Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride

It was Saturday afternoon. Having made the journey back from Surrey to Essex for one of my favourite occasions of the year, I was on Chelmsford High Street buying popcorn when my phone vibrated. A text from dad: Just buying popcorn for tonight. Sweet or salted? 

This could mean only one thing: it was X Factor Final weekend.  

Which, in turn, means that there are only three weeks left of the year. 

In just three weeks, 2012 will be over and we will be catapulted into 2013. 

I can't wait. 

2012 has been exciting, dramatic, funny, embarrassing, frustrating, boring, devastating, heart-breaking, painful and unforgettable. 

It has been the most challenging year of my life: it's one that I will never forget but one that I am also delighted to be leaving. 

Now I understand that the most challenging year of my life might be the dream for another person; and I promise that this post is not going to be a pity party. 

It's quite famously said that the difficult times are what make you: they test you, drain you, teach you, and leave you ready to take on the world as a stronger, wiser person. 

I'm not sure that I totally believe that. Genuine tragedies don't make people; they break them. 

But in my case I think it may be true. Maybe the changes that this year has made to my view of the world and the people in it are going to serve me well throughout my life. Maybe they will help me make decisions, help me to accept certain inevitable truths and leave me more prepared for whatever else life may decide to throw at me. 

So as we near the end of 2012 I began thinking about what this roller coaster (I thought I'd continue with the X Factor theme) year has taught me...

1. That I have amazing friends around me. 

There's a famous saying that when trouble strikes 'you know who your friends are.' I always understood this to mean that the friends who are there for you during the difficult times as well as the good times are the real ones: the ones you can really trust. Those who bolt during the bad times are no good. 

I always knew who my friends were: and I was right. There was a time this year when my bedroom looked like an over-stocked florist. The room was filled with cards, vases of flowers, boxes of chocolates, ornaments with life-affirming messages on them....

Minnie Mouse, Cowgirl Jessie, Pumba and Jiminy Cricket made absolutely certain that I knew that despite the fact that I was living in a different country with a different language (read my posts on Ireland from January and March for more details on that)- they were always there for me. Cowgirl Jessie even made the journey over to the Emerald Isle and was putting a smile on my tear-stained little face quicker than you can say 'Yeehah!'

But what I learnt this year was that the circle of trust around me is far bigger than I originally thought. 

Firstly, I got an email from Daisy Duck. Now if the situation was reversed, and Daisy Duck had been having a difficult time, I am ashamed to say that I don't think that I would have got in touch. I would have worried that she would think I was merely being nosy and didn't really have her best interest at heart. 

Her email made me happier than I'm sure she will ever know. She worded it in a way that told me that she genuinely cared. She offered herself as somebody to talk to if I needed to, and nobody was more surprised than I was when I took her up on it. I poured my heart out to her and she responded in a way that told me that I was normal, and that everything would be okay again.

Hearing that from somebody outside of my normal circle of trust was surprisingly reassuring.

I then got a similar offer from Mary Poppins- who had known me for around four months at the time- which I also accepted. Mary Poppins made me laugh until I cried. I laughed the most I think I've ever laughed in one sitting. What an amazing person: to offer to comfort somebody she barely knew, and to do it so well. Turns out she really is practically perfect in every way. 

Then my Fairy Godmother revealed herself. I had been living with her as an employee for around four months when she came home and made the mistake of asking how I was; prompting a waterfall of tears and a messy barrage of words attempting to explain what had caused them. She listened. She listened to everything I said without judgement or interruptions. (I should point out now that this was during lent when I had given up chocolate: something that made the whole thing ten times worse I assure you.) Having finished listening, she hugged me and told her own stories to reassure me, like Daisy Duck, that I was normal and that I would get through this. She then walked out to her car, and brought back in with her a huge box of Thornton's chocolates: I think you should eat these pet. There's nothing else making you happy right now: give in. 

My Fairy Godmother was my boss. I have since lived with bosses who have treated me like the staff member I am. She treated me like her baby sister and I know that I could turn to her with a problem now and she would listen. 

These are just examples of some of the wonderful people who listened to me and provided me with copious amounts of chocolate and, once I was diagnosed as allergic to chocolate (thanks 2012), with endless sweets, hugs and words of reassurance that everything would get better. 

2. That everything would be a million times worse if I was an only child. 

My brothers have the ability (and the cheek) to turn everything into a joke and turn even the heaviest heart into a feather. The best example of this that I can think of is the time (six years ago now) that I failed my...well let's just say it wasn't my first driving test...

Everyone was full of sympathy. I got hugs and sorry frowns, and little shoulder rubs and reassuring 'you'll definitely do it next time' messages. 

Except Mowgli. 

From Mowgli I got: 'You failed again?! Bloody hell that's got to be a record hasn't it?' paired with a sly grin and a cheeky glint in his eye. 

At this point, that was exactly what I needed. 

Obviously six years ago I did appreciate that my brothers make me laugh in a way that nobody else can; but until this year I hadn't realised just how much harder everything would be without them. The three of us find things funny that nobody else ever would. We remember things that nobody else can remember, are honest in a way that would be rude from anyone else, and most of all: understand our parents in a way that can never be explained. 

3. That nothing is forever. 

Obviously I've been told this before and somewhere in my consciousness I'm sure that I was aware of this fact. But if somebody had told me this time last year that I would leave the job that I loved in Ireland to move to Greece on my own and work for a con company doing a job that I didn't sign up for, eating in the most foul-smelling room in existence and being treated like I'd murdered somebody when I was sick I would have been terrified. 

In reality I handled the whole thing relatively calmly; safe in the knowledge that nobody is ever alone: people are surprisingly kind to strangers- and even if there are no other people around- Skype means that I will never be without a little bit of home. 

I also found that my experience in Greece left me with a lot of positives: I met some wonderful friends, gained a lot of new skills for work in the entertainment industry, learnt a lot about myself and got myself a gorgeous tan that lasted almost the whole summer.

This has changed the way that I will make decisions forever; and is perhaps the reason that I'm probably less nervous about the big move to Florida than I should be. 

Those of you that have read my June post will know that one of the things that I discovered about myself whilst I was in Greece is how proud I am to be British. 2012 has been an amazing year to be British; mainly because of...

1. The Queen's Diamond Jubilee. 

Did we celebrate it by having a few too many at the pub and beating each other up? No. By shouting like football hooligans and causing riots? No. By getting tattoos of Her Majesty on our upper arms or lower backs? Not in my house anyway....

No, we didn't. Because the fact is- despite what pessimists, British expats and the occasional Italian might think- British people as a nation are not drunken hooligans. An occasion like the Queen's Jubilee highlights this by drawing the media's attention away from the few idiots that ruin our reputation, and towards the majority. 

