Thursday 29 December 2011

Chill out mate!

'' It has been the warmest December in many years in .... '' announces the TV presenter.
I'm back in Oz , watching TV. Can't believe I'm here. Summer in December and that. Wow.
''...in the North Hemisphere'' he continues
F**** Europe I say out loud, wrapped in my blanket,with my Winter socks on, sneezing for the 3rd time. Been the coldest Christmas in Oz for years. How freaking unfair is that. 22hours on a plane to spend Xmas in Summer and the Sun takes the opposite trip and goes to ENGLAND . Seriously.

'' But we still have a couple of days to chill out between xmas and New Year''

CHILL OUT. National Aussie expression. I've been back 7 days and I heard it about 200 times.

CHILL OUT. it means different things in different countries around the world. In Germany '' to chill out '' means showing up on time at some appointment and NOT 10 minutes early. In France , a chilled out person is a lazy young pot smoker with no job. In England , chilling out involves a cuppa tea. In Spain they don't know because they are ALL chilled out. In Thailand , it's something to do with sitting Buddah . And I've been to all these countries . As a citizen of the world, let me be a little lost over the meaning of it.

'' Annabelle, chill out , you're on Aussie time!'' . Sure. I don't want to ask what they mean so I assume it has to mean 1/ sleep. 2/ Watch Bondi Vet on telly 3/ Talk about Julia Gillard's new hair cut.

Me and my dear Scottish Aussie sister Pip ( not my real sister of course , I don't even have sibblings. But when you're a citizen of the world , you can pick your own family. Mine is HUGE ) went Xmas shooping at Coles on Xmas eve. That , I thought , was the opposite of ''chilling out'' whatever it meant.

In France , shopping on xmas eve is Hell. You have to be mad to venture out shopping in a crowd of stressed , restess people who want the rest of the planet dead so they don't have to queue anywhere.. But we all do it. We moan at the traffic , the prices, the bitch who took the last Wrapping paper roll , we push people, swear at other drivers. Perfect french Xmas spirit. ( and we blame the governement for it too)

So I walk into Coles with the intention of not letting other people's stress get to me. What did I see? People strolling around bare foot, nicely chatting to each other and laughing really loud while happily purchasing their food for their Xmas barbie.

'' Please go first , mate '' someone tells me at the till , smiling.

WHAT 'S WRONG WITH THEM ???????

In France we would call them ''spaced out''. And we would probably go on strike because it's all too slow for us.

But it's not. Shopping was all done in an hour . We did not kill or even wanted to kills anyone. Wow. I even got a pair of new thongs , everyone tells me I look good in them. Australia : the only country where everyone can see your thongs and it's still ok ( England is the second country but those ones are sticking out of trousers or mini skirts and it usually does not look that good) Yes,in Austraaaalian thongs=flip flops. ( it's always good to know. It avoids misunderstandings)

My first hot Christmas.... was just amazing. Spending it with Brits in the Sun was just priceless. We has cups of teas, mince pies ( they DO taste better in Australia. ) xmas crackers with British jokes, and salads. All that, outside, in 25 degrees. ( it should have been hotter but as I said it was the coldest December in many years)

Christmas morning I even got french croissants. I thought I'd add vegemite to make it look more ''real'' but , no mate, still don't like it ( I'm still trying though ,promise)

I even had a priceless conversation with my favourite 7 year old Aussie about Santa. Why the hell does he wear that big jacket here. Seriously.

'' He does not HAVE TO wear it'' he says '' He's allowed to wear a Tee shirt but he likes his winter coat too much''

HOW CUTE IS THAT.

I started believing in Santa again that day ( did I ever stop?)because he made my Christmas so beautiful , he gave me another ''family of the world'' and a taste of '' chilling out'' Although it sort of still meant ''being lazy'' to me.
So I took the dog for a walk. A 10 year old Aussie dog for 1 hour walk in the Sun. It took her 1 full day to recover.

Am I doing too much?

'' Yes, chill out!!!''

What the does chill out mean? My mind was still on '' Do-sleep-do-sleep'' mode. That's how you wake up with your phone in your hand , your facebook status half updated. And I still had 2 facebook pages to update ( every hour) and photos to take. Chill out is not for me. I'm a professional traveller ( I like the sound of that one , don't you? )

So I went back to work on Boxing Day.What other french would do that?

I agreed to mind my Aussie parents' ( other members of my family of the world) Bed and Breakfast in Mount Burrell for 5 days while they were taking a well deserved break with their Grand kids on the Gold Coast.
'' This is Annie our new woofer, she'll be helping you. You'll be fantastic Annabelle, chill out!''

And then they were gone.

So.... I was going to manage a 5 star Bed and Breakfast in the bush with no car and a person whom I've never met. She has been here for 1 week. I've been away for 5 months. SURE. Something tells me that chill out does not mean sleeping in this case.The first guests are coming in an hour. And they can order home made pizzas. Did I tell you I can't cook? And I'm disorganized?
But GOD( or is it Santa?) sent me a ..... GERMAN woofer. ( ie organized, hard working, ponctual woofer)

3 days later

''Annie , guests are coming over for dessert tonight''
'' No worries I'll make something up'' she says with a smile.
'' 1 latte , 1 cappucino'' I announce as I was happily making coffees from a proper coffee machine. ( wanna know the truth? I can't tell the difference betweeen Latte and Cappuccino. Last time an italian barrister attempted to explain I ended up sleeping with him. BAD.GIRL. So I made 2 of my infamous '' Lattucinos'' . And Guests loved it.

In 2 days Annie and I made home made pizzas, moved scared guests to another room at 10pm , looked after our friend Karen's new born while she went shopping for us , chatted to the guests, got the tractor out of the mud, cleaned, did the laundry and still had time to become super good friends, watch movies and talk about how slow time is in OZ.

We had found the meaning of chilling out. Chilling out is being in the present moment and see what awesome things we can make out of it. That's how you can slow time down.

My 48h break from facebook ( call it strike if you want, I'm french after all) did help.
It's crazy how much time we waste on that thing ( you can still visit my facebook page about my new challenge called '' Citizen of the world'' and like it. Thanks!!!). Time we could use to walk 5km up and down a hill in the Aussie Sun with a new german friend to go for coffee together . Chilling out Is's not about being lazy ,it's about Being.

That's the effect the Aussie bush has on me. Better than drugs. I did think about moving here permanently , in a tent outside my friend 's Karen 's cottage, grow a beard and be in communion with Nature but hey ,I'm a traveller, I should keep going,mate.

Now watching French news on SBS . About those Aussie tourist spending New Years' in Paris. What a stupid thing to do. Do they REALLY want to spend that evening squeezed between hundreds of people in a big city , with no possibilty to wee in any free toilet , just to see a stupid firework that is going to last for 4 minutes? Bloody tourists they don't know how to chill out.

What? Where do I spend MY New Year's Eve? Somewhere not cliche at all. Sydney, mate, Sydney.

Chilling out is not a place, It's an attitude.

But it IS easier in Summer.

Sunday 18 December 2011

All I want for Xmas...

It’s this time of the year in England …

It’s this time of the year when you run around shopping although you could have done it 2 months ago, when shops started to advertise Xmas …

It’s this time of the year when you kind of wish it’d snow even if you know you ‘d be in big trouble if it did( England is only trained to do one thing when it snows : stop public transport)

It’s this time of the year when foreigners pretend to LOVE mince pies but secretly still believe there is meat in them and , as they’re forcing themselves to swallow the last bit, they realize they forgot to reply to Xmas cards they received 2 weeks ago from their English friends because it’s just not in their culture to do so.

It’s this time of the year when we eat yummy roast dinners by the fireplace.
And here I am, munching on a continental breakfast by the TV showing a fireplace with burning wood (with the sound and that). And that was just my lunch.
In Kipps , when you’re a a staff member and you eat continental breakfast for lunch it means that :
1/ you’re hung over and just woke up, trying hard to remember what you did after 2am last night.
2/ you’ve just come back from a party, still drunk, and you’ve been banned from cooking by your sober and angry colleague who’s having a busy shift and who finds you ridiculous.
3/ You’re broke.

I don’t drink much these days…

Yes, I’m still broke . 3 months of savings , not spending a penny for clothes , party or anything fancy , here I am. Back to the start .
She must be gambling. Or drinking. Or maybe she sends money home to her poor parents every week.

I’ve got ‘’I’m so sorry for you’’ looks from my friends. Poor Annabelle.
But when I told them The Truth , they were a lot less compassionate.

‘’ Your are WHAT??? Flying to WHERE??? With WHAT amount of money??? You are f**** insane Annabelle’’

Yes. I think money is that thing you use to buy plane tickets online. That’s my thing; I collect flights, ignoring how much money I have left. For now I have 3 tickets. I just need one more and I’ll be ready to go. Yay.

When you get crazy looks even from your hard core backpacker friends you suddenly start thinking. ‘’ I’m f**** mad, mate” and freak out. Then you drink mulled cider and realize : ‘’ it does not count right? It’s XMAS!!!! ‘’ and have another German cookie to make yourself feel better.

And I’ve been broke before anyway. I remember my bank account saying zero in Oz , I remember eating f*** rice in Thailand for breakfast and I’m still alive , right.

‘’ Your problem is that you’re way too generous with people Annabelle. You do stuff for free, you spend your time looking after them .’’ my friends keep telling me. Oh yeah. That one. Shit , where have I been the past 10 years. GENEROSITY. It is sooooo last year.

SO why is each penniless memory I have about my travels always linked to damn awesome generous people then ? There was always someone to help. My friend Pip shared all she had with me , my Aussie parents from Mount Burrell got me a camera and plane tickets , My Russian friend Sue offered me a roof, food and fun in Bangkok , my favourite POM Roy treated me to chocolate cheesecake in an English Tea room in a sweaty Thailand.
How long had I known these people for ? Long enough to have a solid, trustworthy relationship. A couple of Days…
And then of course there was England. A free lift from Heathrow, my favourite job back ( it comes with a flat) , strangers who made me feel that I still belonged here, in Kipps Brighton Backpackers.

So, no mate, generosity is NOT only for Xmas.

