Cinderella (kind of).

So, this week I have started my life as a Housekeeper. I have agreed to be Cinderella in exchange for living rent free and being taxi-ed around when I need it. A fair deal I think, especially considering that I'm...probably inadequate anyway. Sure I did clean the bathroom with a toothbrush yesterday, but today I sat and read Harry Potter as Mum vacuumed around me. And I got a cup of tea in bed this morning.
Thanks Mummy!
In my defence, I made the tea yesterday. However, that may be her one and only treat...I'm not getting up before her once she's back at work and getting up before 7. I'm an artist daaaarling...that would be ridiculous.
I do think I'm doing pretty well with the cooking. I actually made food for the grandparents and an aunt yesterday. Salmon. Then I wrote a fairytale about a salmon. All in all it was a successful and creative day. And the family thought the salmon were delicious and entertaining respectively. They may have been just saying that to make me feel better, but I chose to believe them.
I'm enjoying the cooking. I mainly have my friend Sam to thank for the few recipes I've mastered. Once this limited repertoire runs out (in about 2 days) the experimenting begins. I've been watching Lunch With Gino and Mel this week in preparation. That Gino...he makes everything look so easy, even when he does set fire to the kitchen cloth.
I set fire to stuff too though: the microwave once, when I was heating up pancakes. My lesson from that was to not read whilst preparing food. Its too distracting. It is difficult when Harry is mid-duel with You-Know-Who.
The microwave incident was a long time ago though. Recently I'm much more likely to get bored halfway through the cooking process and serve semi-raw potatoes. Or as I insist: al dente. This is OK when you are only cooking for yourself but I cannot serve my family raw potatoes. Again. This is cosy, middle-class Wales, not Communist Russia.
However I have 2 months and I'm determined to perfect this art. Maybe I'll start taking pictures of my food and this can be a food blog.
...NAH!

The world is my oyster.

And so I begin my first blog away from the constant buzz of London and I would like to write about...TFL.
Did I ever mention how sterling an organisation I find it? No? Well, now I'm saying it. Sterling.
One doesn't appreciate it enough when one has been waiting for a bus for 6 minutes and then when it comes, you have to stand. Damn that cost me £1.35.
Having waited in the rain for 20 minutes the other day for a bus that should have come in half the time, and having paid £1.70 on the only not broken ticket machine for the privilege, I yearn for the days of the 6 minute wait being about the maximum. Oh Boris, how I miss you...
True, this bus was not so crowded...but that's only because the service was so appalling it just wasn't worth it. I just can't drive so i'm stuck with it. Boo.
But, this was in Chester, a metropolis of public transport compared with the one solitary bus that passes through my village every couple of hours. Now I'm really going to have to time this carefully. Or sweet talk my parents into becoming a personal taxi service. I'm sure they will. They loved it when I was 15.
I have yet to decide where I need to go though. I am so far unemployed (a state I'm rather enjoying) and generally undecided about who might give me a job for 2 or 3 days a week for 2 months with preferably no weekends. Hmm... is it ok to sign on so I can save for travels? It doesn't seem quite right somehow. And I really don't know how I would get to the job centre anyway. The bus remember...
And don't feel sorry for me but I am so far friendless (probably because I have been confined to the house by copious amounts of unpacking and healthy supplies of both cheese and cake) so I have absolutely no reason to need public transport anyway.
Which is what brings me to this blog. Nostalgia for the ability to not even notice how much the bus costs because of the magic wand that is an oyster card. The freedom that comes with having a choice not to run for the bus and take one in 2 minutes. Or having a choice of routes. Or having someone to meet at the other end, or a museum to go to, or an Urban Outfitters...alas...
OK, I'm exaggerating a little. I've been here less than a week so my withdrawal symptoms are at their peak. I do not miss being at armpit height on a crowded tube. There.
And actually I've been a lot more productive than I've been for a long time. The time I used to spend on the tube I'm now devoting to perfecting Moon River on the ukulele (I want to be Holly Golightly). And today I re-ignited my love of The Sound of Music. I'm uplifted and ready to climb every mountain, ford every stream...I will have to, if I continue to procrastinate this much I'll miss my bus. Walking up a mountain might be the only way.

Can someone help me please?!

