tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54484160060651870422024-03-13T04:59:38.964+00:00Clarabella Speaks.Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-42737374383273651372020-05-28T16:03:00.001+01:002020-05-31T18:56:41.424+01:00Clarabella runs Europe: Man, I feel like a runner<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: inherit; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Two Saturdays ago we ordered takeaway for lunch. Said takeaway was washed down by several rum and cokes (I set and promptly ignored an alarm for 6pm to tell me when I should stop), and at 7pm we ordered pizza. The next morning I awoke feeling <i>mostly</i> fresh and set out to run 17km. Except I didn't. </span><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Instead, <b>I only went and ran my May half marathon a whole week early!!! </b>(insert applause here) When I got to 12km something inside me clicked and I thought it better to continue my suffering that day than have to repeat it, and some, the following week. If that's not elite mentality I don't know what is. </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I know what you're thinking, <i>"Clare is superhuman, how can I be like her?"</i>, but let me tell you, it was definitely 90% down to the double-takeaway. As a wise friend put it, <i>"sometimes you have to eat like a pig to run like a gazelle"</i> (all credits to Bethany King who you will have seen pouting in front of the Eiffel Tower in my Paris post). Her words so wise I made them into art and have adopted them as my life's mantra.</div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-znH_6euHdw8/Xs_SA8fZuVI/AAAAAAAAlzU/fRGiZxtPQP4q_NqHY2rBj3szrUPSO-aTgCK4BGAsYHg/IMG_20200528_152017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3575" data-original-width="2354" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-znH_6euHdw8/Xs_SA8fZuVI/AAAAAAAAlzU/fRGiZxtPQP4q_NqHY2rBj3szrUPSO-aTgCK4BGAsYHg/s320/IMG_20200528_152017.jpg" /></a></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; 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border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Alas all is not smooth sailing and I fell over on my ankle whilst attempting to become a TikTok star this week (video below for your enjoyment), so I'm resting for a few days and will start my training for June's half in, well, June. If I'm honest I was glad of the excuse.. </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxrMsMsA0atE6iS3AS4rCJfOCx_P0j-Zv37mACFFcNE1sujzYI875bMoH2J6MgWSz9rcXN-YLJVo_MNikZN7A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: currentColor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: currentColor; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: currentColor; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">This month's donation goes to Thames Valley Air Ambulance who have launched an urgent appeal for donations in the midst of the Corona Virus crisis. You can read about their appeal <a href="https://www.tvairambulance.org.uk/thames-valley-air-ambulance-launches-urgent-appeal/" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-84134989786230865962020-04-26T17:45:00.000+01:002020-04-26T18:11:23.452+01:00Clarabella runs Europe: 2 down, 10 to go.I'm lying on the sofa, admiring my new blisters (DM me for photos) and feeling a distinct sense of satisfaction: today I completed my second half marathon in as many months. My satisfaction is only slightly diminished by the fact that I am merely 1/6 of the way through this challenge and that it may be physically impossible to get up off this sofa for the next week.<br />
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Today's run was a serious mental challenge from the get go, and went something like this:</div>
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1km: only 20 more to go</div>
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2-4km: maybe another day would be better </div>
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5-6km (mostly downhill): we're soaring, flying...</div>
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7km: need to pee</div>
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8km: need to pee</div>
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9km: how am I not even half way there</div>
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10km: would these people ever get out of the way</div>
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11km: blister on my left foot</div>
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12km: blisters on my right foot</div>
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13-14km: help</div>
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15km: help</div>
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16km: just 1 more km</div>
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17km: keep going, you got this girl</div>
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18km: girl you haven't got this any more...</div>
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...and then I walked the last 3.5km home. I almost saw this as a failure: I had set out to run 21.1km but I lost the mental battle to a lack of energy and extreme blisters. Then I thought, "catch yourself on Clare", so I caught myself on. I still completed the distance, it wasn't even my worst time, and learned a few things along the way...</div>
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1. I am, in fact, not Mo Farah, or Paula Radcliffe, or even superwoman. Proper training is important. </div>
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2. 1 creme egg and a banana for breakfast just doesn't cut it.</div>
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3. This challenge was probably a bad idea.</div>
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4. Freshly-waxed legs are not your friend on a long run. Without hair to reduce the friction, that chub-rub is one grotsky little byotch and the burn is real.</div>
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This month's charity is <a href="https://www.reducingtherisk.org.uk/cms/content/about-our-charity">reducing the risk</a>, an Oxfordshire-based charity supporting domestic abuse victims. You can follow the link to see what they do. </div>
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If you need me for the next week, you can find me on my sofa...</div>
Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-38685369349294407262020-04-18T18:20:00.000+01:002020-04-18T18:24:20.523+01:00Clarabella runs Europe: We're here for a long time, not a good time.<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So Clarabella runs Europe was short lived. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Even after my first race of the year was cancelled by that that shall not be named, I still thought I could run Regent's Park in April (because England wasn't going to close) and that probably things would be back to normal in time for Gothenburg in May. LOL. You say naïve I say unexperienced in global pandemics. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In January I told as many people as I could about my big half marathon plans, so that there were enough people holding me to account and I had no choice but to go through with it. That backfired and I am now in a bit of a predicament (albeit a very small and insignificant one in the current climate). </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Since coming out of quarantine my running has been very up and down. 2 weeks ago I ran a speedy 12k (by my standards) and thought maybe I was on my way to becoming Mo Farah. 2 days later I was defeated by 4 kilometres (mother nature really goes to town on me every month and I struggle to run well for about 2 weeks - any tips on how to cope with this would be highly appreciated). I even thought I'd give back garden running a wee go in case we got banned from exercising outside the house. 96 lengths of our garden and 9 minutes later and Strava tells me I'd run 300m. Sure you couldn't even walk 300m that slowly. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Then, yesterday, BINGO. I rediscovered the video of my proudest achievement to date - a half marathon on the Great Wall of China (video below for <strike>your</strike> my enjoyment). If I can run for 4 hours up some of the world's steepest steps (okay let's be honest I crawled some of them), then I can sure as hell run a casual flat 21k around Oxford each month. Yes, you heard me correctly, the challenge is still ON. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Next challenge: is it socially responsible to publicise that I'm running this far? Lots of people are running long-distance but the rules on this are unclear. I therefore propose 2 solutions: 1 - if you feel strongly that I shouldn't be running so far away from my house, communicate your concerns and I will repeat a route that doesn't stray too far from my house; 2 - I will donate some money to charity for each half marathon I run in a bid to maybe cancel out the long-distance running thing. I would have had to pay an entry fee for every official race, so instead I will donate £50 per half to a different charity each month that is supporting people who are currently facing difficulties. If you have any charity suggestions, please let me know!</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Turns out I do have a heart, I just keep it for special occasions. </span></div>
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Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-1067727642266291332020-03-01T17:22:00.001+00:002020-04-18T18:35:15.461+01:00Clarabella runs Europe: The French government can kiss my assToday I have the honour of bringing you the biggest comeback since Liverpool beat Barcelona in THAT Champions League semifinal. Yes that's right, Clarabella is back and fitter than ever before.<br />
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Introducing Clarabella runs Europe, the natural solution for any millennial trying to avoid a break-up induced quarter-life crisis. At Christmas I decided that starting in March I would run a half marathon a month, in a different location in Europe, for a whole year. Today is the 1st of March and I am happy to report that mission one is accomplished and my challenge is well and truly under way. </div>
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Location #1 was Paris. Given that Paris and I have previous (if you haven't read Diaries of a Parisian office worker and fancy a good laugh you can find them here <a href="http://clarabellaspeaks.blogspot.com/2013/02/diary-of-parisian-office-worker.html?m=0">Diaries of a Parisian Office Worker</a>), I should have known it wasn't going to be plain sailing. It went something like this:</div>
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Me (stuffing my face with crepes and ice cream because, carb-loading): "It's so nice to be back in Paris, I was always so negative when I lived here but actually I was wrong"</div>
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Coronavirus: </div>
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Yes that's right, our favourite trending topic made it all the way to Paris just in time to cancel an event to be attended by 44,000 runners, most of whom were already in the city and already busy spreading whatever germs they might have had. But the French government made their decision and given that we may be facing a global pandemic I suppose you might be able to understand their position (but also maybe you should have also cancelled the Ligue 1 football games, eh Macron? I know some people dislike them but football fans' lives are important too). At this point Beth and I looked something like this:</div>
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"What should we do?" we asked ourselves, over and over and over for about 3 hours. In the end there were two clear options: a) just forget about it and get sloshed on cheap French wine over dinner or b) run our own race anyway and stick two fingers to the French government and their health and safety policy. I think you know which one we chose. </div>
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Fast forward to 8.45 this morning and I'm working my way through a pre-run breakfast of apple purée (baby food but delicious nonetheless), a banana, a mars bar and a creme egg. Nutritious it may not be but let me tell you it did the trick because this girl ran a PB!! A lot of other would-be half marathoners had the same idea and the banks of the Seine were awash with the sweet sight of runners this morning. I even think I enjoyed it more because I got to make my own route and didn't have any of the pre-race nerves I was dreading so much! Clare 1: Coronavirus 0 (for now - I might have contracted it at some point over the weekend). </div>