’ So what would be your ideal present for Xmas then Annabelle?’’ my friends ask me as I was drinking my 15th coffee of the day ( and that was just my dinner)

You mean, other than magically loose half of my body weight and look 10 years younger?( how shallow is that?) Mmmmm … Let me think.

You think I answered ‘’ a big cheque’’ huh.

Then I looked around me. Kipps Backpackers hostel. My Home, my Family of the World.
Some people are playing the wii swearing in every language at Mario and Luigi for being too f*** slow ( mierda, putain, shit) , others are laughing sharing skittles and remembering drunken times from the night before ( and that’s just the staff)

Totoro just got back from Germany with presents involving a lot of calories and happiness for every one of us .
Terry hid 4 bottle of Champagne in his already very heavy suitcase he was carrying back from France .
Xavier is baking smelly Swiss Raclette cheese on toast for everyone ,while Pumpkin was making complementary Swedish chocolate meatballs for dessert.
Last week my Canadian friend had spent 5 hours baking peanut butter cookies for EVERYONE.
And we just recovered from Mister Dynamite ‘s huge , awesome Xmas/birthday/good bye party . It involved a lot of free yummy food and hugs (And booze, of course) he offered to everyone.

That was just before our weekly food event offered by our beloved owner, Lee. Yes, food for free. Yes, EVERY WEEK.

So, no mate, generosity is NOT only for Xmas

The other one playing the Wii swearing in french with an accent from the South over there currently spends half his days correcting the book I have just finished writing, the French book that I dream to publish one day. He pushed me to finish it and to believe in it.
My other friend’ Mi5’ offered me advice for a possible book in English that I will start soon. And there’s Dwight over there, walking around in his fancy PJs, who has always supported through kipps thick and thin , for 2 years now.

Anna has checked in today, she came in with a beautiful little present for me and a big ‘’so-happy-to see-you –again’’ smile. She first came in September and now decided she’d love to spend Xmas in Kipps. I can’t blame her.
Fairy looks at me and decides she would do my make up and pluck my eye brows ( the ''look 10 year younger'' plan)
Virginie is coming to pick me up for lunch, that she insists on paying.

I look at them all and suddenly feels that HUGE unconditional Love that makes me jump around and sing Xmas carols ( out of tune, of course)

I suddenly realize that every one of them had once taken a huge risk in their lives to be here today. Like me , They left family / friends / a secure job / comfort zone somewhere, to jump into the unknown and believe in something better. And guess what. There WAS something better.

So , no generosity is not just for Xmas. Santa is not that big huge guy in a red and white costume ( I can’t wait to see the Aussie one by the way. Do you think he wears a tee shirt ??? )

it’s YOU, mate. Generosity and Love is in every one of us. It’s just a matter of believing it’s also there in other people. Because it is.

‘’ You’’ I suddenly reply to the ‘’ what do you want for Xmas” question not realizing how cheesy it sounded. But yes, All I REALLY wanted for Xmas was them. And you. And Others I don’t know yet. The rest will come with.

Yes , I’m going ’’ Home’’ to Australia in 2 days to see people I love and meet people I WILL love. Traveling is about that, too. So yeah, I ‘ll take the risk .


Because risks are worth taking.

***

‘’ You need a plan Annabelle’’says my best friend as he was treating me to a great Thai meal the other night.

I stare blankly. Is writing / traveling / being generous a not good enough plan?

‘’ You’re very disorganised , idealistic, too spontaneous, impatient , you share your whole life on facebook and can’t keep a budget’’

What’s the GOOD news

‘’ And you’re very good at taking the piss out of it. (NB I got that from you , Brits )

So here’s my plan :

One french woman , One world, 3 months. 800 pounds. Will I make it?

Like my facebook page ‘’ citizen of world’’ . And Come traveling with me

Because it’s free, mate ( unless you want to sponsor me)

Wednesday 30 November 2011

Home is where the heart is

I'm walking down the street , happy to be travelling again. I am smiling at strangers passing by , it's a perfect day.

''WHAT?????'' says this angry man in a thick french regional accent from the North East of France ( try to mix Swiss and Belgian accent. Yep, that's it. Sexy huh)

'' What are you laughing at me for?'' he says.

Damn. I'm in Vesoul.

I was back in my Hometown. In France. That's where I was travelling to this time.

Easy to forget. When I board a plane I always think I'm going away to some exotic, far away countries.

No. This time it was a 45 minutes Easy Jet flight From Gatwick to Basel.

You know , easy Jet. You're only allowed one hand luggage if you don't want to pay 15 quid to check your bag in. So obviously you stuff everything in a tiny backpack and hide everything else under your jacket while confidently smiling. Coffee was expensive , in 3 different currencies. ( you've got to love Europe)

Yes , I was back home after 1 year of travelling around creating new homes for myself.

France. Where all your problems , worries and defaults have only one source . Sarkozy.

We have no money. Blame Sarkozy

Our job sucks. Sarkozy.

The weather is crap. You know who to blame.

God , who are we going to blame once we finally get rid of him next year......

So I could just have walked away from that guy I was smiling to.

No. I decided to stop and explain that smiles are free ( can you blame the president for that?)

I caught myself having a slight British accent while saying that.

Against all odds the guy smiled back and said thanks.

And probably thought :
'' Fucking Roast beefs ( that how we call the Brits around here) why can't they stay Home'' but anyway , that was a slight victory.

I thought I was in culture shock but I had not been to the town hall yet.

'' What do you want''

I loved her already. Smile Annabelle, your destiny is at stake.

'' I wish to apply for a new passport please''

'' Proof of address, pictures, 80 Euro''

'' Nice to meet you , I'm fine and you?''

No , I did NOT say that. I really wanted my passport.

I don't think she would have bought my ''citizen of the world living everywhere'' philosophy. SO I had to say it :

'' I live with my mum and dad''

And yes, my mum was at the back , waving. It totally made her day. She overplayed it.

The woman looks at me with full on pity

'' Age?''

'' I as born in 1979'' I say with a smile. hoping that the crowd of people present that day would not bother to do the maths.

One day , citizen of the world will conquer. I thought. One day , people will realize that Home is where the heart is. It's not a damn building in a country that you think you belong to.

'' 8 days. Bye''

8 days? Great! it's not like I'm leaving back home to England in 7 days.... Right? But that, I did not tell her either. You have better chances to rely on luck than french bureaucracy.

I had better things to do. Enjoy a week of pure delight as a french princess ( I 'm an only child. My 3 favorite words are Dinner is ready. Enough said about that.)

I saw my whole family too. In France Family gatherings usually involve loads of food. and wine. And time eating.

4 hours , 3 bottles of wine later they were all busy chatting about what they would cook for Xmas lunch. Yes I did try to take interest.

Until someone asked me THE question.

'' And you Annabelle, what's your plan for Christmas''
My mum gave me a '' It's to early to talk about that , they're not ready '' threatening look

'' Autralia! I always dreamt of a Hot Xmas ''

Everyone stopped eating to look at me.

'' I think snails would be awesome for your Christmas Dinner'' I say to my aunt trying to change the subject.

No, they don't understand my life. And Yes , I start doubting myself. I might still be in my late teens. And absolutely NOT down to Earth.

There I was , drunk, trying to explain that just like they feel at Home in their House, I feel at Home when I'm travelling. And all of a sudden they got it.

'' We'll buy your book'' they end up telling me between Fromage and dessert.

I felt that I was at home with these people. My family. It felt really good. ( no it was not just because of the wine)

Home is where the heart is.

Second big food marathon : My annual Thanksgiving dinner with my best friends.
There again were conversations I was not used to. Building houses, changing nappies.

Yes Aunty Annabelle is still single and hanging out with a thousand people from different countries in a backpackers hostel in England.

They nicely call me '' L'Hirondelle'' ( the sparrow) because I build a nest everywhere I go although I never stay long.

Home is where the heart is.

And my best friends ARE my home too. So I tried my best to talk about nappies and they answered back telling me about this documentary they ve seen about Bangkok on TV the other day.

'' I'll create your book cover'' says one of them , crazy about new technologies.

It's good to be Home.

'' I've seen you in the paper last Summer. Is it true that you're travelling all by yourself to countries like Thailand and that? I could not take that risk.'' says the bar tender as I order yet another tiny and horribly strong coffee ( I did not miss french coffee by the way)

"I could not buy a bar like you did. Just could not take that risk'' I answer with a smile , hoping for a free coffee. Never happened.

Yes, mate we all take risks.


I still feel a bit of teenager. People tell me that you need A LOT of money if you want to go traveling. Just in case this and that happen. How about health insurance, That's a crazy idea not to think about those details. You need to be a little scared right.

Damn I did not think about that before....

I check my bank balance. It's okay........... It's just the MINUS in front of the number that worries me a bit...... OH MY GOD. Panic. What if I don't have my passport in time , what if I can't afford ..... What if I'm never a professional writer ????

FUCK I'M CRAZY.


Monday morning. I'm leaving in 4 hours. Still no passport. I decide to go and see my friend at the town hall.

'' Maiden name?''
'' Same as my name''

I M A CITIZEN OF THE WORLD!!! I was shaking.

''Yes, it's here''.

That's when I started crying tears of joy. Out loud.

Home is where your heart is. And my passport IS my home too.

I go back Home to Brighton that night and stopped at my favorite backpackers hostel. We were so happy to see each other again that we gathered in a group chatting about our recent traveling experiences

'' Parisians are nicer than in Fucking Quebec'' says our favourite 61 year old Aussie

MI5 shows me pictures of Copenhagen where he was for the week end.

Another one was proud to announce that he worked for 2 whole hours this week .
And we all ended up saying our favorite sentence when it comes to our future

'' I don't know''

Yes, this place is full of sparrows. Like me. It's our home for now. Before we take other unreal risks to go build a nest elsewhere.

Home is where the heart is.

We just need do what it takes to create our Home.

Because It's so worth it.

Sunday 20 November 2011

Who wants to be a millionaire?

Ah the meaning of Life. yeah that one.

We all wonder what the hell that is. don't we? ( yes you too. You just don't remember. You were too drunk.

It must be different for everyone right.

