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Service Waiter?

This is an official rant post.  A rant about restaurants, waiters and the horrific treatment that the poor people of Britain have to endure in most eateries.

I’ll start by telling a story about a recent cheeky time at Baker Street.  We were celebrating our Mum’s birthday.  All was going well.  The food was delish.  The waitress was not.  Well, at first there was a bit of a language barrier, but she seemed friendly enough.  Anyway, before the meal started, we gave the waitress a surprise Birthday Cake, and told her we’d let her know when we wanted it bought out with candles.  She seemed a bit confused, but ‘bless her’ we thought.  Maybe she’s new?

Meal over.  Yummy.  The waitress kind of disappears, so my brother goes and finds her and tells her to bring out the cake.  We’re all perusing the dessert menu, trying to throw my mum off.  She comes over to the table and asks ‘So who is this cake for?’  We all awkwardly giver her the ‘SHUT UP IT’S A SURPRISE’ look, and she doesn’t seem to get it.  My brother drags her away and tells her it’s a surprise birthday cake.  She disappears again, and we’re all waiting for a glowing cake to make it’s way to the table.  It doesn’t…she walks over with the cake (still in it’s plastic casing) and a pack of candles and dumps them onto our table.  ‘No lighter’, she says, and walks off.  Like, literally.  Noone could even speak from the shock.  Did that just happen?  Did she actually just dump an unlit cake on the table?  Nahhhh.  Dreaming right?  I was actually about to pass out from rage, so I asked her for the manager.  ‘Why do you want to talk to her?’  Errrr…why do you fucking think you Donkey tit?  The manager comes over and I explain the situation.  I said I’d never known anything like it and I wanted a fat chunk knocked off the bill.  She just looked at me in disbelief.  Someone is complaining?  What do I do? She says ‘Shall I go light the cake and bring it back in?’  Ummmm no…moment’s kind of gone there sweetcheeks.  So she brings out plates, and we sit there weeping over our cheesecake.  We’d been so thrown off that we hadn’t even sung Happy Birthday to my mum (I may sound dramatic here, but Birthdays are always a big deal with my family).

The waitress finally comes over, and still can’t bring herself to apologise about it.  ‘I don’t smoke you see, so I didn’t have a lighter or matches’.  Errrrrr wtf?  How did you light all the candles on the table then fanny-breath?

Anyway, the manager I think finally twigged as to how angry we were, and realised that there’s nothing worse than shit like this happening on a birthday.  And thankfully totally redeemed herself with 50% off the bill, a free round of Limoncellos and a special birthday cocktail for mum. This is a total rarity though.  Usually when I complain they ‘can’t’ do anything about it, we’re left to suffer and the only damage we can do is take off the tip.

The only problem is, that we shouldn’t have had to complain so ferociously and asked for the discount.  It should be a given.

My British-based restaurant rage started when I was 19 on a visit to Miami.  Something went wrong with our order, and I swear the staff bent-over-backwards to redeem themselves afterwards.  Free food.  Free cocktails.  Anything to ensure we didn’t give the restaurant a bad name.  And that’s how it should be right?  Well apparently not in the UK.  I can safely say that about 1 in 10 waiters can’t even bring themselves to even apologise when something goes wrong.

Mistakes happen.  That’s ok.  We’re all human.  But when you are made to feel bad and guilty about something going wrong with your food, that’s when it becomes all sorts of wrong.

Another recent episode happened at Carluccio’s.  We were ignored for 20 minutes and not even given a menu.  Then when we finally did order, and hour later my fiancee’s food came out ice-cold.  We told the waiter, and he took away his plate without a single WORD.  And left mine.  I told him I didn’t want to eat without him, so told him to take mine back too.  He snatched my plate and dropped most of it on the floor in his rage, and again silently left.  MATE.  I was chargrilled with anger.  I asked for the manager and thank FUCK he was American, and we received American treatment that night.  He was so upset about it.  Free mains and wine.  We only paid for the dessert.  And fuck it.  That’s how it should be!  How fucking dare anyone have to sit there and lump that kind of attitude from anyone?  The best part was when we heard him SCREAMING at the waiter and threatening to fire him.  Gutted prick.

Anyway.  What I’m saying is this.  Every single meal I’ve ever had in America has had perfect service.  And if anything did go wrong with the food, you still left feeling like you had a wonderful night.  We need to start doing this in the UK.  British diners get treated like shit, and are too scared to even say anything half the time.  I’ve witnessed countless people receiving the wrong order and taking it anyway.

