Go grocery shopping and carry your heavy bags to your bike.

Bike back home.

I got a box of 5 sample fragrances from a crazy posh perfumery called Penhaligons. This shop has been around since Victorian days, and while it seems the majority of their (female) scents were created after the 1950s, it remains an elitist staple of British smell.  Or so I’ve been told.  Apparently Churchill wore their scent, as did Princess Di.

And since I was given a box of 5 of their scents, I became obsessed with trying to find one that was “me”.  Plus I am a sucker for marketing and as a historian, wearing something that came from a historical shop, even though the scent was created in 2006, strikes me.  God I hate myself sometimes.

But the problem is, these scents are CRAZY expensive. Like, a 100ml bottle ranges from £80-110!  So it must be made with the tears of recently freed sex-slave children or something to justify that price, right?  But then I noticed that one of their scents was on sale for £20. £20!!!! Because it smells like ass?

Well, as it turns out it smells amazing. It’s called Lily & Spice and smells like honeysuckle and pepper, but better.  All I want to do is walk around a smell myself.

But here’s the thing: How the holy hell can they justify selling this stuff for £95, and then go on to sell it for £20?!?! What kind of insane mark up are they practicing?  I worked retail for 7 years, so I know how pricing generally works. And we would be flayed if we quadrupled the retail value.  Fucking British pseudo-Victorian capitalists!

And then I bought a £20 bottle because I NOW HAVE A JOB and it only cost 2 hours of work.

I’ve been knitting up a storm to make wooly hats, mittens, and delicate lacy shawls.  But posh goes beyond clothes to also what you eat.  As one of my favourite comedians Jack Whitehall said relating to his lunch one day  ”Just had cold goose, Cous Cous and broad beans for lunch-sort of the middle class version of chicken and rice and peas!”  And I hate to admit it, but I like to eat well.

Which is why I get SO much glee from finding posh eats that are actually cheaper than their normal counterpart.  Scores this week:

-Duck Eggs. I’ve wanted to try duck eggs since seeing so many fancy cookery shows about them.  Obviously the presenter is always harping about going out to your local farmers market to buy direct, but some of us can’t do that. BUT I have discovered that the Tescos here sells free range Duck Eggs for 8p CHEAPER than the cheapest box of battery farmed hens eggs. And since duck eggs are bigger, you get more volume for your money! MAGIC!

-Cous cous. A large bag of generic cous cous is just as much as rice

-Crab. Still a bit of a splurge, but while it’s in season you can get a LARGE Orkney crab, dressed or undressed for £5.  Considering how one of these babies is enough to feed me for dinner, it’s not any more expensive than having to buy several ingredients for one meal.

-Polish bread. I LOVE Polish bread because it reminds me of the French Sourdough we had in Cali.  And for some reason, it’s like .68p a loaf, doesn’t go mouldy in 2 days like all the bread in the UK, and taste great.

-Soy butter. Or margerine spread, rather.  Again, the dairy free soy butter spread only contains like 3 ingredients, is HALF as much as the other stuff, and tastes great.

I’ve also been scouring the reduced section in the evenings see what cheap eats are available to be taken home and frozen.  So far I’ve found Sting Ray, Ox Tongue, salmon, quail, poussin, all for under £1 because it was late in the day and the food needed to be eaten soon.

Well I jumped. And after a night of mucho wine, it was made clear to me that it was all for the best.  Admittedly, I should have never entered the building, much less go up 40 storeys (real British spelling there), but once in, I had to get out.

Allow me to clarify.

Once upon a time I applied to a buttload of jobs. So many, I forgot what I had applied for. Then one day, I get an e-mail asking me to come in for an interview. An interview? For what? Ah, library. Well, that sounds good. Doing what? Oh, customer service, shelving, IT, everything you have done for the past 2 years. No problem.

So I go and the first part is a tour of the library.  Where I learn that really, this job is 9 hours a week. And that the majority is shelving. Shelving with the occasional front desk duties, which, by the looks of the girl currently there, involves reading a lot of BBC news.

And I want out.  Not that I think I’m better than this, but yeah, actually, I am. I was a supervisor, and now they want me to be a shelving assistant- a job we gave elderly volunteers- and they only want me for 9 hours a week.  I might not have realised this, but my subconscious did.

Part II- The testing.  I had 3 minutes to shelve.  And I rocked it. Yes, I see what you are trying to do, with your 301, 301.4, 301.487 CH, 301.487SH, I know what you are doing.  Tricky, but I beat you.

Then came the IT part. Now, back at Wimbledon, I WAS the IT. I know my Microsoft Office like Johnson knew the Dictionary. I had 4 minutes to complete it and I did steps 1-4 in 30 seconds. But then it asked me to put my name and date in a footnote. And for some reason, every time I tried, it did it in a header. Footenote.  No header. FOOTNOTE! Nope, header. FOOTER, DAMN YOU! *BING* Time’s up.  I had just finished finally getting it in a bloody footer, and I ran out of time.  And all I had to do was save the damn thing as a new document. FUUUUCK!

So the lady announces that she is going next door to let them know I’ll be on my way and I start to put on my coat. But then, I get that feeling…that strong feeling to throw myself off the cliff. I whirl around and race to the computer to save my work.

Break time.

Why the hell would I do such a thing?  I am most certainly NOT a cheater!  I don’t do shit like that EVER! And to top it off, I KNEW she was going NEXT DOOR! I KNEW I wouldn’t have enough time to save it properly as a new document? WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?

