A WEEK WITH THE FAMILY

I love my family; I really do, but God they drive me nuts! The reason for this cannot be clearly defined, as there seem to be more than one, as I found out last week, as I finally journeyed north for a visit, after being continually berated, on how Shit I was as a daughter as I'd only been home once this year. I did point out I'd spent most of the year out of the country rather than in it. This still didn't seem to make any difference: I was still shit in their opinion. I shall now list why I it is impossible for me to spend long period's of time with the family without tearing by hair out.

1. Well let's start with the fact, that my mother and my Nanna Lil, seem to forget that I have actually lived away from home for nearly 12 years and I am capable of doing things for myself! Example
Lil: Do you want me to do your washing for you?
Me: No it's OK Lil, I'll do it myself.
Lil: But you won't know how to work the washing machine.
Me: Funnily enough Lil, I do this job called costume, where we use a thing called a washing machine every day, so I think I'll be able to handle it.
Lil: Don't be cheeky!

2. I am made to endure a marathon of crap telly. For a me working in crap television is enough, I don't want to watch it as well! It's starts with Home & Away, then Emmerdale, then Coronation Street, then maybe a bit of Eastenders depending on their mood and all this is finished off with I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here. I knew I'd seen enough when I realised I'd been brainwashed and started to find Mark Wright, on I'm a Celeb attractive. The man is a thick Chav! Unfortunately this affliction since I have got back to London has not gone away and I find myself secretly looking at The Only way is Essex clips on You Tube to have a good perv at him! What the hell has happen to me?

3. The music! My family only seem to listen to local radio stations, which only have a playlist compromising of bad 80's and 90's songs. If I attempt to play any music of mine (ie something decent) I am met with the response " What's that rubbish your playing"?
Rubbish! Rubbish! Just because they have no taste in music!

4. I usually get roped into helping my mother and sister with their decoration and flower business. Now this does not bother me, the work aspect. It's the fact they I get covered in feathers and glitter in the process. I hate glitter and no one wants to get covered in feathers. I'm still finding glitter on my jumper now. I feel like bloody tinker bell!

5. It is impossible to have a lay in. You are usually woken by my mum shouting at my sister; my sister shouting at my mum; a dog jumping on me and licking my face; my sister coming in and shouting something nice like "Get up mong!"; my mum asking me if I want a drink or Nanna Lil wanting to know what I want for dinner that night (Why that is so important at eight in the morning when she has all day to ask me, I don't know why)?

6. The dog! Now I don't hate the dog. I love the dog, but a dog is meant to be a dog, not dressed in terrible clothes, with it's own wardrobe and treated like a baby. I am partially to blame for this, as it was my idea to get my sister one for her 30th due to the fact it was going to be a traumatic landmark birthday for her, which meant it would be for all of us. Mum and Paul were a bit opposed to the idea at first, but it's seems they are now just as bad as my sister in treating the dog as a child. You also can't leave anything lying around as the dog also functions like a vacuum cleaner and will hoover up anything in its path. This includes wine (actually all alcohol); tea; coffee; chocolate and as I found out, much to my horror, a whole chicken leg bone, which I managed only to prise half of it out of her mouth. Three days later I get a phone call from my sister to say the dog is in the vet's, maybe awaiting an operation and if she dies, it will be my fault! My fault! How is it my fault that the dog is stupid enough to consume something nearly bigger than itself. It's not like I forced it down her. All I did was put a chicken drum stick down for two seconds! Well you will be glad to know the dog did not die and is alive and well, still yapping a lot and still being abused by being dressed up in stupid clothing!

7. Nanna Lil and her boyfriend. Now I'm all up for older people having a love life, just not when I'm trying to watch the television and their sat on the sofa next to me. Lil is being a diva and playing hard to get, the boyfriend is like some love sick puppy and keeps trying to hug her and I'm trying to pretend that I'm not noticing anything going on by playing a game on my phone, as I can't watch the telly anymore as they have changed the programme to something they like, which is Midsummer Murders!!!!! Or maybe the real reason I have a problem with it, is because my 80 year old grandmother has a better love life than me! What is the world coming to?

I know that I sound like the most horrible person ever now, after what I have just wrote, but isn't the truth of the matter, that the people you love the most, do drive you insane and I do love my family more than anything else in the world. I just can't live with them.

VIDEO GAMES

It's you, it's you, 

it's all for you Everything I do  

I tell you all the time  

Heaven is a place on earth with you

Tell me all the things you want to do

I heard that you like the bad girls Honey, 

is that true? 

It's better than I ever even knew  

They say that the world was built for two 

Only worth living if somebody is loving you 

Baby now you do.

I've fallen in love with a song.  Its called Video Games by Lana Del Ray.  It's the most beautiful song I have heard in a long time.  I feel every word of the lyric's and every time I hear it, I feel my emotions rise to the surface and my eyes begin to fill with tears.   Sorry I'm sounding a complete wet in this post, but sometimes things just get you. Check it out yourself.

 

ZATOICHI

So, I get in from another late night drinking session to find the boys of the house, watching one of their geek movies again.  To be fair I don't know why I'm calling them geek movies, when I enjoy watching them, just as much as they do, or does that just make me a geek too?  Anyway, the movie this time was a Japanese film called Zatoichi from 2003.  Now I quite like Japanese films, as there completely bonkers, and this one was no exception.  So instead of going to bed, in my hazey state, I found myself totally engrossed and one of the main reasons were the amazing dance routines, with the finale, may I say it, probably being one of the best dance routines ever put on film. Whats more amazing is, the fact that its Japanese, because I've been to a Tokyo nightclub and believe me, there was not much rythym going on in there. Who would of ever know it,  the Japanese are really great dancers after all.  Check it out.

5 MORE SONGS I CAN'T STOP LISTENING TO, AT THE MOMENT!

Metronomy: Everything Goes my Way


Kalyani & Anandji: My Guru


Bonga: Mona Ki Ngi Xi



Kasabian: Days I'd forgotten



Beruit: In the Mausoleum

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!

THE LAST DAYS OF SUMMER, OR IS IT?

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

OKTOBERFEST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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