ashtrays and killer crabs (croatia part 3)

After the storm passed we had no more bad weather in Croatia. We saw Pete and his wife (I like to think of her as Maureen) a couple of times the week we were on the island and we always had a little wave at each other. They saved our lives so I'll have to vote them to be the best people we met.

The next best person was the owner of a restaurant we went to for dinner on our first night in Stari Grad. Igor's restaurant was a dark little venue with fishing nets and pictures of boats all over the place. Tansley ordered fish and I had a simple pizza. I was way too tired to cope with something like the langoustine from the other night. I don't think I've ever had such a case of food envy ever before. Tansley's looked amazing! I think while Igor was perfecting the amazing crispy fish he overdid my sad looking pizza.

We were the only people in the restaurant. In fact, the whole town seemed deserted. Igor's wife sat texting on her phone at one table and Igor himself was on his laptop at another. It was a bit like we had just turned up in someone's house and started eating… I think Igor must've been bored because at one point during our peaceful meal there was a big smash. I didn't see what happened but Tansley informs me (and he should be reliable, being a news employee) that Igor had been juggling the glass ashtrays from the tables outside…

The entertainment was then followed with a free shot of grappa courtesy of Igor. I wasn't sure at first but when I saw a small pot of paint in the corner of the restaurant it was confirmed that it must've actually been paint stripper. It was meant for after the meal but I drank it just before the end, burning off my taste buds and not being able to taste the rest of my meal. At least I still had some apple juice to wash it down with though. Tansley had to take the pain.

The holiday was a lazy one. Every other day we'd go sight-seeing around Stari Grad or one of the surrounding towns. We visited Hvar Town and although it was pretty it was no way near as good as our quiet little Stari Grad.

Stari Grad

Hvar Town

As the week went on we started to see more tourists but Stari Grad stayed pretty deserted. On our lazy days we always went to a beach. I say beach…The island looked very much like Scotland. It was covered in pines and steep hills led down to the waters edge. The steep slopes meant that beaches didn't really exist or if they did they were small pebbly ones. So along the coast were some man-made concrete 'beaches'. They were…an experience! I can't quite say I ever got comfortable lying on one reading my book. But that was more than made up for with the weather and the warm sea. Warm sea. I didn't know it could be possible! After years of freezing to death on Cornish beaches I could actually get into the sea up to my neck and swim around without dying!

The biggest risk of death and/or nipped toes I only noticed when it scuttled past my face as I was lying down reading…Crabs. Lots and lots of crabs.

We generally had the beaches to ourselves apart from maybe one or two other quiet people. We knew our holiday was over when on our last day our favourite and most special beach was invaded by a whole glassful of loud kids…

In the evenings we watched Croatian Masterchef and a few of the many soap operas available. It's good fun trying to work out what on earth is going on. Masterchef seems to have about 50 judges in Croatia…and all of them love blatantly advertising weird looking packets of food.

I read a lot too. Reading 'World War Z' by Max Brooks at night when you're the only people in an apartment block is scary…Very scary! I had my escape route planned (Don't bother seeing the movie, by the way. It'll be rubbish because they've changed so much. Read the book for sure though.) When someone actually did move in to the block later in the week I wasn't reassured! They sounded zombie-ish with their banging around...

On our last night we had to go back to the first restaurant:

1. I needed to have that amazing fish meal.

2. We wanted the legend that is Igor to be our goodbye from the island.

The night didn't disappoint. This time Igor (instead of smashing the place up) completely disappeared after our meal. We waited so long for him to come back that even his constantly texting wife noticed and went off to find him. Good ol' Igor.

The next day we got the ferry back to Split for one more night before flying home. I have never in my life had a worse nights sleep. Split, having been quiet when we were first there, had become slightly lively… Somehow Tansley managed to sleep through drunks shouting, a couple having a screaming argument, a man's howl, carts being dragged down the paving stones outside, whipping sounds, and (I'm not entirely sure I didn't make this up in my delirium) a Croatian barbershop quartet singing…I had exactly one hours sleep before we travelled back.

Just to show us we were back in England there was a massive thunder and lightning storm as soon as we arrived. This time I wasn't so lucky as to not get soaked before I got home…Bring on next year!

