattered around the area in cosy little hotels, our department got put up in the actually place we were filming, which was not a nice cosy hotel, but a big sprawling Victorian mansion, which also happened to be apparently haunted!

Now I'm not sure whether I believe in ghosts, but this place was spooky. Luckily I wasn't the most scared person there. My trainee, Lauren was absolutely petrified, which was made worse my people jumping out on her and making her scream. It also happened that she had the strangest room as well, which consisted of twin beds, a cot in the middle, the scariest family portrait over looking them and a sink in a wardrobe that looked liked it had been used by serial killers!
"I'm not sleeping in here" she said, "Carly can I sleep in with you?"
Well I could hardly refuse could I? So I did the honourable thing and let her. Besides if I'm truthful I was scared now too!
On are first night there Kat insisted on us scaring the assistant directors who were also staying there. So here I am lay on my stomach, under a bed, with two other girls, in the pitch black dark at 4.00am at 32 years of age waiting to jump out on some one. What the hell! We waited there for bloody 20 minutes, till they got back. Scared the crap out of them, so it was worth it?

My room became the party room and everyone gathered with their drinks. Andy our truck driver turned up unannounced on the doorstep saying he wanted a shower (I told you he was insane)! He settled in for the night with us, with a six pack of Orangeboom! We sat drinking and talking till the sun rose and we couldn't keep are eyes open anymore. In fact I had one of the best nights sleep ever. So no ghosts you ask? No, apart from an mysterious wet glass mark that kept reappearing in the in the same place, but no one had put anything there. The next day the lady of the house showed us a portrait of the suspected ghost, and as I looked closely I saw something. He was holding a glass!

THE DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY

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?

THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY

Hmm! The good is I guess getting the chance to travel and meeting new people; the bad is without a doubt the hours; and the ugly? Well I guess that could be classed as a crew night out! Yes, this is the good, the bad, and the ugly of my job, and I got to experience all three of these aspects recently.

My job took me back to film in Spain once again. This time I found myself filming down in Almeria in the South near the Tabernas desert, which is the only real desert in Europe (I love a geek fact)! One packed, uncomfortable flight on Easy Jet later, we landed at Alicante airport, for a long 4 hour drive down to Almeria. Luckily I was greeted by some familiar faces, as half the Spanish crew had worked on Benidorm with me last year. After the grey skies of Cardiff, the beautiful blue sky of Spain seemed like heaven and quickly lay down on a whole back seat of a car, after outwitting most of the crew and making a dash for the empty vehicle. I lay there happily with the sun shining on my face and I felt I could of stayed there forever.
Unfortunately I couldn't stay there forever, as there was work to be done and lots of it (This wasn't a holiday you know)! We were filming on a western set just outside Almeria, where such films as The Good, the Bad, and the ugly; Fistful of Dollars; and that Depeche Mode video, Your own Personal Jesus (love that song) had been filmed. I got a bit excited about this as I'm a film geek. I kept walking a long the street or stepping into a building, thinking that Clint Eastwood had been here, and even better Clint when he was at his hottest! I didn't find any trace of Clint. Instead I had to make do with some camels (we called them Lady Bella Donna and Humphrey) , mules and horses. Actually I was very happy being surrounded by horses as I love them and use to ride every weekend for 10 years. In truth I'd probably not swap them for Clint, even when he was at his hottest!

It being our first night there and with all the work we had to do the next morning, we decided to have a quiet night. 6 hours; a couple of glasses of vino; Gin & Tonics; fairy light sunglasses; assaulting a bulls head; finding a bar with a lot of ham hanging from the ceiling ( We originally named it the Ham Bar!); a few smashed glasses later I decided to be sensible and call it a night. Kat was much more hard core than me as I don't think she really had any sleep?

I had drafted in my friend Rob to come and help as we had so many extras. I'd met him originally through his boyfriend but then he asked me to assist him on a Chase and Status promo and we got on like a house on fire. We have the same kind of temperament; don't really take life to seriously; and know how to have a laugh, and he came over to Spain and did exactly that. Me, him and Kat for some reason started talking to each other in some southern yank drawl and as Rob always sat outside on his break constantly but calmy, puffing on a cigarette we started to fondly call him, Bobby 2 Smokes. I think he liked it, and it has stuck.