We decorated our houses with pride, made cupcakes, attended pub quizzes, had street parties, drank tea, enjoyed a second Royal Variety Show organised by Gary Barlow, (finally) learnt the words to the National Anthem and explained what the whole thing meant with delight to our children. 

At the time of the jubilee I was working in France and then the Isle Of Wight and every child that I met had an impressive knowledge of the Royal Family. One group of children managed to sing the whole National Anthem with the word 'Queen' replaced by 'Dean' to cheer on their mate on the Aeroball. That might just have been my favourite moment of the whole year, actually. 

2. The Olympics. 

I should probably admit that actually, as wonderful as I think the British are, the hooligans that I spent the Opening Ceremony with did get ridiculously drunk and slur the wrong words to the National Anthem like football yobs at 2 in the morning (Peter Pan, Flynn Ryder, Lumiere and Cowboy Woody- I'm looking at you). 

But the ceremony itself was something that even the most pessimistic expat must have been impressed by. 

My favourite moment of the ceremony was the moment that Rowan Atkinson appeared on our screens. Only minutes before Peter Pan had drunkenly joked: 'the only thing missing is Mr Bean!'. Priceless. 

My proudest moment, of course, was the moment around an hour before the ceremony started. The moment that one of the most beautiful people I know, Gabriella Montez, text me to let me know how excited she was to be appearing in the opening ceremony. 

Now I was in France for the duration of the Olympics which meant that, sadly, my viewing was limited to Volleyball and Cycling. But, having now spent three months back in the UK I can see, as I am sure that you can, what a difference hosting the Olympics in London has made to Britain. British TV, magazines and radio shows are full of successful, hardworking sportsmen and women, children are taking a bigger interest in sport, young people have been inspired to get active and work hard, and less prominent sports like Javelin and Cycling are becoming more and more popular alongside the standard football and netball. 

In my opinion, holding the Olympics in London has changed the whole country in an endlessly positive way: something that we should be very proud of. 

3. James Arthur. 

No explanation needed. 

Choosing Britain's Best Moments of 2012 got me thinking about my own. This year I have been to some wonderful places, met some amazing people and laughed a lot. But I've managed to choose my six top moments of the year (aside from the God Save Our Gracious Dean moment that I've already mentioned)....

1. The two and a half minutes that C'est La Vie by B*Witched was playing in a club in Dublin on St. Patrick's Day night. At the time I thought: this is the best moment of my year so far. It still is. 

2. The time that Lumiere decided to cheer me up in her own unique way. She walked in on me crying about a personal drama. Did she hug me? Tell me everything was going to be okay? Not really her style. I looked up to find her mooning me in broad daylight. Biggest.Smile.Ever. 

3. The moment that my mum and I walked into our hotel room in Disneyland Paris. It was pouring with rain outside; we were freezing cold and dripping wet. The room was warm and bright and decorated so that you were made to feel like you were in one of the car hotels in...well, Cars. The attention to detail was unbelievable, and the feeling of excitement for the parks creeping into my tummy warmed me up more than the heaters in the room did. 

4. The two moments (that I'm taking as one brilliant moment) that I finished the videos that I made of my brothers' lives for their 18th and 21st birthdays. Blood, sweat and tears went into those videos and finishing them and finally seeing them as they would see them on their birthdays sent a proud little butterfly into my tummy. 

5. The moment that Steps sang Love's Got A Hold On My Heart at their reunion tour this year. I was 9 again for two and a half minutes and I loved every second. 

6. I know I said above that the best moment of the year was B*Witched. Actually, it was the second best. But the winner was so good that it's in a league of its own. 

That's right. The moment that I read the email. 

After reviewing your application and interview we are delighted to be the first to say

                                                               Congratulations

You have been offered a place on Disney’s Cultural Representative Program.

As the clock struck twelve on New Year's Day this year, a little voice in my head told me that this year had been sent to test me: that it was going to be difficult. 

Those of you who believe in The Law Of Attraction will tell me that I therefore brought it upon myself. Perhaps by believing it was going to be the most difficult year of my life: that's what it became. 

I hope that's true. 

Because right now I honestly believe that next year, 2013, the year that my dream comes true and I move to Walt Disney World, Florida; is going to be the most exciting, adventurous, magical and wonderful year so far. 

If this year was Thorpe Park's Saw, next year is going to be Lilo and Stitch's Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride.....

Stay tuned to find out...

:) 

The Climb

'All I Want For Christmas' was playing in the kitchen. The 20 month old girl that I am currently Nannying for, Boo, was in my arms, beaming as we spun around to the music until the room became a colourful blur. Unable to spin anymore, I lifted Boo high in the air then dropped her back down again. She presented me with a huge smile, showing me all of her tiny white teeth, and let out an adorable giggle.

At that moment it took everything I had not to grab my phone from the sideboard and speed dial the Irish Prince- telling him that Florida was off, my plans to live in Chile were off, and that instead I was going to spend the next year planning our wedding and decorating our house in gender neutral colours.

Luckily I was immediately flanked with images of the Irish Prince hopping on the next flight back to Dublin, my phone going crazy with lectures from my best friends and my parents generally losing it.

Between them they managed to stop me.

But as the week went on and I was being mistaken for Boo's mum more and more often (sometimes in quite awkward situations: one woman went on and on and on about how alike we looked and then asked which hospital I gave birth in: St. Barnabas if anyone asks), it dawned on me that it would be perfectly acceptable for me to have a baby.

I am not fourteen anymore. Plenty of my friends have children. Granted they have husbands and mortgages as well....

But the point is that it blows my mind that people look at me and don't think twice about me being Boo's mum. Or even about me owning the beautiful house that her parents have. This is an adult's house. I couldn't live here as a parent.

Yet I haven't met one person that doubts it.

So I spent the week daydreaming about where I'd like to live, what my children will look like and what they'll be called (actually those of you who know me well will know that I picked out names for my children when I was seven and they are yet to change). 

Then the weekend came.

I was sitting in Cafe Nero when a family of five came in; noisily interrupting me as I read my book, drank my coffee and ate my mince pie (all right Scrooges that's enough- I heard your minds ticking when I mentioned Mariah Carey at the beginning. Harrods have turned their Christmas lights on, shops have transformed into red and gold sparkles: t'is the season- accept it.).

My first, stupid, thought was- but it's Saturday.

It's my day off, children should be non-existent.

Then it dawned on me: mums have their children every day of the week.

Obviously I'm not stupid. I have always been aware that as a mother of young children you seldom get a break. I have heard all the jokes about it being nice to have them but nicer to hand them back.

But until now I had never really registered that they are always there. 

If I had a baby now I would no longer be able to eat properly, sleep properly, write for long periods of the day, dance six times a week or even check Facebook at regular intervals.

I shared this thought with Abigail Gabble, one of the mothers at the local toddler group, who replied:' Ooh yes, you have to be ready.'

I do understand her point. I would imagine that most people would like to be in a certain place in their lives before they have a baby.

