Monday 23 July 2012

Mvau Nyusi



I have this thing I do when I meet people: I unconsciously suss them out. I figure out how confident they are, how calm, how content, how together they appear, and wherever I see a crack, I poke around to see what might be back there, like some bitch who broke their heart, or some controlling siblings, or a messy divorce which their mother ran from. I see these things, and I figure out a persons reasons and I come to a controlled judgement of how good-hearted and likeable this person is, and therefore, whether I want to know them. Usually, I just sort of have a 'they seem nice' attitude and never think about it again. Sometimes, people make me want to dig deeper. A handful of people in my life have done that, and the further I dug, the more heart-breaking, the more twisted their life seemed, and the more I respected and loved them for it.

Well today, I'm turning my own tables. I want to dig into my own psyche, because I have some problems that I need to address. I considered going to counseling about it, but I think I'll write it on here first. If I need more help, obviously I'll look further, but today, I take the first step. I need to admit it.

I have an addiction, and I need to get clean.

When I was 12 I got the first kick. I had this seriously long first proper kiss. It was awkward as hell, and weird to think back to, considering our friendship since, but either way, the addiction began. It didn't resurface until I was 15, and experienced the first drunk kiss I didn't mean to do. But I couldn't help it. Those could have been almost anyone's lips, because I was never going to pull away. Not that night, that drunk, and that devastated by being laughed at by the guy I fancied. Hook, line, sinker.

I was 15 when Thompson happened, then Smithy. And Shane then started, but never got anywhere, he bottled out, and broke my heart with a text. Then I went from guy to guy in a weird succession: first Drew, then Ross, then Gatenby, then Barnaby, then Jack, then Barnaby again, with a bit of Rowan in there, then Ed, then briefly Arthur, then Shane, with Michael thrown in there, then nothing for a while, a bit of Ingham, a bit of Ed again, then nothing for a while. And I didn't have a particularly reflective moment, I felt so angry after everything with Ed that I was alright being single, so when the good guy came along, it worked, and I was swept away. So Ben began. Then half-ended, and Mark happened, and Spence happened, then we properly ended, and after Mark, Matt happened, and after I threw that in the fire, Ben happened again. All the way through until Rich happened, and then it carried on, and then it was over in a blaze of fury, and Martin happened. And then I came home, and Henry happened, and Ify happened, and now I'm the most single I've ever felt in my life. Not because of loneliness, or being alone, or anything like that. More because I've been in love, and lost them all. And the problem is, I know that I should just be single and have a tolerance, a will power, and an appearance of not needing a man to make me happy, but I have this addiction. I'm addicted to affection.

This addiction boils down to very early-set psychological problems, I'll get into them later. But needless to say, the affection I require is not just physical. I couldn't be a whore, a fuck-buddy or a S&M junkie, because I get attached to things, and feelings always get involved. And those feelings are the things that I actually long for, but the only way I know of achieving them, or finding them in the first place, is through physical affection. This isn't me trying to say 'therefore I'm a cheating whore because I have problems', but I do believe that there is a connection between when it is I've cheated on guys, directly linked with when our relationship has floundered, and affection has been lacking.

A few weeks ago I slept with a guy I don't know or particularly like. Yet I felt better in the morning. Its like this drug, and I hate it. I hate that I can't fix myself, I need to rely on another person to relieve me of my crave. Its not like I walk down the street thinking 'I need to fuck something', I'm not like a dog on heat or anything, but there is something in my hormones, in my psyche even, that finds a way of taking over so it can gets its fix. And it's ruined entire relationships, my whole emotional support ripped out from under me, because my hormones don't understand the need to have patience and will power, they just smell testosterone and go for it.

Horribly, I don't think my crave will ever be fulfilled, because the root of my problem is the place I need to be looking for the answers. I need to get affection from those who didn't give it to me in the first place. But I don't have that, and I don't have three siblings that I could call best friends, so at the end of the day, sex may be the only place I can go to cure the itch.