This was one hell of a job so I needed more help than just Bobby 2 Smokes! So I drafted in my old house from London, Mariel who is Spanish and now resides in Barcelona. The first time I ever met Mariel, was in cafe as my other friend Deb's was sorting out a bag full of unpaid Parking tickets for her. Mariel did not really see why she had to pay them. She would also leave the front door open; walk round naked; and bring people back for a party at midnight, which usually included the strumming of a guitar till the early hours, even though you had to be up for work at some God dam awful hour. As frustrating as it could be sometimes, I always admired Mariel's free Latin spirit and wished I had more of it in me. I hadn't seen Mariel in nearly 2 years, not liked she had changed. She came in whipped the extras into shape; tried to teach the English crew English and shouted at them when they got it wrong; told Howard he looked like a lobster boss after he burnt his face; and cornered our director into a conversation (our directors strong point wasn't social skills!) while waving a cigarette around, about where he was from; did he like Spain and did he know that the Spanish were real stoners! Me and Bobby 2 spaces couldn't stop laughing in the back ground. Everyone loves Mariel. You can't not love her. She is infectious with her warmth, fun, and care free ways. I'd forgotten how much I liked being around her.

I enjoyed every morning getting the cast dressed and then stealing an apple from catering and feeding and patting the horses. I liked seeing tourists go by on horse driven carriage, taking photos; I liked watching the cowboys perform stunts; and I loved looking at the sunrise and set everyday over the beautiful mountains. In truth I got quite happily lost in my own little fantasy western world for a while and when it was over, I felt a sadness come over me. I can't tell you much of what happened there as its more than my life is worth (so sorry that this is a dull post) but I can tell it was an enjoyable, fun experience and I have happy memories of my Western adventure.

I now have to satisfy my needs by watching western films (I watched the Good, the Bad and the Ugly as soon as I got back!) and I also find myself reading a western novel: The sister Brothers by Patrick de Witt. Apart from having a cool front cover, it's an amazing book. Please read it.

I will now leave you with a cool trailer from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Probably one of the best film scores ever. Enjoy cowboys.

MOROCCO

Around this time last year I was going to do something reckless again and get spontaneously on to a plane to see a guy, who I was totally besotted with, because he asked me to. I never got that flight. It's funny how life twists and turns in different ways, as now a year on, he, is sadly, no longer in my life and I find myself in the place I had so longed to be with him and nearly took a plane to: Morocco.

This time the reason for being in Morocco was not a lustful pursuit; it was something quite the opposite. It was WORK! After my surprising phone call from the designer (read the previous post), I found myself a couple of days later, with bags packed being whisked away on a plane, and landing in Marrakech, not knowing whether this whirl wind of events was quite real or not. When I reached the arrivals hall and saw a grumpy, old Moroccan guy holding a badly scrawled sign with my name on it, I decided it must be real. I was then whisked off in a 4x4 with two actors who were on my flight on a four hour journey into the desert. Our driver who I could only communicate with in Spanish as it's the only language we have in common, drives us through the winding roads like a nutter and in no time I'm feeling car sick and trying not to throw up over the actors. Four hours later, after stopping off for a dodgy Tajine and having to wee in some hole in the ground, classed as a toilet, I arrive at my hotel, looking as White as a sheet in the early hours of the morning, knowing I had to be in work in a couple of hours and I'm exhausted. On the plus side, the hotel is 5 star and amazing. My room is like a suite and is massive. I could get use to this, I think as I slide into my king size bed.