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The only disappointment is that I didn't get my medal (I was planning to wear it around my neck on the train home so people knew I was kind of a big deal). Next stop: home, just in time for my birthday tomorrow 😁</div>
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NB: No passports were harmed in the running of this race.</div>
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Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-57414720286783490242014-06-13T17:30:00.000+01:002014-09-22T13:38:58.164+01:00"Clare this is so ratchet"Guess who's back, back again. Owen's back, and feeling vain. What better way to celebrate post exams than another photo shoot - "Clare I want a new profile picture". Ha. Pretty sure he got one thanks to my not awful camera skills. We are however still waiting for that call from Karl Lagerfeld, if anyone knows him give him a nudge in the right direction.<br />
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Bisous de nousClarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-61636757726045634062014-01-26T21:57:00.001+00:002014-09-22T13:41:28.044+01:00"I look like such an idiot, but I don't even care".So today was my first ever photo shoot with a model who actually wanted to be photographed. Most people hate me and turn their face away because even though they know they look fab, they have to do that "oh-I'm-so-ugly" false modesty thing (here's looking at you family and friends). Owen and I had been asked to shoot some street-style photos for an article on meggings (I like to think of this as my first photography gig so thanks Lindsay Macnaughton!), but you will notice that we got a little carried away and just went for a full blown photo shoot. We got a lot of funny looks (you'll understand why when you see the photos), but we had too much fun to care. We're expecting Karl Lagerfeld on the phone any minute to book us both for the next campaign - you saw it here first.<br />
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Also, Clarabellaspeaks hit 10000 views last week. Admittedly it took 3 years to get there but huge <i>gracias</i> to any and all of you who read. Here's to the next 10000 (hint hint).<br />
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Un beso enorme guapos.</div>
<br />Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-16478270710187432182014-01-19T23:37:00.001+00:002014-01-19T23:37:42.676+00:00Recuerdos Granainos.Tonight's post is not a distraction, but a reward FOR FINISHING MY ESSAY. Okay so that's a lie I'm still only 3/10 of the way there but every little counts.<br />
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I seem to spend most of my supposed working time daydreaming and concocting plans for my future escape to Spain, so this photo's a little trip down memory lane, to Granada (where else?).<br />
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For those of you wondering, the writing on the wall says<i> "Te Quiero Bicho"</i>. I'm assuming <i>bicho</i> also has some sort of affectionate meaning because "I love you, you insect" doesn't really have much of a romantic ring to it. Let them never say that a languages degree is easy.<br />
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P.S Please note the new apparition of Google translate to the right-hand side of this post. I promise you it is a lot of fun reading their translation of my sarcasm.<br />
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Un besote amigos.</div>
Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-32860237390281041092014-01-16T20:19:00.001+00:002014-01-16T20:20:04.779+00:00Bleugh.Still got 2000 words to go and it is not looking good for my brain. After a 3 hour break followed by a 2 hour nap (my eyes refused to cooperate with the screen - it's not my fault) I still didn't feel ready to read about justice and revenge in El Poema del Mio Cid so I turned to my camera. Sticking with the 'a photo that describes my mood' thing and this one is, well, perfect yet again.<br />
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This one's for all da homiez (aka students) out there feeling the same.<br />
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Bises.</div>
Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-67999683085738004512014-01-08T22:42:00.000+00:002014-01-09T11:25:01.462+00:00It literally isn’t me, it’s them.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 21px;"></span>New year, new essay deadlines, so I'm writing a new post instead. The other day I came across a fab article by blogger/traveller and all round girl-whose-life-I'd-like-to-steal Vanessa from Wander Onwards, and I felt like I'd hit gold and simply had to post about it.<br />
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To add to this, in a recent conversation with friends it was decided that we should all blog an X (insert appropriate noun here) a day. My X was photo. None of us have done it yet so I thought I'd get it going. I suggested (without thinking in the excitement of the moment) that I should post a photo that described how I was feeling that day. That idea was quickly shot down (and rightly so) for being a little too 15-year-old-emo-ish. Nonetheless today will be an exception because well, it's my blog and I can do what I want. Here is my favourite quote from that article and the photo of how I feel when I read it. I think you'll agree they are a perfect match.<br />
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"I’m seeing all of these notifications that “X and Y” have joined in matrimony and instantly, these waves of anxiety start to flow over me. Should I be thinking about marriage? I’ve never even had a serious boy friend? Is there something wrong with me? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME AND WHY HAS NO ONE TOLD ME ABOUT IT FOR ALL THESE YEARS!?<br />
But then I look at my life, my relationships, and my future… and I realize that, I’m f***ing awesome. It literally <i style="font-style: italic;">isn’t me</i>, it’s them."</blockquote>
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BesosClarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-77764211536627380472013-09-18T22:10:00.000+01:002013-09-18T23:58:35.504+01:00Diaries of a Parisian Office Worker: The final instalment.Ça y est, c'est terminé. I have seen the Eiffel Tower for the last time, finished my last shift, been to my last gym class and most importantly, walked up those stairs for the last time. Whilst I may no longer be a Parisian waitress, we will pass that off as a mere technicality to allow me to complete the promised last blog in a series that brought you lots of laughs and kept me my sanity. Whoever said it is important to be able to laugh at yourself was defs on to something.<br />