There’s just no care.  At all.  People, you do realise that you have to earn your tip right?  It’s not just forked out for a laugh.

NO MORE.  YOU DESERVE THE BEST MY HUNGRY LITTLE CRITTERS.  STAND UP FOR YOUR TASTY RIGHTS.

OH. MY. ACTUAL. VOODOO. GOD.

It’s real.  It’s actually real.  Oh my god I just did a fat CRAP in my nappy.

Soooooo…not only do I get an episodic series sndfbjdfdhsjfdhsfjksdhadjs.  Nofgdbgjkfdhjgkdfnjksfghdsfjgnjl/fdznvmcx mcvzklbjfdizjgdfa.  Nah, can’t even type from excitement.  So ermmm….they’re ALSODSOJASFPOISOASnfdkslhfdlajfkldsjfkldsjafkldjsfkdskalf. 

THEY ARE ALSO RELEASING A REMAKE OF THE SECRET OF MONKEY ISLAND.

 OMG CLICK.

Oh and I need this:

Blazers, Blazers, Blazers.

I love them so. I found a proper fly long-length TUX blazer in a charity shop the other day. It’s too big, but in a sexual way. Anyway, I’ve been on a ‘lets find more blazers’ rampage, and came up with these beauties:

These are both DVF.  Oh Diane, you make me quiver a little.  A lot actually.

I want this too.  It’s even tackier, but that’s just swell:

Check out that filthy leopard print lining.  Arrogant Cat…you’re secretly OK.

In other news, we traded camera’s AGAIN.  This is the fourth one we’ve been through on our quest to find a camera that we love as much as our old Canon 350D.  Well, we did it.  The Canon 500D.  Errrrrrr.  Firstly, the photos are amazing.  NO noise in low-light conditions.  Oh, and the cheeky little bonus of HD video is casually mindblowing.  It still captures the spirit like our old flame, and just seems to give so much emotion to the photos.  I’m in love.  I will be going on a photographic/video rampage and will post the results on here next time.

I’ve been sucked in by Britain’s Got Talent.  I don’t know what it is about that show, but I seem to end up either sobbing like a baby or being attacked by extreme waves of goosebumps.  I LOVE it.  I’m kind of over Susan Boyle though.  She keeps singing shitty songs, when she should be singing this again:

Anyway, I’m all for this little hunk to win.  He’s amaze.  Make sure you watch it all though.  The cock-up at the start makes it ALL the more fabulous:

I got goosies again.  I am a loser at life.  Bless.

A few things.

This woman is totally my new hero.  Words can’t express my desire for her.  She’s a sexual nerd.  Monkeys.  Cheese.  Wine.  Done.  I’m just going to post the interview and let you perve/adore/want her life:

Secondly.  Check this out.  Wow.  The commitment alone makes my eyes bleed.  The fact that it’s so shockingly amazing adds to the love:

You can see more of his stuff here.

Thirdly, I have been introduced by a sexy friend of mine to a fab new site.  It’s called LOOKBOOK.  You basically post looks and perve on other people’s.  Or just peruese page after page of home-made style.  It’s utterly inspirational, and great if you’re bored stiff of mundane celebrity style like I am – but unfortunately invite-only for the minute.  You’ll all just have to perve.  It’s worth it though.  I have a profile you can look at if you want:

Clickypooz.

I wanted to post loads and pretend that I’m really cool, but you can only post one look per 6 hours.  Wah.  Also I’m not someone who dresses up on their own and takes photos of themselves on their iMac’s, so I only have old photos on there.  The new ones will just have to come when they come.  If you’re already on there, post me a link to yours!

Lastly, a bizarre thing happened to me on Friday night.  My mum (who usually goes to bed at 10pm) was up at 1:30am having a fag outside.  Our friendly pikey neighbour happened to bump into her and they got chatting.  She runs a farm and basically a lot of animals get dumped there.  Including some kittens.  Her daughter had basically taken one home on the sly, and she just whipped it out.  Told me she didn’t want it.  And asked if I wanted her.  Hmmmmm…let me have a little think about that.  Sheesh.  Hard choice.  Not only do I have two cats and adore them more than life itself, but this creature in my arms is the most beautious thing my eyes can handle.  There was no question.  Of COURSE I’d have her.  I also felt so bad because she’s CLEARLY too young to be away from her mother.  Maybe 4-5 weeks.  So she needs me.  I am her proverbial teet.  Come my beautiful, tiny, bambi-legged, floppy eared baby.  Come suckle.  LOOK AT HER.