When I was a kid my parents worked a lot. My dad was always busy, and my mum was too busy to look after her fourth child as well as the other three, so she had a nanny for a little while. When I was about 5 or 6, I can remember being bored at home, because Charlie wouldn't play with me. She had already grown up too fast, because she was at the girls school; playmobil was just not cool enough for her. I spent most of my summers at the Howarth's house in Alburgh. Simon and Sue were my second-parents, and me, Alex, Ben and Louise would find stuff to do all day. I had so much fun, got so much done, had something different to do with each of them, and I was entertained. They're still my second family now, and I sometimes just go there because this house feels so cold and empty. They make that feeling go away, temporarily.

When I started at the high school, I hoped things would change. Mum used to forget to pick me up from primary school, and sometimes some one else would come, sometimes I'd have to wait because she was late finishing work, and sometimes she just forgot completely, got home and thought 'shit I forgot Laura'. I never cried or anything, I'd just stand there and wait. One time, I could have walked home with Jack and his mum, as they live up the road from us, but I didn't, because I knew that if she couldn't pick me up yet, there certainly wasn't anyone at home to let me in.

So I started high school, and I got the bus every day with all three siblings. They had their bus crew, and they didn't want me in it. Helen would tell me to sit further away from them, she'd give me her walkman so I didn't eavesdrop, or she'd introduce me to the other girl my age on the bus and say 'go sit with Charlotte, she likes Buffy the Vampire Slayer too, you can be friends!'. I mean, we were / still are friends, but still... I was very much rejected by them every day on the bus.

Helen only shared one year in high school with me. If I saw her walking around, I'd go and say hi, follow her where she was going and stuff, and she'd just shun me off, because she was far too busy, and didn't care that I wasn't fitting in to this big new school that she was so comfortable in. Helen's friends were always nice to me, and that made me feel a tiny bit better. Charlie's friends were not, but they were all 14, and in that rude stage of puberty. It was in the next few years that they would accept my constant presence. Phil was always good, she'd involve me in conversations on the bus, tell me all her weird stories, and Charlie didn't seem to mind. But Charlie wouldn't discuss her own things in front of me. She'd wait until I was engrossed in my mini-disc player to talk seriously. Luckily, I had about 14 mini-discs of my favourite albums, the only ones coming to mind are Avril Lavigne, Eminem, and Savage Garden.

Then Fame Academy happened. Charlie and I had something in common again. We'd watch it for hours, we had loads of home-recorded videos of footage, live shows, interviews when they'd come out of the house, and the official fame academy video, and we'd watch them all the time. Emma was in the house at the time, and she'd laugh at us a lot, but we didn't care. Sinead and Ainslie, and their friendship, helped me get close to Charlie, which led to many other great things. We went to the live show at Birmingham NEC with Charlie's two best friends (very cool), and when I was 16 I visited her in Edinburgh and we went to see Ainslie at a little gig.

High school was quickly over run by dramatic moments with friends from about age 13, but I'd still come home to Emma, Dad and Mum discussing work, which I was not yet very much to do with, and James discussing his latest hobby (BMXing, fishing, Warhammer, there were so many...), and Charlie doing homework, calling friends, writing out all her texts. She used to ask me to clean her room for her, then tell her a story, and she'd always fall asleep. But I still did it every time she asked. I wanted to, because it was quality time with my sister, and I was not going to pass that up just because I had my own shitty homework to do. Evidently, I probably should have found time to do that. Oh well.

I was never very close to James. For a few years, when the garage was in its prime, he'd sit at his computer, and I'd sit at mine, next to each other, and we'd play games from about 8.30 until 12, sometimes 1am, depending how many times Mum came in and told us to get to bed. We'd discuss very little, he'd show me parts of his game that were cool, I'd carry on playing either one of his old games (in a hope we could bond and chat about it, no doubt - but they were all really cool games) or just on msn and shit like that for hours. Emma sometimes would be there, drinking and chatting, music would be on. Charlie sometimes joined the three of us.

During the weekends and holidays, we'd often have a full house. Katie might stay round, Phil had popped over for dinner, Martie was coming for lunch, Helen was home and Julia and Sophie were both hanging out with her in the kitchen. James even had his friends, and Corbett and Ruan would be in the garage, playing computer games, being given beers jovially by Dad.

