warmlove's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Creepy Cheltenham #I think you know I�m damn precious/And hell yeah I�m the motherfucking princess# I've had a very Gypsy-esque week this week. Thats in the cool, romantic, travelling the English-land and river way not in the shitty caravan and the whole town blaming your kind for stealing all the turnips way. My Granma was completely serious about me moving out from her house..I've packed-up all my stuff now so my gypsy nature shall serve me well ... I got coached-up from London to bloody Cheltenham, Gloucestershire-land (the second most Northern place I've ever been in England, if you cound Alton Towers!) for being waitress at The Cheltenham Horse racing festival. Though its not much of a festival if you ask me...just loadsa Irish horsey folk, horses and jockeys and rich people, some spoilt 'n rude, some rich, most poor after a day of free champagne and gambling. It was a laugh working with a coach-full of Blue Arrow drones. Though there are a couple I'd rather not bump into on the next job I do. One guy was a crazy son-of-a-bitch! He was staring at me at a couple of points on the coach up on the first day as I was sprawled half-concious over two seats (5am wake-up times then a three hour coach journey suit me not) then when I cued up for plates of lamb shank and veggies he comes right up to my face and goes: 'Where you from?'(he was from Nigeria, maybe thats a Nigerian thing I thought, lots of Nigerians I've met seem kinda race-obsessed). Rude. He then came and jumped onto my bags and into the seat next to me on the journey back, I was chatting to him and he starts spouting shit about me being white but having black hair...and thats so amazing...then he started saying(imagine it in a Nigerian accent - its funnier): 'I have a white heart inside my chest, I have a white mind inside me, I am pure inside, a good man..WHITE..but I have a black...[points disgustingly and obviously down at his crotch]..' Back to Gypsy..after Cheltenham I took a train down to Cardiff and stayed with Sophie for the St Patricks day weekend. Saturday day we watched England V Walews rugby and even though I dont like Rugby or to watch it on giant telly in Cardiff student union, I got well into it and was (half sarcastically) cheering the Welsh boyos on (traitor, moi?)and they triumphed spectacular..though I was slightly distracted by an appearance of this mysterious really, really buff guy - he has the fattest neck muscle ridge I have ever seen and shoulder muscles that go down in to a really narrow waist - he stood topless to one side of the big screen,watching the rugby with something wrtten on his MASSIVE back muscles in yellow war paint..odd, he was there at this shit awful student bar called 'The Taff'on St Paddos night, everyone was getting pictures taken with him..I swear, hes like double the muscle-ness of Arnie in his heyday!! That Saturday, St Paddos night was a truly awful night out.. We had to que up for ages to get into the shitty 'Taff' place where Sophies other friend who was visiting had gone in ahead into with her other Uni mates that Soph really doesn't like..they did kinda strike me as boring-girl-dickheads. So when we had finally got through the door (I had to pay two quid on two occasions to be allowed into these lacklustre student venues.... my hard earned tax pound grabbing twats, all of 'em!)and fought/squeezed our way through rude young student types..Sophie got moody-grumpy and announced that she was fed up and would be happy if she home now - we'd got alll dressed up and made-up, green and all and driven to the place, picked up her mates and I'd bought my ticket and we'd qued up for years all for her to say she wanted to go home straight away..theres no pleasin' some people! After Cardiff I took train and bus to Bristol, had to hang around their for a bloody hour then got a train to Salisbury and my Dad picked me up (aw) from the station and drove us home to village..I have to borrow his tank to drive upto London on the weekend to pick up all my stuff from Granmas...I get around, thats for sure. I have to desperately find somewhere to live in London..my next film shoot starts April 1st...shit...I have to phone my favourite Hammersmith Auntie and ask if she wants a lovely lodger for a month. After that...who knows, I am applying (for some reason) to every GAP store in central London so I can pay rent if I manage to find a half decent houseshare... I'm not quite screwed..yet. Funny thing about me is that my mouth is bigger than I know and I say faaaaar more than I realise. ALL the staff by the first day of Cheltenham knew that I'd be 'evicted' from where I live in Clapham and allegedly that I'm pooosh, I have the wrong accent for my hair, according to the small-minded brigade..if my Mama was a white lady noone would call me posh..my Mum gets it too..she is Black but lives in the countryside, her husband is a white homie and she has a Home counties-Southern Enland accent (one shes had since she was a child I might add). Ah well, gay opinions and prejudice abound...fuck 'em. I'm having fun..reunited with my ickle, furry ginger baby Clementina, my beautiful Mum bought me a new sexy bright pink holla-machine because I covered my old mob. pho. in superglue residue and plasic gems. ooh, and I got 55 quid in tips on the final day of the horse-racing cos all the punters in the VIP suite I was in looooved the blond German bar waitress who I was teamed with, they weren't too fussed with me, probably because they made me wear UGLY, UGLY, UUUGGLY mans clothes - disgusting big polyester waistcoat thing, bow tie,white shirt upto my neck-top,no necklaces, bracelets, rings or earrings, yucky black poly trousers, my painful shoes and my big hair forced into a wonky, bunchy ponytail.The only punter who seemed to take a shine to me and therefore considered tipping me was a creepy drunk guy who noone else in the group seemed to like - and they all just stared at him when he (drunk breath stinkin')stood, his face an inch away from my face, talking to me about wanting to give me his winnings from a horse so he could be some hero-guy who I'd never see again that gave me 40 quid to have a good night out in Cardiff with! The fuckers just glanced over looking a bit concerned (he could have been calling me a cunt and telling me I looked ugly in a bow tie and he was gonna come cut me up!! Though I was smiling politely, like you do to humour drunks at the time so it was unlikely)..they didnt come over at the time and tell him to leave me alone..instead they gave German girl a tip of 60 quid and told her that it was just for her!! She did serve the booze as her job and I only brought mediocre food and coffee but it was funny for noone else BUT the creepy drunk guy (who, for the record DIDNT give me all his winnings like he made a huge song-and-dance about promising to do but he gave me 20 quid and then a crumpled 10 note after a few more pints and he kept saying: 'Now, I dont want anything in return or anything' and in the most disgustingly patronising and rude way told me that I 'had a nice face'...ugh, creeeepy...but who can refuse an envelope of money for nothing? I dont know what the twats at these events want from me so that they'll give me a tip...fellatio and insincere appreciation of awful jokes I suppose will do it...something to think about I suppose. 3:39 p.m. - 2007-03-19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||