Dream Jobs

I'm once again back in the ranks of the unemployed (damn short term contract) and I thought that while I'm waiting for one of my applications to be fruitful, I'd spend some of my (ample) time on pondering what my dream job would be.

When I was a kid, I suppose I went through the usual phases of ballerina, explorer and fireman (or person), but the job I remember really really wanting was to be a puppet designer and maker at Jim Henson's Creature Shop, and occasional personal assistant to Kermit the Frog.

I used to make my own puppets out of paper mache, felt, left over bits of material and wool, but somehow they were always lacking a certain something. I can now recognise that it was Jim that was lacking, and no matter how many times I practiced saying "Hi Ho", I was never going to get the voice quite right.

Since then, I have grown up (in some ways), studied and had jobs that weren't really what I expected to be doing when I was small. I worked in retail and managed a shop for years where the closest I got to Kermit was selling stuffed toys in a range of native frogs. After a break from that where I travelled, I find myself in the wonderful world of administration.

Hmmmm.

I still dream of picking up Mr The Frog's morning coffee on my way into the office; and if I get to the US I would definitely like to sit on the bench in The University of Maryland, but realistically, it might not happen for a while.

In the meantime, I would love to hear about other people's dream jobs and if they are anything like what they ended up doing. Let me know what you dreamed of being- any thing from accountant to zoologist.

Ribs!

Now my only interest in ribs stems from Bill's current obsession with them. Personally I can't stand pork, not for any religious or cultural reasons, I simply find the flavour revolting. Bill on the other hand loves it, in particular pork ribs.

I think this recent interest stems from a few different places. When we were travelling Bill was offered a metre of ribs by a man on the street in Vienna. Just to clarify, the man was handing out advertisements for a pig based restaurant- he didn't just have them hidden in his trench coat. Unfortunately for him, his big selling point was that there was enough for Bill to share with his lovely lady. I think ribs was pretty much all the place had to offer and he looked a bit crushed when I mentioned I didn't eat pork. I think Bill still has the restaurants card somewhere. I caught him looking at it longingly once or twice.

Also while travelling, we found heaps of Argentinean restaurants in Amsterdam (obviously) that all seemed to serve copious amounts of ribs (never by the metre though), so Bill's appetite was temporarily satiated there. Unfortunately for him, in the months we've been at home, he hasn't been able to indulge in much pork based food as I do most of the cooking. I have tried to be the supportive girlfriend by trying to cook the odd cut of pig, but as I'm generally not that interested in the outcome, I don't think it ever ends up quite right. Also, in the instances where I have tried to buy ribs, the nearest I can find is something called pork rashers. These basically look like overly thick cuts of bacon. They don't have the actual rib bone in them, but they do have the required inch thick slab of blubber topped with leathery skin.

If anyone has an easy recipe for BBQ ribs out there- please send it in so I can get Bill to cook it and get the whole rib thing out of his system. He's even started looking up ribs on wikipedia and I'm starting to get concerned. Is it normal for a man to have such an obsession over one type of food?

Help!

Just to follow up- Bill has found that a) the pub down the road has an occasional special of ribs in sticky BBQ sauce, and b) the butcher close to us sells American style ribs that he can cook at home. The whole flat now smells like scorched pork.
I hope this phase ends soon.

Sexbomb sexbomb you're a sexbomb

As I am in the market for a new job these days, I'm having an interesting time trawling through the weekly employment pages in the local rag. Last week was particularly interesting because there was a job that I was completely qualified for; in a location that's only about five minutes away; paid well; and I just couldn't bring myself to go for it. Basically, because it was managing a sex shop.

Now don't get me wrong- I have nothing against sex shops. I've pretty much only ever been into them with friends before costume parties (why is it that most men will jump at the chance to dress like a cheap hooker?) and my initial trip when I was 18 into the Black Rose which is everything you want in a seedy house of perversity: black carpet on the walls, novelty condoms in cammo print with slogans like 'Don't let her see you coming!' and a creepy man in a trench coat who followed me around the shop. I suspect he was the proprietor.

However, each to his or her or its own and if that sort of thing floats your boat* than I'm all for having a safe, clean and well lit environment in which to fulfil your sex shopping needs. I was initially sure that I could overcome my innate prudishness, but the more I considered the job, the more I realised that it wasn't so much that it wasn't the job for me, but that I wasn't the person for it.

I discovered this when I looked at the business' website, just to see what I'd be dealing with. I discovered that there are at least five sizes of penis enhancement pumps, they all look like the one in Austin Powers and the text underneath the pictures mentioned something about asking the friendly shop staff which size would suit your needs. If it wasn't being used to inflate a blow up mattress or a beach ball, I wouldn't have a clue. This was my first inkling that maybe a career in selling sex toys wasn't for me.

Each item that I came across on the website just helped increase this inkling. The recognisable toys made me blush enough, but even worse were the objects where I had no idea what they were for.

I'd love to be cool and mature enough to deal casually with things like this, but I don't think my capillaries could take the strain from that much blushing. Also, how do you gift wrap something that has the potential to vibrate off the counter? And to top everything off, they wanted you to have your own car, which would mean borrowing Bill's initially, and I just couldn't get the image of a giant penis painted on the side (mind you, if you're looking for a vehicle with which to promote safe sex, then surely a Volvo** is the way to go) out of my head.