She’s nameless as it stands.  We always take a long long time to name our children.  It just falls into place when the time is right.  She’s like a kitten husky.  OOF.

Oh and this.

Click the pic.

It’s been a long time.

What a horrible, neglectful mother I’ve been.  Sorry bloggy baby.  I’m back to let you suckle.

Current highlights in my life are as follows:

1. The Hills

I did it again.  I missed a show for years, then get brutally obsessed with it far too late.  How I ever survived without this show in my life I don’t know.  I’m unfortunately rapidly getting through all the episodes though.  Seasons 1 and 2 are long gone, but Season 3 is taking so long to download (legally of course ahem), my eyes are starting to bleed with rage.

So far, I detest Spencer more than life itself (I think most of the world is with me on that one), and Whitney is my No.1 HUNK.

2. This bad boy:

3. Harem Pants.

I don’t care if noone likes them.  I am very much so enjoying looking like Aladdin, and at a bargainous price of £4 from Primark, who can complain?  I had a pair of these about 3 years ago, so I am clearly a fashion-forward God and you can all piss off.  ps the real reason I bought them back then was to look like Princess Jasmine.  Didn’t work.

4. Faith.

Literally oh my god.

5. Sushi.

Current food obsession.  I was particularly enthralled with Yo Sushi!’s 2 for 1 offer.  Although being full on Sushi is all kinds of wrong.  I prefer Itsu (the restaurant), but Yo! is ok.  I’m usually the only person in the restaurant hardcore enough to have Sashimi.  I love it so.  Oh and the pickled ginger?  My fiancee and I basically finish off the entire pot.  And pumpkin Korroke?  Just kill me now.  OH AND THE VEGETABLE TEMPURA.  AND THE HAIRY PRAWNS.

Ok most of this isn’t sushi.

Here, stare at this:

6. Tax Refunds.

You sexy little thing.  You made my month.

7. This.

Why is this so hilarious?  OMG.

8. My Birthday.

I never reported, but it was wonderous.  And I don’t like to brag, but BOY were my presents incredible.  I should do a photo post actually.  Ehhh maybe another time.  Here’s some frolicking pixxxxx:

My Bodyguard.

So in response to my dream about Lucifer, I asked my fiancee what he’d do if he tried to seduce me.  He said:

‘I’d punch him in the balls’.

Please note: that does say punched.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  I’d say that’s a sure-fire way of defeating ol’ Beelzebub.

Anyway, Easter weekend was the bomb.  It was made bomb-y thanks to lots of animals and a lot of food.  We went to Wildwood animal park.  It started off phenomenal (there were so many amazing birds I nearly fainted), but drifted a bit afterwards.  Most of the enclosures didn’t actually have any animals in them, but I still enjoyed frolicking in the woods and breathing in the musty animal smell (I’m being serious.  I love that smell).

Highlights were:

Do you understand how excited I was about the creatures behind this chicken wire?  It contained everything I could ever dream of.  2 Herons, Night Herons, a Spoonbill, Ducklings and a Partridge in a Pear tree.  Amaze.

We sadly got through Wildwood pretty quickly, so we decided to drive 5 minutes to Herne Bay.  It’s a seaside and is really weird.  We were lucky enough to catch the sun wherever it went that day (it rained everywhere else), but if it wasn’t for the sun making everything a little brighter, I would run very fast from Hernia Bay.  It was just totally dead.  With a spooky arcade.  Made for some cool photos though.

Here’s some more pixxxx:

Actual shrine?

Best £1.50 ever spent.

Oh and we rounded off the day with Strawberry Tobacco.  It was gross but this was good:

Insomnia.

So.

I am continuing my trend of not even attempting to sleep until 2am and blogging it up.  I am listening to Max Richter and drinking Green Tea.

Last night I had a dream that I was in love with The Devil.

He was trying to hurt me/make me hate him but it wasn’t working.  I felt painfully overwhelming feelings of love towards him.  When he wasn’t near me I would be yearning for him and want him back.  I’d have to call for him (in some weird spiritual way), and he also couldn’t resist me.

At one point, the sky was filed with hot air balloons and he was with me.  I wasn’t able to see him throughout my dream.  Only feel him.

I asked him ‘So, being The Devil, what are your weaknesses?’