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Main drama in the last 4 weeks (there had to be something) was the unwelcome contraction of tendonitis in my shins. But alas, not one to be held back by something so minor (slash potentially quite major), after a week of 'cutting back' I decided enough was enough and even ventured into new and crazier sporting territories (google GRIT series to see what I mean), and earned a wrist band for my effort, result. The time for resting is now, when I'm not paying for a gym membership, but which unfortunately coincides with me enjoying some lazy time and fully stocked home cupboards. Oh dear.<br />
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The only other near drama was leaving my laptop in a shop changing room and getting 3 metro stops further on before realising I no longer had it. Turns out losing a passport doesn't automatically mean I'm careful with all my belongings and instead I need to learn from each individual mistake in order to never repeat it again. Thankfully someone handed it in and the worst thing I had to deal with was the shop assistant's incredulous reaction, "Mais madame <i>comment </i>est-ce que vous pouvez oublier un ordinateur?!" franchement je ne sais pas.<br />
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My last couple of weeks were also when I finally met some friendly Parisians, I kid you not they do exist. One of said mythical creatures came in the form of a bearded homeless woman. She asked for money so I gave her some. Then she told me "they" had stolen her papers and when I told her I couldn't help her, she sat down beside me. Awks. Not wanting to be rude I remained in my seat and we proceeded to have a conversation and share some nougat. #cute. What wasn't so cute was the grown man on the metro picking his nose and wiping it on the door handle, or the woman sat opposite me whose toenails would have put an eagle's claws to shame. The Parisian metro is a weird and not so wonderful place but I will certainly miss it when I'm having to walk 20 minutes at a time to get around Durham.<br />
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I will (/already am), believe it or not, miss Paris. No your eyes are not mistaken I did just write that. They (my mother in particular, and mothers really are always right) told me it would happen, and after several false alarms, the city I spent so long hating<i> </i>finally<i> </i>worked its charm on me and I'm even considering going back. OMG. Bet you never saw that one coming. The past 7 months have probably been the toughest of my life (here comes the melodrama) but they have also been the most rewarding and whilst I would <u>never </u>want to relive them, I can honestly say I wouldn't change them. To quote a certain Monsieur Kanye West, <i>"tha tha tha that that don't kill me, can only make me stronger"</i>. And I, one year on since I left for Granada, am stronger. Don't worry the emotional sop ends here and I shall bid you farewell with some of my favourite pics of Paris. It's been one hell of a roller coaster, thanks for the support, bitchachos.<br />
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Bises, besos, mwah.<br />
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<br />Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-61408111423961872282013-08-18T16:23:00.000+01:002013-08-18T17:20:27.580+01:00Diaries of a Parisian Waitress: 29 days to go.Okay wow where have those 10 weeks gone? Obviously you have all been missing Clarabella Speaks like caaaa-raaazy and wondering if this absence has meant that Parisian life actually stopped providing me with things to complain about. I too had been wondering the same thing, but let's not get too excited just yet...<br />
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June started off well with visits from various excellent friends and family members and I managed to get over leaving Granada again pretty quickly (don't panic it will still always be my numero 1). By mid-June I had even landed myself a waitressing job, which as great as it is, unfortunately brought an end to studio style. The following photo will very clearly explain why this is the case.<br />
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No your eyes do not deceive you. That is indeed me resembling Luigi off off Mario Kart, in my brown dungarees (one size fits all might I add so you can just imagine that they fit like a beauty), a blue polo shirt and yes that's right, A BROWN CAP. It's as if they knew my aversion to all things brown and thought they'd have some fun. The photo is courtesy of my darling sister, who upon arrival at the restaurant could do nothing except laugh, and then document the hilarity so that all those unable to make it to Paris could also share in the amusement. Well the joke's on you (or at least it's not on me) because after 8 weeks on the job I am acting manager until September so I may look ridiculous but at least my waitressing skills aren't equally bad. I even regularly get people's left-over coleslaw over my hands without freaking out; I mean I know they said the year abroad would change us, but I never imagined the change would be quite so drastic.</div>
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Aside from waitressing I've just been enjoying summer (even managed to squeeze in a week down south), counting down the days until I see Mr Tayto at Belfast International Airport, oh and casually being made homeless by the world's most RIDICULOUS person. Yes that's right, I am no longer writing from my 5th floor room with a balcony, due to a series of dramatic events caused by the stupidest most frustrating person you would ever wish to meet. I shan't get into all the deets for fear of re-surfacing Angry Clare, but let's just say do NOT trust anyone who sublets a room to you in France (yes I am over-generalising, shoot me if you must) unless you want to get home one day to find all your stuff has been packed into bags and then have them steal 340 euros from you. I guess I should have guessed that someone who spends her entire days playing Mario Kart at 24 years of age isn't what one would define as socially normal. All year-abroaders, you have been warned. </div>
