The Three Week Itch

After a lovely, leisurely, adventure filled six weeks off work at the school, I'm now back within its gates and settling into my new timetable, getting to know new students and reacquainting myself with the ones that have returned. Three weeks down the line and it's already starting to feel like I've been there for a whole term. I know I'm not the only member of staff to be feeling that this week as the school settles into its routines and the once sweet, fresh faced year seven's really start to find their feet and show their slightly more confident - and sometimes cocky- colours.

The honeymoon period is definitely over and I've resigned myself to the fact that although this job was supposed to be a stop gap it's actually looking like I'll be there longer than originally expected. I mean I'm starting two after school clubs for Christ sake! For anyone that works outside of education let me tell you: basically once you're put forward for extra curricular groups that's it - you're officially part of the fixtures and fittings because you're deemed reliable and responsible enough to do it, organise it and run it and they don't expect you to bolt anytime soon.

I'm emotionally confused about how I actually feel about all this.

On the one hand I actually quite enjoy my job slightly more than I let on. I like being able to help students in their learning, I enjoy and get a great sense of achievement when they finally understand something that was before a complete mystery. When all is said and done, even though it's hard work sometimes it's very rewarding.

The other hand however has it's fingers slightly more in touch with reality and is screaming at me that I can't stay in this job forever, because that's just it, this is a job, it's not a career and the longer I stay at the school the more frustrated I get at not achieving my goal of returning to the world of media work sooner rather than later. Not for lack of trying though, as I keep the applications flying out and an eye open all the time!

I feel very angsty at the moment. I don't think the fact that I'm turning 25 at the end of the week helps. Teetering on the edge of officially entering my mid-twenties - my quarter-life and the continuing crisis that goes with it - makes me feel more anxious about actually getting round to making some big life decisions. Here (in no particular order) is what I actually question myself over day in, day out:

• Do I want to stay in London?
• Should I save some money and head back to Leicester?
• How can I fiesibly make some extra cash so I might be able to go travelling? Sex lines out of the question while working in a school!!!
• What extra, outside fun work things can I do to keep my brain ticking over?
• Fun things cost money, so where do I get that from seens as I don't have any?!
• If the writing stuff's not going too well, what could I actually retrain as and do for a career?
• Should I be doing more to be a better writer? 

I've been told by those closest to me that I should try and relax about it and not fuck myself up over it too much. Well bollocks. There they are, and that's what wears my tired little pin-head out constantly. It's not like the student days where all you had to decide was, 'Do I get the three bottles of cotes du plonk for a tenner or eight cans for a fiver?' or the more important, 'Am I too hungover to go to lecture today?'

It's not that I have a problem with being grown up, I think I handle all that quite well, I mean I can go to work with a hangover and get through it if needs be, the term "man up" has become my mantra; it's more the lack of direction that's doing my head in. Perhaps come Friday when I turn the big 2-5 it'll all just magically fall into place and I'll vanquish my quarter-life cirsis just as I reach a quarter of my life (assuming I live till a100 years) or at least that's what I'll wish for when blowing out my candles.

.....Failing that I'll take the more reliable route of drinking to forget on Saturday. Three bottles of cotes du plonk please!

RoseC -x-

Everything that was wrong, and the few things that were right, with the VMAs

I haven't watched the MTV VMA or Brit Awards since I was a teenager. Back in the days when I dreamt of being a music journalist, regularly reading everything from Smash Hits to Rock Sound, TOTP magazine, Metal Hammer and Kerrang! I was proud of my music knowledge and it was second to none, so in true geek fashion I loved watching and speculating about who was going to win what award, then bitching about it with friends at school when clearly Boyzone were robbed of 'Best Single' by Westlife (or whatever).

Before we go any further I'd like to clarify that my music tastes have changed somewhat and I don't exactly keep up with pop culture as much as I maybe should, but I know enough to get by and am not completely ignorant to the charts and current play lists thanks to Radio 1.

Anyway, last night there was literally fuck all on TV, so found myself cruising the MTV channels and they were half way through a repeat of the Video Music Awards. It only caught my attention because Adele was performing and hands down she's one of my favourite artists at the moment. The VMAs also made for good, easy watching for my housemate who was doing her ironing so we left it on.