What indeed? Was I purposefully trying to sabotage and disqualify my chances of working 9 hours a week? Yes. I have come to the conclusion that I must of been, because naturally the lady comes back to see me hovering around the computer trying to save the sucker, and she looks pissed as all get out.  So pissed she can’t even speak to me.

So, knowing that I’ve now just instantly disqualified myself, I do what anyone else would do – make an absolute fool of myself.  I walk into the interview room and respond as though I’m drunk.

Yep.

Example-

Them: What word would your colleagues use to describe you?

Me: Awesome.

Them: What would you consider one of your weaknesses?

Me: Well, I’ve not very vociferous and that can come across as being shy or insecure.

Them: You seem quite confident to me.

Me: That’s because I’m faking it right now.

Goooooooooooood lord!

Suffice to say, I didn’t get the job. Shucks.

Suck on that. 

Since all that seems to remain in Cambridge are job advertisements for custodial work, I have living out my life as a lady of…the house.  Quite literally.  If I don’t have a specific reason for leaving, I don’t, and this is having a quite the depressing affect on me.  But why get dressed and venture out into the FREEZING winds of death for no reason?  Plenty, my Honey would say, because it would at least get me out, purge the stale, damp air out of my lungs, and get me a bit of exercise.  But it’s so cold and seems like such an unnecessary hassle.  

Which is why I’ve been ignoring him and focusing on the homely pursuits to occupy my time.  Since I’m poor as all get out, this means getting creative with the Christmas pressies.  And unfortunately, spending a small fortune that I can’t afford on new equipment.  The new craft direction is sewing.    Last year I bought a cheap sewing machine as a self-present for Christmas, but since then, only managed to throw together a few pillow cases and to refashion a pair of leggings into a shrug (actually quite chufffed with myself on that one).  I also managed to alter a thrift store kilt to fit me, complete with making button holes and maintaining the pleats.  But that’s been it.  So for Christmas this year, I decided to make everyone sewn gifts.  And I have to say, apart from the first one (which I am using now), they are all really awesome.  I wish I could post them here, but will stick them on my craft blog after the holidays.  Because they really inspire quite a lot of pride when I look at them.  They also cost a bleeding fortune in new materials, as all new craft projects seem to do.  The material itself wasn’t the culprit, but rather the snaps, the clasps, the cutter, cutting board, and endless heavy interfacing.  And knowing me and my inability to contain myself around craft stores, it’s very dangerous entering one, especially with such low funds.  And they just opened a new yarn store here that is over the top delectable!

If you know you will spend money by venturing outside, then STAY INSIDE!

I’ve also been cooking up a storm, cleaning, and finding myself replacing whole meals with glasses of wine.

Is this how it was for the middling class of the turn of the 20th century?  I feel like I have become an individual factory, pumping out sewing, knitting, and  cooking, all the while never leaving the confines of  the flat.  

So I feel I have legitimate cause to confirm that the majority of female Asian drivers are useless. Utterly, dangerously useless.  And before,  I thought this was a problem that only affected US Asians.

Surely things would be different across the pond?  Surely, put a female Asian on a bike and they will at least know how not to kill the person behind them, right?

WRONG!

The other night I had the severe misfortune to be behind a female Asian biker who did everything in her power to kill both herself, me, and the cars that were trying to safely avoid her.  She was slower than Jabba biking along a busy car choked road, and I couldn’t pass her because of all the cars passing us.  Then she would randomly slow down on  places like downhill descents.  She had issues with biking to the far left and kept wobbling out into the middle of the road, much to the panicked alarm of the cars who were trying to avoid her.  Then,  as I was stuck behind her, she decided to STOP at a green light and GET OFF HER BIKE.  IN. THE. MIDDLE. OF. THE. ROAD.  !!!!!!!!  Why? Because she was turning LEFT in a country where everyone drives on the left.  No hand signals, nothing to indicate what the hell she was doing, other than attempting to cause a murder suicide.

Seriously, female Asian drivers, you have it bad enough in the US, but why you gotta solidify that stereotype  in the UK now as well?  And this time, ON A FECKING BIKE?!?!

We haven’t even been living in Cambridge for more than a week when surprise, down came the parents. Scotland’s teachers and students  get a 2-week October holiday, so Mum and Dad came down to see how their little boy was settling into the new location.  I had just recovered from Death, I hadn’t had the chance to leave the flat and actually see the town. So that’s what we did!

Queens College

Kings College Chapel

Kings College Chapel with Fan Vaulting

Kings College

Trinity College from the back along the Cam river

St. John's College

St. John's College

Yeah. Suffice to say, Cambridge is pretty. Pretty pretty. And rich.  The city centre is filled with boutiques.  Boutiques filled with clothes and shoes and jewelry that would cost a small fortune.  I know that a lot of places are offering promotions to try and shift stock during this recession, but “get a FREE Bag worth £150 when you spend £200″  is still a bit pricey for me.   Especially since I have no job.

I’ve now applied to 6 library positions at the colleges and have received 3 rejections.  Excellent.  I have enough money for rent for about one more month, so if I have NOTHING coming my way by the end of October, then I’m visiting every temp agency I can find and slapping my name down.  I’ve also noticed quite a lot of local (posh) shops advertising for part time staff, and I’ve had inside information that Cambridge students are supposed to work because of the academic load they’re expected to carry, so less competition for me on that end.  However, I know that these shops are stocking up for the Christmas holiday period, and that means expecting to work Boxing day. A day that I can’t work if Stu and I are taking off to Scotland to spend Christmas with his parents.

And thus the waiting, the searching, and applying continues.

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