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

TOLEDO: SOLA

While I was with Martin, he told me something interesting. The word Tapas does not just mean a type of food. It means food that is shared. This sums up Spain totally for me. Everything in this country is about sharing; family comes first; community is important and socialising runs deep in people's veins. I thought the south Americans were a friendly race but it seems the Spanish are just as nice, if not even more. It made me think what a cold, odd bunch, we British are. Actually underneath it all we are not, just a little bit repressed, and not sure how to express our emotions properly, hence we drink too much (Well that's the excuse I give to other nations every time I see ANOTHER drunk Brit collapsed or puking in the street)!

So I'm sat at a train station in Madrid waiting for a train to Toledo, and I'm feeling quite sorry for myself, as I've messed up the time I could of had with Martin and I'm nervous about being on my own all of a sudden. I hate it when one feels sorry for themselves as I think it's a little bit pathetic. I decide to snap myself out of it. Besides I tell myself, why the hell are you nervous about traveling for 3 days in Spain on your own; you have just spent the last 5 months traveling around south America on your own! Sort it out!
I arrive at Toledo, and realise I haven't got a clue where I'm going to stay, so I ask my taxi driver in bad Spanish to take me to the cheapest place he knows. He drops me near a small hotel on the outskirts of the old walls of the city and puts me into the care of the owner (A friend of his), a middle age señora who has a face like a bull dog chewing on a wasp. I'm a bit scared of her.
"How many people?" she barks at me in Spanish.
" Just me" I reply quickly
"What! Your on your own?"
"Si. Estoy sola" I reply.
She suddenly softens. Oh my God! I think she feels sorry for me. No I don't want you to feel sorry for me!
"Porque (Why)? She now asks.
That's a bit bloody personal I think, but as I'm still scared of her I answer, in bad Spanish.
"I was working in Spain and now I'm on vacation". I was going to tell her that I actually might not have been on my own, if I'd hadn't of messed up by not being open with a guy, but as I don't have the words to say that in Spanish I think we would have been there till Christmas, and besides she was already starting to look bored. She shows me to my room. Within in 5 minutes of being there I manage to lock myself out of my room, then I can't open the door when I get another key, and I can't get the wi-fi to work (How the hell did I survive in South America)! This seems to annoy señora a lot as it keeps interrupting her cigarette. I don't think this is a bad thing though as I thinks she smokes to much anyway.

As I set out on a walk of the city, señora and her husband (who believe it or not is quite handsome and younger than her; well done señora!) give me a detailed map and instructions as by now señora believes I am totally useless and shouldn't really be let loose on my own.
Now I'd read about Toledo and Martin had told me it was one of the most beautiful places in Spain. It also use to be the old capital of Spain before Madrid. It didn't disappoint. The medieval city perched high on a hill is one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen. It is also very romantic! As I walked round all I could see were couples walking round, kissing and holding hands. Great! Just what I need I thought. Toledo as well as being pretty is a complete maze and in no time I'm completely lost amongst the narrow medieval streets. While looking a señora's map for the hundredth time, thinking, "Wasn't I on this street five minutes ago"? I notice a man watching me, smoking a cigarette. As I walked on I realised he was too. Fifteen minutes later with the map back out, he's still there following me and not making a very good job of disguising it. It's nearly dark now, I'm totally lost still and starving. I find the nearest restaurant, and sit down. My stalker decides on the same restaurant and sits down at a table opposite mine and just sits there staring at me, still smoking a cigarette. Great! The waiter comes over and whacks down two menu's with the impression that someone is coming to joining me.
"No. I only need one. I'm alone" I say in Spanish.
"Oh! Sorry" he said.
The stalker is still staring and smoking. I decide I want paella as I'm in Spain and I haven't had any yet. The waiter returns to take my order.
"I'll have the paella please".
"I'm sorry but the paella is for two people, it's not a single person dish".
What! What! I'm on my own, due to my own doing, in probably one of the romantic places I have been to, I'm totally lost, starving, I've got some freak stalker sat there just smoking and staring at me like he has done for the last half an hour and all I want is a bloody paella and you can't give it to me because I'm SOLA!!! Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhh!!! Of course I don't say this as I'm English. I just smile and ask for the salad instead.
I decide to call it a night and lose the stalker, finally find my way back to the hotel and sit content on my bed. A bit of telly before bed, I think to myself. I switch the telly on to find a couple making love. Double arrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