After Adele though, things quickly went down hill...

The first thing to go wrong was Justin Beiber. Just him, in general, being in existence. I despise that pathetic excuse for a teenager which such a vehemency that I could probably make myself spontaneously combust if I spent too long dwelling on the subject. I mean I know back in the day we had Aaron Carter, but I'm sure he was never such a cocky fucker. Anyway, I digress - what really wound me up that he won Best Male Video, beating Cee Lo Green and Kanye West's All Of The Lights, which I think is a much more interesting video that watching a fuck witted teenager play a love song on a grand piano in an empty theatre. Where's the originality people?! It sounds like something Wet, Wet, Wet would have done.

I was in a pub in Camden the other day and their tips glass had a note on it which read:

'Every time you tip, it brings Justin Beiber a step closer to death'

Dark I know, but I laughed, and I tipped (more than once - I may be broke but I know a good cause when I see one). I just despise everything he stands for and everything he does.

So that was the first thing that was wrong with the VMAs. The second was the cross dressing antics of Lady Gaga. Not recognising her at first the ironing housemate informed me that she now has this male alter-ego. Hmm ok. So lobster hats and meat dresses don't cut it anymore so instead she's going down the route of drag king for her next publicity stunt. Not sure how I really feel about this? I used to quite like Gaga's individuality, but now I think she just jumps on band waggons or treats things like fads until that's done getting the attention she wants and then fucks it off.

It doesn't help that this male alter-ego seems like a bit of a dick too. While watching last night I Facebooked:

'Watching the VMA's and Gaga is pissing me right off. Wtf is this male alter ego thing? It's like she's a cross between Mark Ronson, Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty, but without the cool. She's a bit of a dick really and amazingly irritating.'

She/he had this weird slightly drunk/stoned thing going on like she couldn't get her words out and it was just irritating and time consuming because she was neither drunk nor stoned. Twat. And twat status was confirmed when she handed over some sort of Michal Jackson tribute Achievement Award or whatever it was called, to Britney Spears, and then awkwardly tried to cop off with her.

Now that was one thing the VMAs got right, paying tribute to Britney because lets face it, she's had a bit of a shit time lately, but has done a lot for pop music. So even though I'm not a big fan, I'll roll with that and say it was nice they paid tribute for all she's done for pop music. It was soooooo tarred though by Gaga being a massive cock and putting her on the spot when clearly Brit is over the 'lesbian shock-value' stage of her career. Granted she played up to it for a minute but then snubbed Gaga and got on with her acceptance speech. Problem was Gaga wouldn't let it drop. Awkward doesn't even cover it.

So it was lovely they gave Brit and award, but not only was it marred by Gaga, but also they then got her to introduce and big up the next act, Beyonce. In reality Brit got all of about five seconds to say what she wanted before heading to autocue  and raving on about Beyonce, who as we all know dropped her big publicity stunt...sorry, news, that's she's expecting. Just thought it was a bit cheap that they did something nice for Britney but then managed to piss on her parade so successfully by getting her to introduce someone else rather than letting her enjoy her moment.

Perhaps I'm being too sentimental and that's just show biz?

The biggest thing that got my goat though was the Amy Winehouse tribute. It started off well, they got Russell Brand to say a few words about her, which I think was right as they were all part of the same Camden Town clique. Then it was great they showed some footage of new material she'd been recording just before she passed away and Amy sounded and looked amazing. Just as you remember her on the Back to Black album, but then after that it went terribly, terribly wrong.

As the tribute song they played Valerie. What. The. Fuck? It's not even her song, she just sang a cover of it, on an album full of covers! If anyone cares to cast their minds back it was actually a band called The Zutons that wrote and sang that track. Is this really the only song the Americans know Amy for? If so, then why bother pay tribute to her at fucking all if they're not willing to actually look at the scope of brilliant work that she actually wrote, composed and sang.