Then they all left. Emma's circus picked up a bit, she'd come home for less time, and dad would be more angry with her. James went to the RAF in the January of 05, Charlie went on her gap year in the September of 05, and I was at home with mum and dad, very alone, and they were still working all the time, forgetting to pick up their child, too busy for school plays and things. I was 15. That's when my above list of boys begins.

I've never told my siblings about what happened between myself and Thompson. Mainly because I don't think they'd care. But its now been seven years, and its still this worry in the back of my mind - why did I let him? I've never been able to answer it, but it's because of something I'm scared of admitting. Its hard to talk to girls your age about how sex makes you feel when your 15, because people either laugh, cringe, have no way of relating at all, or have had 'so much' already that they just HAVE to tell you ALL their stories first. And yours never seems to come out. The thing with Thompson is, I liked him, before it happened. I even liked him the first few days after it happened. I liked the feeling of him liking me. And I didn't enjoy what happened in a sexual sense, but I was being given attention by this guy that I liked, and I could put up with weird settings for doing weird things because I had that warmth of affection.

I don't need a guy to make me happy. And if all I needed was pleasure from sex, I'd own a dildo. But I don't, because its also about intimacy and emotional connections. One of my old blogs was about how sex with someone you're not in a relationship with is not as good. Being in love with someone, making love, and having this warmth take over your body, is the closest thing to being cured that I've ever been. Having one-night-stands does very little good, and considering the varying people who have been involved, they usually do more damage than good, anyway.

Right now, I have a handful of friends in this county. Filling my daily quota of affection takes a whole day of being with friends, and I get no work done. So when I work five days in a week, get little sleep, feel like a zombie most days and just think 'do it for the money' most of the day, my quota is very low. I get cheap thrills from farmers telling me they like my hair, or the tea I made was 'just perfect'. It's not even real affection, but I've noticed how much happier I am when someone drops a little compliment like that. I used to either ignore them or just laugh them off / dismiss my tea as being 'bog standard'.

I don't know if Norfolk is going to break me. Being in this house is easier now than it was from when I was 15 til 18, but that was for three years. This is just over one. And I'm determined to leave before it reaches two years. Even if just for a month of traveling or something. I don't want Norfolk to break me, but I know how broken I already am. And the people that broke me are the people I live with, work with, see every day and rely upon for food and housing. And I don't know if I can convince my head that I am loved by my family. I think it's been too long, too shoved down my throat, too many times have I walked away from an argument brimming with tears. How do I turn all of that over?


I want to be happy again. I want to fall in love and feel like my life has reason, because I have a person to live it with. I don't want to feel like this empty shell any more.


Wednesday 18 July 2012

My Best Lie

When I was a kid I couldn't stop myself from lying. It was like oxygen to me, and I only truly stopped when another girl came into my life who lied bigger and worse than I could ever imagine. She sobered my addiction, and I have otherwise been so much better ever since, but I'm never entirely sure why. It was the same time that I started writing poetry. Writing is my outlet for emotions. Writing, especially fictional, fantasy things, cures my need to lie, as I am lying, just in the most acceptable form.

I wonder if that girl ever realised why she lied. I think she was very unhappy with her own life, and wanted more, and made up a boyfriend, and when she wanted attention, but didn't know entirely how to get it without seeming rude and self-involved, she made up a story about being pregnant. She made up so much stuff that had absolutely no credibility to it. And one day, I decided to call her bluff. I made up my own story, and I did it damn well. And she believed every word of it. And I made all these loop holes for myself. I told her she was the only one I'd told, so no one else knew, and I couldn't deal with other people asking me about it, so can we keep it between us? And if you want to talk to someone about it, I understand, just don't use my name, or talk to someone who I don't know, so it doesn't come back to me. And she lapped it all up, and she was heartbroken for me and genuinely fell into this massive ironic trap I'd set out for her. And I loved it, it was a brilliant moment for me, and I felt like I'd achieved something so real that day.

Of course, two years later, the rumour about my virginity leaked through our friendship group, and she heard something, I don't know what, but something probably close to the truth. And she believed it, and it cemented what I had previously lied to her about anyway. We weren't very close after that, so I never explained to her that it was a lie. I never corrected her. So to this day, she still thinks I was sexually abused when I was twelve by my Dad's late-best-friend.

