I watched the news today. The tallest of the Tall Ships sailing from
Children are now a major sidewalk obstacle. They spread horizontal or bunch like grapes. Luckily I can weave fairly well. Luckily I don't feel obliged to dress British. That sounds cold and brutal, but it should really just be a sigh of relief for the seeing population of the planet.
Géraud is sick. This seems like an all too frequent occurrence. He is almost always blowing his nose. He might as well stick two puffs of cotton right up there, or wear a cotton moustache ultra absorbent. (Don't get offended lil potiron). Friday night might have done him in. We went for a few pints before hitting the Mexican slash Mediterranean restaurant in town. I am compiling a price list of Guinness in
Best part of this weekend: We ate jalapeno poppers at the restaurant on Friday night. For only a measly £6.50 you can get 3 jalapeno poppers!
I hate the conversion rate.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Warmer days and warmer potiron
Friday, July 18, 2008
Week fo(u)r
Today marks my four week anniversary in England. I've succesfully completed life in a foreign country for 4 weeks. Some people consider the simple feat of living to be monumental. I might agree if I were to have any real challenges to its' sustainability in my case.
Géraud won't let me starve, so that takes away the challenge of feeding oneself, Géraud won't kick me, there goes the challenge of safe/warm lodging, and beyond those two needs, there are the necessities of the environment, which I can't control. We need oxygen to breath, and so far-so good, even if I'm living in an industrial city rife with polluting factories. I'm trying to think if there might be more to bare-living, but I can't really think of anything. With food, water, roof-over-head, air, and the occasional simple pleasure from passing observations, I don't think I can complain. Essentially, complications and complaints are an awful result of thinking too much in lieu of just being. There is a quote that I really enjoy from this book that I read while in Paris. And being a scribbler of things, I noted it down in my journal and was lucky enough to stumble across the other day while filling in my greatfuckacrosstheworld map.
la plupart des hommes refusent de penser: ils ont été créés pour vivre, pas pour penser
Unfortunately, I'm the kind of gal who didn't accredit the quote to anyone. Good job allysin. My guess of the author is, André Breton (unlikely), Boris Vian (more likely), or Herman Hesse(possible).
I'v been thinking about what to write in a blog and mostly I want to talk about Chavs. In England there is the social class known as the Chavs, it's pretty derogatory, but pretty accurate (and funny). In fact, I first heard of Chavs from Dianne after she heard about it from her two nieces in England. They alerted her to the emergence of a class of people who wear name brands, lacoste, burberry, etc... only to show the branding. And, TRACKSUITS, that is a huge identifier of a Chav, apparently.
Chav Caricature or Real Chav Somewhere???
Géraud won't let me starve, so that takes away the challenge of feeding oneself, Géraud won't kick me, there goes the challenge of safe/warm lodging, and beyond those two needs, there are the necessities of the environment, which I can't control. We need oxygen to breath, and so far-so good, even if I'm living in an industrial city rife with polluting factories. I'm trying to think if there might be more to bare-living, but I can't really think of anything. With food, water, roof-over-head, air, and the occasional simple pleasure from passing observations, I don't think I can complain. Essentially, complications and complaints are an awful result of thinking too much in lieu of just being. There is a quote that I really enjoy from this book that I read while in Paris. And being a scribbler of things, I noted it down in my journal and was lucky enough to stumble across the other day while filling in my greatfuckacrosstheworld map.
la plupart des hommes refusent de penser: ils ont été créés pour vivre, pas pour penser
Unfortunately, I'm the kind of gal who didn't accredit the quote to anyone. Good job allysin. My guess of the author is, André Breton (unlikely), Boris Vian (more likely), or Herman Hesse(possible).
I'v been thinking about what to write in a blog and mostly I want to talk about Chavs. In England there is the social class known as the Chavs, it's pretty derogatory, but pretty accurate (and funny). In fact, I first heard of Chavs from Dianne after she heard about it from her two nieces in England. They alerted her to the emergence of a class of people who wear name brands, lacoste, burberry, etc... only to show the branding. And, TRACKSUITS, that is a huge identifier of a Chav, apparently.