AND THEN to top it off they got Bruno Mars to sing it! Why of all the people would they pick him? Did they ever have anything to do with each other? They cut to a shot of Adele during this rendition of someone elses song in memory of Amy and she looked pretty uncomfortable. It's all showbiz, American bureaucratic bullshit. It's not like I was Amy's biggest fan, I admired her work and enjoyed listening to her music, so I just think that if you're going to pay tribute to someone you should at least have the decency to do it properly and have her remembered by something she actually wrote. Or if it did have to be Valerie for whatever licencing reasons could they not have at least got Mark Ronson to do it so it would be at least half the version she actually contributed to?

So much to rant about, and I only watched the last hour of it. Beyonce's performance was of course sterling, she's always good to watch, and then Lil Wayne rapped at the end of the show and took his top off, which at least gave us something pretty to look at. Unfortunately we had to mute him as every other word was being cut by the channel - presumably bad language - so it sounded like you were listening to a singer that was going in and out of range on his mobile. So two ticks in the box there.

I think what I can draw from this is that I've very much outgrown what fun kicks I got out of watching award shows when I was younger. Either that or I'm getting grumpy in my older age. In an all together different kettle of fish, it's the Mercury Music Prize soon, surely that'll fare better...

RoseC
-x-

Back with a bump

I don't want to be back in the UK. Three days after landing at Heathrow and I can honestly say that the holiday blues have very much set in. Lame.

Besides the very satisfying feeling of being able to cross off Visit Australia from my 2011 'must do' list, which is of course fantastic, it's amazing how quickly all my worries and stresses about every day life have returned. For the first day and a bit I continued to try and ride the wave of good holiday feelings and took myself off to Nottinghill Carnival to catch up with friends and my brother and his girlfriend. Then yesterday I cruised around and got coffee before heading to Camden with brother and his gf, chilling out, eating good food and spending money willy-nilly (yes you did read that right, I in fact just used the phrase willy-nilly and I don't care how old or middle class that makes me sound).

It's been good times and I wouldn't change any of it, but then this morning I had a bill to pay, so then checked my account balance and there's nothing like seeing your post-holiday bank account to really bring you back down to earth. Bollocks - I'm sure living on £14 a day between now and pay-day will be doable right? I fucking hate thinking about money.

But then of course all this money worry leads me straight back to the whole thing about finding a job I enjoy - a 2011 list goal that I'm not sure I'll achieve by the end of the year - or even what I want to do for a career. Then I end up getting frustrated and starting to feel anxious about going back to work on Friday (yep the summer hols are nearly over) and it's just all a load of crap and reaffirms that the Quarterlife Crisis continues and I've not got such a good hold on it as I thought I did. *Sigh* Perhaps today will be put to good use of cruising a few more job sites. 

To top it all off I think I'm still a bit jet lagged as I've been waking up at stupid o' clock the last few days, so feeling grumpy as fuck about that too. Argh! Where's that Duty Free rum to help knock me out?!

 Moan over. I'll attempt to be a bit more upbeat and positive from here on out.

RoseC -x-

From pub scene to cafe culture

My little jaunt in Australia is nearly at an end, but I feel that before I leave I need to make comment and reference to one of my most favourite aspects of Brisbane that I've come to love and depend on over the last two weeks. I am of course talking about the city's strong cafe culture.

When I say 'strong' I mean this on two levels - that there is first and foremost a stronghold of nice cafes in the city that serve good coffee and it's hard to walk more than 10 metres without crossing many, many coffee shops; and on the other hand I also mean that they do indeed serve strong coffee. Or maybe it's not that strong, it's just that it's good, decent coffee that I'm not used to because I'm too acclimatised to the piss-poor weak coffee of a certain American chain, which interestingly I learnt the other day failed in its attempts to take over the cafe scene here in Australia with not so much as a "see you latte" from the local, Aussie coffee connoisseurs. I salute you, I just wish we could do the same back in the UK.

Since arriving here, every morning has started the same way: me and The Boy get up, then we mosey down to one of the many coffee shops within spitting distance to where we're staying, order two flat whites (not yet a popular brew of coffee in the UK, but is just starting to take off in Costa's and I highly recommend it), bit of breakfast then peruse the papers. *Sigh* It's such a chilled out way to start the mornings. Good coffee and friendly company, and everyone that stops in is friendly. I've lost count of how many strangers have struck up conversations with me over a coffee and that is usually a figure I can count on one hand when I'm back in London.