Oops.

Sunday 15 July 2012

Missing Parts of Me

I want to be in love again. I miss it. I miss having someone to give all my energy to. A someone to let my mind drift off to, a someone to think about as I fall asleep, a someone to just cuddle and steal warmth from.

I also miss my best friends. I believe things happen for reasons, and I believe everything happens when it's supposed to, whether we like it or not. But me coming home was swiftly followed by Sam moving to Kuala Lumpur, Milli moving to Burgess Hill, Maria moving to Torquay and Chamaale's off to Sri Lanka tomorrow. The world is telling me to meet new people, or something, but it sucks not having them here. I miss laughing with my friends.

I miss drinking green tea, eating biscuits and watching something in our living room.

I miss having someone to go to the pub with, any night, because she's a trooper, even if she's got shit to do the next day she'd still be there, buying me shots.

I miss having someone in the car with me, sleeping in Helen's room, struggling through a day of work on the van with me, keeping me awake as we drive through the morning.

I miss being able to sit in the red room and waste hours doing nothing, just chatting shit and watching disney films.

I miss my ladies. I've still got George, who I will cling to with all my might. And on friday night, typical trip to the Dragon, Jasmine summed up both our lives in one sentence. "You know what sucks? You're basically my best friend now." Of course, this wasn't a mean thing to say. I work with her, she's my fake-brother's girlfriend and we hang out, drink together and meet up a lot anyway. But it means we're all each other has, and that's the part that sucks.

I can't wait for the 24th of September. I'm slightly terrified, as I always am when meeting new people, and having to force myself to seem normal around them. But equally, I'm so excited. I just want to dive right in. Put my life back into perspective, get some good things into my head, get some people in my life and just roll. In the last two days I have watched 11 episodes of 'My So-Called Life', each of which is 47 minutes long. That's 517minutes of my life that I had nothing better to do with in the last two days.

Bugger my life sucks.

Saturday 14 July 2012

My So-Called Life

I feel stuck in between worlds. I can feel the three movements in my life: school, university, and now, slipping away from each other. School was not far off when I was at university. My closest school friends were still reachable, holidays would be jammed with seeing as many old friends as possible, including those who did not actually go to my school, but fall into that category nonetheless. And even after we left university, many meetings have been had between groups or just pairs of us. But right now, in the third state, they are slipping. People's lives are that much more busy. My friends are all becoming people with places to live and be and can't run away with me for a weekend. And it sucks, because I'm not there yet, but I'm happy for everyone with their lives and jobs and stuff. Acknowledging change is the first form of acceptance. I'm good with change most of the time. I feel it, like waves, or bursts of energy into the atmosphere, and it carries so much with it. When change is in the air, many things go with it. And even though good things can be lost, it's refreshing and you know that inevitably, good things will come, you just have to have patience and hope.

In my brain today, I feel a few things stuck. Like, usually, my brain is a tumble dryer, with a whole load of soggy clothes riddled with unanswered questions and confusion, and they all churn over and over slowly but surely. Today however, my washing is smaller. The load I had is mainly dry, so I have taken them out, but three or four things remain, damp and cold, not yet good enough to remove. And I can't quite get a grasp on them.

One is pictures. I made a collage of university pictures, so I now have three on my walls, as well as three photos, and the two pictures Maria made me next to my bed. However, the photo frame I got for my birthday sits on the floor in my study. I pretend it's there because I don't know where to put it, but it's more that I'm not entirely used to seeing it yet. Like the wound is too fresh. But, the collage I made, I put one photo in it that I hadn't been able to look at for almost two years. And I don't even remember ordering it online - I must have done it after we broke up, but I don't know why. And its now nestled between a photo of a watermelon, a photo of me, Maria and Nadia in first year, one of Sophie and I looking drunk and one of Paul Martin looking like he's giving someone head. And I'm comfortable with it there. I do wonder what my Mum thinks when she comes into my room and sees pictures of the three years I had, some how obtaining a first, all the photos suggesting I didn't, though. Oddly, I might add, one photo does make me smile, although I can't understand why: a 'winning' shot of Blue Waffle, all sweaty and shiny post-match, and the three of us look pretty happy (obviously, because we beat The Cunts), but that photo I can smile at. Despite it being a bit awkward.