Chav Caricature or Real Chav Somewhere???
OH, and maybe the greatest part is that while I was searching the internet for something related to Widnes, I came across this website for voting on and discussing the biggest Chav towns in England. There are many an article about Widnes and Runcorn....and Widnes is in the running for Biggest Chav town in England. And little me was lucky enough to end up living in this lovely town. Female chavs are also referred to as Chavettes...GREAT
After the article about Widnes, there are a few comments that talk about how if you are a single female without kids and several baby daddies you just won't fit in in Widnes. I concur. When the weather isn't complete shit, I stroll around town and I find myself always the target of baby stroller violence. The sidewalk is no longer safe for two legs that aren't fronted by a baby-buggy.
After the article about Widnes, there are a few comments that talk about how if you are a single female without kids and several baby daddies you just won't fit in in Widnes. I concur. When the weather isn't complete shit, I stroll around town and I find myself always the target of baby stroller violence. The sidewalk is no longer safe for two legs that aren't fronted by a baby-buggy.
Monday, July 14, 2008
The Rules
Yesterday, the sunniest day to date, was also the day the rules arrived. They appeared without making a sound, displaying themselves prominently two times over in the kitchen. It's hard to imagine anything appearingly suddendly and sans sound in this house. There is no doubt in my mind that, they are personal, and a tad malicious.
House Rules
- No smoking in bedroom
- Please change bed and clean room
- Please wash dishes, dry (added later), tidy and put way
- Please clean bathroom after use
- Please tidy up IE table after dinner
- No eating in bedroom
I really didn't know what to make of it at first, seeing as how there was absolutely no warning nor was there any talk of any rules or no-no's when we first arrived. I'll second that by saying we aren't messy people and we always clean up after ourselves. We do the dishes immediately after we finish eating and clean up our area. This we do because we know we are living in shared housing. Hell, we even offer delicious cheese and wine. It's not that as though we feel at ease here, becaue we(I) don't.
Géraud had the best reaction I could have imagined. He was angry, is angry. Wants to leave and leave soon. He is going to talk to her later tonight and say
As for me, I'm going to be petty and eat the chocolate profiteroles that are Nikki's favourite. I am also seriously considering turning the bottom half of the paper on which the rules are posted into a grocery list; you know PLEASE BUY: bananas, apples, fuck yer mom, tomatoes, mustard, yoghurt, a muzzle for yer trap, etc...
I was not raised as well as Grod. He comes from a good family that is going to force feed me when they get here. He has already suggested the feeding device used on geese in France to make foie gras. You know it's true love when you are thought of as foie gras.
My dad and Dianne whom were here this weekend also loved this idea of Allysin as a goose.
I don't think I like that idea too much.
But besides their incessent tries to goose-ify-me, we had a good weekend, complete with Guinness drinking in pubs, lots of small dogs, drinking champagne cocktails at Albert Dock, and even a fluffy cat. Dianne came to the house on Friday with gifts for me and Geraud, mostly things I had asked my dad to bring. Mostly peanut butter for Géraud because he is spoiled. Her visit was complete with a view of my room crowded with drying laundry, Nikki in her bathrobe, and Paul harassing and beating his tiny 4 year old son. I don't think I've ever heard a 4 year old be called a dickhead before. It's a good thing I can get that sort of cultural education here. If I knew how to add sound bites, I would. I'd like to expose the world to the intelligence of a Pauls' parenting.
Ben, enough of the gritty annoyances of this household, I need to talk about the old man I saw cutting his grass with a pair of scissors today. Yes, that's right. I was walking to the computer store to get a proper power cable for the laptop and I see grampa trimming his lawn. (I hope that at least a few people got the dirrty image) I think I like that old man...he understands true horticultural care.