But I also think that there is nothing that can totally prepare you.

Through my work I have seen plenty of wonderful parents, and through my Nanny positions I have got to know those parents well. Parents who are fantastic with their children and have taught me a lot about the kind of parent that I would like to be.

Parents who planned their babies, and chose to have them in their thirties and forties. Parents who have happily admitted to me that their lives, and even their own perspectives and priorities, have changed in a way that they could never have predicted.

Which begs the question...is anyone ever ready for a baby?

This got me thinking, and has so far led me to two revelations:

1. I am definitely not ready, and will probably not be ready for at least ten years. 

2. Parents are amazing. 

Obviously I have always thought that my parents are wonderful. But I have never previously registered how much my arrival will have changed their lives.


Have you ever really thought about it?

If, unlike me, you are not the oldest child in your family, perhaps the change wouldn't have been quite so prominent. But it certainly still would have been there.

I don't know what your thoughts are on parents.

Maybe you admire those women who manage to open shop doors and manoeuvre a double pushchair inside whilst chatting on the phone and grinning at the same time. Perhaps you've smiled at the sight of a father throwing his baby in the air and catching her as she giggles. Maybe you've seen a parent manage to calm their baby down, make them smile or eat their apple and thought: amazing. Maybe you never even think about parents or parenting. Perhaps when you're out you don't even notice the buggies

Whatever your thoughts are, I'd guess that it is probably quite rare that you look at the parent of a 23 year old and think: what a fantastic mother you are.

Once you pass the age of five it's hard to imagine that you were ever a baby. That your mum was ever the mum struggling with the buggy, calming you down, making you smile and force feeding you apple. That your dad ever threw you in the air and caught you to make you laugh (imagine him doing that right now, with you as you are: still makes you laugh doesn't it?), that he worked to make you sit down and eat your dinner in a civilised manner.

I don't know about you but I very rarely equate those parents with my own.

But once upon a time you kicked up a fuss about bedtime even though your mum had been caring for you since six and was exhausted. Not so long ago, you cried like the world was ending because there were carrots on your plate. Then you put them in your mouth and spat them on the floor. When you were younger, you insisted on watching television even though your mum was trying desperately to interest you in something more creative.

It's a mad thought: one that's hard to get your head around, I think.

These realisations then started me thinking about the ways that the arrival of children changes people, in particular women, forever...

1. Loss of bladder control. There was a time when your mum could manage a whole afternoon without a mad dash to find a toilet. Now she can barely manage the drive to Asda.

2. The new ability to discuss toilet habits with other women: including those never met before. Attending mother and toddler groups with Boo has been a learning curve for me: most people assume that Boo is mine and that I, therefore, have gone through The Changes listed here. The fact that I haven't leaves me feeling a bit like the only sober person at 3am on New Year's Day: as far as I'm concerned it's obvious that I'm the only sane one. But to everyone else, the exact reverse is true.
On my first ever trip to one of these groups I smiled at a lady as I walked in, and approached her, ready to introduce myself. Before I could produce my opening line, she produced hers: 'My eldest has got terrible constipation.' Nice to meet you too.

3. The diary: it's just as busy and just as necessary. But it moves from Monday lunches, Orange Wednesdays, Friday night dinners and Saturday night raves to toddler groups, playdates, after school clubs and Saturday afternoon parties. After that it's school discos and ferrying between friends and sports, until eventually the highlighted dates mean Home From Uni.

4. Loss of ability to sleep. My mum was up at 4am on Sunday morning, checking that my baby brother was tucked up and sleeping soundly. My baby brother is eighteen years old. She wanted to check he had got home from Southend safely. Seriously: once you have a baby, normal sleep is over. 

5. Exceptionally high expectations when it comes to manners. I once lived with a mum who worked in an office and had, embarrassingly, told a forty year old colleague to 'say thank you!' when given a chocolate.

6. The ability to just know. You've lost your headphones. You've looked everywhere. Yes, where you last had them. Yes, where you normally keep them. Yes where they might have fallen. In fact, you've got to that ridiculous point now where you're looking under the bath even though you've never taken them in the bathroom and never would. You call your mum, she walks in, lifts one jumper and finds them there.
How does she do that? 
It works with bigger things too. Before the Irish Prince, I had an Essex Knight. Well that's what I thought at the time anyway....
When we broke up, the Essex Knight and I were both devastated and fairly surprised that this is what it had come to. Only weeks before I had been telling Dory and Jasmine that I was sure we would get married. When I told my mum, I expected the shocked and appalled reaction of my best friends and brothers. Instead, she gave me a hug and told me that she had really liked my Essex Knight, but that she always knew that he wasn't The One.
The only other person to have that reaction was my Grandma.
They just know. 

7. General knowledge about everything. 
I don't know what to wear to the interview for a deliberately vague job description in a secret location with an unknown person. My mum does.

I don't know how to work the washing machine in the new house I'm working in. I stare at it. I play with it. I Google it. All to no avail. I call my mum: she knows. Over the phone. 

I don't know what to buy as a house warming gift for the couple that I've already bought three presents for in celebration of the engagement, wedding and baby. My mum comes up with the perfect gift: and the shop to buy it in. 

Sometimes I call my mum because I can't decide which country to move to next. Other times I call her because I'm getting myself in a state deciding which ice cream flavour to go for.

She always has the answer. 

8. Random and precise knowledge about the costs and deals in each individual supermarket.
As I was leaving last Tuesday's Mother and Toddler Group, I spotted a sign requesting that we bring in our own fruit for snack time. Unsure whether it applied to our group, I asked the nearest mother to me.
'Ooh yes,' she replied. 'I normally bring satsumas, because you know Sainsbury's have the cheapest satsumas, far cheaper than Asda or Tesco, and Sainsbury's is our nearest shop you see, so we always have hundreds of satsumas in our house! And of course at the minute there's that deal going on so we've got even more than usual! Satsumas coming out our ears at the minute, can't move for satsumas in our house...'

I won't lie. At this point I zoned out. The word 'satsuma' had begun to lose all meaning. But what I did notice while I was listening was that she seemed to presume that, as a fellow 'mum', I would know that Sainsbury's have the cheapest satsumas, and would know all about the current 'deal'. I don't. And I imagine that there is a far larger percentage of adults without children that are coping just fine without this information than those with.

My Nanny was almost world famous for this knowledge. You may even have heard of her. She could tell you within seconds the exact price of any product you named in any supermarket. The closest I've come to a talent like it in an individual without children is Alex the Pirate. But more about him another time.

9. The ability to multi-task to a ridiculous degree. On Sunday morning I lay on my mum's bed chatting to her for a while. I then returned to my bedroom to dry my hair and get dressed- that's all- and in that time she had hung up one load of washing and put the next on, cleaned the kitchen, emptied the dishwasher and washed the floors.

