The Sarky Traveller Takes Over

So finally after months of broken promises, The Sarky Traveller has taken over the blog to give you previously undisclosed information; tips; additions to usual guidebook stuff and of course stuff you already knew with a sarcastic twist. Which let's face it, is always fun

 All The Sarky Traveller blogs now have a new home on thesarkytraveller.blogspot.com

The road to Vegas. Long, dark and Zexy!
So once you've done the 12 hour flight to LA; the hour and a half jaunt through customs; the three mile shuttle to the airport rental car place and the further hour and a half wait for the hire car..... (just so you know, we went with budget for our car hire and it doesn't matter if you've already paid in full, they don't have any one manning the International desk. You just have to queue up with everyone else and wait it out.....FUN!).........and then it's the four and a half hour drive to Vegas. Whoop!

At this point, I can safely say both of you are knackered, maybe a little smelly and dying for a shower. You're also irritable and can be prone to the odd disagreement/argument etc. You're also thirsty and hungry which for most men means additional irritability and for me means dehydration, which hits me pretty hard. So just watch out for these things, otherwise you can start your holiday on a low. But on the flip side (not actually sure I can pull off that saying) you are excited. You're off to Vegas. You're in LA and it's October and it's really warm and you're on the other side of the World for the next 16 days. Can I get a whoop?!

So top tips after the lengthy journey over the pond:

• Have all your forwarding documents at hand: Hotel check ins; rental car reservations, transfer flight tickets or bus tickets.

• Make sure you have at least a bottle of water at hand.

• And snacks, especially if you have a long journey till your final destination.

• Have your camera at hand because let's face it you're in America you never know what you might see.

• And if you are driving, or a member of the party is, make sure you know the route, even if you have a sat nav. Just have some sort of paper map, or at least the road names/numbers committed to memory. You never know when the tom tom app may delete itself. (I have never deleted the tom tom app. No!)

And so to the drive of all drives. It was actually really cool as we skirted around LA and could see downtown from the interstate. Even just seeing the turn offs for Hollywood and Pasedena (Big Band Theory) made you giddy. But we would have to wait a few days to experience The LA. This was all about the build up, the hype, the wait. The Vegas!

Now in terms of food and drink along the way, American interstates don't have service stations just off the road like in the UK. So you can't just nip off and back on, it's a bit more of a polava. Sometimes there's a village or town just off the interstate which is quite useful, but other times you have to come off and drive a mile or two before you find what the sign says.

My main tips here are:

• If it looks like something out of a horror movie, don't stop there, just drive on, get back on the interstate and cane it!

• When you do stop, do everything....bathroom break, check on gas (petrol) and stock up on supplies such as drink and snacks, as you never know when the next services will be.

• Stop for something substantial to eat, preferably before you hit the I-15 going into Nevada because that's when you hit the desert and the land of darkness swallows you up. You might find the odd spark of life, but nothing much. So definitely stop before then.

• Also, if you are a little freaked about using the bathroom at a service station, then either get your partner/friend/spouse to stand outside and talk to you, or go to a chain restaurant and use the toilet there. (obviously, this isn't always an option but if it is, then just go buy a drink there for like a $1.50 and use that much nicer bathroom. It'll be worth it if only for your peace of mind.)

If you are the designated driver, then this is going to be the toughest part of the journey. It's getting dark, you've got several hours to go; there are no lights on the road and for the most part there are no cars on the road. (Depending on what time of day and year you go, this will be very different. But at the end of October on a Saturday night there was very little traffic into Vegas.) It is invaluable to have a playlist on some sort of portable device, as the radio doesn't work well in these parts. It is also preferable to have a partner/friend/spouse who'll sing along and keep you going as best they can.

Like I said, there's not a great deal to see along this road and it does get a little tiresome. You don't have to make any turn offs, it's just straight line, North on the I-15. We did find a 'rest area' where A jumped out for the toilet but I took one look at the creepy shack and locked myself in the car. There was no way I was using those toilets. It really was something out of a horror film......and I like horror films. We also found a gas station/general store just off the highway where A grabbed a coffee kick and a breath of fresh air. So there is life but it's sporadic and at times, just plain creepy.

Now, about a 100 miles from Vegas you pass a ridiculous and also pretty famous road sign: Zzyzx Road. No, this is no joke, it's an actual turn off and an actual road name.

Sadly, this is as well as my photo came out, but it was night and we were zooming rather fast. I since found out that this guy just made up the name of it in the 30's so it could be the last official entry in the English language.