I awake the next morning, though it's too early as I have got my Moroccan time wrong and realise later that could have spent an extra hour in bed, God Dam it! I get driven to the workshop where I get to meet my designer and supervisor for the first time, who are also husband and wife. Now I've never worked with a couple before and all I can think about is whether they argue a lot and if I'm going to get caught in the cross fire. They seem lovely though, so I hope for the best. What is less lovely is the workshop which is a big, damp, unfinished concrete hell hole. Oh! The glamour! It is also over flowing with costumes, of every period of time, most of which I have never worked with before. It's all a bit overwhelming. The place is also filled with Moroccans running about. This is our costume team, and there are 15 of them in total. I get quickly introduced to them all.
"This is Hassan!"
"I'm Amin."
"Latifa."
Now I'm normally good with names, but these are unfamiliar ones to me (I can't even pronounce half of them!) and one minute later I can't remember anyone's name. They are all also, viewing me with an air of suspicion, as the new girl brought in from a foreign land for extra help, as a slight on them. It's all a bit intimidating. Fatima our washer lady brings over some tea. Now I only drink green tea, but as most of the Moroccans seem to be giving me daggers I don't want to piss them off and so I'm polite. With everyones eyes watching me intently I take a sip. Oh my God! It's disgusting and I can't help but grimace; A LOT! The Moroccans are laughing at me and it's at this point I realise that most of them don't really have many teeth. No bloody wonder with the amount of sugar they put in their tea. There is enough sugar in their tea to kill someone! I get it now! They are trying to poison me with tea! The rest of the day is spent trying to get my bearings and learn the ropes. This is pretty hard when all the Moroccans seem to do is laugh at me and some keep undermining me and telling me I'm doing everything wrong. I'm soon a bit of a stuttering wreck and everything that comes out of my mouth seems stupid. Later that night I sit a lone in my room drinking the vodka I got from duty free thinking: I'm on a job, in a foreign country, with a designer I have never worked with before; with a team of Moroccans who see me as a threat and just poke fun at me; with costumes I've never worked with before; I don't know a single person; and I'm trying to be murdered with tea! Where has confident Carly gone? I feel totally out of my depth. I opt for another Vodka and Tonic.

The next morning I wake at 4.30am!!!! With the purpose of, its time to take back control! Today we are dressing Spartans and Persian soldiers for a big battle scene. I get stuck straight in and start dressing, though it's not long before I soon realise that my presence has caused quite a stir and I look round the room to see I'm the only woman ( A blonde western one, at that!) in a room full of half naked men, all staring at me. No I shall not be intimidated I tell myself. I've seen it all before and I'm not the one with the problem, this is my job! I start to dress one of the stunt men. He stinks of Alcohol. I thought Muslims weren't meant to drink? I start to dress him as a spartan when I'm told he needs a loin cloth under his skirt. So I'm on my knees face at crotch height with this guy with my arms around his waist trying to wrap this loin cloth around him, when I look up and realise he's got his hands behind his head; his legs parted; his eyes shut and seems to be getting some sexual kick out of this. Oh God! He's imagining I'm doing something else down there! Everyone else's eyes are on me too. I shall not be intimidated. Well actually I am and I completely rush the loin cloth and I see it already falling off him as he leaves for make up. So much for taking back control, Carly!

After ploughing through nearly a 100 extras, I am sent to set with some of the Moroccans. I don't know any of the crew here either and as they have been out here longer, they all seem to have bonded. Actually that's I lie I do know some one. The 1st AD as he's one of my best friends ex-boyfriends. I can't decide whether this is a good thing or not, as I can't remember whether it was a good split up between them? Production seem to like every single persons costume broke down to the max and after covering nearly 100 extras in dust and dirt, I'm more filthy than any of them. It's also won't come off either! My hands and my clothes no matter how hard I scrub are stained! Great, I've only been on set less than an hour and I already look like some comical chimney sweep. Checking the extras becomes a pain as well. There all male and giving me shit! They all start talking to be in Arabic and then starting to each other in Arabic and even though I can't understand them, I know it's about me. I shall not be intimidated! Kevin comes out (or as it has now become know after this job: Pitbull Carly)! I start barking orders at them, not like they can understand me, but it does have the desired effect of letting them know I'm not going to take any shit off them! The day wears on and the sun gets hotter and it's seems after lunch the extras decide that they have done enough work for the day, and most of them run off and hide under bushes and get stoned! The afternoon is then mainly spent trying to track them down and find their displaced costumes. A complete nightmare! By the end of the day I'm completely knackered and my feet are swollen with the heat. That night I lay in the bath soaking my feet and trying to get my hands clean. After half an hour of scrubbing, I'm still dirty. I give up.