10. The ability to make everything better.
Last week I took Boo to the park. Whilst we were there she climbed to the top of a climbing frame that she then decided she could not get down from. Just before she became hysterical, I promptly lifted her from the climbing frame, spinning her around as I brought her to the floor, so that by the time her feet were on the ground she had totally forgotten what she had been upset about.
At that moment I wished that I had someone to do that for me when I make mistakes.
Then I realised: I do.
A couple of days before Boo's trauma I had got myself into my own pickle. Unable to call my mum, I had text her. We were texting for around forty minutes, during which time my mum managed to convince me that everyone around me is lucky to have me- in fact- everyone who has ever met me should be honoured that they were ever graced with my presence. At the end of that conversation I not only had a ridiculously inflated ego and cheesy grin, but I had also totally forgotten about the reason I had text her in the first place.

It was only as Boo raced to the bottom of the climbing frame to start again that I realised exactly what my mother had done: and that it wasn't the first, nor the last time, that I would rely on her to do it.

Having summed up the changes that a woman has to go through to become a mother I have come to the conclusion, you will be happy to know, that I am not quite ready for motherhood yet. I have no desire to gain further knowledge about washing machines or satsuma prices, nor am I willing to give up my writing, dancing, sleeping or ability to pee at regular intervals.

I can't imagine that Disney World allow employees to bring their babies to live in shared accommodation, or that teaching English in Chile would be as fun with a baby strapped to my back.

But what I do know is that when the time does come, I will have had some wonderful role models around me in the form of my own parents, grandparents and the amazing parents that I get to work with through my various job roles.

Until then, I will be continuing to trek to the top of climbing frames that I am unable to come down from: safe in the knowledge that each time I do this I will learn something new from my wonderful mum about being a wonderful parent; and will be one step closer to that grown up castle with my very own Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. 

:)

Hakuna Matata...

So on Friday morning I hopped out of bed, skipped down the stairs and proceeded to sing 'I'm Every Woman' at the top of my voice as I prepared my breakfast. Today was going to be a good day.

With my car insurance valid again, two promising interviews lined up and the prospect of a whole day out of the house, I was feeling confident that things were about to get better again.

Walking serenely out of the house exactly two minutes earlier than I had scheduled, I hopped into the car and- my mum's car was parked directly in front of mine.

Five minutes later, having successfully manoeuvred mum's precious Beetle off of and back onto the drive without damaging it (phew), I jumped back into my car and was promptly smacked in the nasal passages with what can only be described as The Smell Of Boy.

For the past few months whilst I have been away my baby brother Chip has been learning to drive in my car. Unfortunately, it appeared, the delicious cherry smell that I had left in there when I moved to Greece was not manly enough for Chip, and had therefore been replaced with one far more to his taste.

Breathing deeply with one neat-interview-blazer sleeve over my nose and the other opening the window; I eventually managed to type the address of Interview Number One into my Sat Nav and prepare to drive again for the first time in six months.

My Sat Nav didn't accept the address of Interview Number One.

Phoning my dad for an alternative address and re-tuning my radio from Smooth FM to Heart (do learners even listen to the radio?), I was finally ready to leave: exactly eight minutes behind schedule.

Fast forward fifty minutes and I was driving down a two-way lane with barely enough room for the horse that I was following let alone another car; hoping to miraculously stumble across, among all the fields and farm houses, the tall, modern office building that I had thought that I was driving to.

Calling the company combined with a conversation with a cheery looking postman confirmed that I was in the right place, and that the tall, modern office building was, in fact, the garage of the pretty pink house on the corner.

Relieved that I had finally made it- eight minutes behind schedule therefore only seven minutes early- I parked my little black car on the pavement and tentatively walked around the pink house to the garage in the back garden.

I spent approximately ten seconds in the tiny office that had taken so much effort to find, before the patient lady behind the desk explained that she could do nothing for me without the documents that she had listed in her email. The email that to this day has not arrived in my compulsively organised inbox.

So with that I was shuffled out of the tiny office in the little garage of the pretty pink house and sent back into my heavily-perfumed car and on my way empty-handed and job-free.

Determined not to let it get me down I remembered the wise words of my favourite writer:

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. 

I will not be another unemployment statistic. This will all work out. Keep positive. The next interviewers aren't going to be interested in a miserable no-hoper full of self pity.

I drove toward my next interview singing passionately along to Taylor Swift (you've got that stuck in your head now, haven't you....?) and mentally preparing myself for the afternoon ahead.

I had no idea what to expect.

I knew that the job was in Sales and Marketing, and that the interview would involve observing an experienced team member at work; but what the work was appeared to be a secret. All I knew was that the money was good.

That was all I needed to know.

Walking into reception, slightly out of breath from the three flights of stairs I had just skipped up, I introduced myself cheerily before being asked to sit down and fill in a form.

I bounced across the room and sat down in the only spare chair: ready to meet the people sitting either side of me and get to know them while we waited.

Apparently that's not how grown up interviews work.

Every interview that I have ever been to before has been for an entertainment position. My last interview ended in bruises as it involved throwing myself onto my hands and knees and howling like a Snow Dog. The one before that included pretending to be a dwarf of my choice (I went for Bashful- for those of you that are interested), and the one before that involved putting on a Pirate accent (the best pirate accent they'd ever heard- so I've been told. Just saying.)

So sitting among these serious, silent, suited-and-booted grown-ups I suddenly felt out of my depth.

Had someone walked out at that exact moment and asked me to do a cowgirl impression in the middle of the  grey office I'd have heaved a huge sigh of relief and happily obliged.

They didn't.

As I silently cursed myself for my life so far- what had I been thinking? Getting an English degree and life experience was useless, why hadn't I been doing Sales and Marketing all this time?- I looked around the room.

Hm.

Actually, they weren't grown ups.

The 'posh man' directly opposite me was wearing a suit jacket at least three sizes too big. The one next to me had his tie huge at the top a la year nine. The girl beside me was wearing festival bands, and the man that just walked in was wearing a...full wedding suit? Purple satin tie and matching waistcoat included.

I suddenly had the opposite sinking feeling: I was the oldest in the room.

Oh no.

Should I just walk out now?

Why was I doing this to myself?

"Money!" Jiminy Cricket shouted in my ear, "you need the money for Florida, think of the money!"

"Not to mention the enhanced CV. Wasn't it only five seconds ago you were wishing you had Sales and Marketing experience?" another voice, which sounded uncannily like Zazu, added.

"You've got brains in your head. You've got feet in your shoes..." Dr Seuss began again.

"Ok if I could have Rebecca please?" What? Oh. That was out loud. Time to go.

Feeling how I imagine the contestants of The Apprentice feel in the annual last-week-scary-interview I followed the pretty, blonde receptionist (who I now realised was at least three years younger than me) through to the boardroom, where I was introduced to Tigger.