What? But it's not a word. It's not a place name. It's just some crazy person who went, oh, what ridiculous combination of letters can I string together to make a silly, unpronounceable name? Hmmmmm, let me think...

I could just do that. Make up a word to beat that. Now check this out:

Zzpqurstvuxyzzxyzx

Right then. Pronounce that!

What's funnier is that it was only officially approved in the 80's, 1984 to be exact. Man, the 80's have a lot to answer for. They might as well have called it Zexy. That would be funnier!

Anyhoo, if you're going past in daylight, you might actually want to venture off and travel down the 4 and a half mile road and see the springs of the same name. Or at least get a better picture than I did. But don't blink or you'll miss it.

Continuing along the I-15, the excitement of Zzyzx quickly wears off, leaving you once again in the dark. Then, like a mirage, the Vegas before Vegas springs up before you. You see these lights coming down the Ivanpah Valley and you think, wow, it's Vegas. Even though the sat nav is telling you there's still 40 miles to go, your heart is pounding for life, for Vegas. Then as you get closer to this tiny town called Primm, there are three casinos and that is it! Ha. So not Vegas then. Damn the sat nav for being so right.

Oh look, it's Vegas......oh no it's Primm.

Interestingly though, Buffalo Bills Casino at Primm has a huge roller coaster (not too dissimilar to the one at New York, New York, but we'll get to that in the next blog) and I found out it was the biggest and fastest roller coaster in the Guinness Book of Records in 1996. It even had a battle with The Big One in Blackpool UK and it won the battle, due to that pesky sea level. It also has a pool shaped like a buffalo. Well, I found that interesting.

I still find it kinda strange that people would choose to stay there, when Vegas is 40 miles up the road, but if you like your gambling a little quieter, then I guess three resorts, a free shuttle bus between the three of them, a roller coaster, concert hall and a buffalo shaped pool, may appeal.

Now, the next time you do see lights on the horizon, it really is Vegas. It's so much light it could be seen from Pluto. It stretches in front of you, like a sea of shimmering fairy lights. It's the lord of all light pollution. It's Blackpool on crystal meths. And it's freakin' awesome! It's Vegas baby! (I feel much like Joey in Friends when he went to London, when expressing the joy of Vegas. The amount of times you find yourself saying "Vegas Baby!" is ridiculous.)

Vegas Baby! 

The signs and hotels and turn offs zoom by and you see all the big names up in lights: Celine Dion, Elton John, 12 different Cirque du soleil shows and beer, gambling and women! Oh yes, you've made it, to the ultimate 24 hour city, in the heart of absolute no where. You've made it to Vegas!

The next blog will take you into actual Vegas. Think hotels, buffets that could literally feed 5,000, casinos, taxis and shows!

Final thoughts:

The main sights along the I-15 are:

• Creepy rest areas. Avoid at your peril.

•  The Zzyzx sign. Try and get a snap of this famous road sign and make up your own examples of absurd , unpronounceable, non-words.

• Primm - The Vegas before Vegas. If you have time maybe stop off at Buffalo Bills for a ride on the biggest, tallest, fastest roller coaster from 1996 and experience 4G's. Or take a swim in the buffalo shaped pool.

 That's all for now. I know you're all waiting with baited breath for the next one. Just don't hold your breath between now and the next one. Eek.

Signed: The Sarky Traveller 2013

Messed up dreams, tidying and couch days.

My twisted brain must be working on over drive at the moment as I'm having some really fucked up dreams. Like, scare the shit out of you, messed up dreams. Like waking up convinced it was real dreams and sweating and panting and almost crying out dreams.

And I can't seem to make them stop.

So this morning's delight was me with a group of people that I'm sure I knew but couldn't put a face or name with and there was some sort of infection or disease going around. I think we were in the play ground of my primary school, back up North, and as soon as the infection showed in, weirdly, your hand, it would then work it's way up your arm and through your body. So, as soon as it was visible, the men were using massive knives to chop off hands at the wrists or arms at the elbow or shoulder.

I kept thinking, I hope it doesn't get me, I need my hands, I'm a writer. But it kept taking down one by one of the people there with me. And various hands and parts of arms now littered the floor along with the gushing of blood and splatter of tears. The anxiety grew as the amount of people not infected decreased and I knew it was only a matter of time until the infection took me and I would have to lose a part of myself that I needed.

All sorts of weird things flashed through my head (still in my dream) about alternative ways of being able to write and how other people have triumphed with lost limbs, but still I selfishly hoped the infection wouldn't take me and then I could keep my writing hands, my typing fingers, the reason for my continued existence.