The days roll on, each day a different period in time, I start to remember the Moroccans names, they except me and become nice to me and I still drink the God dam awful tea, to be polite. I'm just about to complete my first week and I think to myself; I'm alright, everything is alright. I thought to soon. Now I have a stomach of steel. I was in South America for 5 months and never got ill from the food. Actually not even in India did I get sick, but there is something about Morocco that my stomach doesn't like. Last time I was here, 5 years ago with my ex boyfriend, we were both as sick as dogs by the end of it. It was the day of the crucifixion and I'm hanging out with Jesus, who was crazy and cool, so I called him J.C (sorry I know what I have just wrote seems very unbelievable, but every word is true), when my stomach starts to get the biggest pains and then suddenly I'm rushing through the Jerusalem set trying to find a toilet. I'm not going to go into details (I'm a lady remember) but lets just say it wasn't very pleasant. It only gets worst in afternoon as some bright spark in history decided to crucify Jesus on top of a hill. This might have been a good idea in Jerusalem a couple of thousand of years ago, but not now when I'm filming and have a urgent need to go to the toilet every two seconds and the toilets are at the bottom of the hill! Let's just say its a long afternoon and as I'm trying to help Jesus on the cross and do my checks, I think he senses my pain and asks if I'm OK. This seems quite ironic coming from a man covered in blood, with lash marks, wearing a crowd of thorns, nailed to a cross, shivering with fatigue.
"I think I'm a lot better off than you" I reply.

It's my day off and still feeling shit and covered in dirt, so I decide to have a Hammam, as I was told it was really relaxing and gets you clean. I've never had one before and didn't really know what to expect. Let say it was a shock. I get dragged into a hot room, by a naked woman, who then strips me of my bikini which I thought was suitable to wear; she then throws a load of buckets of water over me; lays me down on the floor; scrubs my skin until its red roar; throws more buckets of water of me and leaves me in the room, a little bit startled. I don't know about feeling relaxed. Feeling violated is more like it!

The next week my designer and his wife have to move to the next location to do fittings.
"Your in charge now. Your more than capable" he tells me.
What! He's leaving me! On my own! In charge of Moroccans! To dress all these people and stunts! Arghhhhh!!!!!!!!! Oh my God! This decision does not go down well with the Moroccan supervisor: leaving a woman in charge. He's been giving me some problems: he never tells me anything; ignores me when I speak to him and does bugger all as he thinks he's a bit grand for it all. This is not going to be easy.

My first day in charge is one of the biggest days. It's the battle between the Egyptians and the Assyrians. In fact the battle begins before they even get to set, as there is a punch up with some of the extras. That's one thing I have noticed in Morocco: they do love a good fight! There always arguing and even when there not, it sounds like they are. I'm trying to be assertive and give orders out, when I find 4 of the costume assistants dressing the pharaoh.
"We don't need 4 people dressing one person, when we have another 90 waiting to be dressed. Move on!" I yell. They disperse. I come round the corner 5 minutes later to find them all there again, dressing the pharaoh! What the....! I give up. Apart from having a huge fight with all the stunt guys; calling them all disrespectful arseholes and falling out with them (it's a long and boring story, but I did get almost pushed to the ground by them) I'd say the day when pretty well.

