Realms of Work.

I have, after about two/three weeks of looking, finally entered the working population! And I have to say, it is incredibly tiring.

Funny thing is, there was no challenge as such in regards to being offered the job. True, I went through a gruelling 18 hours of trials during the first two days, but at no point was there a suggestion of competition. In fact, of all the people they have hired, I am fairly sure I am the only male. With no-one remotely being trained in how to work behind the bar. Which is fine by me!

I work as a bartender/barista at a Turkish/Mediterranean restaurant-bar-bistro thing. Truth be told, I am absolutely loving it. But of course, starting a new job you have no experience in is always very stressful and full of panic.

I spent my first day in an utter state of panic as I tried to keep up with the orders being thrown at me. Luckily an experienced bartender arrived in the evening to help me out, so I followed his lead and tried to mirror what he did as much as possible.

My second day I once again had the experienced bartender there to help me. This time, though, he let me take charge a little more, which helped a lot, actually. Also managed to break my first glass… something that will just become a regularity the longer I work. Not looking forward to that.

The third day (I’m writing this post just before I venture off to work for my fourth day) I was behind the bar on my own, with the experienced bartender working on the floor (waiting tables, that such malarkey). I have to say, apart from a very panicky time where six cocktails were ordered at once, I managed quite well.

Going back to cocktails. This is a bartender’s worst nightmare. not only can they be complicated to make (we have a list of ten that customers can choose from. Some I have never even heard of!), but they are also very time consuming. They look pretty and taste nice, but once you have to make them, you learn to hate them. One day I won’t panic when making them… one day. Maybe in about a year?


Anyway, back to the actual post. This is the first time I’ve had a job where I’ve been intent on keeping it for a long duration. My part-time jobs whilst still at school were more of a way to fund trips with friends and so on, and I knew I wouldn’t keep them longer than I needed to. Working whilst travelling (on my Gap Yah, again) obviously would never work as a long-term investment. So, for once, I actually have to be reliable and calm every day.

Today (my fourth working day) I am being left completely alone behind the bar. This should be completely fine, as long as no one orders more than two cocktails at the same time… if that happens, then I am well and truly screwed. And I may just break down and cry.

I feel it is worth noting that, though I did say in one of my previous posts that I would try make my posts at least twice a week, it is looking less likely that it shall happen. I fear it shall be going back to irregular posts when I find the time between work (and sleep. Sleep is good.) to actually write anything.

Furthermore, my legs are slowly giving up. I generally stay on my feet for twelve hours if I’m working a full shift, and I can’t say my smart shoes are the comfiest ever. That’s something else I need to do on my next day-off: buy comfier smart shoes. Oh, and about five black shirts.

And to end this post? The song that has been going through my head since I’ve started working behind a bar:

A Week of Spanish Mayhem

Well, in case any of you actually noticed I’ve been inactive for a week, you will be pleased to know that I have been on holiday in Spain with several groups of friends! Yes, it was messy, and it was crazy. Both good crazy and bad crazy, unfortunately. I shall give you a run down of each day.

Okay, so, arrived in Lloret De Mar (the lovely town in Spain where we stayed) at around 1 last Monday, where we spent at least 2 hours trying to find our very ambiguous apartment. Once we arrived, we basically dumped our stuff and headed to the beach, where the rest of the afternoon was given over to sunbathing. And then the evening was upon us. And we did was every young adult wants to do on holiday: drink excessively. There was a fantastic cocktail bar right next to the beach which did the largest cocktails ever known to man. So we got extremely drunk there, then we ventured to a club called the Beach Club where we got even more drunk (as you do). So basically ended our first day.

