High & Low Lights!

I am getting particularly bad of late at this blog business. As you most likely can tell, the more I settle in, the more I feel like a resident and less like a blogging tourist. Therefore rather than bore you with all my happenings I've put together a chronological order highlights/ low-lights list .

1)      Working Class yobo

You will all be pleased to know that after some slight teething problems, I've managed to grow some confidence in my own ability and at the same time commence enjoying my working life. The difference I’ve noticed between working for a contractor to client is generally just the amount of time something takes. From what I can tell so far; its based solely on the Client being less willing to offend the architect. I am PM on 2 projects, one is a considerable refurb and the other is considerably bigger refurb which almost is a new build, with the addition of a new façade and two extra levels. My direct boss is the best; he rings me to check that I’m OK or emails me apologising that he isn't around to help. I represented at the first client meeting and after sitting quiet for some lengthy discussions with the architects about some fluffy material make up, and the clock hitting 5pm , I felt it necessary to introduce some charge in to the meeting, particularly as it was kick-off for Holland Vs Socceroos. Somehow it spurred me on to do a punchy synopsis of events, and promptly close the meeting not only looking, but sounding like a boss. At one time during my synopsis,  the tangent started veering and discussion commenced to murmur level, the client basically interrupted and said ‘Sorry Simone, carry on.’ Under the stress of it hitting quarter past 5 and missing a good 15 minutes of the game I anticipated I’d check my phone and we would be losing by 6 goals. I was so flustered i couldn't quickly find a pub, so I boarded the district for home.  

2)       World cup frenzy/ Making new friends

I made it to West Ken at half time. When I discovered at the pub next to the station (three kings) that it was 1-1, I looked in, and the pub was full of Dutch supporters. I wasn't interested in joining them so commenced my run to the local, the Rylston. Somewhere during my jog- (wearing boss work clothes and heels) My bag got caught on a door handle. It proceeded to swing me in to the glass door at a random shop front. Someone saw, but I didn't have time to take light of the moment. I was on a mission. I arrived at the pub, sweaty, gross and in time for the second half. I was also happy to find the pub full of Aussies. My favourites. I joined some at the table in front of the big screen and shook through the last half, feeling every moment as if I was there with them. It wasn't long before we scored a goal and we were rejoicing like we had won the world cup. Then amazing- the table next to us offered us their nachos cos they were full. But then disaster… I don’t know why they are so ignorant when It comes to nachos in this country. First it began with Ms TeOka and I in our drunken state explaining to the Mexican man at the Rugby7s that he was doing it all wrong and we would teach him how to make nachos some weeks back, and ever since the same bad thing has happened… people here don’t layer Nachos!!! Not only do they not layer nachos, they have the ratio completely wrong, way too many chips with no sauce or cheese, and nowhere near enough salsa or guac. So after some disappointing nachos and the next disappointment of the Dutch leveling, we were starting to lose vision of the dream. It wasn't long before we had lost… and we did not care in the slightest. We were all celebrating and drinking like we had won the world cup. After all we had played amazing. Plus, goal of the series in game 2 from Sir Tim Cahill.  I got a text from Antony (My housemate) asking to feed the dogs who I affectionately now refer to as ‘the ferals.’ Staffys are stupid dogs, not as stupid as Dalmatians, but quite ‘duh’; ours are timid in nature, and quite affectionate, but have a real vicious feral side, the male particularly, he reminds me of a controlling boyfriend that belts his wife (poor Winnie) I suspect it’s the breed however. Anyhow... tangent! I  said bye to the table- a few Aussies from Perth, some Victorian vixens and some battler from South Australia that introduced himself as Wayniac (to be fair- I get the idea he was a social outcast that had invited himself to the soccer. Call of the day was when I asked him if anyone called him ‘Wayne Kerr’ haha.)  and said ‘I’m off home to cook carbonara and feed the dogs’ to which they insisted I come back for the 8pm game and bring them some carbonara. Those of you that know me well, know that I do enjoy a good shock value, and will do most things for entertainment purposes. So after feeding the dogs, I made a massive pot of carbonara and a large salad and put it in a take-away container before promptly walking back to the pub. When I walked in it was a standing ovation and high fives all round. The food was outstanding. I am a great cook / massive catch, and I re-iterate, still single! I got more applause at 10pm when I was hungry again and ventured in to the pubs kitchen to have a word to their chef 'Irish' (who i instantly hated) about layering nachos. The next batch although improved, still needed some work. But I was happy to call it a night, having made some new friends, and finally, a Sunday brunch friend in the lovely Gia. The next day at work felt like a Monday, slightly hungover, although could get used to this Tuesday night drinking to break up the week, it felt like a 3 day week and was the weekend again before i knew it!