It's five o'clock in the pm and Géraud will soon be home unless he melted himself again. In his factory they make glasswool, which is insulation made from glass particles and other bits. So, there is a giant glass melter and sometimes he has to go stand underneath it and try to see if it matches the contractors drawing of it. This is probably not his favourite part of the job, but I like his description of it. It reminds me of Kate and her Glass. Maybe a little bit of Stephen K. But only in his reluctance to come to Hare Krsna.
I'm going to break rule number 6.
Géraud had the best reaction I could have imagined. He was angry, is angry. Wants to leave and leave soon. He is going to talk to her later tonight and say
"Si tu n'as pas le cran de dire les choses en face et que tu continues d'imposer des regles débiles qui n'ont ni queue ni tête dans notre dos, tu peux te les mettre au cul". "C'est tout le courage que ça a ici les flics? Ça m'étonne pas que ce soit le bordel et que des braves types se fassent planter dans tous les coins a chaque fois qu'ils veulent aller boire une pinte en bas de chez eux!"
But in English, of course.As for me, I'm going to be petty and eat the chocolate profiteroles that are Nikki's favourite. I am also seriously considering turning the bottom half of the paper on which the rules are posted into a grocery list; you know PLEASE BUY: bananas, apples, fuck yer mom, tomatoes, mustard, yoghurt, a muzzle for yer trap, etc...
I was not raised as well as Grod. He comes from a good family that is going to force feed me when they get here. He has already suggested the feeding device used on geese in France to make foie gras. You know it's true love when you are thought of as foie gras.
My dad and Dianne whom were here this weekend also loved this idea of Allysin as a goose.
I don't think I like that idea too much.
But besides their incessent tries to goose-ify-me, we had a good weekend, complete with Guinness drinking in pubs, lots of small dogs, drinking champagne cocktails at Albert Dock, and even a fluffy cat. Dianne came to the house on Friday with gifts for me and Geraud, mostly things I had asked my dad to bring. Mostly peanut butter for Géraud because he is spoiled. Her visit was complete with a view of my room crowded with drying laundry, Nikki in her bathrobe, and Paul harassing and beating his tiny 4 year old son. I don't think I've ever heard a 4 year old be called a dickhead before. It's a good thing I can get that sort of cultural education here. If I knew how to add sound bites, I would. I'd like to expose the world to the intelligence of a Pauls' parenting.
Ben, enough of the gritty annoyances of this household, I need to talk about the old man I saw cutting his grass with a pair of scissors today. Yes, that's right. I was walking to the computer store to get a proper power cable for the laptop and I see grampa trimming his lawn. (I hope that at least a few people got the dirrty image) I think I like that old man...he understands true horticultural care.
It's five o'clock in the pm and Géraud will soon be home unless he melted himself again. In his factory they make glasswool, which is insulation made from glass particles and other bits. So, there is a giant glass melter and sometimes he has to go stand underneath it and try to see if it matches the contractors drawing of it. This is probably not his favourite part of the job, but I like his description of it. It reminds me of Kate and her Glass. Maybe a little bit of Stephen K. But only in his reluctance to come to Hare Krsna.
I'm going to break rule number 6.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Miettes!
I eat in bed a lot. On Géraud's side of the bed because that's where the computer cord is, and thus the computer. I try to remember to sweep the crumbs away after I'm finished but sometimes I just forget. I also eat a lot while I'm surfing the internet and so my dirrty little fingers type away on his computer. He has probably noticed the cleanliness of his keyboard decreasing. I think one day he tried to comment about how I don't take care of his computer, which I do sorta, better than I would do if it were my own computer. But I think that was just him being sassy. Géraud is becoming sassier by the day, which is kinda just great because it means we laugh a lot and have a good time together. Having a good time while we are together is essential to my well being in this country. If things weren't so good between the two of us, I'd probably be on the next plane out of this miserable country. I mean that in a nice way.