But then a took a look at my hands, arms outstretched and the red blotches of the disease travelled up my hands towards my wrist.

"No NO!" I screamed. "I'm a writer. I need my hands!"

But then I was thrust up against the wall, just like the others and out came the massive and already bloody knife. The infection began to spread further up my arm and I knew it would have to be severed at the elbow. The knife was held up, ready to strike and.........

BAM! I wake up, distressed and scared and quickly checking my arm was actually in tact.

Wow is it fun to be in my head, especially my subconscious. 

So, come on dream interpreters. What does that mean?

I have a few theories myself: Not that it's exactly rocket science. But I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that I haven't come to terms with quitting my job, I'm scared I'll never make anything happen with the writing. I'm worried I'm not good enough to be a writer. Blah blah blah. Plus it probably has something to do with all the horror/zombie/disaster films and TV shows we watch. Couple that with my twisted mind and the result is some freakin' scary ass nightmares. Urgh! I'm hoping they're gonna stop soon. The waking up at 3.30am every morning is getting old.

Anyhoo, I've had a week and a half of chaos due to having to clear out all my stuff from work, including all my musical instruments and stuff for my music classes. And for the last three weeks it's all been stuffed under the dining room table or wherever I could find somewhere to shove it. I think this has been contributing to the low levels of productivity and all around emotional turbulence I've been experiencing since the start of the new year.

But now due to hours and hours and days and days of cleaning and tidying and getting rid of stuff and recycling as much as humanly possible, the chaos has cleared and I have a tidy work space. So tomorrow the real start of the year will begin.

I couldn't work in chaos, because not only was the room in chaos, but so was I. My mind was such a tangle of nonsense and emotion and loss and the feeling of detachment, as though I no longer belonged to anything. Like I cut myself out of the World and no longer have a place in it, or I lost my place in the queue or something............Something equally melodramatic.....See what happens when you suddenly have only yourself for company. Ha ha.

So now things are in order-ish and I feel better, uncluttered both inside and out, I felt entitled to a couch day. And I am thoroughly enjoying myself. I love a good couch day. We don't have them very often but they basically involve, the couch, the TV, DVD player, remote controls, drinks and food. And of course, not doing a great deal. (Except of course writing this blog, whilst watching an epic film.)

We started on the series Homeland yesterday, which granted makes us well behind the times, but that's not unusual for me, and we are hooked. We sat and watched about three episodes back to back this morning. Claire Danes is pretty hot in it and it's very interesting that she is dealing with a psychiatric disorder as well. Normally spies are depicted with very little weakness, so it's interesting to see a main character having to not only deal with terror plots and saving the World, but also this vulnerability that she can't tell anyone about. And also the fact that it is probably her disorder that makes her so good at her job. (I do know it's not real.)

We've been interspersing this with episodes of Once Upon A Time and Series 6 of 24. He he. Good times.

Anyhoo, the couch is proving particularly comfy and inviting. I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna move much for the next few hours, so I'll skidaddle and hopefully return later this week with a holiday blog. I should be able to formulate the right mental mode.

Have a great rest of weekend. I actually used my blanket with the arms for the first time. We normally ignore the sleeves and just use it as a blanket but it proved great for a couch day blog. Shame they look slightly ridiculous really.

Toad in the hole for tea tonight, a British classic and one of my star culinary creations, believe me, there ain't many. Am excited about it already.

Have a chilled Sunday evening and maybe take advantage of a few hours on the couch. I'm sure you deserve it!

General rants.

Sorry, the holiday blogs still have not materialised. Can't seem to access the right part of my brain but I'm definitely in need of some general rantiness!

Oh my god, how much does it cost to post stuff? I took a package to post today and it cost around half the price of a train ticket to the same place. (And it's a 2 hour train journey, not a local one.) Freakin' ridiculous. For that price I want it transported by fairies or wrapped in a cotton wool cloud and delivered by stork. Or I want it fitted with GPS so you can track it's every movement. Or I want it to appear in the arms of the recipient as if by magic. Fuck!

Talk about fleeced. I also sent a smaller package that barely weighed anything. £2.70. Bloody £2.70. I swear they don't even weigh things anymore they just take a look at the customer, work out what they can afford and then double it. Arse holes.

And what makes it more annoying is that the bigger package only had to be posted because Boots couldn't get their finger out of their arse enough to print my photos in time for me to complete the memory book for my friend's 30th last weekend. And if they had then I wouldn't have had to take additional trips into town, on the bus as I'm now poor and unemployed, and I also would have had it ready to take up to Nottingham with me last weekend, thus no postage charges.

