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Everywhere I look in London these days, there seems to be a new bagel shop cropping up.

Last week, I sampled the latest offering to hit Tottenham Court Road. After a lengthy wait in the queue, I finally left the place with a hole in my sandwich and a considerable hole in my pocket. I had spent the best part of a fiver on a dense piece of dough with a bloody hole in it.

No matter how popular the bagel may be, I for one, don’t like it. In fact as a rule, I’m suspicious of ALL foods with holes in the middle.

I went to Pizza Express the other day and rather smugly ordered the ‘Leggera’ option. Nothing can express my disappointment when the most expensive pizza on the menu arrived with a gaping hole in its middle. In place of that gorgeous mozzarella centre (I think we’ll all agree – the best bit of any pizza) was a pesky bit of foliage pretending to be a salad.

Another example is the rather gruesome American export – the Krispy Kreme. Can any one explain its rubber ring ergonomics? If we just remember the classic jam doughnut for a minute, we will be reminded of the glorious strawberry flavoured goo that’s concealed in the middle. In my humble opinion it’s the crowning glory of the whole thing.

So how can people get away with serving hollow food and charging twice the price? Well it remains a mystery to me. I’m just going to stick to the WHOLE-some food I know I can trust.

I’ve just noticed that my last post was well over a month ago.

All I can say is that in the interim, I was seeing a boy.

That’s all over now, ’nuff said.

From now on communication will resume as normal.

I’ve had some good news. After months of franticly applying I’ve finally secured myself a decent internship. I’m now working in the weirdly wonderful world of theatre. It’s not quite where I thought I’d end up, but so far so good.

Now I’ve not had that much experience of the corporate world, but I like to think that I’ve got a vague idea about working in the real world.   nothing could have prepared me for the chaos of working in theatre. On my very first day I was thrown head-first into proceedings and sent out on a ‘business meeting’ with the Marketing Manager.

Emerging out of Pimlico station, we marched past a row of majestic mansions, then hurried through a rundown estate before we found ourselves in a dingy church hall. This was the location of our meeting.  Barely briefed on what the meeting was about, I was taken by surprise at every turn.

Once we had walked through the threshold of the church hall, we left London behind and entered into another world. Hobbits were running around everywhere, Gandalf was pacing up and down, and the silhouette of Smaug the Dragon was ominously flickering in the background.

No, I was not dreaming, this really was Middle Earth. Or at least a mocked up version of it. We had come to meet the producer of the stage version of ‘The Hobbit.’ The producer was wonderfully theatrical with wild curly hair and a rasping RADA voice and was accompanied by her overtly homosexual assistant. This really was quite a fascinating introduction.

Now I always try and make a respectable first impression, but I truly struggled to keep a straight face in my first ever marketing meeting. Although I was meant to be focusing on advertising budgets, I couldn’t help but gawp at dwarfs practising their break-dancing moves.

The most baffling fact of all was that everyone else felt like it was entirely normal to have mythical creatures dance around us as we discussed sales figures. As I struggled to suppress my smirk the Marketing Manager remained completely composed.

Gosh, I’ve got a way to go before I coul ever be that professional. But I have a feeling that I will enjoy this new job.

Mr Pommeroy, Mr Winterbottom, Sir Toby and Admiral von Schneider don’t mean much to the average punter. However, if you say these names to a German, he’ll break into a hearty belly laugh.

So what’s the joke? Are we missing something? Well, apparently yes!

These slightly out-moded names make up the key characters in the cult comedy ‘Dinner For One.’ This eighteen minute, black and white sketch is quite literally a legend auf Deutschland. On New Year’s Eve, every German channel broadcasts the show, not just once, but several times during the night – and the German population watches in awe, finding the whole thing hysterically funny.

It does seem more that a bit curious that an English speaking show, filmed back in 1963 has become such a German hit. For one it’s not even in their native language and for two it’s not even that funny.

So as I watched the infamous ‘Dinner For One,’ on New Year’s Eve, amongst 20 laughing Germans, I could not help smirking to myself at the bizarreness of the whole situation.

What’s the verdict? You decide…

On the 30th December 2009, I hopped on a plane at Standstead and headed to the snowy bliss of Germany.