He showed me a list on some parchment.

‘Love’.

‘Happiness’.

‘Friendship’.

A few more.  the list was short.

And at the top of the list was my name.  In full.

He walked away and I finally saw him.  He was tall…7 ft or more.  Muscular/giant.  Ugly but astoundingly beautiful…like a Grecian statue, with charcoal-coloured skin.

I woke up wanting him.  Needing him.

Am I going to hell?

I only hear of Devil dreams being bad.  This was a wonderful dream.

Ummm.

‘They say that the Devil is a charming man.’

Oh what a night.

So.  I and a couple of others have been having a scary film fest/youtube sesh (this led to a delightful scary encounter last night which I will give you an account of in a bit).  I’ve seen most, and I think a childhood filled with violent/scary movies has made me a little immune to them.  Only a few films have really scared/disturbed me in my life, and they’re usually films that involve real people (not ghosts), or films where you never actually get to see the thing that’s doing all the scaring.  Most scary films will make me jump, which is ok, but a pretty cheap way to scare you I think.  In fact, here’s a rundown of some of the films that have spooked me (in no particular order):

Misery.

A lot of people probably won’t get this one.  But it scared the SHIT out of me.  I was pretty young when I watched it.  And alone.  But I was transfixed by her utter insanity.  All sweet and nice until she realises she can’t keep the poor author.  She has it all: OCD, psychosis, obsessional qualities, violence etc etc.  The Mr. Penguin quote?  FEAR.  I basically detested her character.  I’m sure if I watched it now, I’d cry with laughter, but I can’t actually bring myself to.  It scarred me so much at the time.  Oh and the leg smashing!  How could I forget?  Delights!

Psycho.

A more obvious choice.  But once again, it wasn’t the shower scene, or any of the obvious scary stuff.  It was the split-personality aspect that scared me.  I was lucky enough to go through life without knowing about the full synopsis, so the twist was a shocker.  Actually I can safely say it disturbed me to the core.  Oh and sheesh, iconic soundtrack alert!

I (without wanting to offend anyone) have a real deep-rooted fear about mental illness.  I’m not talking anorexia or depression.  I’m talking extreme schizophrenia and other psychotic disorders.  Imagine actually having no control of your mind?  Your mind: the thing that shapes you and determines who you are.  Imagine being totally lost in your own mind?  I can’t imagine a scarier place.

Anyway, back to my list..

Ringu.

Wow.  It would appear that the Japanese know how to tune into my dreams.  My bad dreams/nightmares usually involve strange unknown characters, humans that aren’t quite human (there are growths and extra things or missing things or people are wrong and disturbing sizes or they are morphed with inanimate objects or they are shape-shifters), awkward movements (stiff/broken limbs, dragging of limbs, jerking), horrible inhuman-sounding moans and noises, things coming out of other things (imagine a Tool video) – the list goes on.  There is no consistency.  They are each horrific in their own right.  They are unrelenting and inescapable.  If something is coming towards you, it will keep on coming.  You cannot escape my dreams.  I’ve even shot myself in the head out of fear in a dream.  Only to wake up where the dream started and relive the same horrible moment over and over again (that speculation that if you die in a dream, you die in real life is a load of codswallop.  I have died, and been a ghost that cannot be touched, a reincarnated baby and a zombie in my dreams).  My family all have these dreams.  Something severely fucked-up must have happened in a past life or something, because our dream-likeness is uncanny.

I went off on a tangent there, but it is relevant and I am not psychotic (maybe just in my dreams).  I definitely get scared by the fact that these dreams are mine, and that my mind could even be capable of creating such horrible thoughts.

Anyway, Ringu got me.  It was kind of like watching one of my dreams, and Sadako has stuck with me and appeared in a few of my nightmares.  The cursed video shit me up big time.  Like I say, it’s those weird jerky movements, and objects that you can’t quite make out.  Oh and her coming out of the Well?  Then the TV?  My mind couldn’t fathom what was happening.

Quite a few of the Japanese horrors have scared me.  They all have this vibe about them.  Always low-budget.  Always dark and disturbing (to me anyway.  Some people think they’re laughable).  And always avoiding insane special FX that so, so often strip away any element of reality in a film.

The American version angered me a lot.  Typically glossy.  More effects.  More gory dumb make-up.  The story was changed and glamorised.  They scared you by making you jump.  Rubbish.