Let me explain you the weather. I might have already talked a bit about the weather, but it really deserves much attention. The sun comes up at 5:30am and stays up until 11:00pm, but there is rarely any actual sunshine. Daylight without sunshine is worse than no daylight. It's a dismal grey fog that hangs around for far too long and disrupts your eating cycle. How am I supposed to know it's dinner time. Yesterday the only time the sun came out and was nice was at 8:00pm at the exact moment we are eating dinner and does a nice glare in your face through the back window effect. This blinding effect forces us to close the curtain and block out the sun. I understand why this country has so many alcoholics. I want to drink all the time inorder to imagine a better world. Right now, as I look out the window, the sky looks as though it might snow and the trees are swaying which means it's windy. If I wanted to be optimistic I'd go buy a kite and some mittens and head down to the park, but I'd rather not let myself get carried away by wishful thinking, again.
That is exactly what got me into this mess in the first place. I just thought, hey, I'll just go move to England and everything will be peachy keen. I thought there'd be shops hiring or at least somebody who knew somebody who needed a helping hand. Not so much the case. Instead, I sit around or walk around looking for job opportunities. They are few and far between. Even the local job centre, which is the unemployment help centre, is full of people looking for work. It's not a buyers market and I am last in the pecking order. This is the pecking order: English, British, EU, Australian/UK Empire, Chinese (for their food), and then American with French boyfriend. My fortune cookie application on facebook says this, "don't get too carried away"! If only I listened. I should have come up with a back up plan, like a book deal or something. Maybe I could write a dirrty romance novel with lots of sexy french sayings mixed in and really hit that Quebecois niche. But mostly, I feel doomed to fail on my current venture unless I meet the right people.
The most promising, and only, response I've had in my job hunt is a group interview at ASDA (the UK part of the Wal-Mart empire). It was very strange and very much an interview where they watch you like and take notes, and that's creepy. There were about 15 of us in this large conference room, sat around a large table, and we played 'games' during which the HR hawks observed us to see if we are ASDA quality. The first part was a 10 minute time period in which we found out about our partner sitting next to us and they found out about us and at the end we report what we learned back to the group; essentially an exercise in small talk and convivability. My partner was Keith, aged 50, with 8 children. His cartoon character would be SpongeBOB. My name was Allyson, I am 22, American and Dora the Explorer. The next part was in partners again, different partners, and I was with a girl my age. We had to design a poster for a new product or any product and then give a presentation in front of the group about our product and also a store greeting where we specifically 'sell' our product. Our product=the perfect panini press. It wasn't original, but it was something we both recently discovered and are infatuated by. Oh yes, indeed! Until you have your own panini press, you have no idea how great it is to use it. So after about 1 hour and 30 minutes it was over and I was glad because the room was terribly cold and I had to pee. I don't expect to hear that I got the job, although I should get my "Thanks for applying" letter by next Tuesday.
I understand that grocery stores can't just hire everyone who applies, but you'd think they'd base it on more than your interaction with some strangers in a frigid room where 4 ladies in lime green vests rate your smile. It's frustrating for me to have spent money on a college education that, so far, has gotten me no where. I thought having a degree would open doors, not just lead me to debt and drugs. I sometimes think about being a anti-college counselor. YEA, sure it's fun, but that is its' only redeeming quality; in my case at least. I just wish that someone along the way would have explained this to me. Then I could be unemployed, but debt free....which is a much better situation anyway you look at it.
Géraud just sent me a text message to inform me that his carte vitale, or social security card, has been stolen. Last week he wrapped it one envelope that was inside a second envelope and I posted it from the Post Office here in Widnes, well it seems as though, the second envelope made it to France but was empty, which means gone, stolen, violated. He wants me to go down to the post office and find out what happened or enquire or do something. I'm pretty sure they are just going to say, Sorry we can't do anything if you didn't get insurance on the letter, which I didn't because I didn't think there would be a problem. My dad mails me credit cards all the time and there is never a problem. This is just bad luck. I feel bad. His things are always getting stolen or broken into or just plain fucked up. But I'll go to the post office and see what can be done and while I'm in town maybe I'll buy a small bottle of wine and drink it and pass out with a paper cup next to my nappy head and with any luck wake up to find a small fortune in coinage.
