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.

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)

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.

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'' .

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.

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.

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 ?