Tuesday started off as you’d expect: sleep deprived, hungover and ready to sunbathe. We found a bar which quickly became our regular – a Dutch one, in fact, called De Hof (the fact that there was free WiFi obviously wasn’t one of the reasons we liked it so much) – and we found out that the smoothies that they made there were the perfect hangover cure; I’m fairly certain it was a morning ritual for the entirety of the week to cure our hangovers at that place. After that, it was beach time again as usual. In the evening, we once again hit the bars. This time we found a very nice German bar called Bar Pirata. The main attraction? €1 shots my friends. Nothing can beat alcoholic shots worth less than a British pound. That may have gotten us slightly drunk. Then, as we had bought a rugby ball earlier in the day, we thought that the best thing to do would be to engage in a game of drunk rugby… yeah, that didn’t go particularly well, as you can imagine. At about 12, we headed back to our apartment to gather more money and drop off the rugby ball, before going clubbing. And this is where the bad crazy occurs.

As it turns out, our apartment had been broken into and the majority of our valuables had been stolen. Being possibly slightly intoxicated when we got back, we didn’t immediately register the fact that we had been broken into. I was the one who opened the door, and I just thought that my friend (Callum) had forgotten to lock the door. It was not until I was using the toilet (as you have to after drinking lots) that I heard Callum say “why is the content of our suitcase all over the floor?”, then things unraveled and it turns out people had kicked the door open and broken the lock, looted our apartment, and run off at some point. All things considered, I don’t think we took it too badly. I mean, yes, we had our angry spells (I tell you, never before have I used the word ‘fuck’ so much in one night), but by the morning – after no sleep as we had to “guard the apartment” – we were quite calm. Melancholy even.

So, Wednesday began. Despite the attraction of the beach, we had to break that tradition and ended up spending 3 hours in a Spanish Police Station explaining and writing declaration forms of what had occurred. This was also over the lunch period, which left us all feeling quite hungry. But then we were free, and decided that we would forget about the robbery until the end of the holiday.

Luckily, the other group of our friends happened to arrive that afternoon, so we were able to drown our sorrows with them in spectacular fashion. The aim was to go to a UV Rave Party, but sadly our group were too tired and the other group wanted a more calm night. So we just had very cheap shots and played drunk rugby (again… are you seeing a pattern emerging?).

Thursday dawned bright and early (as, you know, days have a habit of doing) and we went for our traditional smoothie at De Hof, this time accompanied by a few more members from other groups. My memory may be hazy, but I do seem to recall that we ended up rainbathing at the beach. Being British, we fully embraced the rain when it started at the beach, whilst everybody else ran away from it. No amount of rain can scare us Brits. The night though, was one of the scariest yet greatest nights of my life.

Obviously we hit the Bar Pirata for shots, before heading off… to a Foam Party. This was the craziest thing we did all week. We may have got there a little bit early, but by about 1, it was fully packed and just utter madness everywhere. But the madness truly peaked at about 3:30, when the foam started. It was shot out of a cannon, spraying the entire dance floor. The reason it was so scary, was that the foam actually blinded you, as well as simultaneously choking you. Even whilst I was dying was inhaling excessive chemical foam, I still danced like a mad man.

I will admit, I paid for it in the morning of the Friday when I had no voice. This was truly distressful, as the intention was to go to a Karaoke Bar that night but alas, my throat was not up for more rigorous exercise. So actually we had one of the quietest nights of the week; obviously we still got drunk, but we did all head back to our apartments at about 1.

Now, Saturday night, I can’t actually remember if we did anything special. I think it was more or less just a simple day: smoothie, beach, drinking, but I could be wrong. I do recall spending €36 on three drinks in order to get a t-shirt though… I promise I will treasure that t-shirt forever now. That was a late night though – we got in at around the time of 3 in the morning.

Sunday was my groups last proper day. So, naturally, we sunbathed for the majority of the day. Luckily the weather peaked that day and we were sunbathing in 28°C heat (which is 82°F to you Americans). We also decided to have a big group meal in the evening to celebrate our leaving (thinking about it, that was quite a mean thing to do), which had a strange turn of events when we got caught in the middle of a thunderstorm, whilst sat outside. Luckily we had cover over us, but there were a few holes in it so we spent quite a lot of the time avoiding the water. But in some ways, that just made the meal even better!