Like that grown woman guest who s walking around the hostel talking to her teddy bear ( it s not that that bothered out dear night receptionnist Totoro the most. It's when she wanted to cook her special meal at 2.20AM)

Yeah Life must have a different meaning for her.

We were wondering the other day for breakfast with my '' fellow travellers in limbo''
So we asked the next best thing to God. The I phone 4.

Yes you can talk to your phone now. To people on the phone? NO. To YOUR phone.

Asking questions to a Robot phone is WAY less weird than talking to a teddy bear these days.

Yes, Life has a different meaning for everyone.

My friend MI5 just asked his I phone 4 '' What's the meaning of Life? ''
( Why MI5? Because he just gave up trying to explain what he was doing in Life to his family so he told them he was working for MI5)

I still think he does for REAL.

Apart from the obvious answer of 42 ( Read ''the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy'') the I phone 4 Had no clue.

We're going to have to figure that one out by ourself. Even Tesco self check out machines won't tell you.

Because Life must mean something different to each and everyone of us.

The other day I show up to work with my hair done ( that's how girls call '' Give your hair a third degree burn'' ... right?) ,with make up on and very nervous.

'' How do I look ?'' I say to my colleagues.

They all had the '' OMG she's going on a date'' look .

Oh no.Not that AGAIN. She will 1/ have a 2h relationship before she freaks out and end it 2/ think for a whole month that the guy is held hostage in Turkmenistan when he's just not willing to call back. ( By the way I 'm still sure that spanish guy needs my help)

No I was not going on a date ( I can hear your sigh of relief from here)

I was going to have my picture taken for my new passport.

And us ,travellers , we take our passport seriously. It's like home.
What would I save first from a building on fire? My passport.
What would I bring on a deserted island with me? My passport.

After taking a million shots I was not happy with , the photographer, trying hard to NOT lose patience ends up telling me :

''you know , we all look crap in our passport picture''
and charged me 8 quid for the worst picture of the Universe.

Life must have meant something different to him too.

My Life was critical. I will look like shit on my new passport.For 10 WHOLE YEARS. Drama.

On the bright side, even if I look like crap after a long flight I will STILL look better than in my passport picture. SORTED. Happy again.


Of course we figured that Life must be about being rich. Since we're all broke.
Because in Life , apparently you either have to be realistic ... or loaded.

Somewhere between the end of school and your third job enters you randomly start thinking :

'' Be realistic. Life is not like in the movies''

It's fine when you're a kid to want to be an astronaut or believe in Santa. You can do whatever you want and be whoever you want.

Then , somewhere along the line you suddenly stop thinking that and start thinking about being realistic. Unless you're freaking loaded and THEN you can do what you want.

Mmmmmm ... what ?

So we started to want to play Euromillion.Of course we NEVER actually played. Why? Because we'd have the same freaking life if we won. We would just stop worrying about money all the time.

Where else in the world could we hear broke people having the following conversation:

'' I'm going to France next week so I won't see you for a bit'' I say to my friends at the hostel.
'' I'm going to Paris for the week end'' says one
'' Me too we should meet! '' says an other one
'' Off to Copenhaguen'' MI5 adds.
'' Okay guys , have a good time , see you next week!''
And Dwight who just got back from Prague.

And that's just a normal everyday conversation in Kipps Brighton.

Who needs to be a freaking millionaire when you can be broke and unrealistic and do it anyway ?

Yes, Life has a different meaning for everyone.

Then I read a book called ''the 4 hour work week'' By Timothy Ferriss.

and when I read ‎'' living like a millionaire requires doing interesting things and not just owning enviable things'' it all clicked.

You know, the meaning of Life and everything. It's about being freaking Happy. Yay!

Do what you find deeply exciting. Get unrealistic and do things you love.
The fear? No mate, it will NEVER go away.

The barriers you build for yourself ? They probably will.

The other day I was so excited to finally have bought my phone a SD card ( that I could not afford) I went in town at 7am to take random pictures to share with the world ( aka Facebook)
For some reason this picture ''talked'' to many people. They could just read my excitment. When you do what you love, people love it too.

And Yes , I love waking up at 4am to write. So I just do it. It's 5am now.

Do what you love as often as you can. And it's very likely that the rest of the time.... You will love what you do. And also respect that what other people love can be different but equally as important.

That's how I got talking to my guest's teddy bear the other morning. Gulliver. That was his name. How cool to have someone named Gulliver in a backpackers hostel.

Life is too short to be small.

And that , mate , is worth millions.

Monday 7 November 2011

'' Trust in God and keep your powder dry''

Yes it's been a while dear readers.

I usually write a post when I learn a lesson in life ,like a cheap psychotherapy with the coolest shrinks ever ( you). This time, the lesson took a while to be learnt. About 3 weeks actually.

Damn Am I that slow.

I discovered the term ''life lessons'' while traveling. Obviously.

When you're traveling you absolutely have no idea what you're doing or where you're going next. So you write about what you DID. Because that's the only you can be sure of. So ,obvisouly you learn a lot.

You spend your time out of comfort zone, not knowing. But you still do stuff anyway and follow this little voice inside you that some people call intuition. Other people call it God . Sorry mate , no offense but i will just call it ''the traveller's voice'' okay?

When you don't think that you and your little ego know better, you follow your traveller's voice.

When I followed my traveler's voice it was always very random and always for the best. That's how I found a job in a cafe in Australia and moved in with a stranger who became my best friend over there, that's how , in Thailand I followed a 61 year old British guy to a hotel in the middle of nowhere. We almost became family to each other after a few hours.

My favorite random moment was when we went riding pink bikes waving at Thai kids in some random village. No ,we had no idea where we were . That's why we were happy.

How random is that. My traveller's voice is so much cooler than me. I , personally would have never done that!

That's why we miss traveling so much when we stop . It's not because of the Eiffel Tower, Sydney Harbour or Air Asia dinners. Because when we stop traveling we usually stop listening to our traveller's voice.

And we start thinking that WE know better.

My first 2 months back in my normal life in Brighton were great ( yes, i'm aware that normal and Brighton don't really go together well) .

I was still listening to my traveller's voice most days and really appreciated Life for what it really was. Fun and unpredictable.

That's how I ended up getting to know the guests at the hostel, hang out with them ( because they're not just guests they are REAL people too). That's how I made a meditation buddy and convinced a guy from the South of France to stay in England ( How random is that???)
and do silly things such as dating an old friend or make out with a complete stranger in a french restaurant in Brighton. Yeah. The Spanish dude. That one.

I was probably having too much fun. Life was probably too easy. It's weird to NOT have real problems in your normal life right?

Or I thought I knew better.

Well anyway That's when I started to take my life into my own hands and stop listening to THE voice.

Of course I know better. Travelling voice? Overrated. I know MY life ,my routine , I live in it thank you.

That 's when it started going wrong. I was back in control.

1/ Spanish dude disappeared into thin air and never called back after that dinner I did not cook ( I still think he got kidnapped and is currently held hostage in a foreign country hoping I will find him one day and pay the ransom. Yes I started saving)

2/ I decided to do a 10day body detox to be fully in control of myself and my life. And I stopped everything that makes me who I am. Aka Coffee and booze.

'' You know it's not recommended to do a detox while you're working Annabelle?'' my friend said

'' I did it on a 10 day meditation retreat in Thailand, love. This one is going to be easy. Trust me , I know what I’m doing ''

Bloody French. How much more arrogant can you get.

I started thinking about suicide on Day 9. People at work did not know what to do to make me feel better.

'They even tried the ' Do you want to go for coffee?'' line. It made me cry even more. Thank you for your support anyway guys. Really appreciate it.

Day 10 I had 2 coffees . My heart still remembers it.

Day 11 I got massively drunk ( 1 pint and a half) and I felt free again. When you are drunk you tend to hear THE voice better (until you ve had too much and start destroying everything you ve ever had)

3/ I decided my job no longer fulfilled me. I would randomly cry feeling completely empty without any reason. In 2 weeks I got sent home twice. I may have lost my best friend's friendship and my workmates are asking how I feel every minutes. I think they even considered putting anti depressant in my coffee. Control over my Life 100%. Dignity left 2%

So no, this job was not for me anymore.

I was very sad.

And Of course my next shift was the best in my life, and I was such in a happy mood I even got told that I was a natural at the job.

Very Happy.

Who needs an inner voice when you have emotions that control you like a damn robot.

Getting out of bed in the morning was getting harder and harder. Life was getting more and more predictable in my own little head.

There is nothing worse than thinking you know how your day is going to unfold.

9 to 5 bed 9 to 5 bed.

Yep, it's the same Life I had a month ago. And yes, that's a different attitude.

I'm in control now.

Thankfully every now and then I had glimpses of ‘‘lucidity’’ and still had my random moments.

Thank God ( or Traveller’s voice)

Example? When I dressed up as a drunk zombie English girl for Halloween with Union Jack contact lenses ( how cool is that) and ended up pole dancing somewhere in Brighton.

Or when me and some friends went see some fireworks in Lewes on the occasion of Guy Fawkes night.

What is it? Even the Brits don’t know what they 're really celebrating on the 05th of November.

We asked the question to some random English drunks on the train and I loved the fact that they were confused over the reason why they were celebrating it. Was it was because the dude who tried to kill the King failed and the monarchy is still standing or were they celebrating because someone actually TRIED to kill the king…. That's a tough one mate.

So yeah. The 5th OF November is really random in the UK.

Random is really what I needed that night. After waiting 2 and half hour to get a train to Lewes , a quiet little village that expected only 40 000 people that night we get there.

Who is we? 5 Frenchies, 1 South African, 2 Aussies, 1 Spanish that I always call Pedro and it's absolutely not his name , poor guy and Brit who hasn’t realised he’s back home yet.

There we were, travellers in Limbo celebrating British monarchy drinking French beer.

Of course most our conversations were about travelling, non commitments and ever changing moods.

They still have no idea. Where they are going , What they are doing and what career might be good for them. But they knew how to enjoy each other’s company. That's what we learn at traveling school. The importance of being together in the moment( and not get married after )

The answer to most questions that night was '' I don't know mate, I don't know'' .

It suddenly felt like home.

I DON'T KNOW EITHER.

Relief.

10 minutes later I realised I was close to winning the gold medal of uncertainty.