This week I'm faced with the appalling task of packing.
Crap.
Just so you know, I struggle with this at the best of times. Every time I leave the house I spend slightly longer than necessary deliberating what to take with me (it might rain at any time you know!); I regularly overpack when I go away; or forget something crucial like my toothbrush or pyjamas.
These problems are less of an issue this time though because I have to pack EVERYTHING. That is seven years of...stuff...into one car. How did I do this before? It feels like an impossible challenge.
I think the key will be a sudden charitable spirit. I with have to ruthlessly give away all of those things I don't use but hang onto "just in case."
But i neeeeeeeed it all. The incense set you never use? Yes, I fancy a fragrant bath experience when I get home. The old videos? Yes! Good Will Hunting is a classic. The broken bike? Isadora is merely sick and I will nurse her back to health for some glorious country cycling.
You see?
And then once I have crammed my life into a combination of suitcases, cardboard boxes and bin bags I'll have to then unpack. Which is worse. Much worse. Because the thing is, at my parents house, where I am temporarily a lodger/squatter I have even more stuff. Where am I supposed to fit all my clothes, books, sewing machine, tool kit etc when the wardrobe is full of purple Lycra catsuits, tutus, and boxes of old school books? And a million teddy bears, most of whom I have forgotten the names of but can't bear to send away. They'll be so sad. I've seen Toy Story.
What I suspect will happen here is that I will just transfer a lot of stuff to the attic. Don't tell the parents. They'll just get a pleasant surprise when they get the Christmas tree out in December and find my life in the way.
But I'll be far away by then...MWAHAHAHA!
Alternatively I'll become resident interior designer and rearrange the whole house to make a space for myself. Thus far, I have not really looked into potential employment so I may as well add this to my current list of things to do: learn to cook; learn to run; clean; write a book of fairytales. Re-decorate. Lovely.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I don't even have any cardboard boxes yet. All I've done is look about me in dismay and wail: "Can someone help me please?!" and then immediately leave the room and concentrate on diminishing my food stocks one potato at a time. In my head this is productive.
Maybe I'll wait until my Dad comes to my assistance. Or maybe I'll invite various friends over to talk to me while I agonise over whether I will ever wear that bright green flowery halter neck again.
Expect a call friends. I need you.

Olympic Spirit

I am simply so excited. For someone who never shows any interest in sport, for two weeks every four years I am fascinated by them all. Truly I can barely tear myself away. So much so that this blog has taken a lot longer to write than it should have.
Not only am I hooked by the normal sports I'm also suddenly quite knowledgeable about Dressage, Archery, Fencing. How cool would it be to be on the fencing team and feel like one of the three musketeers? Very. As it is I have to be content to just cheer on the talented members of the nation from my sofa, and plan to join a club so I can make my hugely successful debut at Rio 2016.
And we are doing SO well. To be appropriately cliche: Go Team GB!! For such a tiny island we got some great people, no? Not least, Jess Ennis, who is amazing. Heptathlon is a crazy event as well. Look at a hurdler, then at a shot put thrower and they are not similar breeds, and here are these people who can do it all, and put us all to shame with their washboard stomachs. Jealous much?
Actually no. Just massively proud, as if I personally contributed to this incredible sports person's victory. I think a lot of people feel the same. Because we love her. Fact.
And then even more gold medals on the same night thanks to Rutherford and Farah. Whoop for us. Outstanding GB, outstanding.
As you can tell from my last blog, I have been watching a lot of cycling and was truly devastated when Cav didn't get a look in medal-wise. Poor tactics I guess, but he should have won.
And this is what I really love about the Olympics: that as a nation we jump to our feet and scream all together in both glory and disappointment.
I don't care how much everyone complained about it before, about inevitable transport failure (which hadn't happened), crazy busy London (which hasn't happened) etc. As soon as all those volunteers started dancing around the maypole at the opening ceremony, we were all hooked, proud and behind London 2012 all the way. Do not try to deny it. You'd be lying to yourself.
People are so happy, on the first day I made several new friends including Dennis and Jackie who were out to soak up the atmosphere and basically have a chat. That's great, huh? This Olympic spirit makes everyone so friendly. And all the tourists are so excited to be here. London is like the host of a massive party. Yes, it was a bit stressful to organise but now it's in full swing we're having a whale of a time. Let's do this every Olympics!
And still a week to look forward to. Usain is coming to win again. Now there's someone that transcends country loyalty. I always want him so win. To be superman for 9 seconds. And what a nice man!
And Dai Greene who I support especially, him being a friend of my brother in law. Go on boy! Bad rehearsal, good show, that's the way it is.
For now, tennis, where if Murray continues in this vain he will win at Wimbledon against the man who just stopped him a couple of weeks ago. Fingers crossed.
God bless the home crowd. I wish I was there, somewhere, to share that adrenalin. Still time. That failing, I'm booking my flight to South America for four years time.
So that's it. I'm off to indulge my temporary passion and eat a biscuit while I watch some super fit people running around. Ah the ironies of being a sport fan...