It's tough being a woman in charge in Morocco, as I find out as the week rolls on. You get treated differently and you have to stand your ground. With my stomach still not right, I'm losing weight, I'm weak and my trousers seem to be falling off me. This on top of dressing, doing fittings and having to deal with crew politics, has left me exhausted. On our last day in Ouarzazate, we are filming the building of the great pyramids. An easy day in comparison to what we have done. WRONG! This is because we end up filming in a sand storm. It's so bad you can't see as there is so much sand in your eyes, and all they do is water. The situation is made worse by the extras: AGAIN, as they are only dressed in a loin cloth and apron, and there cold. So they all keep hiding and getting stoned in the work tents at the back. The producer gets the tents taken down so they can't hide anymore. This only makes the situation worse, as the extras then barricade themselves in the mini bus and go on strike. It takes over half an hour of negotiations while we are all being blowed around trying to take shelter, to get them out. They bribed them in end by giving them extra money. Lunch was a sorry affair that day, as we only got a couple of mouthfuls before the whole meal was covered in sand. We all just sat there looking a bit disillusioned. We had to abandon the set in the end as it got to dangerous. Here is a little taster of what it was like, though it did get much worse than this!

We finally move onto our next location, Essaouira. It feels like complete civilisation after being stuck in the sticks of Ourazazate for 2 weeks. It's by the sea, there are shops, restaurants and SURFERS (We all know they are my weakness). Heaven. What more could a girl ask for. Well actually a better hotel, as ours is a shit hole after the last one, but then again after some of the places I have stayed in on my travels, this is quite upmarket. I'm also glad to be back with my designer. Though not for long.
"So Carly, I have to start my next job and I'm leaving in 2 days and because you have been doing such a good job, I'm going to leave you in charge again", says my designer.
What! I can't be left in charge again. Actually what am I on about. I bloody love it. I've realised on this job I get a real buzz from having responsibility.

It being the last week, people are getting tired and tensions are high. One day from this week will be now be known as C**t Day. Now I hate this work, but it seems an appropriate name as this word seemed to be used a lot this day. There were arguments galore this day, and everyone was just calling each other a C**t! At 5.30am there was a particular bad argue kicking off with our department and another one. I just wanted an easy life at this point and didn't want to get involved, so just stood there looking a bit bewildered, wishing I smoked or drank coffee as it would give me an excuse to leave. In the end I just left anyway, leaving a trail of smoke behind me.

As my time had worn on in Morocco, I had become so immersed in all, as the job was so intense, I had completely forgotten about my life in England. It seemed like another world. I'd also grown to love my Moroccan family as well, and I think most of them grew to love me too (though I was quite aware that I still had my sworn enemies)! In fact some grew to love me a bit too much. In the first week I had the question that I knew was going to be asked:
"Are you married, Carly?"
"No".
"Have you children?"
"No".
"Do you have a special friend"?
"If you mean boyfriend, then no".
I have 15 faces staring back at me intently.
"But why?" they ask.
"I don't know really. I go for the wrong types? I don't really have time for one?"
"How old are you?"
"32" I reply.
Gasps, from audience.
"Well I know that's on the shelf age in Morocco". I can see one of the female Moroccan dressers who is 40 and not married giving me the biggest daggers right now. Oophs! I continue,
"buts it's not to bad in England, to be single at my age".
"Carly we must find you a husband, before it's too late!" says the Moroccan supervisor, "You should marry one of our costume boys, I have married many of them off to costume girls in England and America".
I bet you have, I think to myself. After this conversation, it seems I have no lack of suitors. I got asked by three different guys to say on in Morocco with them. I tell them I would be a very bad Muslim wife, as I drink, party and wear very revealing clothing. This doesn't seem to deter them and if I had taken them up on the offer, I could quite easily by now, be married off in Morocco with the first child on the way. Though one of the guys was quite cute, and the thought of a Moroccan toy boy did cross my mind for a bit, but then I realised I'd never be able to stay in Morocco with what it was doing to my stomach. There would be nothing left of me!

After crazy hours, lack of sleep, fittings, dressing hundreds of people, bad food, bad tea, a bad stomach, arguments, and sand storms the job had come to an end and I'd survived. In fact I'd done more than survived, I'd done bloody well. I'd been thrown in at the deep end and I'd swam. I realised on that job that me and my confidence has always been my worst enemy, but when set a challenge I can more than rise to it. This job has been more than a job, it's been an experience and a good one at that. I feel my confidence has soared and actually this 3 weeks has changed me, and for the better. I now know I'm more than capable at doing anything I put my mind to. I just have to keep remembering that.