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I did however find a nice new flat with actual people who speak, the only downside being this one is on the 6th floor with no lift (I really do know how to pick them). Walking up the stairs at home will be like free-wheeling down a massive hill in comparison, and it's only 29 days until I get to do it, eeeeeeek! Don't worry though, there'll be at least one more Parisian Clarabella update before I leave; I wouldn't leave you in the lurch like that, I know you'll need time to mourn its departure.</div>
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<br />Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-17987131974238659902013-06-02T16:56:00.000+01:002013-06-02T16:56:29.164+01:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: Granaino StyleSo I said I'd be back with updates on my new fabulous Parisian life when I returned. You may have been expecting such updates a week ago, but alas I couldn't bring myself to leave after 3 days so I stayed longer. Bet you didn't ever see that one coming.<br />
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I set off last Thursday after my last ever day at work (wooooooooo), more excited than a child on Christmas Eve. Turns out in my excitement, I had failed to pack a single bra, other than the strapless one I was wearing (problematic for practical purposes such as spinning) but I wasn't going to let that hold me down. Nor apparently were my boobs, as proved by a very-almost flashing incident as I ran to catch my plane (never trust timings of the Paris-Beauvais bus system). Thankfully there was no one around to see and I made it to Malaga without being arrested for indecent exposure, where my fabulous flatmate was waiting for me at the customs exit. What followed was one fabulous-isima week of spanish, sun, spinning, fiesta, tapas and 1 kilo of strawberries for 1,50 €. I may have got very burnt within 18 hours of landing, and pomegranates may now be out of season but you'd never have known from the permanent smile on my face. That smile lasted until Thursday morning when obviously the tears came, and lasted all day. Yes, I was one of those people you see crying in public, who appear mentally unstable, but well at least I know I'm not, even if half of Paris now thinks I am.<br />
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In all my excitement I did not get round to snapping my holiday outfits so we shall finish with my outfit for today in which I have so far lain on my bed doubled over with pain dreading the day I ever have to experience child-birth. I am however now venturing out to a franglish event, not particularly looking forward to the awkward conversation that is bound to ensue, but how else is one meant to meet French people in Paris? If you can't change the situation, change your attitude to the situation, right?<br />
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<br />Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-47023071841631303842013-05-20T22:14:00.001+01:002013-05-21T08:02:32.231+01:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: Why am I such a retard?Another day, another bank holiday. If we can't have 2 bank holidays every week, can every month at least be like May? It seems almost cruel that the next one isn't until August, but as of next Monday when my stage ends, I am jobless so I guess every day's gonna be a bank holiday, except better because everyone else will be at work, muahaha. Panic not, studio style will still continue (I know you were worried), it will just not be office wear (at least until I find a new job), although it's probably debatable whether the following outfits are office wear anyway - "you can't go to the hotel dressed like that and tell them you work here" - but I made a special effort this week and got 4 of my 5 outfits snapped so whatever, office wear or not here they are.<br />
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Please note the appearance of the long-unseen wine shorts in the last photo. My 'gym-fanatic' status is paying off and I can finally wear them again whilst breathing at the same time. Hurrah. Speaking of the gym, never mind walking in changing rooms to full-frontal nudity displays, on Friday I walked out of my shower to discover the woman opposite me did not believe in closing her cubicle door whilst showering. Totes awks, esp when she looked right at me like I was the one in the wrong for being there. HELLO, do you not know what doors are for?! Oh em gee. Also, decided I'd do a weights class on Monday, the added benefit of this being the noticeable male presence. Except it's not really a benefit when you look down mid-conversation with an attractive french boy and realise that the fact that you have not shaved your legs in 2 weeks is much more noticeable than you thought. Oh my life. So now I'm about to begin the waxing process. I say begin because it takes me so long to talk myself into ripping each strip off that if I did both legs and bikini in one go I would not make it to sleep tonight. </div>
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My evening's plans were originally to go for a run, but of course that plan went pear shaped. Today, after 3 previously failed attempts, I successfully purchased a new pair of trainers. Except it turns out it wasn't successfully. I tried them on in the shop, great. I bought them, brought them home, got ready to go out for a run AND IT TURNS OUT THEY ARE ACTUALLY TOO SMALL. 10 days, 7 sports shops, 8 metro journeys, 1 pair of trainers and too much effort later and I am still trainer-less. Why am I such a retard? </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">Anyway, we'll move on </span>before you come up with an answer for that question (it's meant to be rhetorical).<span class="Apple-style-span"> On Saturday I took a trip to Lille. The good news was I wasn't in Paris, the bad news was I was in Lille. I spent my morning mis-reading maps, getting chased by a duck (ironic given I had just the night before watched the Far East Movement 'Rattle' video and lolled at the thought of an angry duck), and finally in an art museum complete with audio guide (I hate museums, especially with audio guides), to pass some of my remaining 8 hours. The day did however improve from there, and apart from seeking refuge in Sephora to hide from a creepy stalker man, I quite enjoyed myself. The strangest part happened in Paris, on the bus on the way back from Gare du Nord. I was casually sat there looking out the window, and I don't know if the fact that it was grey and rainy confused me, but I had the sudden feeling like I was on my way home. I'm not even joking, like I actually felt at home in Paris. The expression of utter confusion which remained on my face for the next 5 minutes said it all about how unexpected that was but I came to the conclusion that my trip to relatively boring Lille was in fact, a good thing. </span>After wine with a friend last week, I realised that it is about time I started making the most of Parisian life, and so now with my stage ending, my excuse for everything will be "I'm in Paris". Obviously if everything goes excellently this could become problematic because what would I write about then? but we'll cross that bridge when (not if - note the optimism) we come to it. </div>