Then we hit the Bar Pirata for the last time. And I’ll tell you, I think that Sunday was the best night of our holidays. We ended up having a sing-off/along with a large group of German girls, so in some ways, we did have our Karaoke Night in the end! Once again, my voice paid for it. Even so, this singing went on for at least 2 hours, before everyone from the bar went to the beach where we slowly eroded away the language barrier of English and German (luckily they could speak passable English). Then we hit the Beach Club for the last time, before my group of five departed at about 2 to get some sleep.

Yet I, ever being the fool, decided it would be a good idea to stay up all night and just nap on the plane and coach the next day/same morning. Truth be told, I didn’t manage it; I fell asleep whilst reading (which I expect looked rather comical). But even so, that sleep was only 30 minutes long, before we had to get up at the brutal hour of 4:30 to catch our coach to the airport.

Now, my problem, is that I cannot sleep whilst traveling. So naturally I felt utterly exhausted when I eventually got home at the English time of 2 in the afternoon. And a full day later, I still feel like I haven’t caught up on my sleep properly.

So I just need to sort out my insurance and try claim back some money, then all the nuisances of holiday shall be behind me!


There is also the slight problem that my Weekly Word Challenge shall not making an appearance on my blog, as the Dictionary app I used was on my iPod, which was sadly stolen. So any of you who actually enjoy attempting the Writing Challenge, you shall have to wait until I get a new iPod – apologies!

See you soon guys, hope you had as good a week as I did!

A Birthday Post.

Today is my Eighteenth birthday! Alas, eight and ten years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable people.

“I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.”

This I believe, is a somewhat pale, yet accurate, representation of how I feel about the majority of my fellow bloggers. If we were to dissect the first half of the above quote that is in bold, we would find that it bears true to my feelings. I do not know most of you as well as I should like, as my communication with other people has been rather non-existent; I would quite like to alter this, as I do enjoy surreal conversations that usually involve random ramblings.

Moving onto the second half of the quote, which is rather more difficult to relate to. I do not consider myself an offensive person, and I cannot help but to believe that Bilbo meant offence to certain members of his party with this line. I do not believe anyone I know, be it in person or through my blog, that I wish I did not know, or thought that they did not deserve to know me.

Anyway, away from the ramblings (I think several cocktails have finally found their way to my brain and made my thoughts all fuzzy. Coincidentally, the cocktail I have been drinking is called a “Fuzzy Navel”). Yes, I am now officially Eighteen, and can now indulge in the many joys that this age brings in Britain, such as:

– Legal consumption of alcohol. Despite this law, I have engaged in many frivolous nights involving alcohol…

– Voting. Not that I am interested in politics, it is just nice to know that I can now vote freely…

– Run away from home. I think this is the defining quality of being Eighteen that I shall enjoy the most.

So really, if you think about it, not a lot has changed in my life from when I was merely a pubescent teenager. Now however, I am a pubescent adult. Don’t you just love oxymorons?


The Effect of Alcohol on Family Members

What-ho my old beans!

I’m going to be murdered by my family for writing this post.

Sparked by a recent family birthday dinner which involved at least two of my family getting slightly brandybucked (nerd term for ‘getting drunk’).

So basically, I shall describe the most entertaining moments where I have witnessed drunken family members.

The Step-dad

The epitome of hilarious drunken antics. I have two abiding memories of just pure drunkenness. The first being when we were sitting down having a family meal in the evening. Utterly no clue how much alcohol had entered his system, yet he proceeded to become louder and louder. Then, as drunk people do, he knocked his wine over onto the table. Of course, we scolded him; this then became a mixture of outrage and laughter as he began to lick the wine off the table. It was… interesting.

The second memory was during a festival in France where he got rather carparked (as he must be in order to consort with the Frogs) and took my mother off for a dance. A dance of truly spectacular fashion. Needless to say, I walked away at this and pretended I was of no relation to them.

The Uncle

This is the one I am going to be killed by, for I believe he now in fact reads my blog…

Either way, I have not actually seem my Uncle drunk that many times. He was one of the members of the aforementioned birthday dinner who happened to get drunk. I think what’s most entertaining about my drunken Uncle, is the contrast between his sober demeanour opposed to it’s drunken counterpart.