It was only when I arrived chez Nina that I realised just what I had let myself in for. Over the next five days I was going to be surrounded by 20 Germans.

That’s not a problem if you’re a fluent German speaker, but it’s slightly more challenging if all you can muster is “Ich bin ein hund.” (Not my finest linguistic moment.)

Well I needn’t have worried. Nina’s friends may be German, but they are some of the most fun and friendly people I’ve ever met. And they certainly know how to party. And eat. And drink for that matter. During my five days in Leipzig, I don’t think I have ever consumed so much cheese, sausage, garlic or beer.

Before I wax-lyrical about the idiosyncrasies of the German New Year, I feel that it’s paramount to discuss in more detail the wonders of German cuisine. It may not be famed for it’s delicate, insouciant flavours, but German food is hearty, meaty and delicious.

Now the humble sausage may well be a staple ingredient in English cuisine, but in Germany, it’s a cultural phenomenon. Whether it’s breakfast, lunch or supper, there is always an occasion for a Wurst. During my short sojourn in Leipzig, I found the time and the space to sample: raw, black, white and even curry-flavoured wurst. Whatever shape or size they come in, each variety is simply wondrous in its own right.

Another fine element of German cuisine is its stunning breakfast. We’re not talking a greasy fry up or a poxy bowl of cereal, we’re talking a veritable feast of eggs, cheese, ham, salami and then a nice dollop of nutella to finish it all off.  Now that’s what I call a substantial start to the day.

Just before the festive frivolities commenced, I happened to have a very black week. I know that makes me sound like the ultimate drama queen, but jokes aside, it was pretty noir.

This was the week when I coined the name ‘The Italian Shit.’ Not an unkind name, considering that the culprit openly kissed another girl in front of me and then claimed that he was ‘too busy’ to see me again.

This was also the week that I had my bag and purse stolen. And the week that my computer died. And the week that I went for three interviews and didn’t get any of them.

During these same seven days, my brother got engaged. This is such exciting news – but seeing the happy couple and chatting to their happily settled and successful friends – made me realise just how unsettled my life really is.

But then out of the blue, there was a small beam of hope.

It was a Sunday evening (thankfully the last day of that fated week) and I was heading to a waitressing job in North London. Just as I was about to complete my journey, I was informed that my connecting train had broken down. I did not have any money and I did not have a phone (because let’s not forget my bag had been stolen a few days earlier) and so all I could do was face the snow and find the place myself.

I started walking in one direction, then I hopped on a bus in the other, but I was still miles away from my ultimate destination and due to start working in no time at all. As I was frantically pacing up and down and despairing about what to do next, a miracle happened. A big black Taxi rolled up and saved the day. The cabbie who’d seen me panicking took me to the house for free.

It may have been the smallest gesture, but it made the biggest difference to my self pitying mood. From that point on, I decided to stop lamenting my lack of career and boyfriend, and just jolly well get on and do something about it.

6 January 2010

There is never the perfect time to start a blog, there’s always a job to do here or a menial task to do there. But at long last I find myself (six days later than I had planned) sitting at my computer and starting!

So why am I writing this blog?

Well up until five months ago my life seemed to run like clockwork. I always knew where I was going and what I was doing. I enjoyed my studies, I had lots of friends and I had a pretty blissful time. And then I graduated. My bubble most definitely burst. The realities of growing up and living in the real world suddenly dawned.

To put it lightly, the last few months have been a tad rocky. I’ve had some of the best times of my life, but I’ve also had some of the worst. I can only apologise to my nearest and dearest for having to cope with the extreme emotions – laughing hysterically one moment and sobbing uncontrollably the next.

But in this unsettled time, I’ve been lucky enough to experience some fairly wacky and bizarre things. No two days have been the same. I’ve worked in a frightfully smart girl’s school, I’ve worked in a bitchy fashion office, I’ve run frantically around a news room and I’ve dressed up as a Russian warrior to waitress at a party.

So whilst I intend to relate some of these unconventional adventures, I feel it’s important to look forward to the New Year. A year of fresh challenges and let’s hope (cos it’s about time) some successes! So follow KK-London to see where 2010 will take me.