Some other good Japanese horrors are:

The Eye (parts of this made my intestines reverse with fear)

Ring 2 (even scarier than the first I think.  Although avoid Ring 0 – horrific)

A Tale of Two Sisters (not so scary but disturbing and tender and sad)

The Grudge (very much in the style of the Ring.  Not as good but worth a squeal)

I just wiki’d and found this:

Yūrei

The success of the 1998 film Ring brought the image of the yūrei to Western popular culture for the first time, although the image has existed in Japan for centuries.

Yūrei are Japanese ghosts, ones who have been bound to the physical world through strong emotions which do not allow them to pass on. Depending on the emotion that binds them, they manifest as a particular type of ghost. Most common to J-Horror is the onryō, a yūrei bound by a desire for vengeance.

Like many creatures of folklore, like vampires or werewolves, yūrei have a traditional appearance and follow a certain set of rules.

They are generally female, although male yūrei do exist. They wear white clothing, which is the color of funeral garb in Japan. They have long, often unkempt black hair, which comes from Kabuki theater where each character has a particular type of wig that identifies them to the audience.

Well, Yūrei, you now haunt me.  Thanks for that.

The Exorcist.

Laugh all the hell you want about the spinning head and pea-soup vom, but this film is undeniably evil.  I am not a religious person, but I always find myself secretly tentative to diss God too violently, in case Lucifer sees it as an invitation to possess my soul.  I also have a fear of Ouija Boards and generally tempting fate by calling on The Devil – it would just be my luck that he’d take a shining to me and drag me down the the Second Circle of Hell, for a life-time of firey smooches and fork-prodding.

This film was not only scary (hello doing the crab down the stairs/the ouija board/pissing herself/the scenes in Nineveh etc etc), it was the sheer brutality of the content.  Jesus.  A young girl stabbing herself in the nether regions with a crucifix?  Sheesh.  When my mum saw it as a child (yes she was 11, but people bought there kids having no clue what they were getting themselves into), there were Nuns handing out leaflets outside the cinema, to save people’s souls and stop people from seeing it.

I think it’s evil and brilliant, and I might just watch it on Friday with popcorn and beer and a Bible.

ANYWAY…

…this was all leading to my delightful experience last night.  We watched The Exorcism of Emily Rose. It was OK.  Nothing spectacular or scary, but then they couldn’t steer too far away from the plot, seeing as it was loosely based on a true story.

The film focused around bad things happening at 3am.  Apparently this is like a witching hour, as it is the opposite time to when Jesus supposedly rose again at 3pm.

We were intrigued/horrified after finding this:

Yes that is actual audio footage of Annelise Michel.  Believe what you will.  Whether she was possessed or just very, very sick, that is terrifying.

So after watching the film, lights go out, and I am left alone with my fiancee who is in a deep, dead coma of sleep (thanks for that).  I’ve been battling with The Flu for the past week, so my nights have been delirious to say the least.  I flicked through some crap TV for a bit, but couldn’t stop thinking about the film/exorcisms/The Devil/Linda Blair doing the crab/general spooky things.  I eventually turned off the TV and tried to sleep, but I’d already scared myself enough, and couldn’t get these images out of my head.  My fiancee decided to keep waking me up throughout the night by laughing/cackling in his sleep (again thanks for that.  Waking up to other people’s delirium was just what I needed).  To be honest I was barely asleep anyway.

At one point I woke up viciously desperate for a wee.  I was genuinely shit-scared and delirious at this point.  So I open my door, to be greeted with this intense pitter-patter of feet running down the stairs (I swear to GOD it was like a sound-mimic of the crab scene in Exorcist.  The sound was identical).  It was pitch-black so I couldn’t see.  It turned out to be my cat, Juno, desperate for a fuss and purring her heart out.  Phew, I thought.

Anyway, I got to the bathroom.  Still spooked.  Juno was purring so loud, that it was echoing.  I sit on the loo and POOF!  Out go the lights!  Yes.  Just in the bathroom.  The light-bulb blows.  Leaving me momentarily blinded and pretty scared, I thought my heart was about to give out.  Juno stops purring instantly (great), and when my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realise that she is just staring up at the shower curtain (which is closed).  Thanks for that Juno.  Really.  Scare me any more and my heart might just stop/explode.  I literally felt like shouting out, ‘Right family!  I’m off to be abducted by the Devil!  Nice knowing you all!  Tara!’

I get back to my room.

Check my phone.

What was the time?

3am.

Thanks Lucifer.  I love you.