Right before I '' lost my mind'' and took control of my life I had booked a single ticket to Australia on my credit card . For Xmas. Just like that... Crazy huh?

What I'll be doing after Xmas?

I don't know mate, I don't know....

Then I remembered. How good it is to NOT KNOW. No anticipation , no expectation.

FREEDOM.

Risky? Maybe. Still better than thinking you figured it all out though ( no anti depressant with my coffee thanks)

'' Trust in God and keep your powder dry''

That was what sign me and Dwight both saw at the same time in the crowd later that night. For some reason it made a lot of sense to us.

Be prepared and save your resources until they are needed.

And don’t think you’re in control .

Because you’re not.

Not really anyway.

Friday 14 October 2011

The kindness of strangers

How the hell do you say ''Me too'' in Spanish

That's when I realized. I'm in a French restaurant in England struggling to speak a third language. And someone has been holding my hand for the past 10 minutes.

Interesting.

How did I end up here?

Last Thusday 4.55pm

After yet another deep anxiety attack I came up to the conclusion that I could either go to sleep for the next year and a half so I stop over thinking my feelings for the friend I'm (not ?) dating or go to work in 4minutes and 59 seconds.

If only I could just stop crying and telling my bestfriend ( who is also my boss) how messed up I am.

'' Are you or are you NOT attracted to him?''
'' I love him yeah. What's physical attraction anyway?''
'' You should go and see a shrink Annabelle.''

Now THAT helped.
3 minutes.
Ok I'll go to work.

'' You're not yourself tonight'' says mister dymanite as I walked in to work. He was playing loud music and everyone was happy. Even Dwight was here, drinking Malibu , pretending to be a gay English man from Briiiighton daaaarlin.

And I was depressed.

Let's think practical. How did I use to deal with situations like that when I was traveling. This depression thingy cannot be possibly worse than fearing for your life in the malaysian jungle everyday for 10 days. What did I use to do?

Let go. Trust Life.

Why not try to apply that here. I can't obvisously make decisions for myself so I'm going to let life do it.

I officially decided I was not in charge of me anymore.

Good luck Life.

A few hour later I was pole dancing with Dwight and other people in the doggiest pub in town. ( the kind of place that tries to cover the smell of vomit with 1 pound vodkas)

I also spontaneously gave my number to a total stranger at the hostel. Just because he wanted to practice his french Don't ask me why I did that I have now idea.
Drunk? Not even. I decided I was not in charge of me , remember ?

Because I PERSONNALLY would never have done that . Quick passport check ( I love my job). Date of birth 1984. No I would definitely NEVER have done that.


Last Friday

'' So you're attracted to him or not''

'' Which one?''

Dear God. Did I just say which one. Is that what we call a mid life crisis or what?

'' Your English friend. The one you had a date with last week end remember? ''


No THAT again. What is physical attraction anyway. ( Yes, Life... What the hell is it?)

That's when I bump into him. The guy I gave my number to last night. Mister 1984.

He's a guest at the hostel. He's like STARING at me. I giggle and try to say something but it's not working.

'' Go and tell him he 's late to check out'' I say to my colleague , hinding behind the bar.
'' Since when YOU don't want to talk to people''
'' He's staring at me and it makes me feel super embarrassed and giggly . What is it?

'' Physical attraction''

WHAT???? Is that it???? So if you don't have that strange feeling for someone it's......

'' called friendship''

Damn.

The past 15 years of my life flashed before my eyes.....

I had some truths to say. To the last friend I possibly have already lost. So I sent an awkward email. That's what I do best ( and never works)

'' But he's a stranger. I can't possibly feel that for a stranger I don't KNOW him'' I tell my 20 something friends.

They were staring at me , speechless . Because 1/ they have strangers for breakfast ( When they don't kick them out of bed when the Sun rises)

because 2/ ME saying that, was totally weird.

Me. The one who talks to strangers like they're my best friends, me. The one who's been round the world twice by herself relying on strangers on a daily basis, me. The one who has a home and pretend family members in 4 countries around the world.

How can I possibly think THAT about a stranger ????

I remember reading a book called ''the kindness of strangers'' It's a collection of short stories about travellers who , at were at some point stuck in their lives and who decided to trust total strangers to help them. It turns out they always did. Help them.

And I'm not in charge of me anymore anyway. I'll go where life takes me.
Just like when I was travelling. Because in the end. Aren't all, always travelling?

Last Monday night


'' I feel like I've known you for years '' he tells me in a very attractive Spanish accent.

True. I forgot I didn't know him for a bit.

'' yo también '' I answered proudly after 10 long seconds

That's how you say ''me too'' in Spanish.

If you think THIS is cheesy wait until I try to say '' you've got beautiful eyes'' after a glass of bubbly right before dessert.

Yeah. I'm usually DRUNK when I speak spanish. The cool thing is that he DOES NOT know that. He's a stranger.

Like he doesn't know I'm a hopeless cook. So when I invited him over for dinner at my place I was the ONLY one thinking ''ARE YOU KIDDING ME?''

But no, I wasn't kidding me this time.

Even people at the next table noticed . They must still be talking about it.

Tonight 7.00 pm

I'd better stop writing and go get the food from the next door take away restaurant . And get rid of the boxes. To make it look like a ''REAL'' dinner.

Yay me.

Yes, we should really give more credit to strangers.

Because they probably are the only ones we can love for who they really are.

Because nothing we know is in the way .

Monday 3 October 2011

Just be you

'' If you like him, let him pay. Guys love to do that''
'' What? Not but he 's a friend you see... ''

That's when I realized who I was talking to. Strangers. Who were checking in to the hostel.

Yes I was at work. Hellooooooooo .

How did I exactly tell them I was going on a date that night in the 1 and half minute I've known them will always be a mystery but they gave me the best piece advice ever.

It ended up in a big hug and a '' good luck darling . Just be you ''

I love the Brits.

Did I tell them breakfast was included?

Damn.

I go home and mister Dynamite had left me a note in a love heart shaped post it.
'' Have fun , just be you. Love you'

What's with '' just be you''? I never got that. Does that mean you can be a nasty bitch on the 1st evening so they know what they get into? Or not shave your legs because you are going to give up in 3 months from now anyway (if all goes well)?

JUST BE YOU. No, still does not make sense to me.

Anyway. Dating a friend is fun. You don't have to introduce awkward things about you over dinner you because they ALREADY KNOW everything awkward about you.

1. He knows my ex and I know his ex.
2. We know what the other wants in a relationship because we ve spent years fighting over each other's view of that damn thing called Love.
3. He read your blog

The most difficult is to NOT talk about 1 , 2 or 3. And NOT mention any ex's name ( no , not even at the most awkward time . HA.HA.)

'' You said in your blog... ''

Damn.

Of course I'm NOT following what I am writing. Don't be silly. My wisdom is for OTHER people. That's when he told me he was also writing a book about all the crazy women he's ever had in his life.

No pressure mate, no pressure.

Dating a friend is a lot of fun. You can go straight to the point :

‘’Scared?’’

‘’Terrified’’

‘’ So, what are you having? I’d go for the fish, you?’’

A bottle of wine later I was too drunk to send a text to my friend asking if you had to be sober to be you.

Yes. He did pay.

Yes it did go very well.

Then … There was another day.

When did it become so scary.

When did my friend turn into that monster who is going to steal hours of my life?

It was way more fun when the other person did not actually like me. I could blame him for my insecurities. Now, WHO am I going to blame? I'd rather relocate somewhere in Africa, throw my mobile in a river and live with elephants for the rest of my life. And obviously never talk to him again.

Damn.

When did I become an ENGLISH MAN?

'' How are you?''
'' I'd rather be on a plane to the other side of the planet right now'

And that was just the beginning of ME panicking. The 2 hours that followed were even more interesting. Although I ended up saying '' one day we' ll laugh about it'' , that day had obviously not arrived yet.

'' So you're talking yourself out of this, right? '' He said.

Damn why do I have to go on dates with people who know me so well.

Living in the Malaysian jungle and checking my bed every night for deadly scorpions? Way easier than this situation.
Landing in a new country with only 200 Australian dollars and have no idea where to spend the next month and a half? easier.
Driving my 26 year old car on the left side of the road in the rain drunk and lost in Australia ? Easy

'' So how was it?'' my friends all asked me as I walk into work that day.

They hadn't seen my face yet.

'' Oh shit what went wrong?'' they asked, ready to say '' Bastard''
''Me. I am an English man.''

Of course no one told me what I wanted to hear. They did not even buy my theory on animals as the smartest race because they never worry about that '' JUST BE YOU'' bullshit.

'' Stop YOUR bullshit Annabelle''

What did they do? What they do best. Take the piss.

They forced me to listen to the '' top 50 romantic songs'' of the past 20 years during cleaning.
3 long hours of '' my heart will go on'' and '' I will always love you'' .

Yes I did have to sing along.

''Annabelle what's wrong? you're not yourself '' people asked me for 2 long days.

Can we just stop calling me names??? THANKS.

I was too busy at work anyway. One of our guests went missing. She left her stuff on the bed along with a book which title was '' How to build a time machine''
We simply assumed that she went time travelling and would show up sometime (seems like a normal day in Brighton anyway)

I then was slightly tempted to build one myself.

So I could go back to the day I started thinking that I had to lose myself when I meet someone or travel to a possible future when I'd be in a house with 2 dogs watching travel shows eating cookies and wondering what I ve done with my life.

'' Mate, YOU are the traveller, remember? '' I'd say to my future non self.

'' Ah yes, Thanks''

And I would pack up my stuff and go. Like I always did.

So what's the point if I know how it's going to end?

What? Change ATTITUDE ? What do you mean?

JUST BE YOU

Don't be silly I know how to be ME thank you.

Sure. When the relationship is over or when my husband is gay and 20.

You know I'm in total denial of my real problems when my facebook status is about 1/ the weather (I'm an English man remember) 2/ food ( I'm a French woman remember)

After 13 hours sleep and 3 hours of staring at the ceiling I realized that Ooops I did it again .

My lovely self was gone somewhere in the past or in the future.

Try the present for once darling.

He had sent 2 emails. Of course I did not reply ( I’m such an English man)
Time to do so.