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I'm going back to my beloved Granada on Thursday and I am more excited than I possibly have been in my life. Spain + spanish people + pomegranates + spinning + tinto de verano = one ecstatic Clare. Updates on my new amazing Parisian life when I return, that is if I don't decide to stay. Tehe.</div>
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Un besote.</div>
Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-85918900499515638982013-05-12T22:57:00.002+01:002013-05-12T23:01:44.954+01:00Diaries of a Parisian Office Worker: A week of highlightsAfter this week's two bank holidays I have decided that bank holidays are my favourite kind of day and would kindly appreciate it if who ever is in charge of setting the working calendar could see fit to give us two bank holidays every week. If you know who that person is, please direct them to this post. This short working week did however mean that there were only 3 possible days that I could photograph my work outfit, and given I'm struggling to do it once in a 5-day week, this was basically doomed from the start, so instead here is today's fruit-buying outfit (I like to try and look my best for the market sellers, maybe they'll give me some free fruit).<br />
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After a fabulous weekend with Gwen dining in some of Paris' top venues (namely La Durée, le Paradis du Fruit and my balcony) and strolling/bussing casually through la ville, this week had a lot to live up to. Monday's highlight was crying in front of my boss (people leaving me in Paris brings out my emotional side) which of course is always fun, especially when the reply is "you're 21, you need to harden up". In fact Monday was extra special and had 2 highlights, the second one being a bird pooing on my hand and bag. Tuesday's highlight was thanking my lucky stars it was only my hand the buggar pooed on as I watched Other Irish Intern have one poo on her hair. I'd rather like to think my racing to the nearest café to get some serviettes saved the day. I also think we've had enough of words containing poo for one post.</div>
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The obvious highlight of Wednesday and Thursday was not going to work and enjoying a lie-in until 9.30 (not loving my body clock rn), and Friday's was being greeted by a fully frontal naked Japanese woman as I walked into the gym changing rooms. That is not a mental image I wished to have but one that a lot of my fellow gym goers seem intent on providing me with. Finally today (skipping saturday because it was non-eventful), I somehow ended up with eye-liner lead on the bottom of my shorts and managed to draw some sort of charcoal design over my bedsheets with my ass. I think this is a skill that should go on my CV. </div>
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And with that new-found talent I shall love and leave you. My alarm will be ringing in 8 hours and I'm already reaching for the snooze button.</div>
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Bises</div>
Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-51752426116290357182013-05-01T17:52:00.003+01:002013-05-01T19:10:55.758+01:00Diaries of a Parisian Office Worker: Pyjama Day.Happy Labour Day. Whilst my Spanish amigos have been out protesting for workers' rights, you can tell from today's outfit that I have been doing no such thing. This photo was taken at approximately 16h30 and I am not ashamed (although maybe I should be given I actually went out to the ATM in them?). Pretty sure whoever came up with the concept of bank holidays meant for them to be pyjama days anyway, surtout quand il pleut dehors.<br />
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The day has not however been wasted. I am now up-to-date with Home and Away and Mad Men and getting there with Coronation Street (don't judge me, especially if you watch Made in Chelsea). I have also read and understood my french bank account details, tidied my handbags (yes plural) and organised my paper work #she'slivin'lavidaloca.</div>
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So as not to completely miss out on the fact that this pyjama day is being spent in France, I decided to put NRJ Hits on my TV to get a feel for French music (after 2 months it's about time, no?). Relatively bad idea. Aside from watching French men dressed up as Robin Hood dancing to what was essentially an Irish Jig and Justin Bieber singing into a headpiece that looks like a giant black golf ball stuck in front of his mouth, I discovered that I can put a name to the face of each member of One Direction (oh no) and will probably have nightmares for a week after seeing PSY's new video. In all seriousness, how is he even successful? I may spend my Sh'bam classes dancing to Gangnam Style like a pony on its hind legs but I was almost sick watching this. Like actually, this surpasses my hate for Mr Chow in the Hangover, and anyone who has watched that film with me knows that that is quite a strong hatred. Although just to balance out this negativity a little bit, below is a link for a pretty fabulous little song I did hear today. French music isn't all horrific. Although speaking of horrific, Cher Lloyd is now on my screen so we will move swiftly on before any positivity is lost...</div>
