Ex pat life

I have survived my first week as an ex-pat, and you’ll never guess what? I bloody love it (although this may be subject to change).

Gibraltar is a far simpler place to live and work than the UK. It is also significantly warmer.
Gib also has something the UK will never have. A channel called Gibraltar Broadcasting Corporation (GBC) which is perhaps the most wonderful thing I have seen in my entire life. I think it deserves a post of its own another time.

People say that living in Gib is similar to the eighties and it is so true, right down to the dogshit! I am a bit worried about what am going to do with all my trendy London gear. I could easily end up looking like am on my way to a fancy dress party. I don’t think Gib is ready for my jumpsuits yet. I don’t think they have had jumpsuits the first time around yet. I would go a little further and say it is a bit like an 80s sitcom, but that is based almost solely on a morning spent in the Gibraltar tax office. I’m upholding this by watching re-runs of Last of the Summer Wine on UKGold. And wouldn’t you bloody know it, the episode where Compo rolls down a hill in a bath was on over the weekend! Last of the Summer Wine is ACE, why did no one tell me? I am digging the eighties and will be going out to buy a spectrum and a lolo ball at some point this week.

Most excitingly of all, I have found a venue for Gibraltar’s first comedy club, and may well be coming out of retirement soon! Watch this space for more info.

Still have not been to see the monkeys, but like I said, don’t want to wear the place out.

Overall I am having a ball and am not missing London one little bit. I miss people but not London. Cut to 11am tomorrow when I am screaming “Get me off this ridiculous bloody rock and back to civilisation”!

Gib Gib hooray

Hello from sunny Gibraltar. I have arrived in one piece and have not run home in tears yet. For those what are interested, here are some pics of my flat. It is very cool.

I have been out and about investigating my new home. Have not seen any monkeys yet but I didn’t want to wear the place out on the first day.

I’ve learned that Gibraltar does not seem to sell books. You can’t buy them. Maybe they fear reading, I don’t know. But anyone coming to visit must buy me books. Which is amusing in itself as I am not allowed to borrow my friend’s books because of my book religion, Book Flux. I believe that you cannot really own books, you read them and then they move on. Once a book is read it becomes valueless and you must give it to someone else. So when I finish books I give them away or leave them on trains or similar. This can be very annoying to people whose books you have borrowed, especially if they do not believe in marrying the twin disciplines of eastern philosophy and book ownership.

So now Hotel Green is only open to visitors who bring me a gift of a book and agree that I may throw it in the sea when I’ve read it if I wish to do so.

Gibraltar also has those enormous sea gulls that I call Seagles in my head. Pronounced to rhyme with eagle.

So, Seagles and no books. That is pretty much it for now!

The power of perspective

Here is a picture of me with my adorable Godcat, Tweets. For once she decided to forgo her “I am not a lap cat” mindset and sit beside me and be fussed before getting back to her extremely busy schedule of savaging toy mice and relaxing in the airing cupboard.

You might also notice that the angle the photo is taken from makes it look like I have massive legs and a tiny little pin head. But of course if you know me you will know I have ordinary legs and a normal sized head.

Tweets is demonstrating the power of perspective here. What might seem distorted and wrong may seem utterly normal from another angle. So there is something for you all to think on.

Green
X

A dog name is for life...

The weather at lunchtime was crisp and dry like a popular 80s cooking oil, so I went for a walk into the village where I work. Outside the local store, I spotted a lady talking to her dog before she popped in to buy a weekly paper, or some date expired dairylea slices*. Now I am not exactly on the Crufts judging panel here, but it was some kind of reddy chocolatey labrador blend. You get the idea.

"There there Skippy, you just wait there," she said.

I then puzzled all the way back to the office as to whether Skippy was an appropriate name for a dog. Bush kangaroo, yes. Dog, hmm. Not convinced.

But then, to my mind, dogs should get simple nouns for names, like Banana or Fondue. If we give them human names, we let them think they are like us. And they should know their place.