Yep, for all my worrying, Tigger- the bounciest, bubbliest, most excitable character of them all was the professional that I would be attempting to impress today.

Relieved that my annual last-week-scary-interview was actually going to be with a short, smiley, blonde girl who was born around the same time as my baby brother and was already super excited because we had the same middle name (WHAT are the chances of two English girls with the middle name Ann finding each other?!), I began to relax, despite still being totally in the dark with how to impress her or what we would be doing.

We (Tigger, another interviewee also named Rebecca: cue disbelieving excitement from Tigger again, and I) then travelled together on the train to Southend where we were due to spend the afternoon. On the journey, Tigger explained what targets we were expected to reach, how we could move through the company (which- I found out at this point- was owned by a girl four years younger than me) and what she was looking for from us as team leader.

But we still didn't know what the actual job was. 

Stepping off of the train into the pouring rain, we walked for around fifteen minutes before we stopped at the corner of a street.

Soaked through and freezing cold by this point, Rebecca and I were both visibly relieved that we must almost be there.

The knowledge that the job was in Sales and Marketing had made me wonder whether it might involve stopping people on Southend High Street and trying to get them to sign up to a charity or phone company.

But we were nowhere near the High Street and surely we wouldn't be stopping people outside in this weather.

Enthusiasm not even flickering, Tigger happily put down her bag in a puddle; squealed in excitement at the prospect of finally showing us the job that she does every day and loves, she pulled out a deep purple tabard from her bag and pulled it over her head. She then skipped up the pathway of the house beside us, and proceeded to knock on the door (explaining that we were to ignore the Please Do Not Call Here sign and pretend we hadn't seen it) and attempted to get the lady on the other side to donate to the charity.

After about five houses, Rebecca was ready to give up. It was freezing cold, people were annoyed at the knocks on their door, nobody had signed up and we had to do ten before we were allowed to leave. The prediction was that this would take us until half past eight in the evening, and Rebecca didn't like the prospect of knocking on doors in the dark, or of eventually doing this on her own six full days a week.

Seven houses later, Rebecca made her apologies and left.

I understood.

I related.

But I still had Jiminy, Zazu and Dr. Seuss shouting in my ear. Money. CV. Competition- prove to yourself that you can get it and be good at it!

I stuck at it for around two hours after Rebecca left.

Now her reasons for leaving were all perfectly reasonable. But they weren't the same as mine.

My afternoon in Sales and Marketing taught me many things, but the main one was this: I was not designed to work in sales.

Every time that Tigger bounced away from a success, delighted that she was one step closer to her target of ten, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Both women that Tigger signed up while I was there were living in houses far too small for their five children, three cats and two dogs. Neither of them were employed. Neither of them had any help.

Yet they were willing to spend what little money they did have on those less fortunate than them. They were willing to take time out of their manic days, put the dogs in the kitchen and gather their children around them to listen to everything that Tigger had to say.

And each time we walked away my mind was filled with three thoughts:

1. People are lovely really. I'm aware that there is a culture of suddenly being very busy and important when there's a person with a clipboard in front of us, but actually I think that people are designed to care about others and do want to help. I was on a campsite once when a child went missing. Every single person that I saw during the time that he was missing stopped what they were doing, no matter how important, and joined the search until he was found. Children In Need 2011 raised £26, 332, 334. When I was attempting to get home via Paris and London underground stations with a suitcase twice my size; not once did I have to struggle up or down the steps before someone bigger and stronger jumped in to do it for me.
And these are all examples of caring for people we don't even know. 
It's things like this that keep my faith in humanity going strong, and despite the (surprisingly few, actually) people that did just slam the door in our faces, the majority were willing to listen to what Tigger had to say, and to at least take a business card even if they were unable to donate.

2. Maybe having to give up Costa coffee and Moonpig isn't the end of the world. My recent lack of incoming money and increase in outgoings in the build up to my big move to Florida have meant having to give up a few luxuries; but if these genuinely struggling women can manage to find the money for charity, then I can definitely put up with a home-made caffeine fix and shop-bought cards.

3. I would be useless at this job. If I had been in Tigger's position just then I would not have managed to make donating sound so easy and glamorous. I would not have managed to make it sound as though everybody else on the street had donated. And I am fairly sure that, having chatted to them for around ten minutes, I would not have been able to resist telling them not to worry about it. In fact I'm quite confident that I'd have told them to keep the money for their own children and that I'd find some donors elsewhere.

It has been three days since I went out with Tigger. And I can still clearly see the faces of every single person that we spoke to. I remember the stories they told us about their lives, the names and ages of their children, and their plans for the weekend. But each time I picture them I imagine them sitting down and trying to work out how they are going to afford this extra money going out.

Tigger had explained to them that it would cost them just 20p per day.

Well that sounds perfectly affordable.

In actual fact the charity take £8.50 per month. I've done the maths. That isn't 20p a day. It's not far off, but for someone who has no money and a lot of mouths to feed: £8.50 per month is quite a lot.

So as we walked away from the beautiful mum with the gorgeous five children and little dog, who had explained how she had just been made redundant and was currently looking for a new job but struggling because they could no longer afford childcare, I knew for definite that her smiling face would haunt me for at least the next month, and that if I kept going I would have hundreds of faces haunting me: and no amount of money would protect me from that.

I explained to Tigger that sales simply wasn't for me, and proceeded to make my journey home in the rain.

Having walked to the station in the pouring rain, waited there for fifteen minutes, sat shivering on a train for ten minutes before swapping onto another train to shiver on for a further thirty minutes, all thoughts of 'faith in humanity' and 'my-situation's-not-so-bad' went out of my head, and I was feeling very sorry for myself indeed.

I shivered down the steps of the station, teeth chattering and fingers numb as I pulled out my soggy ticket from my drenched bag.

I stopped at Costa to order a free cup of hot water to hold to warm my fingers up, before attempting to get through the barrier.

My ticket had been bought in bulk by the company, therefore I needed to continue to travel with the rest of the group if I didn't want to purchase another ticket.

I didn't have the rest of the group.

One had gone home hours ago and the other was still bouncing around Southend knocking on doors.

So I had to buy another ticket.

"That'll be £8.50 please."

You have got to be kidding.

My life has become a farce.

As I stood there gripping on to my little cup of hot water, ridiculous tears of self-pity streaming down my face, pulling out my pathetically empty little debit card, I could see the man serving me hesitating as to whether to comfort me. Of body-builder size with a big, round head and flaps of skin between his eyes, he reminded me of Gru from Despicable Me. Not exactly the comforting type.

He didn't provide me with the big hug and shoulder to cry on that I needed.

But somehow my ticket only came to £3.00.

It seems that even big, scary body builders are designed to care.

My faith in humanity once again restored, I made the long walk back to my car.

Guess how much I owed for parking?

That's right.