*most likely not his name but he definitely looked like an Igor.

ferries and thunderstorms (croatia part 2)

After our short adventure in Split we went to the port and got the ferry to an island called Hvar about 2 hours away. It was boiling hot and the sea was like glass. Coming from Britain I'm used to the sea being like…the sea! You know, actual waves and such…I don't really know how it works…maybe the islands were blocking the waves or something.

The main town on Hvar is also called Hvar. What a coincidence! Its known for its bars and restaurants and is a popular place for rich boat people with private yachts…Having forgotten to pack my yacht we were going to be staying in a quieter town called Stari Grad. 

The ferry conveniently dropped us about a mile from Stari Grad, so while everyone else got on buses to be with the posh Hvar people, me and Tansley walked along the coast into Stari Grad and up the hill to where our apartment for the week was.

The place wasn't hard to find (the building being bright pink) and like the tourists we were we waved our booking confirmation at a lady standing vaguely near the building. She had a look at the paper and a look at the building and shook her head. She called over a man who looked like Pete from Twin Peaks. He had a look at the paper and a look at the building and shook his head. The word I remember being repeated fairly often was 'problem' (imagine it in a Croatian accent, it's better) The building was owned by the couple's neighbour and they didn't think the apartments would be open for another two weeks…

Having paid online for a full week at the apartment this wasn't the best news we could've heard. Either a mistake had been made about the dates or we'd been robbed of our cash! Pete and his wife took us to their house a couple of doors down the road. We sat in their porch while we listened to them make phone calls, wondering exactly what was going on. We were just coming up with a plan to get the next ferry straight back to Split to go to the British Embassy and refuse to move until they'd sorted the problem (or whatever you're supposed to do at these embassy places) when a lady came up the drive to the house. Pete must've called the owner and got her to come and fetch us so we shook his hand and dumbly followed her up to our apartment.

I don't think I have ever felt so thankful in my life! As we sat there laughing with relief, rain started pouring down and there was a good old thunder and lightning storm to welcome us to the island.

tall towers and lots of legs (croatia part 1)

Since leaving university and actually earning enough money to live I wanted to see some more of the world. Nothing fancy like a year off travelling around the world (although I would if I could afford it!) but just a little holiday abroad once in a while to tick off a few countries on my 'to go to' list. All of my holidays except one as a child were in Britain so my list is long. For at least two summers I've said I'm going but then something happens which has meant I can't unless I go on my own (boring)

This year I finally escaped! An early morning at the end of May and some cheap flights later I've arrived in Croatia with my old university housemate Tansley (Tansley McFransley, Fransley, Mr T, Mr Tea, Teatotal, G&T and as many others as I can think of)

The flight took us to Split, the city we were going to stay for two days before getting the ferry to one of the islands. The city is big but its heart is an old palace which later turned into a trading point with winding alleys alongside a cathedral and belltower. A large 'city' wall with an entrance on each side still shows you where the palace is/was…I'd make a rubbish travel writer. Anyway, there's this old square section of the city that the rich guy with the palace used to live.

When we looked online before we went I was surprised to find a little flat to stay in actually within the palace walls. I understood it better when we arrived. If the palace was in London it'd be shut off and you'd have to pay £10 to get in to visit it. In Split it is still living and breathing with cafes, restaurants, apartments and shops occupying the old buildings.

Annoyingly the first thing it did when we arrived in the country was rain. This wasn't a good start to my amazing first proper holiday! At least we were on a bus though and it'd stopped by the time we had to drag our massive backpackers bags (hand luggage only to save money and time) through the old town to get to our little apartment.

It turned out the palace is rather small…we walked past all of the sights I had obsessively printed maps out for before we'd even arrived at the apartment. Walking from one side of the palace to the other took about 2 minutes. Never mind, I was on holiday! Tansley was being wimpy and tired from having left my flat in London at 2am so he went to sleep while I read my book and waited out the grey sky.

We avoided looking properly at all the sights yet again when we went to have dinner that night. It was a place described as being like a 'granny's front room' in the travel guide we took with us. Obviously it was the place to go! It was filled with weird little ornaments and stuffed fish on plaques and the tables were old Singer sewing tables.