I think it's drizzling. I feel like I live inside a rain cloud.
Apartment update. We found several nice, furnished 1 bedroom apartments in the area and we have decided to take one that is in Runcorn and not far from Grods work. It is also not trop expensive and is fully furnished with everything we need, including a hotterwatermaker. I'm awaiting the rent application in the mail from the realtor. I was hoping it would arrive today, but that did not happen. We still haven't officially told Nicola that we are moving out. I think she has figured out that we are probably leaving, but isn't for sure yet. It's just so awkward living in the same house as another couple, especially one that you don't know and who has their family over. It makes me feel small.
Let me explain you the weather. I might have already talked a bit about the weather, but it really deserves much attention. The sun comes up at 5:30am and stays up until 11:00pm, but there is rarely any actual sunshine. Daylight without sunshine is worse than no daylight. It's a dismal grey fog that hangs around for far too long and disrupts your eating cycle. How am I supposed to know it's dinner time. Yesterday the only time the sun came out and was nice was at 8:00pm at the exact moment we are eating dinner and does a nice glare in your face through the back window effect. This blinding effect forces us to close the curtain and block out the sun. I understand why this country has so many alcoholics. I want to drink all the time inorder to imagine a better world. Right now, as I look out the window, the sky looks as though it might snow and the trees are swaying which means it's windy. If I wanted to be optimistic I'd go buy a kite and some mittens and head down to the park, but I'd rather not let myself get carried away by wishful thinking, again.
That is exactly what got me into this mess in the first place. I just thought, hey, I'll just go move to England and everything will be peachy keen. I thought there'd be shops hiring or at least somebody who knew somebody who needed a helping hand. Not so much the case. Instead, I sit around or walk around looking for job opportunities. They are few and far between. Even the local job centre, which is the unemployment help centre, is full of people looking for work. It's not a buyers market and I am last in the pecking order. This is the pecking order: English, British, EU, Australian/UK Empire, Chinese (for their food), and then American with French boyfriend. My fortune cookie application on facebook says this, "don't get too carried away"! If only I listened. I should have come up with a back up plan, like a book deal or something. Maybe I could write a dirrty romance novel with lots of sexy french sayings mixed in and really hit that Quebecois niche. But mostly, I feel doomed to fail on my current venture unless I meet the right people.
The most promising, and only, response I've had in my job hunt is a group interview at ASDA (the UK part of the Wal-Mart empire). It was very strange and very much an interview where they watch you like and take notes, and that's creepy. There were about 15 of us in this large conference room, sat around a large table, and we played 'games' during which the HR hawks observed us to see if we are ASDA quality. The first part was a 10 minute time period in which we found out about our partner sitting next to us and they found out about us and at the end we report what we learned back to the group; essentially an exercise in small talk and convivability. My partner was Keith, aged 50, with 8 children. His cartoon character would be SpongeBOB. My name was Allyson, I am 22, American and Dora the Explorer. The next part was in partners again, different partners, and I was with a girl my age. We had to design a poster for a new product or any product and then give a presentation in front of the group about our product and also a store greeting where we specifically 'sell' our product. Our product=the perfect panini press. It wasn't original, but it was something we both recently discovered and are infatuated by. Oh yes, indeed! Until you have your own panini press, you have no idea how great it is to use it. So after about 1 hour and 30 minutes it was over and I was glad because the room was terribly cold and I had to pee. I don't expect to hear that I got the job, although I should get my "Thanks for applying" letter by next Tuesday.
I understand that grocery stores can't just hire everyone who applies, but you'd think they'd base it on more than your interaction with some strangers in a frigid room where 4 ladies in lime green vests rate your smile. It's frustrating for me to have spent money on a college education that, so far, has gotten me no where. I thought having a degree would open doors, not just lead me to debt and drugs. I sometimes think about being a anti-college counselor. YEA, sure it's fun, but that is its' only redeeming quality; in my case at least. I just wish that someone along the way would have explained this to me. Then I could be unemployed, but debt free....which is a much better situation anyway you look at it.