What would I answer if I was MYSELF .

Something like :

Update :

I sleep 12 hours a day . Work , eat and stare at the ceiling the rest of the time.
My dear self is gone somewhere to be healed. Without it I can't write , communicate or even make any sense ( worse than usual. Imagine)
It will come back asap to answer your cute , hilarious , lovely email.
Hopefully.
I kind of miss myself too. It 's been a couple of days now.
It always comes back at some point though.
Will let you know.
Might get some more sleep.

Love

Ax

PS : Am I in your book yet.



And if I was myself I would write every single detail about this story in a blog so the whole world can laugh about how crazy our insecurities are.
If I was myself I’d tell him how much I love him (because I do tell everyone else)
If I was myself I would live for today and give ANYTHING a go.

Sounds cool hey? I start smiling again. Wow.

That’s when my best friend texted me about his tactic for his next date.

My answer?

JUST. BE. YOU.


Because being anyone else sucks.

Wednesday 28 September 2011

Ghostbusters

'' Have you been here before?'' says the new german intern of Kipps Canterbury as I was making myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen the other day. I needed a break from Kipps Brighton. Kipps Canterbury is the next best thing for a short break.

Haha. Where do I start?

The week I spent here by mistake in 2005? Or the year that I lived here after that? Or maybe when I left my fiance with all my furniture to come back and live here in a cupboard in 2008?

Kipps Canterbury...

'' Yeah I stayed here for a bit'' I told her not wanting to sound overly dramatic like '' my whole life started here'' ( + tears )

But yeah. My whole life started here ( try not to cry Annabelle , you just met her 10 seconds ago )

'' You must have so many good stories about this place '' She says.

Hell yeah. Do you have 3 hours? I can tell you all about it.

She did not.

Obviously I had to pick one. When I checked in a drunk / disabled / homeless guy ? ( all at once. I scored that day) Or the crazy ''citizens of the world'' guests ? the Love Tent maybe ? ( No I can't decently tell her about the Love Tent , I JUST met her. Way to early.) Me winning a drinking game on Halloween 2008? ( and sleeping in the toilet thinking it was my cupboard , sorry my bedroom )

I picked the only story that is passed on from Kipps generation to Kipps generation.

THE ghost.

Don't freak out she's only a little girl. She lives on the top floor of the building ( near my cupboard) . She has not paid her rent in 200 years ( cheeky) and she sometimes plays tricks on people, just for a laugh. you know like shuting doors , turn TV off ( she hates big brother. Good girl.)

One of our german interns got so freaked out one day that he apparently prefered to spend his night at the bus station. Number of beers he had that night still unknown .

As I was talking about that with a great Kipps passion , I started to feel them. The other ghosts. The alive ones. You know people who used to live here before but who are now gone. People WHO HAVE MOVED ON.

No they were not there anymore. You know all these people I used to live with , people I used to love. It's crazy how you expect to see them when you walk in.

No mate they're not here anymore. Now they've gone. Finished. Over. End of.

Damn.

So I spent the rest of the morning walking around the hostel aimlessly with my now infamous '' I can see dead people'' face.

'' Sorry I'm going to be a little weird for a bit'' I say to my best friend.
'' You've been weird for 3 years, I'm used to it''

I had to go do something about it.

Retail therapy . That's what I used to do before. to feel better.

What do I do now? Just therapy.

First I went and buy some crystals in a ''witch shop''.
Then I went for a body detox.
I probably was in a sort of trance when I decided to do it because I suddenly woke up to the voice of a lady telling me '' you are now detoxing your kidneys'' in a heavy greek accent. With my feet in hot water feeling some electo magnetic charge through my whole body.

Then I decided to hang out in a book shop staring at book covers sitting next to a guy with dreadlocks who was reading '' witchcraft for beginners'' . I finally decided to buy the one called '' The art of happily going nowhere''
It basically says that no one has no clue where we're going so we might as well go there without dragging the burden of our past with you.

A spiritual version of Ghostbuster.

Who ya gonna call?

Damn , I ve got the music in my head now.


You think that'll be enough to kill my ghosts from the past . No. When I got back to Kipps they were still there.

You know that feeling you have sometimes. The '' I should have spent more time with people I love'' (understand ''I should not have fucked it all up'' )

Who ya gonna call?


There were still some people ''from the past'' hanging about. And that was good to see them. 2 of them are staff. The other one is Luigi.

Luigi : half human half italian. He was sold with the place a few years ago, has been living in the hostel for about 8 years . Age unknown ( about 45 + 8 now) but we know the age of the girls he fancies ( half his )

One thing I did NOT want to talk about was the past. Not good for my ghost syndrom.
'' Remember when....? ''

Shall I go for another detox NOW or do I have wait until tomorrow to go for a brain detox ( in a greek accent)

Who you're gonna call?

A pint of beer with a friend I have not seen in a while.

Okay let's do that.

It was good to see him (and his ghosts)

The best thing we found to get rid of our ghosts was to actually TALK about them. It's like vampires and daylight . It even gets better when you have a good laugh about them.

So We decided to have a competition . Who had the most pathetic love life.

'' I usually stay friends with my exes he says. Except for the dead one'' he says.

He won. But that was close.

'' Maybe we should go on a date together'' he says after 2 pints.

HAHA

Saturday?

What, you're actually SERIOUS???

He's obviously 1/ NOT over 60. 2/ straight 3/ never read my blog.

'' Maybe not .... because hum... this week end... '' I say .

Now WHO IS RUNNING A MILE NOW?

Bloody French women......

Who ya gonna call?



It was time to go back to Brighton. Home. Where ghosts are still alive. and walking up my street off their face.

I get off the train : 125 cops trying to stop 1 drunk guy from boarding a train.

Who ya gonna call?

I hope they caught him before he got to London

I decided to go and see Mister Dynamite before going home . He told me about this complicated English guy. Yeah he texted back.

But dude, he is SO weird. Like REALLY strange.

I got to wonder what weird REALLY meant when the girls who were watching football with a beer stood up and shouted ''yeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaah'' as their team scored, while boys were quietly listening to Chritina Perri's last love song in the bar area.

'' I've got a date with a Brit this week end'' I tell him proudly.
He gave me the " Why are you doing this to yourself'' sort of look.

Because if we are to create new ghosts , they might as well have a good sense of humour.

Who ya gonna call?


(Let me know how long that damn song stayed in your head today. Just curious)

Sunday 25 September 2011

It all started with brown bread...

'' 'It all started with brown bread' . That's how you should call your blog post for today. suggested my colleague in despair, surrounded by tons of rubbish , dirty linen and cleaning products . It was 12 and we only had 2 hours to clean a whole hostel.

All she wanted was to sit in a corner and cry, all I wanted was to lie down and stare at the ceiling. The rubbish bag in my right hand just broke and I could see the past 24h of the previous guests scattered all over the floor. Believe me you don't want to know what they were up to.

We were late , stressed , tired and yet what was SHE worrying about? My next blog post. How cute is that. I'm going to call her Cutie until I find a more suitable nickname for her.

Anyway...

'' Where's the damn key for the linen cupboard???"

That's fine J'Bo 's got them.

Cool why was I worried then?

Maybe because he is NOT working today and is not picking up his damn phone.

That's going to be a fun day.

The day had started well. None of the staff was hungover. It has never happened since.... Actually it has NEVER happened .

No weirdos for breakfast , even the hen party was nice. The bride to be was wearing sunglasses and still had her evening clothes on ( with a a huge L pinned to her back) but she was in a very good mood .

We had no bunch of guys having beer for breakfast.

Yes, all was well in Kipps Brighton...

Until we ran out of Brown Bread.

'' I can't eat white bread you see. I need brown ''

Ok ok. That's me running to the nearest supermarket at 9am . Near but far enough for my shoes to completely break into pieces ( Aussie shoes. They could not cope with the weather) .

Not only was I queuing for ever ( Britain's finest art) but the machine gave me change in 5p coins ( about 20 of them )

I Proudly came back with my bread and 1 shoe on.

'' Actually we don't need it thank you, White bread was just fine . We 're on our way out. See you ! ''

SURE..... ( smile)

let's have a cuppa tea to calm down . No single clean cup left.

'' they all came at once'' says Cutie whom I could barely see behind the pile of dirty dishes.

Yes we do the washing up here. when we are NOT running around with one shoe buying brown bread.

That's going to be a fun day.

We finally got the key to the cupboard. But it was time to play musical beds and find every one somewhere to stay tonight. That's me in Superhero mode. Saving the world is my job.

'' That's the manager's job''

'' So what?'' I say , not understanding.

'' So it's not you... anymore''

This is going to be a fun day.

Who did not cancel this group on the system? Who called this woman and said that her bed would be cancelled if she did not turn up when the booking was made for her daughter who has been here for 3 days. ( that one was me actually) She almost called the cops thinking her daughter was gone missing. Lovely.

And THAT was just before we even started cleaning.

In Kipps Brighton you know you re stressed when , instead of topping up the coffee in the double rooms you DRINK it. Instead of dusting the TV screen you WATCH it. Instead of dragging the vaccum cleaner it drags YOU.

When the phone rings you want to say f***** off instead of Kipps Brighton hello how can I help ?! ( second one being VERY hard to say when you are a French person)

After 2 hours of '' we can make it , just breathe'' and help from a German angel who was not even working that day , the hostel was spotless and smelt of a delicate breeze of air freshener. Right on time. As usual.

That's when we can start our real job : making people feel at home. And we all do it so well. So well that the guests had no idea that we were all dead in the inside

I left at 4pm with a choice : walking home barefoot or wearing a random oversized pair of flip flops from the lost and found box ( and risk verucas)

'' That's it. I'm done. I'm going home to my 20 year old gay husband. I say proudly with an exhausted look on my face wearing my size 43 shoes.

Home sweet home.

My ideal night : watch telly and moan about my day to my best friend on the phone. We should change this and that and that too. Go to bed at 9.30pm, wake up at 3 am and start yelling at the drunks outside my window.. Wake up at 6 am again to the sweet sound of seaguls.

My actual night : Got home to my flatmate who sat me down and made me listen to Canadian love songs until I stopped stressing him with my bad vibes.