Wankers!

Needless to say the customer service was so bad that I, Helen, one of the most patient and least likely to complain people in the World, (Well, I don't complain to people's faces, that's why I have a blog. Ha.) actually wrote a letter of complaint. So you can imagine just how terrible the service was.

Anyhoo, I've had a shocking eye opener into the world of freelance writing (AKA unemployment) and first impressions are that it's a lonely affair. You have way too much time with your thoughts to let a ridiculous amount of pessimism in and you kinda go a little loopy.

I miss my kids, which is not helping matters. If I had a shit day at work at least I could grab my favourite kid and have a cuddle, or engage them in conversations about ....well nothing really, just mindless prattle and nonsense. Or we could have a singing session and I would instantly feel better. Now it's like....Oh, I'll put a film on. Oh, look, I've done no writing. What a freakin' surprise! Or, oh look I've eaten all the biscuits and I'm now obese.

Why did no body warn me about these adverse side effects. Being a bum is supposed to be fun and exciting. But I just feel, for want of a better word.....blurgh! At the moment I feel blurgh! But I'm hoping once I can establish some sort of routine around my working day, then I will feel ever so slightly less blurgh and hopefully more productive.

That's not to say I've been sat on my arse doing nothing. No no. On the contrary, I've been running errands and making lists and crossing things off lists and researching article writing and tidying and rearranging and re-reading things I've already written, and...the list goes on.......

Still, I made nice burgers the other day for tea and I've been making plans to see people during the week, a rare thing that goes along with lack of regular employment. I have also finally found somewhere to recycle my VHS so am boxing up my Friends and Buffy box sets and posting them off. You just don't realise how much room they take up until you actually get rid of them.

Incidentally I was bought Buffy and Friends complete season box sets for Christmas and have already delved into Friends. (I've missed it so much since it went to Sky. The fuckers take all the good things for themselves. Greedy buggers.) There's something so comforting in episodes you can recite along with, and the knowledge of which line comes next. When you're laughing about the punchline of a joke before they've even said it, that's when you know you're home.

But each episode is longer, uncut and this is throwing my wenus out of whack (Friends joke. You either get it or you don't). There is at least a minute or two or new material in every episode. Some of it is terrible and some of it they really should have left in, but it's weird. I knew practically all the episodes like the back of my hand. And now my hand has become a stranger to me. (MELODRAMA!!!!)

Okay, enough of the insanity. I have writing and re-writing and editing and re-editing and re-reading to do, and it most certainly is not going to do itself.

I have to keep asking people what day it is as I've lost it completely. But apparently today is Thursday, so almost the weekend. Happy Thursday!

Risk...my arse!

Firstly, Merry Christmas. I hope you've all had a jolly time over the festive season.

Secondly, apologies for the absence of blogage, but leaving work was actually the most stressful thing ever and the last 3 weeks really sucked the life out of me.

Thirdly, Risk...my arse!

And so to the board game Risk, which the title would trick you into thinking meant you had to make risks. There's no risk. There's no skill and whilst you might need a strategy, or even have a strategy, let's face it; it's the luck of the dice throw. (You've all done probability.) And man, some people really take it seriously.

It was my first time playing risk, in Italy with A's family and over there it's actually called Riskio. He he. Playing a board game for the first time in a language you don't speak is interesting at best. But what is funny is that the dynamics are pretty much the same. The men think they know everything and really get into it (not including A who gave less of a shit than I did). And the women don't really care but sort of pretend to. A's Auntie was trying to be ruthless, but the dice were against her. A's sister was out pretty quickly prompting many arguments with her husband (one of the know it all men who took it very seriously) and I just found it all hilarious. I mean, it's little plastic tanks and aspirations of world domination. It's hardly realisitic or something I would ever dream of, especially when my political notions go as far as: I wish everyone would just get along.

After a bit of watching and misunderstanding  I eventually understood what the hell was going on, but with A as a partner (who couldn't give a crap) we had no strategy and kept stuffing it up. Our objective was to gain 24 (out of 48) countries and the most we managed was 14. Ha!

When they told me the game went on for hours, I didn't realise just how long. This was quickly bordering on Monopoly territory, in terms of length. (Of course, Monopoly is well better is all other ways! Especially the Wigan version which I incidentally left at my old flat and never got back. Urgh.) So after around 4 and a half/5 hours the rest of the family revolted to watch a 3D film and the game was left. Though the men couldn't help taking a sneaky peek when the lights were off to check for possible ways to change the inevitable outcome of the game.