Another damp item is friendships. I feel like some of the relationships I have right now are under pressure of becoming more. But, in a strange sense. And I hate the idea that if they don't become more, the friendship will flounder, possibly sink, proving it to be a false friendship in the first place. Equally, I wonder if I'm guilty of the exact same thing. I wonder if the guy I spend some of my time with, I'm only with for the hope that someday soon he'll turn around and just admit to the secret desire to be my boyfriend. And I only wonder this because I realised recently that I'm always disappointed by our time spent together, but not because I ever expect anything different, I obviously just want something else on top of it all. But annoyingly, I think he just needs a friend. He's the most confusing person I've ever met, and I don't know if he tries it on or not, but I'm starting to see through some of his cracks, and the guy underneath is fucked. Basket-case is a little too strong - more like he's in serious need of some counseling. But apparently, I like broken guys. My 'type', as this is my only way of linking all the guys I've liked in the past - is that of someone in need of help, be it emotional, mental, or anything. When I can see that a guy needs someone to mend their heart, I melt a bit. Shane, Ben, Matt and Martin all fall into that category, but for very different reasons. Equally, Mark, Ed and Henry all fall into the slightly more dangerous, 'they probably need to see a shrink' sort of category. Unsurprisingly, those relationships didn't go too well.

My last item in the washing machine is my 'future', my 'what am I doing on this planet' question that I just can't answer. And doing an MA just means I can postpone answering for another year. But I am trying to think things through laterally, and give each option (the other day, landscape gardening became an option, because I did such a darn good job at sweeping) thorough thought. My two main contenders are quite different from each other. My writing career, which may be aided by my MA, or may not, therefore could take another year and then some (two years, four years, who knows) just to get through the door, but I won't be earning much, so living would be expensive and hard and I don't know where I'd go or who I'd know and it may even involve leaving the country (YAY) but is a very undefinable future which is based a lot on luck and hard work, persistence and most importantly, who you know. The other option is to stay in Norfolk (boo) and earn lots of money living either very or relatively cheaply at home or in Norwich, which is a pretty cheap place to live, working as my parent's prodigy to eventually let them retire. This would give me time to write too, although not much, but it would be such a huge responsibility to take on, and I'd then be rooted here. I've been here three months and I need to leave already. But the money is a very big advantage. I'd love to have more money. I wouldn't have time to do anything with it, but it would still be great.

Ah, the muddle that is my head. I wish I could just get out for a few days. I keep getting little chances and backing out because of money or some lame excuse, like 'well, I really should spend some time updating my iTunes'. I need out soon though. Very tempted to go see Maria now she's in Torquay. Or go see Milli for a bit in Brighton, see how Gilly's doing too. That'd be funny. Or just run away to some sunny beach for a week. But no one I know has the money or time to do that. It's very upsetting.

I'm watching Fringe again, and I've just started watching My So-Called Life. It's excellently nineties. I'm hoping this will encourage some dreams about Jared Leto. It may have some horrific fringe-science in it, but his face is worth it, frankly.

Monday 9 July 2012

These Are Just Ghosts That Broke My Heart Before I Met You


This is Laura Marling playing my favourite song, Ghosts, live, with Marcus Mumford in the background, as you do. This is my mood now that I reside in my old bedroom, in a county constantly brimming with people from my past. It's strange how nothing much has happened, yet my mind won't stop. Like the inactivity of my life is angering my over-active mind. A boat in a calm sea tossing madly around. A dog sitting silently, its mouth unmoving, yet a terrifying bark being emitted nonetheless. The metaphors are endless.

I don't like my job, and am considering quitting, or just working so little that I barely work there anyway. I am also in the throws of planning out my future. Its so strange, because the one thing I've been running from, refusing to do and terrified of being asked to do, is now at the forefront of my mind, my plans, and my current ambitions. Norfolk has sucked the university-fed dreams out of me. It's cruel, yet the bitter-sweet irony is that those idealistic dreams can still remain, or dwindle lightly in the back of my mind, whilst this new career takes fold. I have no grasp of any of it yet though, so want to keep it quiet. Least to say, my mind is busy, my mouth is not.