'' This English guy texts me right. WHAT do I reply?'' he asks me.

What ? He's asking ME for advice with Brits?

Just say '' S.E.X?" so he's got a good reason to run a mile. Or not.

'' Mmmm Sorry you might not be the best person to ask for advice here. ''

Thank you darling. I feel a lot better now.

Then he took me for a ''slow'' jog. All I saw for an hour was the back of him. All I could hear was bystanders taking the piss out of that cougar woman trying to run after that hot 20 year old .

At least I found his new nickname '' mister Dymanmite. ( way better that Justin Bieber) and we had so much fun.

And Mister Dynamite is also a chef. Thank God I found a new person to cook for me ( Pip I will still love you forever though) . The fact that I was a gluten free vegeterian intolerant to lactose did not even bother him. yay.

9pm. Good time for some telly and do nothing. I thought.

One hour later I was drinking tequila shots with my young friends in a club nearby. We even got refused the entrance to the first one since some of my girl friends looked too straight ( I was fine for some reason. Should I meditate over that )

Yes , In Brighton you get refused in nightclubs for being STRAIGHT

Darling. Get real. There is no such thing as straight guys anyway. Just guys who don't know yet ( Thank God for us girls)

And I met a guy too .

34, hot, single.and .... British . Asked for my phone number 10 minutes after I met him , got me 2 drinks. Who said British guys were complicated?

Of course he is G.A.Y and was outrageously kissing one of my male friends on the dance floor a couple of minutes later.

But hey, he's sooo much fun. And I 'm pretty sure this one will text back. Wanna bet.
And then another hot one asked me if could carry MY babies. This is the cutest thing I've ever heard mate.
So it all started with browm bread. And ended in a nighclub aith gay boyfriends

Because You only know where Life really wants to take you if you just let it... flow.

Saturday 24 September 2011

Made in England

As I was randomly opening a can of beans yesterday morning I came to a shocking truth.

I am now eating English breakfast ON PURPOSE.

I ve come such a long way....

Now when I show up at bootcamp at 6.45am in the cold and rain, I say '' the weather is not too bad. it could be snowing. '' when even the most positive of the instructors is saying '' This rain is horrible man. Why didn't you stay in Australia ? ''

" I love England '' I answer doing half sit ups in the pouring rain.

Yes. I eat beans for breakfast and I am positive about the weather. I'm officially on my way to become a Brit with a French accent.

It wasn't always like that. Me and England had a rocky relationship. When I first moved here I thought I was the reincarnation of Joan of Arc going back to England to be burnt in the rain again.

2002. In France Every uni student who want to become and English teacher sort of has to spend a year abroad to try and get rid of this awful accent of ours and NOT pass it on to the next generation of kids.

Anyway Me and my friends needed a break from studying ( aka going to the pub down the road to Uni) so we applied to be assistant teachers. The wealthy are sent to Canada, Australia, America

WE were sent to ENGLAND.

SNOWDOWN. I say trying to remember when I was sent. (in France when you re a teacher you are SENT somewhere, like a fallen angel. You do not pick where you are going. And we would have picked France anyway.

'' Snowdown?!'' but that 's a freaking mountain. says my friend who had a basic knowledge of England ( I just knew that London was the capital)

'' Hang on , it's SWINDON''

'' Oh my god. That's WAY worse than being sent to the top of a mountain.

Swindon was the kind of place where when you say to people you re going there for a year they feel so sorry for you they can hardly hide it. You know the fake smile and that. Others, more honest, will tell you :

'' Don't go mate don't.''

But I did. It could have been worse. My best friend Mika was sent to WALES. I could not decently let him go alone.

Swindon. House share with 6 blokes. They PAID ME to do the housework. And then there was the job. in a 'school with '' special needs '' kids ( I love how positive the Brits are)

The only teachers who were smiling and willing to have a conversation were the ones who just quit or the ones who took an extra pill the morning before.
I think they noticed I was there when I was about to leave.

'' What's your name again?''

'' Annabelle. You know I've been here for 8 months... No I'm not the new cleaning lady. I'm the assistant teacher ''

I made a couple of friends at work. One got pregnant and left ( at the same time as a 13 year old in one of my classes) and never came back. A French girl who was a qualified teacher but decided that there was more to life than kids throwing stones at her in the middle of her lessons. Bless her she's now still in England and happy (and NOT a teacher)

When you were a qualified teacher there, you were also a qualified bouncer. When not teaching you were paid to patrol the school to make sure kids were just fighting, not killing each other.

No I was not qualified for that. I was just making the coffees.

When everyone quit I became the oldest staff member in the French department. ( still waiting for my medal) , trying to recruit new teachers. We had about 10. 1 per week. Then came a new guy who was enough in denial to stay and not noticed being called a faggot for the rest of the year .

He used to have 1 sugar in his coffee.

'' I hate it. Work is awful, the kids call me '' fucking frog'' . I almost pushed one down the stairs the other day ( I actually did but he did not fall. Damn)
People are cold in England , they're not talking to you and THE FOOD ( that's enough to send all the French to deep depression) is awful. They have sausage in the morning and they have a 10 minutes lunch break STANDING. When are we going home? '' I say on the phone to Mika in Wales.

In France we like our 2h lunch break when all the shops close. 3 course meal for lunch, not a damn sandwich. Funny I say that , yesterday for lunch I had a toast with butter while running around checking people in. Length of lunch break 1minutes 34. And I loved it.

It was all the same for Mika, but in a Welsh accent. I used to go and visit him at the week end ( ONLY a 7hour bus drive) . On the Saturday morning we would recover from our week , in the afternoon we used to talk about how better it all was in France. On the Sunday we would spend the day trying to understand what Welsh people were actually saying.

But I had great friends in Swindon. They were French and Germans.

English? Don't be silly. They're weird mate. And THEY don't talk to US.

Yet, One of US gave up hating the Brit and started to love '' one of them''. And now , 10 years later, she is still there with her lovely ''weirdo'' and a beautiful baby. Congrats.

Me and Mika needed 2 years to recover from England.

2005 we decided to give it another shot.

Same job ( it's amazing what we do to hurt ourselves sometimes)

He was sent to London this time.

I was sent to Faversham.

Where? It's not even on Google map.

Oh no. NOT that AGAIN.

'' Move to Canterbury, it's lovely'' someone told me.

Okay then. I look for accommodation on the net. I find a roommate called Matt and he tells me the room would be ready when I show up. 2 days before he emails me.

'' Sorry , flat is not ready yet. I booked you in a backpackers hostel called Kipps for a week''

'' A what????????''

I ended up staying for a year. In a female dormitory. And yes I started to love England. Everything about England ( almost. But please let me tell you about my love life later)

'' I don't think you should be a teacher'' says my colleague at school as I was telling her how fantastic my REAL job was ( part time receptionist in Kipps Backpackers)

It took me an extra 2 years to understand that. When I moved to England with my whole life in 2 backpacks.

Here I am now , loving every minute of it ( almost. But let me tell you about my love life later)

It's not about the place where you are .....

Australia, January 2011 : '' Back home in England, WE have wine in Supermarkets and it's a lot BETTER''


......It's about how you feel within YOURSELF. .


So yes here I am , now , years later calling England Home. My best friends British , and British humour mine.

If it was not for the tattoo on my neck that says Made in France ( and my accent) I would say that I'm from Brighton , England.

I still yet have to figure out the one of Britain's most well kept mystery : British men.

Yeah I know, all these years I still have no clue about them. ( Unless they are gay or over 60)

But I was busy the last couple of years. Busy trying to figure out Australian men ( don't start me on that) , then I tried to learn how to stop trying to figure out Australian men.
Then I turned to Kiwis. And just when I was starting to understand him (his accent that is ) he had to go.

British men? They tend to run a mile when they meet me.

In the opposite direction. Ironically, the last one was an excellent runner. I suppose he is currently still running. At least I keep them fit.

What ? It's not about other people?

It's about how YOU feel within YOURSELF .....

Damn.

I need a '' cuppa tea'' .

Thursday 22 September 2011

Committed

Commitment.

If you are a traveller ( or a man) you are probably VERY likely to be willing to stop reading now.
If you’re a male traveller you can skip this and pretend you have read this post when we meet later. I am very tempted to stop reading myself. But since I’m the one who’s writing it I’ll stick around a little while longer if you will.

‘’ So how long are you staying?’’

You might as well ask me if I want to marry you. This question freaks me out.
Commitment.

Simple question hey . But travellers usually hear is something like ‘’ what else are you going to give up if you decide to stay for a while’’

So we usually play our best card. The I don’t know card. I recently came up with a new good one

‘’ No plan is good plan mate’’ ( +wink)

Cool huh.

Commitment .

If I ever committed to anything ? Don’t be silly…. Of course I did.

Me , an engagement ring, a perfect boyfriend ( yes he did cook ) new furniture from Ikea , a house in the French countryside ( romantic music playing) a semi commitment to the French education system . Been there , done that ( I left him the tee shirt. And the furniture. Least I could do huh)

Happy ending ? Hell yeah. I moved to a 6 bed female dorm in Kipps Canterbury backpackers in England. I swapped my teaching skills to develop cleaning skills. Then I lived in a tent in the garden, then I had a full time job as a duty manager there. Later I lived in the cupboard on the third floor. I did. I swore you could put a mattress in that cupboard. Almost fit.
I could almost stretch my legs while sleeping. For 6 months. My legs still hurt. It was 2 years ago.

You know you’re a traveller when your room key is a padlock key.

How many guys did I pick up saying ‘’ wanna visit my cupboard darling?’’

Not so many. But still. Okay Yank , I told you you’d be in my book. There you are !
It was cool to live in a cupboard.

No commitment. No rent to pay , no bills , no 3 months stay minimum, you know all that crap travellers ( and men) are terrified about.

So yes. When you’re a traveller you live in a backpackers hostel. You end up living there for far longer than what you should but it’s YOUR choice.

No commitment.

Living in a backpackers hostel is cool. You hang out with Kiwis for breakfast, have dinner with Aussies and go out drinking with… what was their names again? Dude I got so drunk. Glad they checked out today , saves the embarrassment.