There have been a couple of people that I've spoken to here that can't believe we don't have a big cafe culture. I explain that we only have big corporate chains and there are very few independent cafes where you can get a good coffee. One older lady was truly shocked by this and then she could barely console herself when I told her that most people just pop into a greasy spoon for a cuppa and they only serve instant. I guess for us Brits we're more of a pub scene kind of people rather than hanging out in cafes. Maybe because we think cafes are just where older people go for "a nice cup of tea", or it's a bit chinsey or maybe there's something a bit more snobby about it? I dunno, it's a tough one to call, but I can say that back in the UK I'd rather suggest meeting a friend for a pint rather than going for coffee because I have an arm's length list of good pubs we could go to and only a handful of places I'd bother stopping in for coffee. Difference is obviously that here in Aus there are literally loads of places to go for good coffee and they're all full of young people, and you just hang out, and it's cool, and it's cheaper than the pub.

I love it and if I could continue starting my days with a couple of coffees back in the UK I'd be happy - not least because after these two weeks I now think I've built up a dependency on it. It's true, I will be returning home with a caffeine habit. It's helped me understand The Boy a bit more too. There are back in London only two coffee shops that he'll happily go to, both in Soho and both run by Australian's and New Zealanders. Now when he suggests heading all the way there just for a cup of coffee I get it, because it's good coffee ad both cafes have friendly atmospheres that capture and remind him a bit of home. At least I think that's why, I don't want to put words in his mouth, but I know that I'll be all the more happy to go out of my way now to continue experiencing this little bit of Brisbane-like life.

RoseC -x-  

A long, long way from home

I'm officially the furthest away from home I've EVER been! After a gruelling 21 hour flight, I now find myself on t'other side of the world in Australia and shit the bed, I'm loving it! Granted the first day or so was jet lag hell, but I've now settled into the relaxed vibe and routine of Brisbane City life and have found that I've slipped into it really rather well. The main thing I've picked up on is that it's not like any city in the UK, which is generally full of busy people rushing around, getting impatient and pissed off with each other. None of that here and it's quite liberating. Not missing London one iota at the moment and can't see that I'll start to in the next two weeks of being here.

Although I'm only three days into the holiday I feel like I've already experienced so much. Course we're here to catch up with all of The Boy's family and friends (if you didn't know he's Australian), and on my first night was thrown in at the deep end and met the whole of his crew. We were introduced in true Aussie style with a full on BBQ, drinking session and little garden camp fire at one of his mates house. As well as it being fun times, it was also to help piece together the host's garden after it got trashed in the floods. It's amazing that five or so months on since it happened everything seems to have been put back together rather well and you'd never have guessed it even occurred. Crazy.

Anyhoo, the guys did much digging and hoeing...I was there more for the morale support and onlooking. I think I did good with that. I didn't do so well when I came face to face with a large praying mantis, freaked out and spilt my cider. Typically lived up to the wimpy Pommy stereotype there.

Also much loving the cafe culture here. Taking a wonder down to one of the many good coffee shops in the warm 'winter' sunshine and chilling out for an hour is the way every morning should start in my opinion. *Sigh* yep, could definitely see myself happily staying here for a while.

Off to see a platypus and some flying foxes tomorrow. Fuck yeah! I'll also get to hug a koala in a total cliched tourist way. Right now though I'm too relaxed to type any more so will sign off.

Ciao for now,

RoseC -x-

My mind, in one night

It's 8am, on a Monday, I don't have to go to work, yet I am awake. Not a happy bunny right now.

Most of the time I'm one of these sleepers that as soon as my head hits the pillow, I'm gone. Unfortunately this wasn't the case last night as all manner of thoughts and sounds invaded my head meaning that I felt restless and alert until two o'clock this morning. I don't actually remember another recent time when I was able to stay awake until 2am because as a side effect to my quarter-life crisis I now like to be tucked up in bed by midnight at the latest. There's no raving anymore, getting off my tits and dancing like a twat until the early hours; there are very few late night living room rendezvous and conversations that go past 11pm; and there's definitely a severe lack of all night drinking at pub lock-ins. All things I was happy to do just two years ago, but now when read back sound more like a page out of Trainspotting (but in a well written English accent) rather than something I'd get up to. Now, I'm generally out for the count by 10:30pm and grouchy if I don't get my eight hours.

