Now that Regent St lights are up, Harrod's has 4672893 customers/hour, and there are bon bons on every Citigroup table in the restaurant, I thought I'd get in the festive cheer and make an update.
Lately I’ve been keeping quite busy with work. This week has been rather crappy, as I have been moved upstairs to Starbucks. While I do get to enjoy skynews live all day every day (and every comprehensive update on this ‘wikileaks’ business which I don’t understand), the managers are always around so I can’t take anything and eat it whenever I want like I can at Costa- which has led me to my what I call ‘Citibelly’. The customers are also a lot ruder, and considering the level of intelligence needed to work for such a company, it seems to be impossible for them to order a coffee properly. Here is a typical sale:
Customer: “Latte”.
Kate: “Sure.”
Under breath: “Sorry, was that ‘can I please have a Latte? Twat.”
*makes latte*
Kate: “Latte?”
Customer: *waits* *points to coffee* “Is this a latte?”
Though I these twats are wearing my patience thin, I will drink my sorrows away at the Christmas party tomorrow night. With a hefty bar tab and free munchies there’s no excuse not to get in the Christmas spirit and indulge a bit.
Also being the impulsive, intrepid traveller I am, I and my partner in crime Bianca jetsetted off to Amsterdam a couple of weekends ago. By “jetsetted”, I do mean “spent 14 hours cramped in a stinking coach with a driver who had to ask for directions”. It was awesome. We spent the weekend at coffeeshops, the Sex Museum, the Vodka Museum, the Heinekin Experience, and more coffeeshops followed by kebabs and toasties when we had the munchies. I have some cool photos of all of that and the snow, but you can bang “Amsterdam” into Google images and will get the idea. It was definitely worth chucking a sickie at work for, but I won’t crap on about it.
Coming home from Amsterdam, it was an unwelcome Christmas surprise to discover that we were being evicted from our flat. Yes, my dated, mouldy, rodent-infested and almost Dickensian flat apparently needs “refurbishments” in the New Year. Can you believe it! It’s almost insulting. With three weeks until eviction date, I decided it was time to put my thinking cap on and make a plan. I briefly browsed the internet (safe) for flats or houses in the Camden/Shoreditch/hipster areas of London, but there’s not much my meagre Citi-income can manage. My next idea was to follow my strong and sudden urge to move to Dublin and work in a pub and return to my Irish roots (Aye!). However considering their recent economic collapse, I didn’t like my chances, and plus it seems a bit too cold for my low Queenslander cold tolerance.
But I’ve made a bit of a plan. Considering I’ll be young, homeless, and have a shit job in London, (not the most ideal position for someone of my age), I decided I’m going to piss the job off mid-Jan, do a bit of travelling through Europe, come home for Australia day, then spend a few weeks in Kenya volunteering at an orphanage/teaching English and doing a safari. Then I can come home and be a career bitch, or re-evaluate my prospects of success and wealth in London. Sounds like a good plan to me! I’m most excited about Kenya. I just picked up a “Beginner’s Swahili” from the library and get my vaccinations next week. I think there’s about seven of them – such fun!
Other than that, not much is happening. Though it is absolutely Anarchy in the UK – it’s snowing again, the student riots are completely out of control, tube strikes and maintenance works left right and centre, all this riff raff about some Wikileaks thing (far too complicated for my small mind to follow) and everyone went bonkers about the X Factor finale which I didn’t even follow. Don’t I look like the fool. I did receive a letter yesterday addressed to “The Queen Kate Fitzpatrick” which is a pleasant upgrade from the derisory “Baronness”. It included a letter from PM Julia Gilliard expressing her excitement for the upcoming royal wedding, as well as a couple of letters from some very creative brothers of mine who have recently graduated and are enjoying the paradise of Lennox Heads (or what remains). The most disappointing news they reported was that our neighbours of 21 years have moved. After they hit the ball over the fence. Doh! It will be a challenge to find other neighbours who are equally as tolerant to my loud late-night renditions of Khe Sahn and Ring of Fire. And I will surely miss being serenaded to sleep by scales on the French horn. Sigh.
Off to the watering hole for some drinks with Justine and Therise. And to book flights to KUNYAAAAA
I feel it is fitting to end with a quote.
Asiyefunzwa na mamaye, hufunzwa na ulimwengu
He who was not taught by his mother will be taught by the world.