And when the film finished they went straight back to the table, hoping to resume. (I bet they were just thinking about it all through the film. Ha ha.)

I basically said, "Let's just say you've won. You've got the most countries and the most tanks." Plus who really cares????
Eventually we persuaded him to admit he'd won (by compromise, he grumbled). Really he wanted to destroy everyone in order to win. Maybe we should be slightly worried that the Mathematician wants to take over the World. We'd all be subjected to useless, number related board games and complex theories and equations. Argh! The World would never be the same again.

He he. And let's face it, Risk was aimed at men: Armies, strategies and the desire to destroy everyone else. Not that I'm saying women can't have those aspirations, it's just that mostly they can't be bothered and those aspirations would probably be interrupted by a nice pair of shoes or a pretty bag or cocktail night with the girls. None of these things particularly conducive to taking over the World.

And so, I begin my freelance writer-dom in a matter of days (2nd Jan to be precise) and I already have a plan for the 2nd -4th Jan, which is several pages in my notebook. Whoop! Am very excited about it all. Just having the time to work through everything with a fresh mind instead of looking at things after hours and hours of poo and screaming and shouting and wee and frustration and annoying people. I'm hoping not having to filter out the stress of the day will give me much more constructive time to work through the re-edit of book 1, the beginnings of some picture books for smaller children and maybe even some non-fiction books around music and early years.

Still, It's all well and good having a plan, but I still have to stick to it, and avoid Netflix and the three box sets I got for Christmas. Ha ha. I will have to be strong! But I know I can be and a sneaky episode of something here and there could help, especially if I get stuck or need an incentive. You know? If you complete a chapter of the re-edit you can watch an episode of Friends (22 mins), but if you write 1500 words in one sitting then you earn a Buffy episode (45 mins). Ha ha.  

Anyhoo, I think The Sarcy Traveller will be taking over in January, as I begin my very belated holiday blogs from each of our destinations. Expect pictures and suggestions on the best places to go, eat, shop, sleep etc. And a lot of them aren't even in guides. They are smaller places, some not even named in guides or on maps, but I feel I not only owe it to those places, but also to the people from those places that made our stays ridiculously good! So watch out for that.

And all that is left to say is: Have an amazing New Year full of interesting trips and adventures. Follow your own direction and don't let others sway you from it. If you're making a tough decision, make it for the right reasons and make the best decision for you! Sometimes you do actually have to be selfish in this life. I've realised that (it only took 29 years) and whilst it can be hard, it is also your life and you should be the one taking control of it!

Okay, enough of the New Year lecture. Enjoy your night, whatever you may be doing, or wherever you may be. I hope you're with loved ones and basically eating and drinking the night away. I think A's mum's lasagne is on the menu tonight, which makes me a very happy bunny! All the best for 2013 and keep reading! A blog ain't the same without an audience.

Cheers!

Display despair and uber wedgies.

So now it's no secret I can announce it via blog.......I handed my notice in 4 weeks ago, and have only 2 weeks left of ass wiping (except of course, my own); snot wiping (except of course, my own) and general grey haired induced stress.

I will be keeping on with my music lessons, but that will be my only form of employment, or self employment. Yes, it's official! I'm going to be a bum. A poor writer, a tortured artist but presumably a happier person and who knows, maybe the grey hairs will back off.

So in true fashion, shit is hitting the fan at regular intervals at work, roughly every five minutes or so. Management are no where to be seen and I'm having to deal with it, making my last few weeks and the run up to Christmas: Well to put it bluntly....fucking shite!

Not only is our newest member of staff a complete knob and at times a liability, but all the rest of the staff are taking holidays and sick days and just generally leaving me in the crap. There should an actual law against holidays in December, especially when I have to write, rehearse and organise the Christmas Show (for 18 months to 4 year olds); put the decorations up, make decorations to put up (as ours all got wet in the shed and I had to chuck a whole bag of tinsel), and make all the props for the show. And still do all my other jobs and work and paperwork and reports and parent teacher meetings and.......Yes, my head is about to explode which isn't helped by the 7 extra hours I've done in the last 4 days and the lack of sleep.

Apologies, I don't mean to whinge but I've had four and a half years of this and it was obviously too much to think my last 6 weeks could actually be enjoyable. Silly of me really.

And now for the worst thing of the week, which to others would seem like the smallest thing but for me just induced a mega rage the likes have never been seen at Flat 19. Poor A who had to put up with the aftermath, which continued all night, as my rage took a long time to subside. Sorry love!