I loved my time in Toledo but I didn't feel comfort being on my own there, which is strange for someone who has travelled half the world on her own. I felt wave of comfort at the thought of going back to Madrid, as I sat waiting for the train. That was until I got sat with three American women, who during my 45 minute journey with them, didn't let me get a word in edge ways, but I don't think I could of spoke if they let me anyway, as I was to busy staring at their bad plastic surgery! They were also fanning themselves every two seconds with their fans, which I wondered was, because they were soooooo plastic they thought they might be melting in the heat. During my journey I learnt or was told that I should travel the world as much as possible (I actually have but you didn't give me the chance to say that), to have as many lovers as possible (One of them did ask me if I was single, but didn't wait for the reply), and make sure there as rich as possible (Well if you had asked me if I was materialistic or false, I would of reply, NO)! I guess it was a interesting journey though.

I checked into a hostel, with the guy behind the front desk thinking he was pretty smooth asking me where I had just come from.
"Toledo" I replied
"And did you like it?" he asked
"Yes! It was very beautiful"!
"Not as beautiful as you. You are more beautiful than Toledo" he said. Oh my God! He must think I was born yesterday. I bet he says that to every girl that comes here.
As I settle into my dormitory a fellow roomy checks in. She is another American and looks very nervous.
"I've never stayed in a hostel before" she tells me, " but this one looked nice on the Internet and the guy at the front is very nice. He just told me I was the most beautiful girl in the hostel!"
I knew it! She then asks me if I'm on my own. I tell her I was with a friend, and then a guy, but now I'm on my own. This seems to make her think that I'm good person to talk to then? The next thing I know I'm being told her whole life story, how she has left to travel because some guy in New York has broke her heart. She looks like she's going to cry. Oh no! She is! I've only known her 5 minutes. I don't really know what to do.
"Well there are plenty more fish in sea. Anyway I really have to go and get something to eat. Bye!"
I know I'm heartless.

I found myself a restaurant in a square and sat with my book and watched the world go by. It was there on my last night in Spain that I realised I was once again happy in my own company and it felt good. It's alright to be sola, I thought.

MADRID: A TALE OF A SHORT REUNION

A couple of weeks ago, I was checking my emails as normal, when in between the usual old junk I get sent, I saw a message from a name I never thought I'd see again. It was Martin. For those of you who don't know or are not regular readers of this blog, Martin was a Spanish guy I met on my travels in Colombia, who lived and worked there. Read this post Blondes have more fun, don't they? if you want to know more or a recap. Anyway back to the email. He wrote to tell me that he was back living in Madrid, that he had read my blog (How embarrassing!) and that we would one day meet again. I was surprised. We had not had any contact since I said goodbye, in Bogota. I had thought about contacting him again, but thought it pointless and presumed he would forget about me as soon as I left. I took it for what it was, a holiday romance and decided I had to be content with just the nice memories.

This email came at a time though, that by coincidence I had just found out I was going to be working in Spain for 2 weeks and by a even bigger coincidence I was planning to come to Madrid to meet up with my friend Bec's to do some sightseeing, after my job ended! I took this as a sign that I had to meet up with him.

I arrived in Madrid tired from working, but excited to be in a new city and to be hanging out on travels, like old times with one of my best friends, Bec's. Me and Bec's had traveled India together years ago and even though we are quite different, we also have very similar attributes which include being easy going and laid back. We also have a tendency of getting ourselves into situations. For example with only one month in India we managed to get molested by some Israeli guys; I got a chest and throat infection; I collapsed; Bec's cursed the God's thus getting a nose & eye infection that lasted for month's (never curse the God's); we tried to feed some monkeys which resulted in them trying to ransack our guesthouse, so we had to lock ourselves in our room only to be saved by some old Indian guy with an umbrella peg (I later saw a sign that said don't feed the monkeys: Oophs!); we went on a walk in the midday heat, over rocks, with no water and only wearing flip flops, only for bec's to fall over in the mud, and cut all her ankle open; Oh! Oh! and yes, there was the incident in the women's carriage on the train where we started a war and had a whole carriage of Indian women defending us and slamming the shutters down on all the male chi sellers, because they said something rude in Hindi about us, just because Bec's was showing her knee's (I never did find out what they actually said, but I'm sure it was something like slags or whores)! Yes! Me & Bec's certainly know how to travel?