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My french may still not be improving perhaps as much as I would like, but I was reassured about my English this week (an actual slight worry for year abroad students) by an Israeli customer. First of all he walked into the office and greeted us with a 'Hey, what's up?" and then asked where I was from (he couldn't understand when I said "eight"until I said it like 'eeyytt'). Obviously I told him Northern Ireland (resisted adding in a 'hi lawd' at the end) to which he replied, "Oh. Your English is pretty good". Gee thanks. The amount of people I have met this year who ask what language we speak in (Northern) Ireland is ridiculous, so everyone, take note now. WE SPEAK ENGLISH.</div>
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And on that informative note today's blog ends here. Mama bear is making an appearance in Paris this weekend so unless something drastic happens to me tomorrow that I simply have to write about (although let's really hope that it doesn't), I will be back next week. Bonne fin de semaine et bon weekend à tous.</div>
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<br />Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-7127591349609248322013-04-27T11:26:00.001+01:002013-04-27T11:29:22.909+01:00Clarabella Speaks: Pimp my Intern.Guess who's back, back again...no it's not Shady it's me, and I'm writing to you from my NEW FLAT with BALCONY and FRENCH FLATMATES. Guess I finally got that flat with the rooftop view of Paris I always wanted! I was planning to still be asleep at this time but alas my body clock no longer understands the concept of a lie-in so what better way to pass the time than writing my first blog in over 3 weeks. Those 3 weeks have been <i>ajetreadisimas</i> and so I have not been doing a good job of documenting my daily outfits which really is a shame because my outfits this week were totally fabulous but I guess now I can re-wear them without fear of judgement. The following is my last photo in my old studio *sob sob the memories*, which reminds me, now that I no longer live in a studio I'm gonna have to think of a new name for studio style. Will add that to the blog to-do list which also includes work out a way to get rid of camera-face (harder than you'd think).<br />
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So what have I been doing over the past 3 weeks you may wonder. Well being pimped out for one thing. Before you choke on your tea (if you're British and reading this chances are there is a cup of tea near by you, don't deny it) let me explain. We had some important clients (it already sounds bad), it was their last night out and it was decided that some girls were needed. When I say girls I mean me and the other intern. So at first we were all excited because we got a night out on the company in a fancy club, then we asked what our dress code was and the response was "sexy". Joderrrr. I don't think I have ever dressed sexy in my life, I can barely even say the work without cringing so that was going to be fun. I eventually settled on a black dress and and heels, with BARE LEGS, which consequently led to the worst metro journey of my life. It was raining outside, so there I was walking through the streets alone in bare legs with a scarf over my head as an umbrella, looking like an absolute twat, and then when I got onto the metro I was greeted by the judgemental stares of anyone over the age of 40. I had to sit down and cover my legs with my scarf out of sheer embarrassment. I'm telling you, I have a newfound respect for street walkers. Thankfully that was the worst part of the night and our biggest problem after that was having to take a shot of Hennessy XO whilst balancing our champagne in the other hand, which, might I add, was topped up constantly by a leather kilt-wearing barman. Marc Jacobs may be a fan of such an outfit, but it will never be okay.<br />
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Other than that slightly interesting <i>acontecimiento</i>, I HAVE GOT A NEW PASSPORT. It is however Irish, and I'm still not sure how I feel about my new found Irish nationality but then again it does mean I am not doomed to live out the rest of my days in France, nor pay any more visits to the British Consulate (touch wood) so I am not going to complain, nor bring it with me on a run. That lesson has been well and truly learnt, although most people would probably say that it shouldn't really have to be. <br />
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Further excitement includes cockroach-spotting in the office, almost having my precious Marc Jacobs bag sprayed with insect repellant (worse than a cockroach attack), more homeless appearances on the metro, deciding to walk 3 miles to Spanish then getting lost and arriving 30 minutes late, an exploding bottle of shower gel in my gym bag, and semi-cooked porridge that ended up more around the bowl than in it. C'est la vie as the French would say, and there's no point crying over spilt milk (ha).<br />
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BisesClarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-49243075285626718562013-04-03T22:28:00.000+01:002013-04-03T22:28:08.121+01:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: Embarrassed.Keeping her short and sweet this evening as it is now 22h35 and I am taking yet another trip to the British Consulate tomorrow morning (before work) to get yet another emergency passport. Bet they've never had the same person come back for another one before, sort of hoping they don't recognise me. I'll be in a red suit (love my life) so fingers crossed that will be a good disguise.<br />
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My main reason for writing this evening is because the past 9 hours have given me plenty to write about. I was feeling pretty crazy at lunchtime so I thought I'd be adventurous and try eating something other than scrambled eggs and chorizo. I decided on a tuna salad, but the blood pouring from my finger 2 minutes later told me that maybe that wasn't such a good idea. The tuna was obviously not impressed at being eaten and I ended up slicing my poor little finger on the tin lid. I'm not even being dramatic when I say slicing, it was a good 5 mm deep and the first plaster had to be discarded after 5 minutitos. Think I'll stick to eggs in future.</div>
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After lunch I got to go on a little trip to the Arc de Triomphe which was fun. It was all going swimmingly until I managed to get lost in the metro station. It's not even as if I got on the wrong line or missed my stop, I was literally walking in circles trying to find the train. Mid-confusion I came across a vending machine so decided to stop for a bottle of diet coke for some refreshment. That however turned out to be another one of my not so good ideas when I ended up opening it too soon and getting fizz all over my arm. I just ignored the looks from the other metro goers and carried on as if I meant for it to happen. Sticky arms are the latest accessory did you not know?</div>
