Right, as I'm being reprimanded for not updating faster -cough- here's the dealio my friends:
I have a home. No bridges for me just yet! Fair enough, it's not the best home, will need to work on it a little bit, but at the mo' does the job: shelter, internet, fluffy bed. And the cherry on top - it's the PINKEST (yes that is now a word) room you will ever see in your life.
Walls are pink and purple, carpet's pink, duvet is pink and red. Je vois la vie en rose quoi!
Which brings me to my next point: the number of frenchies is seriously on the rise. First language that I heard when I got off in London, and out of the Eurostar area, was French. At work, french speakers are rivaling the Polish. Some kind of Polish/French bust is bound to occur soon!
Work... always good fun. This Saturday, my off day, was bar backing (there are some inconsistencies in that sentence) when a cute but sulky Aussie walks in. He stays for a while, to watch the rugby, and then one of our regulars, nice but slightly sleazy man, talks to him for a while. Later, when I'm getting the payment, they ask me the regular jist - where you from, whatcha doing, what's your name... when do you finish and would you like to join us in a penthouse in Knightsbridge for a glass of wine. I try to laugh it off, all good fun and games, and the regular gives me the business card saying to call when I finish work.
Things start to wind down more or less, and I start thinking and talking. A penthouse in Knightsbridge... now for you who don't know about Knightsbridge, it's ridiculously posh. A penthouse in Knightsbridge is easily 40000quid a week or more. I tell my fellow waitresses and the manager bout this. Manager starts to prod me to go...
Now what possessed me after, I know not, but one minuteI'm texting saying that I will probably finish later than first thought, so thanks for the offer but no, and the next, I'm on the phone with them, saying that one of the waitresses and me will be meeting them in front of Harrod's so that they can bring us up.
And BY GOLLY ME!10th floor, overlooking Hyde Park, fuckin gorgeous yet over the top. Remote controlled fireplace, heating lamps on the balcony, cashmere throws, free-standing bathtub, 1 room closet, I don't know what else, it was just mind blowing. I never EVER thought I would walk into a place like that. The Aussie was a bit of a bore. Showing off as the butler of this prominent Kiwi who owned the place, and the regular, he was just a riot, trying to pick us up in the sleaziest way possible. My favorite is when he offered us coke. No. Just no. We're not daft pricks: yes, I'll do coke in this random millionaires apartment with two guys I have barely met, when I work the next day at 10. Brilliant. Really. So, we just played some pool, had lovely wine, and then bussed our way back to our respective places.
I think that that encounter goes: Waitresses 1;Rich Customers 0.
Back to my living situation: the annoying part is traveling to work cuz I'm on a shit line. Last week, cuz some dumbass decided to commit suicide at 830 AM on a weekday by throwing himself in front of a train, I had to wait 40 minutes on the platform, and then 20 minutes in an overcrowed train that stopped randomly in tunnels instead of an easy 25 minute ride. Now please don't peg me as insensitive, but to be fair if your gonna end your life, why make other people miserable? Just don't jump in front of trains at rush hour. It's not smart. And don't kill yourself in the morning anyway; it's the beginning of a new day, you don't know what's gonna happen.
Hell, don't kill yourself at all!
Apart from my strange male customers, been enjoying single life in London, having a few beers here and there with strangers; I've become very bad at hiding my clumsy, SPARKLEY, nature from people though recently. One night out with a said stranger - the one who made me feel like a man actually - yours truly managed to kick over a full pint glass, an empty pint glass, a beer bottle and trip over a burger box. Smooooooooth as some would say. But apparently hasn't deterred him completely: more pint smashing on Thursday.
More disturbing is when you get a random text message at 1130 on a Sunday night from a former "flame" with whom you haven't talked to in 8 months, who asks you if you want to meet up again... I sense usage, but tempted to get a free drink out of it and rub my new found confidence in his face. Silly me.
Now on the bubbles front, operation:success, but recovery is still in the cards... and for a while. She was off to Birmingham for a few days, but we reunite Thursday night! The joy.

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