Though nothing puts you more in your place than picking up Banana's poo in a Tesco carrier bag.

*I did get £5 in vouchers and a "sorry" letter where they spelt my name wrong.

PS wasn't really worth waiting 5 months for was it, but seeing as there's two names on this blog...

Spooooky Halloween

Hello Biscuit Fan. Or should I say, Hi Becky.

This weekend was Halloween and the London Branch of Biscuits for Girls celebrated in style. Organised by the Queen of Halloween herself, Sarah, we embarked on a zombie pub crawl that kicked the arse of all other zombie pub crawls. Except for me, cause I was dressed as She Ra. I didn’t want to be a zombie but I did want to be She Ra. There I was, kitted out in a She Ra costume that was very revealing and a little chilly, so I was rather jealous of all the nice warm zombies. Add in Charlotte’s white platform boots from her slappier student days and Hey Presto, six foot two inch She Ra is ready to conquer the town. I got a round of applause in the first pub when I took my coat off from the very much non dressed up locals. Thank goodness for Hollywood Tape!

We seemed to be the only people doing Halloween in Dulwich, but we weren’t discouraged. And after Sarah’s skilful application of zombie make up we shuffled, lurched and tottered carefully in our platforms to the drinking holes of South East London. All the time calling for Braaaaiiiiiinnnss

Some Highlights.

1) Zombie Rob being unable to see properly with his contacts in
2) Dean getting a bit “method” with his Zombie acting and terrorising a woman in a parked car by clawing at the window. We all agreed it was the funniest thing ever.
3) A loud and drawn out conversation about the under-representation of nonces in Hollywood films.
4) Lurching, shuffling and tottering across the road in front of a bus that had to stop for us, while being waved across the road by a devil.
5) Rob biting a stranger’s head. Apparently he was only going to go for his throat, but his natural sense of showmanship took over. The bloke loved it too.

A good time had by all, and it would have been even better if someone who was there in spirit could have been there in the flesh! A someone who would have absolutely loved the make up, shuffling, head biting and tarty She Ra outfit. All Hallows to absent friends.

Check out the pics on Flickr

Body off Baywatch, face off Crimewatch

As is our way, my brother and I settled down to watch Crimewatch the other night, and set about our hobby of threatening to ring the hotline and implicate each other for the most heinous of crimes.

While doing this we noticed something rather sinister about the presenters. Not the standard presenters, the delicious Rav and that woman who isn’t Fiona Bruce but may as well be. But there is a C student of Crimewatch. Those who present the in between sections and the reconstructions are all wrong uns of the highest order. Honestly they were worse than thec riminals some of them. I’ve been doing extensive searching on Google and I can’t find the names or photos of any of them.

Now I’m wondering if perhaps if you commit a crime and get community service, you can do community service presenting Crimewatch.

Wishing on a star

Last night as I made my way through the world I saw a shooting star. Unusual in inner London, but you tend to get more of them around the end of October and the beginning of November. Often accompanied by a high pitched whistle.

So anyway I saw my shooting star and like any sensible person, I made a wish. I’m not convinced that such wishes will come true but it seemed foolish to potentially look a gift horse in the mouth. As an aside, does anyone know where that expression comes from? Can you tell me if you do? Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.

Anyway. There I am wishing away and I got to wondering, how so many things are associated with making wishes and yet so few wishes come true. Birthday candles, eyelashes, stars and so forth. And yet the only time I have made wishes come true it has had bugger all to do with eyelashes and everything to do with sheer bloody mindedness.

If the eyelash thing worked I’d have about twenty five ponies by now. And I’d be at the stage where I would have to start wishing for fields and hay.

Some of the wishes I’ve made this week have included “I wish I had some bacon,” “I wish I didn’t just put my hand in the toaster,” and “I wish I hadn’t drunk all the wine in the world last night.” None of which were last night’s wish, but now I do wish I’d wished for bacon. Bacon might not be achievable for this morning (until I invent time travel!) but it sure is available in the future... so do wishes depend on time? I wish I knew!