Géraud just sent me a text message to inform me that his carte vitale, or social security card, has been stolen. Last week he wrapped it one envelope that was inside a second envelope and I posted it from the Post Office here in Widnes, well it seems as though, the second envelope made it to France but was empty, which means gone, stolen, violated. He wants me to go down to the post office and find out what happened or enquire or do something. I'm pretty sure they are just going to say, Sorry we can't do anything if you didn't get insurance on the letter, which I didn't because I didn't think there would be a problem. My dad mails me credit cards all the time and there is never a problem. This is just bad luck. I feel bad. His things are always getting stolen or broken into or just plain fucked up. But I'll go to the post office and see what can be done and while I'm in town maybe I'll buy a small bottle of wine and drink it and pass out with a paper cup next to my nappy head and with any luck wake up to find a small fortune in coinage.
I think it's drizzling. I feel like I live inside a rain cloud.
Apartment update. We found several nice, furnished 1 bedroom apartments in the area and we have decided to take one that is in Runcorn and not far from Grods work. It is also not trop expensive and is fully furnished with everything we need, including a hotterwatermaker. I'm awaiting the rent application in the mail from the realtor. I was hoping it would arrive today, but that did not happen. We still haven't officially told Nicola that we are moving out. I think she has figured out that we are probably leaving, but isn't for sure yet. It's just so awkward living in the same house as another couple, especially one that you don't know and who has their family over. It makes me feel small.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
G-ROD came back
I'm happy. Happy that Géraud has finally come back to England because it makes understanding why I'm in this country clearer. He came bearing gifts too. Six bottles of wine, because that's how he does, seven different types of cheese. The kind that can really smell up your car after 8 hours of driving across two countries with sunshining down so bright. Opening the boot of his car the smell, err stank, of cheese just hitcha. It was oooo so good. But the curious thing, in my mind, at least is that neither Paul or Nicola tried any of the cheese last night. No worries though, Geraud and I had ourselves a mini feast of cheese (camembert, st. agur, cantal, chevre, ... & more i cant remember) with baguette or as it was marked at the grocery store french stick. Yea! plus an apple. So that part of Gérauds return was magical, not too mention I got me some suga. ...Not sure if I've mentioned the fact that I had to hear Nicola and Paul fucking while Geraud was away. At first I didn't know what that awful noise was. I just thought it was the dog, but dogs do not say OHHH MEEE GODDD!!! Actually, everytime it starts I still think it's the dog. It is just so dog cry sounding. And well I dunno, it makes me shiver a little bit. It might be because there is no visual. ;) wink
I don't think I expressed the horror of waking up to what you think is the dog is in danger of death only to find out its your landlord fucking her married boyfriend. It's worse than think. First thought is always, must save dog...then the realisation that the dog is in no mortal danger sets in and you want to teach abstinence. Sad, but true.
My living situation is becoming even more interesting as Géraud and I spice it by looking at apartments and telling Nikki about it. Little did she expect us to be somewhat uncomfortable living in a tiny room and paying £1000 per month for it. Yesterday, Grod and I went to view two lovely apartments in Warrington. They are each 1 bedroom furnished flats that would cost £500 per month including utilities. Hmmm seems like a better deal.... YEA! SO then we came home and Nikki axed where we had been and we told her, "looking at flats." dont think she was expecting that. Well then it got funny, because her face told me everything which was "damn they found out that im charging them a shit ton o money and they want to leave" well she needs money. Next she proceeded to inform us of the price of utilities and how horrible the commute can be with traffic and all. Except that we know the price of utilities already, and, we drove the route during rush hour...so...im not buying it. ESPECIALLY since after dinner, and when i was upstairs not with Geraud, she approached him and offered to make our rent only £500 per month. ben voila quoi
Now there is this conflict of do we move into our own place where we have more space, but maybe less luxuries (Nikki has a panini machine) or do we stay here living in her house and cramped but with cable tv. I like fresh fruit more than I like TV. Translation: I want my own place.