£8.50.

Rolling my eyes and smiling in disbelief, I paid the ridiculous sum and made the journey home.

I spent that evening curled up watching Chalet Girl and eating (lactose-free) ice cream, reflecting on the past few weeks and the farce that started out as my search for a job.

I came to several conclusions....

1. I have always landed on my feet before. Until now I always thought that luck played no part in it: that I had made my own luck and had always managed to find the perfect job exactly when I needed it because I always worked so hard at looking for the perfect job exactly when I needed it. Positivity, hard work and a good CV are important but unfortunately they're not everything...

2. Everyone has to go through hard times. I knew that. I've read/seen/talked enough to know that very few people have a really easy time with work and money. And I am lucky enough to be having my down time in the comfort of a beautiful home with loving parents and hilarious brothers to keep my spirits up.

3. I will get a job. I heard somebody on the radio last week saying that he had been searching for a job for fourteen months. For a start I know that won't be me because I have a job to go to in February (in Walt Disney World, Florida, for those of you who were unaware. I don't like to talk about it too much.) But also because I do already have a weekend job (as a Princess. Seriously.), a positive attitude and a good CV, and more importantly than anything...

I have brains in my head. I have feet in my shoes. I can steer myself in any direction I choose :)

The Best Of Both Worlds...

Much to my family and friends' annoyance I have spent the past five years developing an appetite for adventure: for seeing new places, meeting new people and finding new stories to tell. Unfortunately, the pretty but tiny village that I call home does very little to satisfy that appetite- meaning that I am very rarely at home for any length of time.

This is not a need for being away from home, but instead a need for the excitement that can only be brought about by living in new circumstances, with people I otherwise would never have met. Being away from home is simply an unfortunate side effect of that.

Each time that I return home I get those natural post-adventure blues: you know how you do when you get back from holiday? Especially a holiday that nobody else in the house experienced: there's no way anyone in the house could possibly understand how miserable you feel because they weren't there to see how amazing it was. My first experience of that was returning home from Girls' Brigade camp when I was nine years old, and it still feels the same aged twenty-three.

Imagine those post-holiday blues, except you have four months of memories and in-jokes that nobody in the house will understand.

These feelings are, of course, always mixed with delight at seeing my favourite people again, being in my own bed and, this time (having lived in a tent for 8 weeks), being right next door to the bathroom.

Despite the joys of being home, I woke up on Saturday morning- almost four weeks since I left France, with post-adventure blues. I had Stacy's Mom stuck in my head (if you don't know the relevance of this song: read my last blog), the hoody that had been part of my uniform keeping me warm (I'm sure we were allowed to take them...) and the remnants of a dream about Lumiere and Peter Pan (my colleagues) floating around my head...

I pulled myself out of bed and padded down the stairs.

The first to greet me was Pluto: my parents' affectionate, excitable puppy. Jumping up and down in excitement at seeing me, the whole back half of him swinging from side to side in happiness, he reveled in the  fuss that I made and immediately made me smile.

Following him into the kitchen, I was then met by my equally excited mum; who squealed good morning before making me a hot drink and squeezing me until I couldn't breathe. My youngest brother Chip then wandered in: hair still ruffled and eyes tired, and he too got a hot drink before making the kind of family in-joke that makes you laugh hysterically and feel cosy: like you're part of something lovely. The last to greet me was Tarzan. Over-excited by his cup of tea he put his hand on my head and then slapped it (something that only my brother would ever get away with doing to me), rubbed it better, sat himself on the counter and proceeded to juggle three apples (something I had taught him to do when I was particularly missing the Circus Skills session from France).

In this moment I wasn't totally sure that leaving home for my adventures was ever worth it.

And as the weekend went on this doubt only increased.

I spent Saturday with my three best friends- squealing a lot and talking of nothing but weddings because-wait for it- Minnie's getting married! That's right, Minnie and Mickey are engaged and have asked me to be their bridesmaid. Which means that once again I have an excuse to spend my spare time wandering around wedding fairs, googling bridesmaid dresses and watching hopelessly girly wedding films as 'research'.

Saturday involved talking, laughing, gasping, crying, oohing and aah-ing with my best friends as we rifled through endless rails of wedding dresses, met photographers, videographers and decorators; chatted to planners, singers and cake makers; and gushed at the beautiful fashion show.

And as I sat with my three best friends, laughing at the comments made by Jessie, smiling as I watched Pumba take notes on the best dresses in the fashion show, and crying when Minnie stepped out in her stunning Princess-style wedding dress, I felt it again. That stab of doubt about whether being away from home is the right thing for me.

The following day was one that had been anticipated for a long time.

My beautiful, very glamorous grandma was turning 70, and had requested six weeks in advance that we keep the date free for a family meal.

 My mum and I arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes early (an absolute first when we are together which- I think- marks the importance of the occasion) so that the staff could hide the stunning surprise cake that Cowgirl Jessie made for me, and we could decorate the birthday girl's place with helium balloons.

Fourteen members of my family gathered around a huge rectangle table for a big roast dinner in celebration of this wonderful lady. We ate, drank, sang, laughed, told in-jokes, took the mick, reminisced and teased in the way that only a family can.

And as thirteen of the most important people in my life sang Happy Birthday  to my gorgeous, smiling Grandma, I wondered again....why do I ever leave?

The perfect weekend was then rounded off with an evening of The X Factor and Chinese with my mum, dad, Tarzan, Tigger and Pluto. By the time I went to bed on Sunday night my mind was filled with my favourite things about coming home...

1. Being warm. My parents have no limitations when it comes to heating the house and I love them for it. Home is the only place I am always fully warm and is something I look forward to whether I'm in sunny Greece or freezing Ireland.

2. My brothers. I recently watched a video of all three of us in the bath when we were six, four, and one. Tarzan took a cup of bubbly water and poured it over my lovely dry hair. My reaction was 'Aw Tarzan!' paired with a giggle. Seventeen years later: nothing's changed. My brothers are the only people that can make me laugh via cruelty: I know it's their way of telling me how much they love me. Right?

3. Clapping at the television. I don't know whether it's standard in every other house to react to a twenty-two year old from Preston getting through to the next round of a reality TV programme as though he has solved world hunger- but in my house it's expected and I love it.

4. My mum's enthusiasm for everything. If you think I'm a positive person you should meet my mum. Her happy demeanor always makes me smile. Even when she wakes me up on a Sunday morning squealing in excitement because Neil Sedaka (the cooler among you may need to Google him) is on the radio. (Please don't tell her that though.)

5. Westfield Shopping Centre. My new favourite place. Grab a coffee. Browse the shops. Frozen yogurt. Train home again. FAB day out. I once went there so many times in one week that one of the shop managers offered me a job. Genuinely.

6. Lemon squash. You can't get squash abroad like you can at home. It's the number one trivial thing that I miss when I'm away.