This blog, however, is supposed to be about ghosts. Namely, as the song suggests, ex's. I mean, they all didn't break my heart, please don't read into it that way, just they float in my mind like memories without bodies. Memories of happiness and laughter drift through me, and its overwhelming and confusing, yet its all I have.

The most recent, yet least successful and most ridiculous 'relationship' (if it can even be defined as that) was epitomized on Friday night, when I went to drink with Ben and he was there, as per usual, with a new hair cut and his best 'I'm hot but don't try to be' clothes on. We chatted, mainly about utter shit, but a few moments stuck in my head, because what we were was never defined, and therefore never really ended, but just ceased. He asked me what I wanted, and I replied with a casual "money and happiness, you?" but I feel he was being more specific than that. I never told him I wanted a boyfriend, so he never was that, but I wonder now, if I had replied differently, with something seeking companionship or affection, whether he may not have biked home alone that night. But, I can't be honest with him, because he's never honest with me, so weakening my defenses would just be like opening the flood gates, and I don't want that. I don't want to deal with either version of Henry that may exist out there - be it the truthful, boyfriend type, or the (more likely) twisted sarcasm, ironic laughter and condescension, the way he can call a girl 'darling' and make her feel far from that. Not for me thanks.

Previous. The actual most recent ex-boyfriend. I wonder how he is. I see his facebook and sometimes don't want to read / look at what is there, because imaging this blur of drink and frankly dirty looking girls makes my skin crawl a bit. I promised I wouldn't give him what he's currently giving me. This may therefore mean he doesn't care about our friendship, because he's kind of broken that half-promise made in a train station one excruciating day, or it may be me reading too much into things. I think I've said my piece, and I hope he can sit with me and have some tea and bourbons one day in the near future, but I think I'll leave it in his court, because I think I feel past it all now, like it is just a memory, but I don't want to re-open wounds not yet healed.

Next previous. He's back in Norfolk and doesn't want to see me. He's hanging out with the same people I hang out with (as my friends here are some what limited). He's like this shadow, this presence, right behind / in front of me, but out of reach, untouchable, just smoke, or a whisper, or something poetic like that. And its fucking with my head a lot, because so much was left unsaid, but he clearly doesn't care, and it's been so long (a year and ten months, nearly - he has a one year old sibling now, no idea what gender it even is though). I wish I could just press delete. Delete the memories, and everything that happened. Delete that horrible night before moving to Southampton. Delete the happiest moments, like him asking me out on the common, laying in my bed singing to me, looking after me when I got knocked out by his toilet bowl... So much shit in my head I wish wasn't there, because knowing he could be round the next corner is making me both nervous and excited, but I don't know what by. And its terrifying, because I feel like I never properly got over him, or moved on, because I was suddenly in this new relationship which was amazing and fun, so some feelings could be there still, squashed right at the bottom of my heart, just waiting to see his face to pop straight back up and hit me like a breeze block. Darn my over-active brain.

Other 'ex', I wrote a short about. Nathan seemed to not be repulsed by it, and Al never gave me feedback (gay). But writing that really helped release something I had locked up, I have no idea what, but it felt very cathartic. I'd like to put it up here one day, so he may see it, if he still checks in with blogs. May take a couple more drafts though.

Most previous:

This is the band that I once was in love with, three-band-names and current-drummer ago. I don't recognise their music, or their reason for being so... 'dead'. Like, I know they're called 'Fearless Vampire Killers', but surely that means they would be the living ones fighting the vampire apocalypse? Well, decide for yourself...


Monday 2 July 2012

Locked Up

There are two types of people at my job. The ones I like, and the ones I don't. Here's a totally unbiased list of the characters I have met:

First there's Colin, the Landlord. He's quite like most of my previous bosses - high tempered, would rather do it all himself as other people get it wrong, and overall a guy who works into the ground and gets little money / life in return. I can get along with him, because he's my boss, I respect that, and I see how hard it is in the catering business. But I sometimes wonder if he needs to take a really good look at his pub and just shift things a bit. I don't think he's ever thought about changing the basic fabric of the pub's management.