Actually this trip passed without any trauma, though we did have to have our little Carly and Bec's moment which was to do with our timings. We all know that the Latin's like to go out late. So this is what me and Bec's decided to do. Unfortunately we decided to be more Latin than the Latin's and for 2 nights in a row found that we had left it too late to get food, as everywhere had stopped serving food. I like the fact that we got dressed up in our nice dresses (I mean breasts!), to stand on a backstreet in Madrid eating a €1 pizza from a takeaway and then finished our night stood over a air vent, thinking we were Marilyn Monroe, and not two silly girls who had probably exposed their knickers to most of the neighbourhood or the passing taxi drivers? True Carly & Becky class!

Bec's went back to London and I was left waiting nervously at a Metro station for Martin. As I sat there thoughts started flying through my head: What if I don't recognise him, it's been over 5 months since I last saw him and I never had a photo of him; what if he doesn't recognise me? ( Not likely, there is nothing about you that looks Latin remember!); What if he's different? What if it's uncomfortable? I decided to stop thinking and read my book instead. A couple of minutes later I heard a voice I knew and looked up to see him standing there. He looked the same (actually better, as he now had a tan) and I shouldn't of worried as he was still the same. He talked of his time in Colombia, his travels since then and how he was glad to be back in Madrid. I spoke of the rest of my adventures in South America. It was good to see him again and later as he was hugging me, as we talked and kissed he said " Its a shame that you are not staying more days in Spain". Oh! Maybe this is the point I should tell him something that maybe I should of mentioned by now?
" Well actually I am"!
"What, really"! He looks a little a bit shocked.
"Yeah, I decided to stay the weekend so I'm going home Monday now, not tomorrow".
He looks confused now. "Why didn't you tell me"?
Yes why didn't I tell him? I'm starting to feel a bit stupid now, so I do what I do best and go on the defence.
"Well I thought you'd be busy anyway, you always are".
I'm now thinking that he is thinking I'm mad.
"Well I actually didn't have any plans for this weekend until a couple of days ago. I've just booked and paid to go away with all my friends (He was going on Spain's version of a stag do). If I'd known I would of rearranged it. How long have you known you were staying"? I turn into a little girl and feel the colour run to my cheeks (He seems to have this effect on me) and I reply with embarrassment "Over a week".
I'm actually starting to think I'm mad too and feeling very silly. Now, what was my reasonings for not telling him? I believe it was:
1. I am an independent woman and I like to do my own thing.

2. I do not like to depend on anyone.

3. I don't need to spend much time with anyone.

4. I'm just God dam stubborn!

5. I can't think of a fifth.

Erase all of the above I'm just stupid and shit with men. It's now sat there talking to him, I realise I did want to spend the weekend with him, I just couldn't admit it to myself. Loca chica.

I decide to get over my bad decision quickly as what's done is done. Martin decided to show the way a real Spanish Tapas was done. Now me and Bec's had walked past a lot of the traditional Spanish cafe's but found it quite intimidating as we couldn't figure out how it quite worked. Now I know this sounds a little dumb, but it wasn't like how a normal restaurant worked. So this is how to do it. Firstly no one really sits down, or if they do, it's at small tables with no set place. First thing to do is to get a small beer, then comes a basket of bread. The only menu is on the wall and you order behind the bar. This place we went to did croquette tapas. Martin ordered 8 different favours which came on one plate which we then shared between us. Then Martin tried to navigate me through Madrid's bars. Madrid has more bars than any other city in the world, six in fact to every 100 inhabitants. After going to another bar for more tapas, we found ourselves in an Indie bar, which seem quite strange for me to be singing along to the Happy Mondays in the middle of Madrid. To be fair though we spent most of our time with Martin trying to attempt to teach me more Spanish. Now this under normal circumstances is a hard task indeed; under the influence of alcohol, it's virtually impossible, though actually more fun, as it turned into a tipsy game of hangman and scribbles on any piece of paper we could find. Believe it or not I did remember and learn something that night, but I'm not telling you what it was! The night ended in another bar, with me downing a free tequila shot with the barman. Always a good end to a night.