Chucked in the deep end with a Croatian menu, with the help of a lovely waiter we both ordered some kind of seafood risotto. I love fish but when faced with prawns and langoustine mostly-vegetarian Tansley and uncultured me didn't really know what to do. My food education comes from watching Come Dine With Me and they don't show you how to eat weird little creatures with shells and legs all over the place! There's probably some simple little trick to do it perfectly but we just hacked away with our knives and forks and hoped for the best. Tansley seemed to get the knack of it after a while and I pretended to as well…accidentally crunching away at the shells and smiling away like I knew what I was doing. The bits I managed to eat were tasty but I had to give up after a while. The actual risotto was the best I'd ever had though so it wasn't a complete disaster!

The next day it was pouring with rain so we had a lie-in before venturing out. Throughout the holiday we actually had really good luck with the weather. The rain seemed to stop every time we stepped outside. We toured the sights properly this time, taking longer so I could take far too many photos. There was a mean looking statue called Gregorius of Nin that was my favourite. For the life of me I can't remember what he was about…something to do with language possibly…Anyway, he had these amazing long gangly fingers and his big toe was a shiny gold from where everyone rubs it for good luck.

We also went up the belltower of the Cathedral of St Domnius. In theory I'm not afraid of heights…but walking up a wobbly metal staircase with open sides wasn't exactly pleasurable. Luckily the bells didn't ring as we went past them because I'm sure my automatic reaction would either have been to jump out of the tower or sit on the stairs and never move again. The view of the city was amazing though and the sun came out just as we reached the top. That was the beginning of the real holiday.

"a book worth reading is worth buying" - John Ruskin (1819 - 1900)

"…but a book for free is even better." - Alice Reese (1986 - at least 2086)

The highlight of my working life (and some might say my whole life) was the 'pulp shelf' when I was working as a Jacket Design Assistant at 80 Strand.

Dorling Kindersley is a part of Penguin Group….obviously including Penguin and all of its divisions; Puffin, Beatrix Potter, Ladybird, Rough Guides…etc etc etc. They all live in one big building on the Strand (£220 to buy in Monopoly)

Tucked away on the 7th floor is a magical bookshelf of books that aren't needed any more. Some are in foreign languages, some have old covers, some have a printing or spelling mistake and some just seem to be there for no reason at all. Working there I was allowed to take two of these books home a day and I made sure to go every single day.

2 books a day for 6 months (minus 12 days holiday) = about 240 books…

Looking at that number even surprises me so I've probably gotten my maths wrong…But the general idea is I now have a lot more books!

I'm a sucker for sets of books with matching designs as you can see. It's led to an obsession with rearranging them. I only have so much space on my shelves so every time I find a new book that matches others I have to change my whole system. (All non-matching books have their own separate rainbow coloured coded system obviously)...Extremely sad but extremely enjoyable. Bookshelf Tetris!

I just need to read them all now...

suitcases, suitcases everywhere and not a holiday to go on

eBay is very dangerous, kids. It's like when my boyfriend goes out to buy milk and comes back with milk and beer and out-of-date sandwiches and buy-one-get-one-free biscuits.

Suddenly thanks to my cross-stitch fever and an over-generous Nan I had a load of sewing materials to store somewhere in my room so I decided to buy a sewing box. A sensible idea!…

A nice sewing box does not exist in this world.

Not everyone who sews has bad taste, a liking for floral patterns or is blind (yes, be quiet. I am blind. But only half so it doesn't count!)

My clever solution was to buy a small vintage suitcase from eBay to keep my things in. I already had a few on the top of my wardrobe with other random junk in so it'd fit in well.

However, my tightfisted ways meant I couldn't see the logic in buying one small vintage suitcase for around £30………when I could get 5 of varying sizes for £50! Hideous padded floral box or a large quantity of vintage amazingness? The choice was made when I accidentally on purpose made sure I won the cases by the old 'adding-one-penny-to-a-sensible-maximum-bid' trick. Ha.

It was only slightly mortifying when the man from the postroom had to bring them all to my desk at work in a massive package about a week later. Hmm.

Never mind. I got them home by taking them one by one on the tube in rush hour with the satisfaction they were definitely better than the suitcases dragged along by all the tourists. I can't imagine people in 60 years time having M&S wheelie suitcases on display in their bedrooms…But what do I know? People think it's cool to wear 80's clothes…

xoxox

One day when I was trying to make my leaky Greenwich flat more homely I bought some cheap but nice picture frames to put photos in. Having spent ages trying to decide exactly which photos I was going to put in them (and failing) and then discovering I didn't have any ink in my printer to print them anyhow I abandoned them.