Anyhoo. So I'd done some nice printing with the children using shaped sponges and we decorated them with pom poms and snowflakes and I was excited to hang them up on the washing line, like a banner. Now I'd mentioned this a few times in the day and I had them out waiting to dry.

Strangely I'd actually had a good afternoon doing singing and music time with the children, so I was feeling in a good mood. I was actually ready to leave at 6.05 and it was refreshing to finish on a high note. Until, I emerged from the bathroom with all my bags (we don't have a staff room, just a staff toilet) and I see my favourite member of staff (the knob) putting the - not dry yet - pictures on the window, ruining my display that was already on there. Now I do realise that I sound like a crazy person. But it was my activity so she had no need to interfere. I like to follow things through to a conclusion and this made me mad.

And what's more, she didn't even put them on nicely, she just slobbed them on.

The horror on my face must have shown as our cook/cleaner noticed my pained expression and shook her head. I was so close to screaming at her. But I did realise how unreasonable that was, so I refrained. Instead, I bit my fist, screamed inside and left.

But it really grated on me all the way home, so much so that I couldn't read my book. I was livid, all tense and teeth clenched.

Then I poured it all out to A and all night (we were at the awesome Willie Mason gig), at random intervals I would shout, "But she didn't even put them on nicely!"

Luckily, I was also laughing every time, though dying a little inside.

And guess what the first thing I did on Thursday morning was? Yes, you guessed it, I took them down and did what I originally wanted to do with them. Ha. In your face rubbish display destroying monster.

Argh! Running out of time (on lunch break) so I think I will finish with that most uncomfortable uber wedgie that I had last night on the way home. I tried a sneaky grab on the escalator but it was right tucked in.

Anyhoo, after a cheeky pull on the platform I released the most uber of wedgies and again could travel home in comfort....well ish, it is the tube.

After today, ten more working days. Whoop! Bring on the unemployment....at least for a short time.

Happy Friday.

Public Transport and People. Worse combination imaginable!

My hatred of buses (or Buzes as we say in Wigan) began many years ago, around the high school age.
It never helps when you have no one to catch the bus with, you're large, bookish and unpopular, but the staring, giggling, sometimes even pointing and the fact that I would always have to stand up, made me miserable.

I've always much rather walked. So that's what I did after a few particularly uncomfortable journeys. Come rain or shine I would walk the 45 minutes to school and 45 minutes back.
But then college struck and we didn't have a choice but to take the bus. Luckily it was a bus reserved strictly for our college so I knew most of the people on there and I did have the opportunity to sit with friends etc.
Not too bad, though I know there was still sniggering and whispering. I guess there always will be. People are pretty hideous at times.

For my commute to Uni, I had to use bus and train and actually it was often the train that caused issues. Crazy people tended to get on the train. I experienced a lot of odd things, like stopping at a station and a group of youths throwing glass bottles into the carriage, smashing everywhere. There was once a cow on the track and I've also experienced lots of fights, both verbal and physical. And this one time there was even a really creepy guy who pretty much stared at me the whole journey and then afterwards the train manager came out and asked if I was alright. Apparently he was prone to staring at young girls.

Well thanks for the heads up.  There's nothing like feeling safe on public transport. Ha!

So to be honest I've had a lot of issues with trains and buses.

But the icing on the cake - as it were - was when I worked in Didsbury and I commuted by bus. I was approached by lots of older men that wanted my number and stuff. Creepy as hell. And there was of course the tramp that got on and pooed on the seat at the side of me. That was my singularly most painful memory of public transport. I stripped off as soon as I got home as all I could smell was shit.

Now in London, I avoid buses like the plague as there really are a lot of nutter that take the bus, more so than the tube, as the tube is way more expensive and there is a lot more staff at stations, even at night.
Some of the 24 hour buses can be pretty scary with some rather unsavory characters around. And when you get one by yourself, you tend to be on tender hooks the whole journey. Because whilst there may be a driver on board, that's one against a bus load, but if something's kicking off it's not nice!

Well, I'll try and get to the point. Last Saturday, I was meeting the girls from work for a meal and this had to be the one time the Northern Line is closed all weekend. So I weigh up the options and realise that a quick 214 to St Pancras and then a hop on the Piccadilly line would be best. Except my quick 10 mins to St Pancras became 25 minutes of hell. Here are my notes from the journey:

Feeling particularly claustrophobic on this 214. And there is a very grumpy driver who is refusing to go anywhere because someone got on at the back and didn't swipe. People are shouting and it's all very disconcerting. Did I mention I hate buses?

