tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52296972024-03-14T13:19:41.737-04:00All over the placeThrilling true tales of travel and misadventure.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.comBlogger236125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-62504300863090095962010-09-28T06:17:00.002-04:002010-09-28T06:24:31.048-04:00Tour guide vs. Tourist: The ultimate face-off
“You’re too loud!” A man’s nylon-enshrouded arm waved for my attention, for everyone’s attention. He looked miserable.
He sat among rows of over-prepared tourists, all wearing shoes so sensible they had no place in London. Some were shod with hiking boots. Others with bulbous white trainers, the sort resembling miniature cruise liners on each foot,Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-52322978762923228442010-09-09T04:43:00.001-04:002010-09-09T04:44:22.633-04:00Wild England
I’ll admit I was expecting some trees. Camping would be the perfect break from the cacophony of London, I needed – respite from the queues, the cost and the constant threat of pickpockets and train delays.
For the peace of the countryside, I was willing to incur a few itchy welts and fall slack with my hygiene. From my tent in the shadow of the trees, I would mistake the sound ofBethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-60406921009452175792010-04-13T06:13:00.016-04:002010-04-15T05:25:32.923-04:00The Sacrificial Lime"THIS is the way to cut a lime," condescended the bar owner, eyeing me with one brow lowered for dramatic affect. His manicured fingers held the tiny off-season fruit to the cutting board where it awaited slaughter, while I played along to avoid my own. His fingers were clustered together, precariously balanced, like a trained elephant on a circus ball. Then he confiscated my Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-39053509790571733972010-03-22T07:38:00.005-04:002010-03-22T07:48:37.091-04:00I, hypocriteIn precisely seven days, I will commit the most hypocritical act of my lifetime. Only my short stint as a member of a Pentecostal youth cult, or as a groupie with my CK model boy toy and his reality TV friends one hot New York summer, can begin to compare. And if the outcomes of those little episodes are any indication of how this latest hypocrisy will go, it won’t be long before I’m Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-3346147028334833122010-03-08T06:48:00.006-05:002010-03-08T07:01:45.933-05:00Sweeter than othersStill half asleep, I’d never have made it to the fridge if not for being so hungry I’d dreamt of barbecuing the cat. I’ve been working long hours, and more specifically, all the hours that stores selling food are open, so groceries have been left up to my boyfriend and otherwise spectacular life partner. While our friend Sam describes him as having ‘the palate of a Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-13594288688116862592010-03-02T08:58:00.006-05:002010-03-02T09:13:32.717-05:00Wish you were hereThis morning in London, I leaned back in my patio chair, facing the sun with my eyes closed, rolled my pyjama pants up to my knees and let myself pretend I was in Montreal in springtime. The sound of traffic drove me closer, because the last home I had in Montreal was on Avenue du Parc, a main thoroughfare just barely north of the city’s answer for Central Park, and by the Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-148989641404623372010-02-16T10:40:00.004-05:002010-02-16T11:59:41.874-05:00Sweet and unsavouryI'm in an abusive relationship. Maybe it's because she keeps give-give-giving and I keep take-take-taking and running off to other people, or it could be something else entirely, but her hatred for me is as well seasoned and pungent as her award-winning cooking. Whatever it is, I'm willing to put up with it for the money.When I applied for the job, I thought I'd be bartending Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-48268555860525007732010-02-10T07:12:00.018-05:002010-02-10T10:21:20.878-05:00New year, new career and 40 virginsI should have known something was up when I got an immediate call-back. Job hunting just hasn't been that easy in London.Until now, call-backs only ever came for jobs typically set aside for immigrants like me, read: pubs, call-centres and fundraising schemes. Or there'd be some catch. Like the Z-list celebrity entrepreneur who hired me as a Marketing Assistant,Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-14868310678348385292010-01-29T07:33:00.003-05:002010-01-29T08:04:45.905-05:00Where have I been?Not in London, that's for sure. But I'm back now. And how do I know that? By the black goo in my nostrils, of course.This is home. Nova Scotia, Canada. The air's pretty clear out there.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-41434831368529065242010-01-05T13:26:00.011-05:002010-01-12T23:06:37.847-05:00Babes in PublandAlthough the novelty of working at a traditional English boozer hadn’t yet worn off, it was still nice to spruce things up a little for the holiday season. Nothing about the pub but the staff had changed according to one octogenarian, for at least the forty years since he’d last stopped in for a cheeky pint, and I’m sure that’s true. The woodwork is dark and sturdy, the floorBethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-77650197575534047772009-11-25T05:28:00.011-05:002009-11-25T09:54:23.578-05:00What I need is you"You need me," my boyfriend said, pressing his hand against my back, keeping me close. I'd just jumped at him for a quick hug, and it was nice that he took time to savour it. I smiled.He knows it's true. And I liked his confidence."You need me," he repeated. And after only a short pause, said it again, "You need me."It was getting weird. But what the hell, I played along."OK, I Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-34635014371038674232009-11-14T13:47:00.007-05:002009-11-14T14:32:40.158-05:00Before I got lucky in LondonIt was a short, regrettable fling – one of the last, and it may have otherwise been among the most forgettable, had my suitor not resorted to theft to gain my attention, if not my affection. Lasting only a few days of vegan lunches, soy lattes and his nervous mannerisms, even in its genesis, I knew the deal could never quite be sealed with more than a hops-sloppy Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-45366694914215397932009-10-11T09:19:00.012-04:002009-10-12T05:57:07.070-04:00Interview for a cold day in ... LondonYou might know him as the co-owner of a trendy London bowling alley chain, or the man behind a popular Notting Hill club, but he’s more than that to me – he’s the guy who wants a naked personal assistant. And he's hiring."First, I want you to understand; it's nothing sexual," he said ten minutes into the interview.Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he lowered Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-65811149755649057912009-10-01T05:31:00.006-04:002009-10-01T07:35:44.404-04:00One sad way to lose a job If you know London, you know The City refers to the financial district – the new-money hub, the once sparkling centre rife with slick suits, the testosterone traders, the bankers – City Boys. Or so I hear.By the time I came to England, the credit crunch was in full bloom. My boyfriend took a redundancy package not long after my arrival, and my dreams of jump-starting my Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-19175599547587834022009-09-28T06:58:00.012-04:002009-09-28T07:15:55.144-04:00Chugging in Chelmsford Note: Even if you don't make it all the way through this post, it's worth scrolling down to see the picture.There's a lot ironic about being run out of town by police from a place like Chelmsford.Partially because it’s apparently being done to protect townspeople from charities; in a big way because I had a legal right to be there for my job; and, even more so because Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-65562167865300306952009-09-11T03:21:00.009-04:002009-09-12T03:46:35.364-04:00Say it to my face, but make it quickThere are two kinds of clipboards. The kind my boyfriend likes using to interview celebrities and festival goers, which attract 5-minute fame-seekers like free money, and the kind I've been issued for my new temporary job, which makes even grown men jump into traffic-heavy streets to avoid me.That's the power I wield.Since I have to work a student job for Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-10589162443081046712009-08-29T03:52:00.026-04:002009-08-30T06:28:34.259-04:00London callingI went for an interview at a call-centre.I know. I know.But when the going gets tough, the tough'll do anything to stay afloat. That's what I tell myself. And being a foreigner and a job-seeker in the midst of credit crunch hysteria – melancholy so severe and so adored by Londoners that advertisers city-wide use it for rhymes and puns – I can't even splurge for the discounted 'Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-27487410211600712982009-08-24T17:56:00.021-04:002009-08-26T18:22:55.209-04:00Evil within, more evil withoutMornings like tomorrow's, I need to start with coffee. The really strong stuff. The kind that gives me the shakes after a single cup, to rattle yesterday's London out of my head and prep me for a grand new adventure – even if it's not really grand. Or an adventure. Even if it's a group interview for a demoralising temporary job I swore I'd never ever do. Especially Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-22013372743532042872009-08-20T03:03:00.012-04:002009-08-20T09:08:26.876-04:00London and/or bustI'm living in a privileged state of poverty. Somehow despite chronic joblessness – since my ill-fated stint as a D-list TV show host / life coach's assistant (read: fall girl) – I'm still living in one of the nicest neighbourhoods in London, in a house with a sunny garden, thanks to a sweet couple I met one year ago today.While I'm choosing rice over roasts and eggs over chickenBethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-42497887423942774082009-08-14T03:13:00.010-04:002009-08-14T04:37:58.185-04:00Motivation from the trenchesThere's nothing quite so motivating as looking a call centre job dead in the receiver. Motivating, I mean, to find something else. Anything else. Anything but that. And there's nothing quite so ironic as the motivational introductory speech they give you at the outset."Here, we work hard and party even harder!" The recruiter's lavender eye shadow and the bright blue Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-44392894521100410172009-08-09T09:37:00.011-04:002009-08-09T18:46:10.730-04:00The Heathrow EffectThe Heathrow Effect is apparently the name for what's happening to me. Not the standard 60-day vortex of depression newcomers suffer as a rite of passage, but rather the fatty buffer that seems to be forming between my belly and the rest of London.In a way I'm grateful. I'll need the reserve to live on when my bank account runs dry.I'd previously thought the extra luggage had Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-7608814391718928562009-08-04T06:14:00.009-04:002009-08-04T19:33:17.506-04:00London, in a nose-holeDuring my first four months in London, I only had work for five weeks. And since London ranks among the most expensive cities on the planet, if you do the math, whatever else you do, don't share your findings with me. If that burning turmoil in my torso is agitated any further I might just auction a few organs before they're ruined.Anyway after a month-long respite in CanadaBethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-33931676494639087112009-07-22T15:20:00.007-04:002009-07-22T15:41:35.031-04:00Bluenosing aroundI've been visiting my Nova Scotian hometown for the past few weeks, trying to find myself. Since I'm still busy looking, I haven't yet updated on the goings on here on Canada's sweet, albeit misty North Atlantic Coast. Most has to do with whales, lakes and wondering how everyone from my graduating class in high school has managed to get married and pop out a few kids already.If Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-3316056831279275052009-06-28T10:01:00.003-04:002009-06-28T10:11:34.986-04:00Chipstick itAs a Canadian living in England, it's confusing enough for me to have to call fries chips, and chips crisps, but to make chips that look like fries, or rather crisps that look like chips, or chip-crisps and call them chipsticks?England, you mess with my head.If you are what you eat, I'm an identity crisis.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5229697.post-44682986279211619542009-06-25T04:21:00.020-04:002009-06-25T07:21:24.519-04:00Greasy breakfast = Modern romance"It's brilliant," my boyfriend said with the kind of enthusiasm he usually reserves for sweets. "We really, really have to get some."The opportunist in me agreed wholeheartedly. If he was that excited about buying a Lush massage bar, I'd be a fool to dissuade him. But then he went on."This massage oil really is just so nice," he said, sniffing each tester in the Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09200637574190702393noreply@blogger.com10