Géraud made me talk to his dad on the phone yesterday. We talked about the weather. I did not know what to say to him. Maybe something like I've got your son, try getting him back? I might save that lil diddy for his momma.
I've been applying for all sorts of jobs over here in this island nation. I applied at the UK equivalent of Wal-Mart, a coffee shop, numerous receptionist positions, an information assistant, and I'm in the process of applying for a position as a library assistant at a hospital. I doubt I'll get calls back for any of these. I might have to find other immigrants and slip in with them. Or find things and then sell them online. I have a phone now so I can do that. Oh yea you want to call me 011447530459002 there ya are.
I'm going to take pictures of this place right now and then post 'em and bring you all into my world. Just imagine sex noises that sound like a crying dog, it'll help set the mood.
Cheers
Me on Computer on Bed post Géraud returning
Our Bedroom with Me in mirror
Our bedroom again, from other side of room angle
View of backyard from our window
Top of Stairs
Creepy life-size doll at top of stairs
Front door at bottom of stairs
Dog locked in kitchen
Kitchen
Living room full of Nikki and Paul Clothes
Other side of living room
Parrot and front room
Dishes
View from front room, includes garden and nikkis car
Fresh Fruit that I bought
I don't think I expressed the horror of waking up to what you think is the dog is in danger of death only to find out its your landlord fucking her married boyfriend. It's worse than think. First thought is always, must save dog...then the realisation that the dog is in no mortal danger sets in and you want to teach abstinence. Sad, but true.
My living situation is becoming even more interesting as Géraud and I spice it by looking at apartments and telling Nikki about it. Little did she expect us to be somewhat uncomfortable living in a tiny room and paying £1000 per month for it. Yesterday, Grod and I went to view two lovely apartments in Warrington. They are each 1 bedroom furnished flats that would cost £500 per month including utilities. Hmmm seems like a better deal.... YEA! SO then we came home and Nikki axed where we had been and we told her, "looking at flats." dont think she was expecting that. Well then it got funny, because her face told me everything which was "damn they found out that im charging them a shit ton o money and they want to leave" well she needs money. Next she proceeded to inform us of the price of utilities and how horrible the commute can be with traffic and all. Except that we know the price of utilities already, and, we drove the route during rush hour...so...im not buying it. ESPECIALLY since after dinner, and when i was upstairs not with Geraud, she approached him and offered to make our rent only £500 per month. ben voila quoi
Now there is this conflict of do we move into our own place where we have more space, but maybe less luxuries (Nikki has a panini machine) or do we stay here living in her house and cramped but with cable tv. I like fresh fruit more than I like TV. Translation: I want my own place.
Géraud made me talk to his dad on the phone yesterday. We talked about the weather. I did not know what to say to him. Maybe something like I've got your son, try getting him back? I might save that lil diddy for his momma.
I've been applying for all sorts of jobs over here in this island nation. I applied at the UK equivalent of Wal-Mart, a coffee shop, numerous receptionist positions, an information assistant, and I'm in the process of applying for a position as a library assistant at a hospital. I doubt I'll get calls back for any of these. I might have to find other immigrants and slip in with them. Or find things and then sell them online. I have a phone now so I can do that. Oh yea you want to call me 011447530459002 there ya are.
I'm going to take pictures of this place right now and then post 'em and bring you all into my world. Just imagine sex noises that sound like a crying dog, it'll help set the mood.
Cheers
Me on Computer on Bed post Géraud returning
Our Bedroom with Me in mirror
Our bedroom again, from other side of room angle
View of backyard from our window
Top of Stairs
Creepy life-size doll at top of stairs
Front door at bottom of stairs
Dog locked in kitchen
Kitchen
Living room full of Nikki and Paul Clothes
Other side of living room
Parrot and front room
Dishes
View from front room, includes garden and nikkis car
Fresh Fruit that I bought
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