So all in all, I'd have to agree with Mr Powers: "That's not my bag baby"

*I would say tickles your fancy, but I'm just not sure that that's appropriate.

** That's VolvO.

Bulldogs are adorable, with faces like toads that have been sat on. (Shakespeare)

Since returning home from the European adventure, I have developed a keen interest in dogs. I have always liked dogs, but I've never really been what I would call a dog person. It was after seeing all the sausage dogs in Germany and the lone Dalmatian on the Dalmatian coast in Croatia (took us ages to spot that one- mind the pun), that I have a new appreciation for the canines of the world.

Last weekend I was able to indulge this new found interest by attending the Dog's Day Out on the Eastern Shore. I was invited along by my sister's family and their black and white dog (not sure on the particulars of breed, but she's small, silky and cute) Fifi. The event basically seemed to be a venue for dog's and their owners to socialise around the sausage sizzle; watch dog's playing fly ball (apparently it's very complicated- looked a lot like fetch to me) and go through obstacle courses; and for the non-doggy sector to check out all the different types of mutt and dream of the day when we have a house with a backyard. As Arielle described it: it was Hairy Maclary come to life. I now know what a labradoodle, miniature chihuahua (it was barely there) and Irish Wolfhound all look like and I feel I have a particular affinity with the miniature schnauzer.

I fell in love with dachshunds in Germany, in spite, or even because of the Larsonesque pseudonym of weiner dog. They were everywhere and made me smile every time I saw one trotting along on their one inch legs (presumably good for stopping them jumping on the furniture). I can't help being impressed with an animal that stands four inches off the ground, yet still manages to look down its nose at you. It's my ambition to have a dachshund called Snags so we can go for walks together and sneer our indignance at the world.

As long as we don't have to go up any stairs...

Coming soon?

I might start posting some random musings on subjects that take my fancy.

English things to do in England

This is just a quick list of things I've done since we got to England a few days ago (bearing in mind that we haven't been here long, and after four months of travel, we're happy to take it easy here):

*Had a full English breakfast, including baked beans and black pudding and two cups of overly milky tea,

*Got confused by the Underground,

*Seen Jane Austin's House,

*Eaten a pickled egg with a bag of crisps while having a half of pitchfork at the Green Tree pub in Bath (the lager was at room temperature too),

*Had tea and scones in St James Park,

*Heard beer o'clock chimed by Big Ben (5pm on a Friday),

*Got a bit squiffy in the Houses of Parliament (apparently all the people who work there do it regularly),

*Shopped at Boots (and eaten food from Tescos and Sainsbury's),

*Heard people in Bristol say 'arr' in answer to any question,

*Had approximately 2.3 hoursof sunshine where it isn't raining.

After a childhood crammed full of Grange Hill, the Bill, the Young Ones and the Two Ronnies, finally everything makes sense. I love it here.

Amsterdam, oh god I'm blushing again!

OK, we got into Amsterdam a few hours ago and I've already had a few moments of feeling incredibly naive. For starters, you really can smell pot coming from loads of the coffee shops (at least I'm assuming that's what it smells like. I wouldn't know, really officer.). Also, I walked past a cookie shop and my first response was 'Mmmm cookies!', closely followed by 'but are they cookies, or cookies?...' Bill thought I was being paranoid, but as he hadn't realised the smell everywhere was pot, I'm not taking him seriously.
To top everything else off and make the Amsterdam cliche's complete, we just went into the local Priceline equivalent so Bill could get shaving cream and I saw something in a gift box display near the counter. It was all tasteful in pastel colours and I started to snigger that it looked like some kind of sex toy, when I had a closer look and it was! You can buy twelve inch battery powered vibrating 'pleasure devices' at the supermarket checkout, next to the M&Ms! I never thought of myself as a complete prude (shut up Arielle- you can talk!) but this place takes liberal to a whole new level. I've seen quite a few men dressed in pink velour or sequins so far, and we got into the city just after lunch, so this is day wear (and quite fetching too). I think I need a cup of tea, but I don't want to go into the wrong type of cafe (honestly).
Tonight we're going to a local evening of stand-up comedy and burlesque with a Swedish guy called Oliver that we've just met. He's riding his BMW around Europe and looked possibly more overwhelmed than me when he asked to sit at the free seat at our pub table. He keeps talking about Wikings, so I have immediately warmed to him and Bill likes him because he lives reasonably close the the Volvo factory. It should be an interesting night.

On a more sedate note, Belgium was beautiful. It was a shame we only had one whole day there between train journeys. The buildings are all very gothic, there are chocolate shops everywhere and Tintin is alive and well. There were also posters clustered together that all seemed to get along despite the differences: 'Jusus Saves' next to 'Saturday Night Gay' to name two. I liked it there. Also, the waffles were brilliant and I rekindled my friendship with Hoegarten.

We have three nights in Amsterdam and then we fly into Bristol to see what the UK has to offer...