Then there's Ify. He's 'general manager', apparently, but really he's just in charge of the bar. He's a hard worker, but he's totally disrespectful of how working in a kitchen is harder than working in a bar, but thinks that because he has read about how to work in a kitchen (as he's doing an NVQ at age 30), he does know. Also, he's 30. Why is he still working in the locks? He kisses Colin's ass all day long, and it's frustrating because the rest of us are girls, and don't care enough too, but if we did want to kiss Colin's ass, we'd have to be derogatory to our own gender, make crude sex jokes a lot and be rude to people behind their backs, especially customers. For some reason, we don't want to do that.

Other bar workers are not that bad. There is Demi, appropriately named as she's tiny, quite quiet but seems alright, and I'm pretty sure Ify only hired her because he thinks he has a hope / she wears flattering things behind a bar. The two Jacks are alright, one of them is a nice guy but smokes a lot, and the other hasn't said much but is known as 'fit Jack' so minimal complaints about him. There was Chris, he was cool, but he quit. Sonny is also quiet, but I think he's very good friends with Ify and might have heard a lot about me. That or he's just a bit shy. And Oliver. I'll come to Oliver later.

So to the Kitchen. I want to describe ranking order first. Colin is at the top, but if he isn't needed in the kitchen, won't be, as he knows other people find it hard to work with him. I don't, I just get a bit scared when I do, because I only ever make mistakes when he's there. Next is Alice, then Jasmine, then me, then Ebony, Dot, Steph and Mack, and at the bottom is Kate and Fiona. But, it shouldn't be that way.

Jasmine's a fucking good worker. Like, I may be bias, she is my new bestie, she's only 18 and comes from the Larkman but hell, she's worked hard at a-levels, she has a life plan, she wants to get out of her dad's shitty council flat and study to be a vet. She works every weekend at the Locks, and she's got it nailed. She just has it so organised, she's on top of keeping the kitchen clean, she helps with washing/drying/running/clearing and she's got a good chat with other kitchen girls so we all get along.

But Alice just isn't there. Alice is 17, and only really 'in charge' because Dom recently left, and she's been bumped up by default (one of the many things Colin needs to think about changing). I don't dislike her as a person, because she's fine with most things, but she doesn't clean. And the most important thing in a kitchen, apart from actually cooking food properly, is keeping it clean, safe, tidy, and bacteria-free. I have never seen Alice do the washing up, I've seen her dry up one plate, she won't go running (taking food orders to tables) because she has some skin-problem on her arms, and therefore won't clear either. She's good at what she does do, but really, stock taking isn't that hard, the fridges are easy to organise anyway, and we all prep food, so she shouldn't be the one calling the shots. She's also a bit like my sister in the way she just asks people favours, and whilst you're doing the favour you see her out back smoking, or chatting or texting, and think 'why couldn't she do this?'.

Ebony and Steph are aces. Like, they work so hard, and have my back when I cock up, and we all work well as a team. Mack is Jasmine's little brother, 14, bless him, and Colin thinks he's called Max. He's got what I used to have - he's not desperate for money, so finds work tedious and exhausting. But we keep him busy, and I try make him smile when I can, because he looks quite bored most of the time. A kitchen on a Saturday is NEVER boring! Dot I've only worked with a couple times, but is also nice. They're all under 18, and they kinda make me feel a bit young again, but also remind me that I was 18 quite a long time ago. Like, four years isn't that long - but University ago. Pre southampton, pre brighton. Pre Brighton feels like a decade ago anyway. Jesus I feel old.

Kate and Fiona are the ladies who come in on busy days to wash up and help out in the kitchen. They're lovely, and not having to do the washing up makes a day so much quicker and easier. God we need a dishwasher.

So all in all, the pub is a weird place to work, but we get there in the end. Most days end with me and Jasmine cleaning the whole kitchen, then having a drink and something sweet, then me driving her home, and collapsing. It's tiring, but it's money. Money is very crucial right now.