7. Watching my dad watch The X Factor. The seriousness in his comments is more entertaining than the programme itself.

8. Being reunited with my three best friends. Whether I bump into them for five minutes at the tube station or spend a whole week with them on holiday: time spent with Pumba, Jessie and Minnie always makes me feel happier and lighter than ever.


Following my weekend of doubting whether ever leaving home and everyone I love was ever worth it, I sat down to watch An Idiot Abroad: the one programme that I watched religiously when I was in France. It reminded me of the amazing people that I met there, and the wonderful memories that I gained. I then received an email from the mum that I worked for in Ireland, a Facebook message from the girl that I worked with in Greece, and heard the song that I taught the children in Italy.

It was then that I remembered: of course it's worth it.

As much as I love being at home and being around the people from home, there is no job that would make me as happy at home as the jobs abroad do. And for every day that I am away from home I am stronger, smarter, more fun and happier for everyone when I am at home.

So for the next four months I am going to make the most of being in Essex, being with my favourite people and celebrating the exciting things going on in their lives: knowing that when I leave for Florida in February I am the luckiest girl in the world to have all of this to come back to.

Here's to a winter of celebrating engagements, weddings, new jobs, birthdays and reunions....

I can't wait :)

Tale As Old As Time

I once read that the most commonly used word in the English language is ‘time’.  It’s not surprising really, is it? Time controls everything and everyone- it’s one of the rare things that even Gary Barlow has no power over. I’d be willing to bet that you have recently wished that you could slow it down, speed it up, jump forward in it, and rewind it, haven’t you?  

So even if we could control time, would we know what to do with it? Perhaps we should just accept it for what it is.

The cast of my favourite musical advise the audience that you should savour the present because- apart from death and paying taxes- everything in life is only for now. They remind us that we can make it through the hard times because they won’t last forever, and that we should appreciate the good times for the same reason.

Unfortunately none of this makes me feel any better about my latest argument with time. In the next few weeks I am going to have to once again say goodbye to my latest adventure and the set of characters that have made it so amazing.

It feels as though it was only five minutes ago that I was writing about my heartbreak at leaving Ireland and now here I am, devastated as once again time takes over and moves me on- this time from France.

Anyone who has ever seen or spoken to me in the total of six months that I have spent in this beautiful resort in Loire Valley will tell you that to say that I enjoy my job is a huge understatement. Last year I was told during my end-of-season appraisal that it was ridiculous how happy I was- that everyone should be a little bit miserable when they are at work.

Now I’m not saying that there’s nothing I would change about my life here in France. My little princess arms were not designed for the long-distance carrying of heavy barrels/planks of wood/inflatable canoes. Nor was my bladder designed to live more than thirty seconds from the nearest toilet. In an ideal world I would have more than two minutes of internet access a week, my phone would work somewhere other than the one tree a five minute walk from my bedroom, and I would be able to get to the supermarket more often than once a month.

But, if time were willing to bargain with me, I would happily put up with all of the things that I complain about on a daily basis and stay here until February. I would continue to build arms to rival Popeye, live with my constant need for the toilet, and learn to love my repetitive and somewhat malnutritious diet.

Because- I remind myself as my sweaty body drops the huge canoe on the floor for the fifth time, waving to the three children who have been shouting my name for the past thirty seconds and smiling happily at the old couple walking past- some people don’t love their job ever, let alone for eight of the nine hours a day.

Yesterday afternoon I was skipping- yes, skipping- through the campsite with a huge smile on my face. I had a black nose and whiskers from my morning spent as a tiger, and spikes around my eyes from my afternoon as a dinosaur. When I arrived at the tent, Flynn Ryder- my colleague, housemate and new favourite person- put a La Bumpa on my head.

For those of you who are not familiar with La Bumpas they are very unflattering white and green helmets that fasten underneath your chin with Velcro. Their official use is to protect the wearer’s head during water activities such as canoeing and raft building but I, along with most of our guests, suspect that they are in fact designed simply to make the user look ridiculous in their holiday photos.

 As I stood outside the tent dressed as a tiger and a dinosaur, La Bumpa resting on my head and genuine smile fixed on my face, a guest looked over at me and laughed.

“You have a great life, don’t you?”

As he said it, I pictured my friends back home.

Two of my friends got married last weekend. Four others are celebrating their wedding anniversaries next month. Many have jobs in London: traders, legal secretaries, PAs. Most of my uni friends are teachers. Several have had babies. Lots have bought houses.

What did I do today?

I woke up this morning to the sound of Flynn doing his vocal exercises: a silly thing that we do in the morning as a result of watching too much of The Big Bang Theory. I went to the shop to buy us each a Pain Au Raisin and spent the next ten minutes being taught how to pronounce Pain Au Raisin. I dressed up as a tiger and decorated the tent like a jungle. I sang songs from The Lion King, did a silly chant about Romeo and Juliet, played ‘Lion, Lion, Hyena’ and ‘Tiger Cub’, and made my own snake. I spent the majority of my lunch break running away from Flynn as he attempted to blow raspberries on my ridiculously ticklish skin, before returning to work to help build a raft.

Following raft building I spent fifteen minutes defending myself and my team as the other (very competitive) instructors argued that we must have cheated because we won. I then proceeded to dress up as a dinosaur and stomp around the campsite roaring at the top of my voice and looking for The Missing Dinosaur Egg.  

My day involved the phrases ‘no we don’t eat bumblebees’, ‘I normally use a cauldron’ and ‘no, England isn’t the biggest planet but good guess.’

We have serious discussions about whether it would be better to live in space or under the sea; we refer to each other using superhero codenames and we sometimes have whole conversations in film quotes.

On our lunch breaks we go to the lake or the pool, the free gym or the bar. We spend our evenings having barbecues, watching the evening shows or doing party dances. We play a ridiculous number of games of Pool and we spend the majority of our time dressed up as endless characters from pirates, clowns and cowboys to detectives, aliens and wizards.

I spend so much time with people under the age of eleven that when Flynn hurt himself this morning I called him a silly sausage, rubbed it better and told him he was a brave soldier. Flynn is twenty years old.

I beamed up at the guest and answered: “I’ll grow up one day.”

But the whole exchange got me thinking.  

For a start it made me consider the differences between my life and the lives of the majority of my friends.

When is the right time to grow up? Should I have grown out of my pirate accent now and taken on a more serious, office-appropriate one?

Should I swap wandering around the pool for waltzing up the aisle? Should I give up acting like a child to have my own?

I considered how my friends feel about their lives and considered how I feel about mine, and found that time appears to affect everyone differently. The majority of my friends love their grown up lives. They love the money, their relationships, their independence and the direction in which time is sending them. Meanwhile I love my child-like lifestyle. I love the lack of responsibility, the fun and the memories that I am creating.