But some of them never check out. The hostel gradually becomes a house share.

With no commitment.

A perfect home for a citizen of the world .

That ‘s what me and Dwight we were talking about the other night. Yes the dude I was chasing around Bangkok last August.

What? Yes I found him in the end! In a Thai restaurant . In Brighton. Of course.
We had a nice meal. The first waitress answered ‘’Tokyo’’ when we asked her what part of Thailand she was from. The second one did not even try to hide her Eastern European accent.

But that’s what we love. Diversity.

With no commitment.

Ok. Now. Truth?

Travellers also get attached but don’t want to face it. Female traveller do still see themselves in their wedding dress ( with the coolest backpack attached to it) We still dream of freaking romance and fishing trips on Sundays. That must be in the DNA… right?

Travellers also cry their eyes out listening to love songs ( gay travellers and women especially. The other ones pretend to have a mosquito in their eye)
My last time? I was sort of… drunk. With my boss / best friend who was sober ( btw what’s YOUR excuse to listen to love songs darling?)

Here , in Kipps Backpackers Brighton we call it ‘’ Celine Dion moments’’ . Picture me on the floor staring at the ceiling , again trying to breathe and my gay manager vacuuming the whole hostel singing :

When I was young
I never needed anyone
And making love was just for fun
Those days are gone
Livin' alone
I think of all the friends I've known
When I dial the telephone
Nobody's home

We don’t want the commitment but we want the connection. What you call a date , we call it dinner with a friend

Friend is the ideal name for everyone when you’re a traveller. It’s like playing the ‘’ I don’t know card’’

‘’ he’s a friend’’ ( risk assessment 0. Commitment 0. )

Our ideal partner would be someone who appears from nowhere to share good times and great conversations for a while and drives us to the airport when we decide suddenly that we want to go to India next week.

‘’ See you next time darling, Have a great time, I love you for ever’’

Sure…

Deep inside we would also love the ‘’ darling I’m home’’ sort of life. But without the house and the dog.

Given how many homes I’ve got, how many darlings do I need?

But do you know what ‘s worse than commitment?

No commitment.

Taking no risk. Hang on to something that’s no longer there. Missing out on new experiences , people…

Stay when you could go. Go when you could stay. Ignore your feelings when you could just love.

Because guess what. Nothing lasts anyway.

So you’d better commit to every minute of it

Before it’s gone.

Friday 16 September 2011

Speaking of witch ...

I promised myself that I'd never have a 9 to 5 job after traveling.

I can't even go back to the fitness level I left so let alone a 9 to 5 job.

Yes I still wake up at 6 to go run around on the beach with BMF, a bunch of crazy Brits and have a military fitness instructor yelling at me for 4 hours a week '' 76 wake uuuup'' or '' kiss the bench and wave the sun good bye’’ ( it's 6.45 AM)
And I can see myself last year, running around proudly wearing my green bib, proof of me reaching the highest fitness level ever.

'' Were you not a Green before ?'' Someone asks me as I still was day dreaming about my glorious days.

Yes . And now I'm a blue. A freaking beginner

No one goes from Green to Blue unless they had a massive injury that changed their life. NO ONE.

'' So what happened to you?''
'' Australia happened, mate , Australia''

No, you don't know the real meaning of chilling out until you actually live in Oz. Or when you come back to Europe after you lived in Oz for a while.

Then you can spot the Aussie tourists in England straight away. They are the only ones to 1/ take pictures of bloody squirrels. 2/ walk effortlessly everywhere in their thongs ( you pick the meaning you want to give to that) with a ‘’no wuckers mate’’ grin on their face. And 3 jumpers when it's still 20 English degrees.

So yes, I 've got to learn it all again. But how come I was fitter when I was a smoker? I asked my instructor. He asked me what exactly I was smoking.

So I had to have a conversation with my body . '' Look mate , you're 32. You can't give up on me just because I neglected you a bit for a few months. I gave up smoking , meat and sex for you ( latter not my choice but anyway) so you and me have to be friends again ''

Be patient. Yeah, right.

In Australia I became a spiritual being, you see. As in hugging trees and giving unconditional love to total strangers in a castle in the bush at 7pm every Wednesday night ( I love you guys)

I Australia I was clearing my chakras more often than I was going for a run.
In Australia 9 to 5 was my meditation schedule. The rest of the time ? Chill out with loved ones.
In Australia I did not rest 2 days a week, I WORKED 2 days a week.
In Australia my real job was spiritual healer. And I was my main patient. So I was always broke. But still happy (silly peaceful grin of face)
In Australia I got in touch with my Spirit.
And in a Buddhist monastery in Thailand I even lost track of my body.

In England I’m trying to re unite both.

So no, I definitely can't do a 9 to 5 job anymore. My current job is cool. Working with a bunch of crazy future ex travellers in my favourite backpackers hostel in Brighton is my thing.
It’s the type of job when you show up in the morning you know that there is no way you can predict what’s going to happen.

You will either be carrying a giant penis balloon to a 10 bedded dorm full of drunk English girls for a hen or you will try to guess who fell down the stairs drunk last night ( and that’s just the staff) looking back on CCTV cameras or come up in the morning and find your work computer screen having a life of its own. You will then catch yourself screaming the name of the night receptionist who obviously can’t hear you since he’s just gone to bed after eating his last ice cream 10 minutes before you showed up.
After 10 minutes of panic and hallucination you learn that it was your geeky boss playing a practical joke. He has full control of the work computer from his own house, miles away.

Of course. Where was I the past 10 years.

The type of job where the first thing your 20 year old gay manager tells you as he first moved in with you in your flat is ‘’ I have plenty of condoms, help yourself’’

So, no. This is no 9 to 5 job. I can safely keep in touch with my Spirit here.
And guess what? I checked in 2 spiritual healers into a dorm the other day! If spiritual healers start checking in to backpackers hostels the world is ready to hear about Spirituality.

‘’ Did you hear there were 2 witches staying in my dorm? ‘’ says a colleague of mine with panic.

Maybe not quite ready yet….

Unless someone they KNOW is also a witch.
And they got used to me lying on the floor with the impossibility to move since I could not align my body with my Spirit. No one found that weird. Not weirder than anything else in Brighton anyway.
‘’ Just try to breathe’’
‘’ I’m trying, darling believe me, but all I can do is stare at the ceiling. And make an occasional bed because hey, that’s my job dude’’ And My crazy colleagues get that. They even lied on the floor with me today. I love them.

So imagine ME in a 9 to 5 job.

No, that‘s NOT funny. To those who have ever smoked pot : that’s exactly the same feeling, but without your lungs turning dark grey.
For those who have never smoked pot: what the hell did you do with your life.
This state implies walking around the hostel with a ‘’ I can see dead people face’’ ( I can’t really but I can hear them. Haha. Gotya. Not yet actually. ), make
ing the worst mistake you can do in a backpackers hostel ( no it’s NOT sleeping with a guest , THAT is fine. It’s called an overbooking) or throw yourself in the English channel at 6pm to make it stop.

When all you REALLY need is your favourite 61 year old Aussie woman ( see previous post) to grab your hands and shake them firmly , saying ‘’ Now you’re grounded. Feeling better?’’ and then walk away.

Wow another person in touch with her Spirit. Oh sorry, another witch. Dear God, they’re everywhere.

It’s good to be a witch because you have a good insight on people’s patterns. You can with no problem say to your best friend
‘’ Look , if this guy does not reply to your email it’s because you reject yourself from the start. You play the best buddy, try to set him up with someone else when all you want is to have a relationship with him but you’re scared to get hurt. That’s ridiculous!’’ with a proud look on your face because you know you are spot on.

But the answer can surprise you.

‘’ I think you are right. But are we still talking about me or are we also talking about you here ? ’’
‘Me? I am SO not like that. ‘’

Oh. Shit.

Because , EVERYONE is a spiritual healer. We usually have no idea we are.

Yes, that’s why I promised myself I will never have a 9 to 5 job again. Because I need time for witchcraft.

Just need to check my working schedule for next week before I go.

‘’9am to 5pm , just like last week ‘’

HA.HA.

Because it’s all about the attitude.

Monday 12 September 2011

Just do it

I've started my book. How cool is that. What? I've already said that in June? And July? And August?
No but this time it is real , Mate. My facebook status says so. It MUST be true.

What is it about? Why do you ask so many questions. You'll see when you read it.

I HAVE NO IDEA. Something about the past 8 months of my life. Or is it years?

But when you are naturally full on and disorganised HOW DO YOU WRITE A BOOK ABOUT YOU?

Where do I start....

You don't know how full on you are until you start working with someone as full on as you. And when he is 20 years old , gay and he is your manager it gets even more exciting. Like the kind of guy who shows up at your flat at 9am for a glass of water after jogging around Brighton twice and tells you '' my penis is freaking freezing'' and disapears. Yeah , that one.

Working with him is like watching myself in a miror.

We both came to the freaky conclusion '' is that REALLY how I am? '' F******

Dude, we need to help each other out on that one.

We 1 / energize each other and exhaust other people. As in we're dancing on Queen when everyone else is attempting to watch football quietly ( BO-RING) at 4pm.

2/ we Exhaust each other. The first day we worked together he slept for 12h after that and I dropped dead on my living room floor ( no there wasn't any drunk english guy sleeping , I checked first) and got depressed for about half a day

. We are so chatty on check with guest . Our jokes are in stereo. They must drop dead on their bed as soon as we shut the door behind them . At least they get a good night sleep. I guess it's good we're working in a hostel.


So yeah. When do you start your traveling book when the past 8 months of your life have been as full on as YOU are , and as disorganised as YOU are.

'' Hey , How u doiiiin' . I'm writing a book and you'll be in it'' was my best pick up line the past months. Not I have really picked anyone up actually . They probably waiting til the book is published. And I must have said that to 5788 people all around the world.

Damn. Got to write this book.

Where do I start. Australia? Malaysia? UK? Thailand?
FRANCE? Don't be silly. It's just where I'm from.

Yes, Being a citizen of the world IS a hard life.

Not that I've got a good ending either.
Forget about Prince Charming and all that crap.Although I have a few good gay guys in store. They probably would be good princesses. None of them want to be my Queen though ( I did ask)

The thing is , everytime I say I start the book, there is something in the way.