There's a lot of traumatised people on the 214 tonight. The driver had crammed that many people on that every time the doors opened he trapped this woman's foot in the door. He kept closing the back doors before people had managed to get off, including two women with buggies and an elderly couple.
People from the back were shouting. People in front were shouting. Two women were having a fight by the front door as one kept pushing the other. Ahhhhhh, confrontation, right in front of me. You know I can't hack it.

I managed to get a seat but that meant that I was cornered and had peoples' legs pushed up against mine and a sea of bodies that I couldn't see through or over.

Nasty stuff!

Every stop I was willing to be St Pancras, but 25 minutes later I managed to disentangle myself from the rest of the people and get out.
And to top it all off. Not only am I pissed off and angry by this point, but it's also raining and it's the first time in probably 5 months since I straightened my hair, so it would actually look nice.

Not anymore!

Fuckin' buses.

Fuckin people!

What the fuck?

Oh, and another thing. I know I don't know anything about fashion, but fuckin' patterned leggings, shorts, socks and t-bar shoes.........What the fuck????

Argh! Lunch break almost over. Final installment of Twilight tonight with the ladies. L, T, C and S. Whoop!

And just in case the sentiment wasn't clear.....I freakin' hate buses. They are evil contraptions and I will avoid them as much as I can, for as long as I can. People can also be quite evil, but avoiding them might make me a bit of a recluse. Hmmmmm. Will contemplate that one for a while.

Happy Wednesday.

Rants are like sweetcorn????

Eeee, it's been a while. Though I hadn't realised it was almost a month. Jeez. That's a long while in the life of Helen and her ranting. I wonder if they've all been building up inside and I'll puke them all over you right now. Rants are awfully difficult to keep down, especially this long. They're a little like sweetcorn, you know, you're incapable of digesting them, so they just come out in your poo. Ha. Okay, I do realise what I've just written and yes, I am a loon!

And so, it's been a month of excitement and discovery due to a mega holiday in the states. Now I will hopefully be turning into Travel Blog Helen at some point to give a thorough haul through the wonder of the holiday and some of the amazing places we visited. But for now you should know, we managed seven states in 16 days; drove over 3,500 miles (well A did); avoided superstorm Sandy (much to the delight of my mother) and even won some money in Vegas. We visited 4 state houses (I'm a geek for this stuff); saw two of the most amazing natural wonders on Earth and experienced two holidays (as in celebration holidays), one ridiculously early.

Intrigued? I hope so. Watch this space for The Sarcy Traveller, coming soon from my living room.

Am currently multi tasking to the extreme. I have my travel journal at the side of me, with New England guide open, finishing off the final two days of the trip, as we were that busy I got completely behind. And in between that I'm writing this and checking mail and running through the ridiculous list of stuff I've got to do and thinking about food (tummy rumbling) and watching Alias season 3. Oh yes!

Does anyone ever have the urge to physically push someone off their bike?
No?
Is it just me?

I'm not a naturally violent person, but I am northern so it's down there somewhere festering (only kidding, I don't for a minute believe that northerners are any more violent than southerners or midlanders. I'm sure we're all equally violent minded.). But today as I was crossing on the green light and he was clearly on red as all the cars had stopped, this cyclist drove through the light ridiculously fast and there were other people on the crossing. What a dick! I was so tempted to run and frickin' clothes line him or something, or dive on him, or just push him really really hard.

There could have been elderly people or kids or any combination of people on that crossing and he was going so fast that he would have had no chance. It really does take dick head cyclists to draw out that inner violence in me, though of course my stupid sensible side beat the crap out of the violent side and I didn't do anything but curse under my breath. Urgh! I have ranted about this many times cyclists, but if you are going to be a road vehicle which in fact you are, then could you please fucking follow the pissin' rules of the bloody road.

It's not a tall request. A very simple one actually, because next time my sensible side may falter and I could come flying at you and knock you off your bike, you complete knob!

And breathe! Oh, I may go and pop the oven on to preheat, the stomach is definitely ready for some nourishment, especially as I'm currently excreting rants. Ha ha. You have to replace.