When I finally sorted out my room in the Kilburn flat I found them again and put them up on the wall. The plan was that I would be forced to fill the still-empty frames because who hangs empty ones?

Me, it seems.

I still couldn't choose the pictures to put in them. Photos of myself were self-loving, photos of my family would embarrass them, photos of landscapes were OK but didn't really match the colour of the room, pictures of my cats made me look like a cat-lady…I think about these things too much.

For at least 6 months they were empty on the wall while I tried to figure out this extremely serious problem. Then I had one of my occasional spurts of energy and decided I'd make a cross-stitch for each one. They'd be old-fashioned but modern at the same time and the colours would match the room and they'd be something no-one else had! They would be the answer to the question I had spent months* thinking about.

Obviously I spent another lifetime deciding on and then designing the cross stitch patterns I'd use but to cut a long story short, here they are! Three out of the four frames are now filled…I like to think of the empty one as a tribute to the good old days when they were nothing more than an idea**

*about 30 seconds every week over multiple months…

** not a sign of having become disinterested in cross stitch again.

…another story

Having run away from the Greenwich wilderness I found myself in Kilburn at a building apparently originally used as rich people's pied-à-terres back in the day. I'm not sure which day but there's still an entrance that doesn't really fit cars but would be perfect for a carriage and horses…so those days.

I moved into a flat there to live with two other girls. After two years I'm still here! The other two girls moved on to other places/were driven crazy by me and left so I'm now the flats most seasoned resident (apart from the pot plant I'm desperately trying to revive at the moment)

My room was pretty sad when I first moved in but apparently so long as I don't knock down any walls or paint the walls black or anything like that I can do what I like in my room. I painted the walls but it wasn't enough! Before I had moved in, my flatmate had ripped up the carpet in the living room and sanded the floorboards underneath. My other flatmate did the same in her bedroom. I took this as official permission and decided to do it my bedroom too.

I'm not exactly a DIY expert…I'd actually say I'm a DIY disaster. In secondary school I managed to set fire to a piece of wood whilst drilling it…You get the idea.

I enlisted my little brother to come and help me do it. Ripping up the carpet was fine but sanding the whole floor with one small handheld sander was probably a mistake. It took ages but we finally managed to get it done.

Add in some Mum-made curtains and duvet cover and a load of Dad-put-together furniture and I was set!

Kilburn isn't as scenic as Greenwich but the flat has hot water and heating and lights and a working roof! Luxury.

I'll have moved out before the lettings agents find out about the floor…

(mean)time in Greenwich

After living in a busy house in a noisy area (sleeping on a mattress and listening to the Brick Lane boozers) Greenwich was like heaven.

I had always said that I'd hate to live in London…and here I am after living here for 3 years. It's not my first choice of places to live, being the country bumpkin that I am, but I'm more than surviving.

When I thought of London I thought of places like Brick Lane; exciting to visit but not to a place to stay. I had no idea what Greenwich would be like when I got on the train to visit the flat I'd soon be living in. I don't think even a seasoned Londoner could imagine the flat I moved into to be honest though!

When I knocked on the door of the big old townhouse next to Greenwich Park the first thing I saw was a theatrical looking old lady in dark clothes, with heavy makeup and 'arty' hair….the second thing I saw was the head of a life-size cardboard giraffe peering over the bannister of the stairs in the big hallway…

The lady who greeted me was Ann, my new landlady. She lived in the main part of the house. Cassie and me would be living in the attic flat three floors above. There was also a man living in a basement flat and another woman living in a small flat in the old servants part of the house. Only photos can describe the house properly so I'll post a few. Everywhere was covered in dried flowers and cardboard cut-outs. The landlady's homemade patchwork curtains and framed collages added to the…original feel.

As I sat chatting to Ann in her kitchen I felt like I'd been there before. There was an old sofa stacked with books and every single space on the walls were covered in picture frames and hung plates.

It turned out that the house and its garden had often starred in TV, movies and fashion photoshoots. I recognised the kitchen from 'Driving Lessons' in which Julie Walters (playing a character not dissimilar to Ann) employs Rupert Grint for something or other. I can't remember. I have it on DVD now though!