I'm not entirely sure what kept me up last night, perhaps a mixture of things: the excitement of going to Australia in two days, the relief of getting my bike back, the loneliness of being in bed on my own after sharing it with The Boy for the last three nights. The latter is a weird one - like he's never here for more than a couple of nights, but after he goes I always feel a bit more vulnerable and scared that somethings going to happen, so it usually takes me a little longer to settle on a Sunday night. Anyway, enough of the soppy stuff...

The long and short of it was that my mind was racing with these thoughts, then other thoughts from them grew, such as what's going to happen about the leaky ceiling in my room? When I'm in Aus what time should I take my pill because it has to be taken at the same time every day, but everything there is upside down time wise? What is the time difference between here and there? What do I need to pack/buy? When I go to get a new bike lock for my bike, will I be able to take it into the shop with me so it doesn't get nicked?

My little brain was working over time to think up all of these questions, but it wasn't bothering to logically magic up any of the answers, so I tried a few well tested methods to put an end to it. First, I wanked. I seem to have that bloke skill that after I climax I can nod off into a satisfied sleep with a smile on my face. Unfortunately that didn't work last night, perhaps because of my already erotically filled weekend so my satisfaction metre was at it's limit.

Next I read. At the minute I'm leafing my way through Danny Wallace's, Friends Like These - a light hearted tale about refinding forgotten friends, which I'm enjoying but I think he uses too many itals, so every other word is really emphasised and you end up reading as if you sound a bit special. Generally a couple of pages will do it, not because it's a boring book, but I'm just not very good at reading before bed with soft lighting. It makes me sleepy. Apparently it wasn't going to help last night either.

Running out of ideas, my last ditch attempt was to convince myself that I was really tired, think about sleeping and count. Not sheep, when I count I'm not sure it is anything, it's just the monotony of numbers that sends me off. I guess for this reason I could never be a mathematician...well that and the fact that I am crap at math.

It started to work, I had my fan blowing a nice breeze on me, my eyes were feeling heavy, the numbers were steadily going up, sleep was so close I could smell it , finally, at 1:30am.

Ahh, bliss.

Mind is turning off now...

No more silly questions, or thinking...

Just sleep...

If only that rustling noise would stop...

Hang on. Rustling noise? Shit, perhaps that mouse is back.

Bollocks, I can't sleep if I know there's a mouse in my fucking room. I'm gonna have to put the light on and see.

Flicking the light on woke me up again instantly, like sleep had never been knocking on my eyelids. I got up out of bed, turned off the fan so I could hear things properly and walked over to where I thought I heard the noise. Nope, couldn't see anything and the noise had sort of stopped, so I froze to see if it would return. It did, by the doors that led to the back garden - I have doors in my room that open straight to the back garden, which is why it's totally plausible that there was a mouse in my room - then my mind turned to my bike being outside. No, Rose, shake your head, refocus. Mouse. Right, yes, mouse.

I definitely couldn't see anything, but there was a tapping at the door. I don't like noises that tap at the door, especially if I'm going to be faced with some sort of unsuspecting, startled animal, but the only way to find out was to pull back the curtains.

As I raised my hand, and my fingers twitched in anticipation of pulling back the red fabric that obstructed my view of the big, bad night time world of London. I heard a second noise as well as the rustling. It sounded like a fence wobbling. Perhaps it was our local fox, which I'm told often tries to scale it to get into our yard. Bollocks, was I about to come face to face with a fox? I'm not very good with foxes. The last one I stared out had a look in his eye that said, "If you come a step closer to me I'll rip off both your fucking legs and give you rabies just for the fun of it." I hate city foxes. They all look like they're on crack.

Anyway, enough was enough. I needed to find out if there was a mouse in my room, or a fox outside the door so I could stop the pounding in my heart and just GET SOME FUCKING SLEEP.