OBSERVATIONS

* Moroccan men have some very colourful, crazy underwear, as believe me I saw a lot of half naked men on this job.

* Apparently Muslims can't throw bread as its against their religion, as we found out when we tried to get the extras to throw bread at a Roman emperor in a scene. They wouldn't do it so the crew had to throw it instead behind the camera. In the process the extras kept getting hit with the bread. This seemed to piss them off, so they decided to stuff religion and started throwing bread back at the crew, turning into one big bread fight. I stood there speechless.

* There were lots of crazy people in Morocco. Examples are the crazy drunk guy that use to get pulled away on the floor by security everyday; the guy that walks around wearing 20 coats: All at once!; and the mad resident that started throwing rocks at the crew and then got his sword out and started trying to hit people with it. If he wasn't happy, he could of just spoke to locations.

* Moroccans don't seem to get what a tail gate truck is, as that's what I asked for when I was doing a costume move. Instead I got a dumper truck! Check out this video. I've never done a costume move like this before, though it was much more fun this way.

* Moroccan tea still tastes shit without sugar. In fact worse. Can't win!

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?

GOOD GIRLS GO TO HEAVEN, BAD GIRLS GO TO BENIDORM!

The other year my friend Debbie thought about asking me, to work with her on a TV programme called Benidorm. She quickly retracted the offer with her saying; "Carly, you single, abroad, in the sun, in hotel with all the crew, is just going to be a complete nightmare!" I was very offended at first, but then I thought about it for a minute and knew she was completely right!

That said, she seemed to forget these factors very quickly this year, when she was desperate for someone to cover her supervising while she was on another job, as she asked me! Her reasoning was that I was doing most of the job prepping in London and only actually got 2 weeks in Spain, so I couldn't get up to much trouble in that time, could I? Hello! How long has she known me!

For my international followers, if you do not know what Benidorm is, it is a tourist destination for lots of British people in Spain, and they are usually the worst kind of Brits. Yes they are Brits a broad! Now let me put down in words the criteria for being a Brit aboard:
1. They are usually chav's (this is English slang for common people, that don't pronounce words right & have no class)!

2. They are mostly fat and overweight.

3. They usually have really bad sun burn. This is because they still haven't learnt that getting burnt doesn't actually give you a tan but skin cancer!

4. Owning to the above they are also thick or of little intelligence.

5. They usually have lots of bad tattoos or tramp stamps, as my sister likes to call them.

6. Their diet usually consists mainly of alcohol and fry ups, or anything they eat back in England, as foreign food is classed as something alien to them and maybe a little scary.

7. They spend 99% of the time drunk or hungover.

This is the criteria of Brits aboard, and it is actually this type of people that the show I'm working on is about. It's quite funny, as the Brits aboard love the show, even though it's taking the complete piss out of them. Everywhere the cast go, they get swamped with people wanting their photos and autographs. It's all very crazy.

After getting off the plane, checking into my hotel quickly it was straight to work. Our costume room and where we film is situated at another hotel down the road. Now I have a confession to make here. Me and my family had a family holiday years ago at the very hotel where Benidorm is filmed. I know, I can't believe a lady would admit to that. To be fair though, I have nothing but good memories of that holiday, but I was young and saw things with different eyes back then. A rosey tinted vision. I don't have those eyes anymore though. I now have the eyes of a 31 year old woman who has seen a lot and travelled the world. So I always knew that Benidorm was going to be a bit of a shock and it didn't disappoint in that aspect. As I walked to the entrance of the hotel of my childhood past, I was greeted by a fat chain smoking woman, covered in tatoos, with sunburn, sat in a mobility scooter. Now mobility scooters are all the rage in Benidorm, they even have tandem ones. This is not because there are loads of disabled people there, in fact there are probably none. No! It's because they are all too God dam lazy to walk, which I think was the case with this woman. Also with her was an equally over weight man, also smoking and covered in tattoo's. There was also a child playing with a ball beside them. The next thing the fat woman shouts at the child:
"Stacey stop playing with that f**cking ball and f**cking get back here"!
She then turns to the fat guy, who I presume to be her husband.
"Where are the rest of the f**cking kids"?
The fat guy replies, "I don't f**cking know! Probably in the f**cking pool where we left them you stupid bitch"!
The fat woman retorts, "Well you can go and f**cking find them, I'm off to get a drink. F**cking come on Stacey"! And with that she scooters off, dragging the child behind her; the man still sits there smoking and I'm just left standing there thinking I've arrived in my version of HELL!