As a sober man, he keeps up a rather somber appearance. He is usually polite, occasionally slightly snappy (especially with family), but more or less quite nice company. Now, when he gets drunk (which doesn’t take much; there is a family expression about him: “you could open a packet of wine gums in Sheffield and he would be drunk.“) he becomes over-the-toply (can I use that as an adverb? Fuck it, I’m going for it) sociable. At the birthday dinner, he resorted to attempting to communicate with a poor, perplexed waitress in an extremely thick (and terrible) Yorkshire accent. Once again, that was an interesting experience.


Those are the two main entertaining drunkards of the family. Another honourable mention (which she is going to maim me for) is my sister. Though I have not witnessed her utterly wasted, I have heard the stories of throwing up. I have also experienced the sound of her chucking up delightfully into a toilet. That was both scarring as well being highly humourous (it also donated many opportunities to tease her for me).

There you go. Drunkard family members. Do any of you have any entertaining stories that you wish to divulge to us? I’m sure your family wouldn’t mind… that much.


Universally Stupid Trends

Yet another trend has decided to grasp the human race and place us firmly within its palm as it makes us perform stupid acts which can be described in no other word than what they are: stupid.

However, this one I am even more ashamed of. Why? Because I bowed to peer pressure and actually took part in it.

All the other trends I have resisted, yet this one I couldn’t.

I refer to the stupid, and quite potentially dangerous, Neknomination.

For those of you who don’t know (and I’m very proud of you if you don’t and therefore apologising for ruining your life), the Neknomination involves getting nominated by one of your friends to down a pint of some alcoholic beverage. Then, you pass it along to two or more of your friends, who must then try and one up your drink and make theirs even more vile. This goes on and on and on until everyone has destroyed their livers.

This silly trend started in Australia and somehow has worked it’s way across to where I live in England and I presume is also in America.

As I said, I unfortunately actually took part in this trend. Not because I wanted to, but because I bowed to peer pressure. If you don’t do it then you’re shunned by everyone else and therefore I took the view that I might as well just get it over with. I did not enjoy it. I also happened to have a cold on the day as well. This made me become delusional and believe somewhere in the deep crevices of my heart (yes, hearts now have crevices) that it might help my already sore throat… I was wrong. My cold has now festered within me and become 10 times worse. Great idea, Richard. Just Great.

As far as I can tell, this is the stupidest trend that has hit my region of England so far.

Obviously there was the Harlem Shake about a year ago which was truly the weirdest thing I have ever behold. Yet that wasn’t dangerous. Just a bit creepy and completely random…

Then, there was twerking which has somehow managed to stick around. That I don’t understand either. Why do people do it? It just looks disturbing, not sexual. These are mad times we live in, mad.

But they have all been topped. I dread to think how long this Neknomination will stay around. I hope that it’ll have the good grace to vanish quickly but I fear it won’t. We shall have to see.


Incidentally, one of the best Harlem Shake videos ever can be found here (excuse the bad language in the video).


Memories From the Childhood Era

As I lie here in a pub, (don’t worry – I’m not utterly plastered/car-parked/Brandybucked/drunk, I just happen to be spending the night in the pub that my Uncle owns… What strange situations I find myself in) trying to get to asleep despite the blasting music playing right underneath me, I can’t help but think of one of my childhood memories from when I was — well, a child!

Not that it really has much to do with a pub, but I have a feeling it did involve my Mum consuming a rather excessive amount of alcohol. I must’ve been about 5 or 6, and my Mum was being all loud and obnoxious, as you’d expect. Except, at this point, she wasn’t even drunk… When she finally DID get drunk, she was even more obnoxious than usual. What I distinctly remember, is her picking me up, laughing and cooing (in a drunken manner; the effect is rather terrifying in all honesty), spinning me round in her arms, before chucking me up and down. Being her slightly intoxicated self, she cleverly managed to chuck me into the ceiling… Can’t say I really remember anything after that incident, and have therefore placed all the blame for my failures on that fatal day.
So, my question to whoever actually reads these blogs, is: can any of you tell me your most memorable/horrific (your choice which) childhood memory in the comments? I think it would be very interesting to hear the wide range of memories!