I manned up, grabbed the curtain and swiped it back faster than the Sundance Kid would draw his gun (maybe).

There was nothing outside. More importantly there was nothing inside, no small creatures, not even a spider. There was just the rain, which was now blowing onto the windows of my door. Aahh so that explained it all!

*Sigh* well that was that. Everything had been checked out and it was fine. It was fine, but it was now 2am and I was pissed with myself that I wasn't asleep yet. Back to bed, back to counting, the noise was just the rain, all other thoughts can wait and finally sleep came.

Today I  think I'll need to put even more concealer on around my eyes than normal to cover the extra dark circles. And why does this sort of thing always happen when you've got so much shit to do the next day? Cleaning, finalisation of job application, list-making of all the things I need to pack. I fear a granny nap this afternoon may be in order, but please don't judge me for it just wish me sweet dreams.

RoseC -x-

Bordom, books, bonking, beer and bikes

I'm dehydrated. Since school broke up two weeks ago I've had a beer/cider/bottle of wine pretty much every night...apart from those two nights this week where I made a conscious effort to stay away from the booze. It started with end of term goodbye drinks, followed by hello and catch up drinks with the folks from Leicester and then since returning to London it slipped into boredom drinking and sharing a bottle or two with The Boy. Don't get the wrong idea though, I've not been out of my tree for the last two weeks, I've just remembered how to enjoy a drink every day a la student days. It's impossible to do that during term time.

Long and short of it is I've replaced the several bottles of water I used to drink with alcohol, not great, but there's no point stopping now as I'm jetting off to Australia in three days (woohoo!) to meet the rest of The Boy's family and friends, and catch up with people who were over here and are now over there. I anticipate much drinking whilst catching up with folks. Practice makes perfect and that I believe extends to alcoholism.

The first two weeks of the summer break have been a mixture of relaxation and frustration. I enjoyed the feeling of not getting up for work every morning, or having to try and reason with teenagers that doing their school work is a good thing. Being back in Leic was great as I had plenty of people to hang around with. Even getting back to London for the first day or so was fine...but then the boredom set in. It's rubbish being in London when:

a) all of your other friends and boyfriend have 9-5 jobs so there's literally no one to hang around with,
b) you're so skint that you can't actually afford to do anything, especially before going to the other side of the world, and it's tough to even afford the bus fare and...
c) ...you're free mode of transport i.e. my bike, has been stuck on one of those bike parking things because my extra reinforced steel D-lock had collapsed and so I couldn't get my bike free. This has basically left me house bound for the last two weeks.

Boredom set in rather rapidly so I took to reading - I re-read Ian McEwan's The Cement Garden, I forgot how dark it is - applying for jobs, strimming the lawn to within an inch of its life, and annoyingly trying to figure out how to set my bike free. After getting quotes from lock smiths it was gonna cost me nearly £100, more than the bike's worth. I toyed with the idea of buying bolt cutters, or hiring some sort of heavy duty power tool but I didn't have a pigging clue what I'd need. I even went so far as to ring the police and the fire brigade to see if they could help, but to no avail. So what does any girl do when she's in distress and flapping around like a dry fish? She turns to her boyfriend of course. Not exactly playing to my modern feminist side but fuck it, I was up shit creek.

After a week and a half of driving The Boy up the wall with me not making any decisions on how to free my bike he finally took the matter in hand. I thought if I kept pushing him he'd have an Incredible Hulk moment and chew through it with his teeth. Instead he did the sensible thing - found an angle grinder and today on a London street stood there and cut through the fucker. YEAH! I'm going out with a real power wielding man now GRRR!! I'm glad that's sorted before heading to Australia and my bike is now safely parked in the garden.

Now all I need to do is finish the job application and then begin the laborious task of packing and figuring out what to take to t'other side of the world. I hate packing. All in all I've not been very glamorous, or very Sex And The City lately....or well there's been the sex, lots of it, and very good, but then that's not the kind of writing suitable for this blog so I shall say no more. All in all London is proving to be a little bit tedious for me at the moment. Perhaps there needs to be a change in the wind soon and to take things in a different direction...

Speak soon!

Rose C -x-