And continuing with the annoying transport related issues, I am getting right royally fucked off about the walk to the Northern line platform at Kings Cross/St Pancras. It's a lovely wide corridor, more than ample space for two way traffic, obviously with no need for massive signs or a barrier, just that lovely skill that a ridiculous amount of people, are without: common sense. So today I have to squirm and push and shove my way through a wall of six abreast, all desperate to get out, leaving no room for the rest of us trying to get in. Then they look at you with disgust as though you've inconvenienced them. Sometimes I just want to shout, "It's two way traffic, move over you twats!" But again, those damn manners I was taught as a kid, they stick with you and instead, I curse under my breath (a common recurrence it appears) and shake my head and radiate anger.

It does actually say on the walls at various points, keep left, but then most people are too focused on getting where they're going to actually look up and take a hint. But really, it's not hard to just move across when you see oncoming people and you're taking up the entire space. Just sort it out okay?

Oh, I haven't experienced cold feet from writing, in ages. I may have to go and get my slippers. I think it's probably because I'm drawing all my power, wisdom and thoughts into writing and somehow that pulls warmth away from my toes. Hmmmm, yeah, I'm sure that's in a medical journal somewhere, along with an article about bollocks.

Actually, I've just realised my fingers are freezing too, and they're doing the typing....hmmmmm. Maybe my theory doesn't hold out. Damn. There goes my PhD Thesus.

I came back to work last Monday, literally straight off the plane and into work, with roughly 45 minutes sleep on the plane home, so that was fun. But what really got my goat was when I walk through the door to the usual hellos and what not, then I say, "I'll just freshen up abit." And I go into the staff toilet and there is no light. So not only can I not change clothes and freshen up, but I also have to pee in the dark for the next three days. Welcome back Helen!!!! Aren't you glad you came back?

And, twenty minutes after I returned, I ask, "Where's D?(one of our staff, due in at 10 and this is 10.05 and no sign of her and I'm thinking if I can make it from Boston US then you can make it from wherever the hell you live in London). And this is when they choose to reveal that said member of staff did a runner when I was on holiday. (This is not a one off. This has happened at least 3 times out of the 5 times I've been on a mega holiday during my time there. It's becoming almost expected.) Great! So not only am I tired, smelly, grumpy and other dwarf names, but I have to deal with a new member of staff and be on shift with her. Urgh! I do not like these types of surprises, though when it was S that started working with us after US trip 2010, that was actually a good thing!

The worst part was the fact that I couldn't pronounce or remember her name the whole day and had to keep saying things like, "your new teacher" or just pointing at her and smiling. And it doesn't help that her name is remarkably like Golem and every time I go to say it I have to stop myself from saying Golem. He he. Still, it's fun to say it in my head. (Yes, I do realise how cruel this is but I'm getting better and now I hardly ever think Golem before I say it and I can remember and pronounce it.)

Oh, today she was doing my head in though. We were understaffed (or under-competently- staffed) and I actually had to have a mini go at her. Yeah, I moving up in the World. We had 17 kids, two of whom are under 2 and 8 of whom are under 3. Yes, a nightmare in itself. Each of the three teachers have a group at their table and the odd wanderer that just floats around knocking things off and refusing to do anything. And then part way through, while ignoring everyone on her table she came with one of my kids and sat down at my table. Now, let's consider the common sense here. There are 6 kids on her table messing around, needing help and she sits on my table where I am already sat.

Dick!

So I say, "Can you just go back to your table."
"But, he wants to work with this."
"Okay, but I can do that. Your table needs you."
"But he wants to work with this now."
"Yes but I can do that and he can learn to wait a minute. There are a lot of children."
"But what about the activity?"
"It's more about crowd control now."

Eventually, she got the fucking message and went back to her table, tutting and murmuring to herself. Stuck up Montessorian. She basically asked me yesterday if I was Montessori trained and I said no, so obviously she thinks I can't present a piece of work. Oh my god, it is number beads not freakin' rocket science, silly cow. And I'm more concerned with the kids hanging off the light fittings, running out of the classroom or strangling each other, not an impatient older child who won't wait for me to help him.

Okay, that was fun.

I feel I could write all night, it's like ranting diarrhoea. Ha ha. I said it could all come flooding out.
Still, I'll hold some back, otherwise there might not be another blog for ages.

Slippers for my cold feet and the left over roast dinner that I'm about to pop in the oven are definitely calling to me. Thanks for reading and I hope this has made up for the almost month absence, or at least gone a short way towards forgiveness. I would appreciate it.

It's the middle of the week slump for me, I just hope the beginnings of this cold are gonna piss off. My throat is sore, not great when you are employed to talk all day, with intermittent shouting when the unruly kids break your patience level. (Mine is particularly low at the moment, so.....a very sore throat.)

Okay, I really am going now.