My colleagues Flynn, Lumiere and Peter Pan are of varying ages surrounding mine, and all feel the same about their lives as I do about my own: reassuring me that time isn’t running out, that as long as I, and those around me, are happy, that’s all that matters.

The exchange also got me reflecting on the wonderful summer that is soon to end.

 When I told people that I was to return to the job and the resort that made me so happy last year I was warned that it wouldn't be the same. That I might ruin last year’s memories and regret it.

I decided against thinking about it too much. The way I saw it was that this is a place and a job that made me so happy last year: returning is guaranteed happiness.

As you already know from reading the beginning of this entry- I was right.

I have been just as happy this year, have met just as amazing people and have made just as special memories. From out-of-the-mouths-of-babes moments to wish-I-had-the-camera moments, singing, dancing and laughing moments to ground-swallow-me-up moments, this is a summer that will stay with me forever and that I will treasure until I’m as old as Beauty and the Beast’s Crazy Old Maurice.

Here are a few examples of why…

1.     Sport-themed Pub Golf: The Camping Edition.

As soon as Lumiere heard that Flynn Ryder was turning twenty whilst we were here, she sprang into action to organise everyone into enjoying themselves. For those of you who were not already aware, the staff accommodation here is made up of two rows of tents directly opposite each other: creating what Lumiere refers to as Staff Village. Each tent contains two members of staff who share a kitchen and live area but have their own bedroom.

On Flynn’s birthday each tent was required to choose a pub-style name for their establishment, offer one drink to each member of staff, and decorate the tent according to the theme of the name. For example Lumiere, being French, opened the tent that she shares with Nala as The Champagne Chateau: decorating the walls with huge pictures of old castles and offering champagne to each member of staff.

Every person, at Flynn’s request, dressed as a sportsperson and proceeded to go to each tent, drink the beverage offered as soon as possible, pose for pictures and move on.

Once every drink had been consumed the excited party moved to the bar where everyone proceeded to dance together until the lights were turned on and the floor was being swept around us.

 My memories of this night involve a lot of laughing, and I have no doubt that the pictures will continue to make me smile into my eighties.

2.       Killer.

It was a beautiful Monday afternoon. I was wandering past The Champagne Chateau when my name was screamed and I was asked to go over to Lumiere and pick three pieces of paper from three cups in her room. Continuing with the theme of organised fun, Lumiere had decided to start a game of Killer. Each member of staff followed the same pattern as me, leaving them holding three pieces of paper: one naming a person within the team, another naming a location, and the third naming a piece of equipment. We were required to ‘murder’ our named person in the stated location with the piece of equipment. We had twelve days to do it in without being murdered ourselves. Once we were murdered we passed on our own task to our murderer.

Flynn helped me to murder Rafiki in the lake with a spoon within three days. Set on winning, I was extra careful about where I went and with whom, when one day- five days into the game- a package arrived for me. Eeyore insisted that I go to pick it up from reception as he picked up his washing tokens. I had my suspicions, but it was Eeyore. He looked up at me with his huge, sad eyes and uttered those fateful words: ‘I’ll have to go on my own then.” Guilt kicked in- as the manipulative donkey had known that it would- and I went with him.

He murdered me in reception with a flag.

I haven’t yet found the strength to forgive him, but I’m thankful every day that I’m living with people who spend their spare time like this.

3.       The Gunge.

As part of my job every fortnight we are required to hold a charity event to raise money for a good cause. This week someone thought that it would be a great idea for the guests to be able to bid on the opportunity to throw gunge over the instructor of their choice.

Now I’ll be honest- being the princess that I am I thought that the guests would spare me the pain, humiliation and smell, and vote for the bigger, competitive boys.

They didn’t.

Instead they thought that it would be hilarious to see noodles dripping from my nose and my hair filled with rotten tomatoes.

The guests paid €35 to see Flynn and I covered in a concoction made up of raw eggs, mould, noodles, tinned tomatoes and old jam.

I washed my hair three times and still brushed some tomato out of it this morning.

This is perhaps not my favourite memory but one that had to be mentioned nonetheless.

All in the name of charity :)

So as I pack up my tent and prepare myself to say goodbye to my lovely Flynn, Lumiere, Peter Pan and the other characters who have made my adventure so exciting, I’m beginning to compile a list of the things that I’m most going to miss…

1.       

     Peter Pan greeting me every morning with ‘You look amazing today! Belle, you are fantastic and today is going to be a good day.”

2.       The hilarious things that children say. From dinosaurs being around a month ago to B*witched being from the olden days, I’ve heard it all and am always in suspense about what’s going to come out next. When I asked the children this morning which three things they would want on their own planets, one child responded that he would take a spanner, some goggles and a carrot. Ah to be four again…

3.       Lumiere using the patch of grass right next to my tent as a toilet. There’s nothing like bare body parts pressed up against your window to make you choke on your dinner…

4.       Goofy’s dancing. We have been lucky enough to have Goofy grace our campsite just for the last few weeks and I cannot stress how happy his presence makes me. One of the funniest people I have ever met, he moves like nobody I have ever seen before and will no doubt never see again. I will remember them forever.

5.      Flynn Ryder. He has been my colleague, housemate, best friend and partner in crime. He’s been a constant source of laughter, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to chew off and an excellent chef. I couldn’t have coped without him.

6.       Standing at the side of the lake and looking over it to the bar and the beach. It provides the most beautiful picture and is my favourite place in the whole world. Standing there reminds me how lucky I am to be here and how thankful I am that this is the direction my life has taken me in.

It’s not all beautiful views and happy dancing though. Here are the things that I’m not going to miss….

1.       Listening to Stacy’s Mom blaring out from Flynn’s playlist all day long. I wake up in the night with that song in my head now. After September I never need to hear it again.

2.       Having to go on a trek just to get to the toilet. Those of you living in a house with a toilet (and I would imagine that’s most of you) don’t realise just how lucky you are.

3.        Realising in the shower that my towel is back in my tent.

4.        Acting surprised and impressed when guests come up the name ‘Titanic’ for their raft. Very original.

5.        French opening times. The shop is only open between eight and twelve thirty, then four and seven (the exact hours that I am at work), the restaurants in the nearest town are only open Wednesday to Saturday, and almost every other day is a bank holiday.

Despite all this, as I’m sure you can tell, I have absolutely loved my second summer here in paradise and am so sad that time has crept up on me again and is forcing me to leave.

I have to remember that I will always have the memories, and that the next adventure will no doubt be just as magical.

Especially since it’s in Disneyworld!

That’s right; on 12^th February 2013 I am moving to Disneyworld, Florida for twelve whole months.

So time- you may be able to push me out of France, to change my appearance and to make me ridiculously sentimental.

But as long as I continue to meet wonderful characters like Flynn, Lumiere and Peter Pan, you will never make me grow up.

And there’ll be plenty of those in Disneyworld- right? :)