The next afternoon I found myself with my backpack at the same metro stop with Martin where I had met him the day before, but this time we were saying goodbye. We hugged and said it was nice to see each other again. He couldn't believe I was still staying on in Spain, I was reminded again of my stupid mistake. I asked him if he thought we would see each other again. He said he thought we would, but as I said goodbye I thought it was for the last time, but then I thought it last time. I am learning to say never say never again. Who knows? One thing I do know though, is, if it does happen again I will give him some notice this time. Lesson learnt! Next stop Toledo, on my own or as they say in Spanish; Sola!

OBSERVATIONS

* The Spanish seem to eat their bread plain without any butter like I do, which makes me very happy as I don't feel like a freak anymore. Thank you.

* I thought the Argentineans or the Brazilians were the most beautiful race but I think the Spanish may beat them, well the young population anyway, the old become like the rest of us.

* There really big on serving you ready salted crisps with every thing!

* Bec's told me how to recognise the people they call Barcelona Types: they usually have lots of piercings, wear bad tie dye clothing, have one or two dreadlocks hanging from the back of their heads and look like they haven't washed in a year. So like most of the travellers I met in India.

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.

I LOVE LONDON

 

I think I was seven, maybe eight when I first came to London.  My dad took me and the twins on a long weekend, to the big city I had heard so much about for so long; our capital.  Instead of being daunted by this great metropolis, like a small child should, I soaked it in and savoured every minute.  I guess it was love a first sight.  When I left I remember feeling so sad to leave the place and having to go back to the dullness of Warrington, but I told myself I would come back, and that one day I would live here.  Fourteen years later I did.  I'm not going to lie to you, it was hard at first.  The pace of life, the hardness to get even simple things done, and the coldness of people after being brought up with the warmness of the people of the north. It didn't last long though, I soon came to love the pace of life and the energy of the city.  The thing that I came to cherish the most was the acceptance.  I never fitted in, in Warrington.  I watched, read and liked the wrong things, to ever be like everyone else.  Sometimes I was called weird, sometimes I was frustrated when I wanted to speak about things that people just didn't get and all I would recieve back was a blank expression; and sometimes I felt completely trapped by it all.  London lets you be who ever you want to be.  It's OK to be different, to wear what you want, to be as free as you want.  This is why I love London, because it excepts you for who you are. It excepts me.  For a long time I always use to say home was back in Warrington, but over the last couple of years I have started to say London is my home, because it truly is now.

 

I guess this was why I was so sad this last week, with what I saw happening to this city that I love.  It was like the place lost it mind or the should I say some of the people did.  I got caught up in riots in La Paz in Bolivia, running from water cannons and dynamite.  I don't agree really with any form of rioting, but in La Paz there was a different feel to the riots. It felt like people were fighting for a reason, united in a strong cause.  What I saw this week in London, was just mindless violence, that had no cause other than to wreck the lives and communities of the people they lived with.  It made me a shamed to be British.  There is something within this nation that feels the need to fight and be aggressive and this is the side of the British I hate.  Luckily this is a small minority, but unfortunately this is what reflects of us on the rest of the world.  When I travel I get very frustrated with the awful stereotypes that people have of the British.  

"You don't seem very British!" people will say to me.  

"Why what is a British person meant to be like?" is my response.  

"Well you don't get drunk all the time (I know some readers might find this hard to believe), you don't start fights, you don't burn in the sun, your not a slag and you don't drink tea!"

Its ashame that people don't know about the good sides of the British; We are polite, we are hard workers, we can laugh at ourselves and the most important thing, you can knocks us down but we will always pick ourselves up again.  This why I know that this country and this city I love will overcome this terrible week.  London I still love you and always will.

All the photos in this post are by my old photographer housemate Guilherme Zauith from brazil, who actually got threatened and a bottle put to his throat by youths, while taking them.  Check all the photos out at Demotix.http://www.demotix.com/photo/786826/riots