In May my laptop broke.

In july I bought a fake made in China I pad because I thought it was time but ....

1/ there was no note pad so I had to pretend to write an email to myself everytime wanted to add a page to my fantastic non existant book .
2/ My writing speed never exceeded 1 word per minute. Approximate age when book published : 83 years old. Forget about picking ANYONE up then.

In August I decided to stay in this monastery in Thailand for ever and hand write the book. A wake up call later I was checking my emails on my new smart phone back in the UK. And no book so far...

Here we are. September. Who and what am I going to blame for NOT starting this book this time.

WORK? Yeah that's a good one. Used to work all the time. Socialising ? No sorry I've got to work. I wish but I have to work tonight. Relationship? Sorry no time. Where would I fit that in my work schedule I've got responsibilities you know. . Loving people? No sorry I've got to check them in.

Well that was before. Now I have an extra day off a week and I'm not the manager anymore.
Can't blame work....

DATING

My only recent offer came from a 61 year old Australian woman.
That was a good pick up line though

'' I'm going out to the shops , anyone need anything?'' someone asked
'' A good woman'' she answered , looking at me straight in the eye.

Mate, you rock.

I did hesitate for a minute ...


ENGLISH PEOPLE . That's a good one for the french. That's what we do best. We blame the English. We still haven't digested that Joan of Arc story probably . So we blame the Brits. Especially those who don't call back .
What? He's also waiting until the book is published ?

Where have I been the past 10 years?

No, I can't blame the Brits either. I love them . They're too funny.


BRITISH WEATHER . I can't write today. It's too miserable out there. hahaha . That one can NEVER go wrong.
Until someone points out the ugly truth.

'' Do you HAVE TO write in the rain?''

Get an umbrella dude.

No , writing a book is not easy.

Ideas will come to you at the weirdest time. it's like wanting the loo when you're in a phone box.
and it stops as you walk in the nearest public toilet. Damn you spent 5p for nothing.
Yeah , writing is a bit like that.

I wake up at 3 am with the best 1st chapter I can dream of. If only I could be bothered getting out of bed and actually write it. Sure. I'll remember it tomorrow.

Give me a BREAK I can hardly work until 11.30pm already. I'm currently trying to blackmail Totoro, our night receptionist with ice cream and pizza so he comes half an hour early because I NEED MY BED . If you check in after 9pm my customer service drops to ''bitch level'' unless you feed me with an insane amount of caramels.
Oh and no , Totoro is NOT is real name. Thank God. ( he chose it though) And no, he still does not want my ice creams. He makes me wait until 11.29pm . Just for a laugh. Am thinking about upgrading to pepperoni pizza next time.

And you want ME to wake up at 3am TO WRITE?


Yes , ideas come when I'm working as well. Last night I was putting laundry away and I had to run down the stairs like a drug addict maniac and someone with intestine problems . No people don't notice. It's Brighton dude. It's normal here.

Where's my damn notebook.

'' Can you cover reception for 2 minutes I've GOT to write something'' I say to my german colleague adding that SHE will be in my book too. For sure ( How uuuuuu doin'?)

Like it's an emergency. Like it's life threatening.

She was happy to cover. She could change my boring music to austrian rap while I was sitting on the floor laughing my ass off because I think It's so funny what I'm writing.

Ideas come at anytime in any language. too. Although Spanish tend to be when I'm insanely drunk and german when I'm deeply depressed. Italian? No , not anymore thank you.

Usually it's frenglish notes that I can barely decipher the next day when I actually have time to write.
But all I can do is staring blankly at my screen, drink coffee and cry watching Grey 's Anatomy season 6.

Yes , travel writers are a bit mad. We usually blacklist them from the hostel
.
A paranoid crazy woman, who was still yelling my name on the street 15 minutes after I kicked her out last year, claimed to be a travel writer.

''Race-A-Lot you have no right to treat me like this , I'm a wriiiiiiter!''

My name is Raclot but I like Race -a- lot too actually . How did she know my surname? Dude. Don't ask.

This other guy who was stinking so much we had to tell him to go have a shower if he wanted to stay. He was a travel writer too.

So you know what I'm risking if I actually write this book?

I decided to relocate my writing spot in my friend's coffee shop so if it all goes wrong I can still have good coffee and advertise '' Redwood Coffee shop Brighton'' in my book.

When I start it.

In the mean time I can still have crazy full on conversations with my manager . The other day he ended up telling me :
'' What you say makes so much sense. You should write a book''

NO KIDDING .

But where do I start? Hang on a minute. THIS could be a great start right?

Because sometimes when you really want to do something. Like REALLY REALLY. You've got to stop THINKING about it find excuses, let go , And ... JUST DO IT.

What are YOU waiting for ?

Thursday 8 September 2011

The young and the restless

My manager is 20.

My work mates are slightly older ( shame on them)

I feel like I was born in the 18th Century and woke up last week.

You know you don't take responsibilty for your age when you hesitate more than 2 seconds to answer the question
'' How old are you ? ''

I usually say '' younger than Lee''. It makes me feels better.

So yeah , I feel like I've been asleep for about 185 years.

What? We don't buy fish tanks anymore nowadays ?

No. We buy a DVD.

Just select Menu... Aquarium, fish noise and there you are. Finding Nemo or saving Willy . It saves to feed the fish and you also have the log fire option for Winter.

Awesome.

Where have I been the past 10 years.

So of course on my first evening shift back I pretended to be 20 and know it all.

'' You guys go out, mummy can handle this''

Why is that thing ringing? it's a digital PHOTO ALBUM. Is it REALLY supposed to be an ALARM CLOCK too? And why 9pm? Probably to wake ME up. It was 10 minutes past my bed time anyway.

So... what would a 20 year old do in this case? Touch the screen. That's it.
After 2 long minutes of pure laughter the other staff decided to tell me.

'' You know there is an on and off switch...right?''

Sure.

Then came the reminders by email. There is a Google reminder for everything nowadays. Forgot to breathe? Ask Google to remind you.

'' Charge the electric sweeper''
mmm what? Is that the thing we used to call a vacuum cleaner?

NO it's an electric SWEEPER. aaaaaaaaaah okay I understand better now.

Kipps 2.1 . That's where I was.
Annabelle 0.1. That's who I was.

'' Can we please have another key to our room ''Madame?'' says one of our french regulars.
Ma.... what?

So you're talking to me right? M.A.D.A.M.E...... You know I kicked people out of this hostel for less than that?

Annabelle 0.1

I had to do something
32 going on 23...

So what do ''youngsters'' do nowadays. ( When you start calling them youngsters it can only go wrong)

How did I know I was doing well? I gained 6 Facebook friends in 6 days.

Annabelle 1.1

It's all about attitude.

What do you do when you wake up and there's a drunk English guy sleeping on your living room floor? You take a picture , put it on Facebook , make your coffee and go back to your room. Of course.

If I know him? Actually yeah. He's a friend.

How did he get the keys? They get passed around. In 6 days I shared the flat with 2 German girls , a Spanish dude and my English best friend. How much fun.

It's all about attitude.

But I had yet to make up for my lack of new technology knowledge. SO I bought a smart phone.
Buying it was already an adventure.

'' I want that one'' . I say to the guy pointing towards a million phones

'' You mean the Alcatel OT-980, madam?''

Piss off.

50 quid later ( yeah I can't eat this week but that's the choice a 20 year old would make right?

Smartphone VS surviving.... Food is SO last year.

So there I was , proudly holding my first piece of 21st century. I sat in the shopping centre for 30 minutes, playing with my new apps, going on facebook. How cool is that.

What 's my number? BECAUSE IT'S ALSO A PHONE? aaaaaaaah. No idea.
I finally gave up and called my hungover best friend so he can give me my new name. 07 something I believe.

The next day? I had no credit left. Who did I call? No one... Damn 3G ....

And how do you stop the bloody alarm anyway. So at 6 am you have to select menu , alarm , snooze. Seriously. Next time I'll buy one that picks up my voice '' Stop that bloody noise or I'll throw you out of the fucking window''

Annabelle 2.0

To be a perfect 20 year old in England you HAVE to wear a tiny mini skirt in the cold and rain. That's how you pass the '' party animal test''

So I did.

3 tequilas later I was dancing ON the bar at my work place with a hot gay Spanish guy drinking from the bottle. Who was filming? My boss. He can blackmail me for ever now. And it's just my first week back. Beat me , you youngsters.

Annabelle 2.1

Well I passed the test. Until I realized that there was no test. Just me thinking I was different. They always thought I was cool. In my own way.

We're all the same in the end. 20's, 30's , 40's.

Because guess what '' youngsters'' , it does not stop when you reach 30. That shit you feel. You just learn to deal with it .

After 30 you still wait for that guy you like to reply to your emails.

'' If he stops liking your facebook status that's it Dude. Move on''

Of course. Where have I been the past 10 years.


Yeah you need them , the 20 year olds. Just as they need you to listen to them , to make them feel secure because you bloody know what it's like not to be.

Because yes, after 30 you are still insecure. But you cover it up. You are still scared to wait for that text message that will never come. So You just don't buy a phone..... So you don't have to expect that there will be no text message. So you don't feel rejected. Twisted?

I can't wait to be 40.

That's when you need your 20 year olds to remind you '' Or you can just buy a phone and NOT give HIM the number''

That makes sense '' Dude'' ....

'' Or you can also face the fact'' says another one.

Face the What? Don't be silly.

So yeah , after 30 you're still scared shitless when you come back to your comfort zone and see that it's not there anymore. That all you thought you were , you no longer are.

SO you still drink yourself silly, eat yourself crazy to forget that how painful that all is. And how scared you are to re build it all.

But after 30 you know , somewhere deep inside that it's all bullshit. And guess what? It's YOUR bullshit.

There is no one and nothing else to blame for it ( Not even a little bit? NO.)

So you just shut up deal with it.

Painful? Tell ME about it.

So, until there is an App to deal with that I will look after my 20 year olds .
And until I can do it myself I will need my 20 year olds to help me move to my life ... 2.1

In the mean time you can still follow me on Twitter, Dude.













You know ,