During our 2 days of none stop work, unpacking costumes me and Delphine would sit and take our breaks on the balcony and watch the world go by. Delphine who is my designer is a amazing woman. She is intelligent, cultured, lived a life most full, has pink hair and is one of the nicest people ever. So you would think with all that I have said about her she would hate Benidorm. Not at all in fact she loves it! She has been filming Benidorm for 4 years and loves returning everytime. "Look " she said as we sat there on the balcony, "Where can you get people watching like this, anywhere else in the world. It's amazing"! I guess she is right, and after my initial shock of Benidorm, I decided to give it a chance. So it wasn't anywhere I would chose to go on holiday but there were many good things about this job, I thought:

1. I can walk to work in 5 minutes, something that I've never been able to do it the 10 years I have done this job.

2. I can go to work in a summer dress and flip flops.

3. I do the ironing on a balcony in the sun, instead of a freezing truck with no windows.

4. I can go for a swim in the outdoor pool after work and have a piña colada after a couple of lengths ( I know it kind of defeats the object of doing lengths)!

5. I can sit and have a drink after work, by the beach and watch the sun go down (There seems to be a lot of drinking involved in these pros if the job).

6. In the old town there is some amazing Spanish food.

7. The crew are lovely.

8. My hotel is nice.

9. Actually people a really friendly here, even when drunk!

10. I get to practice my bad Spanish.

As a lot of the crew and extras are Spanish, the little Spanish that I do know has come in useful. Though sometimes this becomes lost in translation and vice versa with the Spanish talking English. Take for example one of my conversations with one of the Spanish drivers. Rueben the driver, was having one of his flirty but nice chats with me again when he suddenly said,
"I love your breasts"!
I stood there speechless. It got worse as he then said:
"Each day they get lovelier and lovelier".
How rude I thought. Maybe this is how you talk to women in Spain but not me! I was just about to give him a piece of my mind, when I saw him touching my hem and realised he said dress in a heavy Spanish accent, not breasts. Oophs!

Another good thing is your days off. How many days do you get off and go to the beach. On my last day off me and the girls decided to spend the whole day on the beach. Instead of going to the main beach and being squashed like sardines in a tin, we decided to head to a little cove round the bay.

It was quiet, beautiful and away from the masses. It also appeared to be a nudist beach! Now I don't have a problem with the naked body, but It is a bit weird when your sat there reading and all you can see is a burnt bare bum or a penis flopping around as someone runs out the water. It is even stranger when a little old naked man who is old enough to be your grandad, is there, trying to help you put up your umbrella, while your trying very hard not to look at his wrinkly old penis, which is impossible as he just sits there talking to you with his legs spread wide apart. Not pleasant! Well if you can't beat them join them. So me and Nat decided to go topless which I'd forgotten how liberating it was. Don't worry I didn't go the full monty, imagine burning down there! All was going well until the camera boys decided to join us! You have never seen two girls but their tops on so fast. I believed we had got away with it and didn't have to go to work the next day with the whole camera department looking at us, thinking I've seen your breasts. That was until one of the camera guys told Make up he had a great zoom lens camera and got some great shots at the beach that day! Oh my God!

My time in Benidorm went quick. Too quick. In fact I had a great time there and I will go as far to say I will miss it. Benidorm may not be my heaven but you can always find the good in the bad.