The attic was a little more normal but normality in that house was still crazy compared to flats that were actually normal. My bedroom had bright green walls and a shiny silver ceiling… I loved the place straight away. It was weird and different and Greenwich felt like a little village away from real London.

Francois the Bike

That summer was brilliant and comfortable. The flat had it's flaws (the woman in the flat downstairs was mental, the 'double glazing' consisted of pieces of glass wedged into the window frame over the original windows, the fuses were dodgy and the shower temperamental) but it was still a novelty and sunshine always filled the rooms.

I even had an old bike called Francois to cycle around the park. 

Wintertime was when the place lost its appeal. The screechy neighbour was now irritating, the windows didn't close fully, the lights didn't work properly and the shower committed suicide. I don't know about you but the last thing I want to do after a days work is sit in the dark in an icy breeze listening to the drunkard neighbour after a cold shower…

To make things even more 'exciting' the roof to my bedroom sprung three streaming leaks in one evening. I had to drag my bed into the middle of the room to avoid being drowned in the night.

The upside was that when it snowed that February the whole of Greenwich was cut off from public transport so I had to stay home from work for two days. I was still cold though.

Anyway, I decided one winter was enough and gave myself the deadline of the next Christmas to be living somewhere less interesting but more sensible. After a long and boring search I eventually found the place I live in now and waved goodbye to Greenwich just before my deadline. After carrying all my stuff down three floors of narrow winding stairs and loading it into a van, I made my way to my new adventures in North London (but that's another story)

look! it's moving. it's alive. it's alive!

Err…so…that was another rather long gap….My record I think. I officially have no chance of catching up now.


I can't be bothered to talk about work (as you may have noticed) I'll do the highlights! I have to write less and you have to trawl through less rubbish. Everyone wins! Deal? 


I've managed to work out how to change my blog name to something much more relevant/accurate. It gives me an excuse for when I don't post something for 3 months…or 3 years. 


Here is my 3-year work-life catch-up! 


...completed my 2 week work placement without getting killed. I stayed at my lovely friend Katy's flat in St Pauls while I was in London. 
...had the placement extended for another 2 weeks…as a result I had to drag my bag with only 2 weeks worth of stuff to Brick Lane where I slept on a mattress on the floor of a big house where my other lovely friends Mike, Ellie and Daniel lived. I shared the floor with Stacey the mouse. 
...had my extended placement extended to a 6 month contract. Now needed somewhere to live urgently. 2 weeks worth of stuff still being washed and recycled. Stacey the mouse still hadn't moved out. 
...not being a Londoner, visited flatshares in the worst parts of London to try and find a room. Still sleeping on a mattress… 
...was saved by yet another lovely friend Cassie who was also moving homes and offered me a bedroom in an attic flat in an old house in Greenwich. Said goodbye to Ellie and Mike and Daniel and Stacey and moved to my own place at last! 2 weeks worth of stuff still going strong… 
...started work properly at Zag, a brand and product invention company. It's best described in terms of Dragons Den…Someone would come up with an idea, we'd find a factory to make the product, design the packaging and logos etc and try to get it into shops. 
...spent 2 and a half years at Zag. It was a crazy environment, especially as it only had 2 graphic designers and 1 product designer. Had my brain frazzled and learnt a lot. 
...was made redundant at Christmas 2010. Not the best timing but at least I could retreat to St Ives for a family Christmas and Mum's cooking. 
...having some time to think about exactly what I wanted to do with my life I decided to escape the world of branding and move into publishing or products for children…ideally children's publishing! 
...visited the Job Centre a few times and was only vaguely surprised at the number of drunk people on Kilburn High Road in the middle of the day. 
...after a month of unemployment (including a lazy Xmas week or so) I got a 6 month post at Dorling Kindersley as an Assistant Jacket Designer in the travel guides department. This was so I could get my foot in the door in the publishing world and also learn the publishing basics as I went. It was a good job as I got to be a designer as well as see behind the scenes by attending the meetings with some quite senior people. 
...the 6 months has just come to an end so now I am unemployed again! (Oh, you thought I'd suddenly got a load of energy to write my blog again? Actually a load of time) 


See? That was boring even when shortened! No wonder I put it off for so long...