3)      Royal Ascot races

Firstly I woke up to a few missed calls and was very joyous to read my messages for the day informing me that Bianca had finally purchased a house. Celebration time!! After in excess of two years of toil and looking at hundreds of dumps, bidding at a number of auctions, finally, success!!! Very proud to say that when I return, in two years or whenever it may be, (at this rate, I may never return) but when I do, I will be living in North Fitzroy co inner north eastern inhabitants- get excited! Hopefully I’ll time it perfectly and arrive back just after any necessary renovations have taken place.

Anyhow an early start meant we met at the Champion in  Notting Hill at 10am. We chartered a bus to take a group of 24 of us to Ascot.  Thankfully Bianca (amazing Bianca we will refer to her as herein) had given in to my demands and leant us her membership to get in to the Royal Enclosure. It meant that I got to be Bianca for the day, and as a result I behaved, which makes for boring reading (I’d woken up with a sore throat so wasn’t quite feeling it). Basically we got dressed up, got drunk, saw the queen, watched a little bit of the horse races and finished up at a ripping after party in the Bird Cage at Royal Ascot. I chatted up the hottest guy in the room, of course he was an Aussie, but when it became clear that he was a  drunken liability and logistically it wasn’t going to work as I had to leave at 8:30pm for the 9:30 bus, I walked off on him. By 8:30pm we conjured up the crew and made a scattered dash for the 9:30pm bus which no one remembered where it was parked. so after cutting a lap around ascot, and then over the track itself, we all made the bus home… except my mate Tosh- the man with the largest scone in history was nowhere to be seen at departure time. His phone had also gone dead. The bus home was great except I had no voice,  so was remarkably and forcedly silent, and spent the journey home listening to everyone else tearing up some cracking Johnny Farnham tracks and any other song that someone remotely knew some words to. Upon our arrival back to Notting Hill Champion Hotel, with no ability to speak,  I called it a night. Apparently Tosh ended up back at the pub later on having boarded the wrong bus home. I’m honestly surprised they could accommodate his massive head haha.  

4)      Bloody Sunday.

I woke up Sunday feeling decidedly worse, illness wise, not hung-over however which made for a welcome change. I made it to brunch with my new friends, and tried out another of Fulham’s finest ‘Local Hero’, which serves GF bread, one of the other rarities in this country. Almost as rare as bins. I came home from brunch with the intention to have a quick turnaround and walk to the bike shop and trial bikes before Sunday arv drinks. But when I got home I was so tired, and felt like crap still so had a lie down. I woke up from a slight slumber and went downstairs to the kitchen to a proud Sammy (one of the ferals) ushing me outside. OH MY GAWD. The feral Sam, had mauled the neighbours cat to death and it was lying lifeless in the courtyard. Unable to cope I ran out of the kitchen locking the door behind me, and went to Gia’s house in disgust. I concurrently messaged my housemate Tony explaining I was not coping and it needed to be dealt with asap. He asked if I could go home and lock the back door and throw something over the cat until he got home later than night… I abruptly declined and instead joined the ladies at the pub after I’d had a bike test ride. Strangely the dead feline in my yard didn't make me lose my appetite. As soon as Antony had cleared the reminisce of the creature, I made dinner. Apparently the neighbour was shocked but coped fine with the loss of his pet. I, still not coping, have commenced looking for another place to live. Without stupid staffy’s… and no Dalmatians either.