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But the most embarrassing is yet to come. Tonight was my second spanish class and I arrived to discover we were having a mini party. Thought I'd stay off the vino, even if it was from Bordeaux, and I still had half a bottle of now fizz-less coke in my bag so I whipped that out. 2 hours later I went to the bathroom before going home to discover that the lipstick that had been on my lips before the class was now in a semi-circle above my lips. Oh.my.word. I wasn't sure how long I had been sat looking like that but I finished my coke after about 30 minutes so the chances are it was more or less the whole 2 hours. And oh no. I've literally just remembered that one of the women kept looking at me during the class and smiling. I thought she was being nice but now I know. #thisisworsethanawkward. </div>
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Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-75073393106323710092013-04-02T21:54:00.002+01:002013-04-04T17:25:59.019+01:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: Field Day.<i>"You're having a field day with your earrings today".</i> My 'bin lids' as an airport security worker so kindly named them one day are not generally the object of many people's affection (my own excluded), so that greeting from my boss this morning sent many things running through my mind, namely <i>"oh no"</i>. Then he said "they're great, I like your earrings and I like your shoes". Well I was not expecting that! Normally when a man (over the age of 30) appreciates my style it is normally Karl and it normally scares me and makes me want to run and change, but my bin lids are my babies and ain't no-one gon' put me off them, even though you probs think someone should...<br />
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Ooooh and as if I almost forgot. Was feeling super chic on Saturday so thought I'd capture the moment to share it con todos. I'm just so thoughtful really.</div>
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This morning I sent mi hermana un whatsapp saying "trop nirn. Donr wanna. Fer y". She definitely thought I had taken friday's fiestaaaa comment to the extreme but in fact yesterday was spent tranquilamente under the sun eating lots of nice food in Place des Vosges and what I was trying to say was my weekend was "trop bien" and "I don't want to get up". Turns out whatsapping whilst still asleep doesn't really work. I did however have two nights out in a row this weekend which is almost unheard of in my normal life, never mind my life in Paris, so I'm totally feeling popular right now and lamenting the fact that work is an actual thing.<br />
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Went to the gym ce soir and was definitely close to death, it felt so good. I then had a mini drama, obviously. Tried to open my locker and the key card was not working. I was sure it was number 311 but after repeatedly trying it and then spending ages trying to open all the lockers in the vicinity, it really wasn't happening. <i>"Mais j'en suis sûre"</i> I told the french woman trying to help me. I was imagining my bag and all its contents being lost to the dark depths of the locker for eternity, then she tried 307 and turns out I wasn't so sure after all. I may have been slightly red-faced, but what's a little embarrassment when yet more important belongings are at risk?<br />
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Today's main drama however, came in the exhaustion of my pomegranate supplies. There could literally be no bigger food crisis. Thankfully I am going to Londres this weekend, where apart from spending some quality best friend time, I intend on stocking up on affordable pomegranates. Given this is my last trip to the UK before June that will be one hell of a lot of pomegranates to fit in my hand luggage, can't wait to see the look on the security guards' faces as that passes through the scanner...<br />
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Besitos<br />
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<br />Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-19650256473489229252013-03-29T21:17:00.002+00:002013-03-29T22:57:15.661+00:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: Good Friday?The fact that I am spending my Friday night blogging and listening to Bonnie Tyler probably makes you wish you were me, so sorry for rubbing it in your face...my life is crazy quoi. En fait this is not what I wore today rather on Wednesday, but I had literally the most loca day ever (more on that later) so there was malheureusement no time for pre-work photo-shoots. Must give a little shout out to a miss Rachael Jade Griffith for providing the dress, having a best friend who works in RI has its benefits.<br />
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So on my run last night I had a moment where I almost liked Paris. Pretty big breakthrough I thought, but it turns out Paris had other plans and today tried its very best to rid me of such thoughts. First there came another Eiffel Tower fiasco. After me swearing less than a month ago that I would never go near the place again I headed off this morning on a deceptively sunny Parisian morning to queue for tickets for clients. I arrived to the messiest and possibly longest queue I had ever seen and had to do my best not to turn and run. However I had my i-Pod and there was Spanish being spoken everywhere I turned so it wasn't looking too bad. Until that is, I realised how actually freezing it was and that I had forgotten my gloves. 30 minutes later and I couldn't feel my toes or fingers, but I only had about 30-45 more minutes to go so it was survivable. 60 minutes later and with NO sign of the clients I was colder than an ice sculpture and highly unamused. Turns out I queued for 90+ minutes for nothing other than the good of my health, which was no good at all. Señor Eiffel Tower and I are well and truly over this time, there is no going back from this one.</div>
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THEN, (yes there is more) I returned home at 6pm after a horribly long and stressful day (it got worse after the morning's fiasco), to find that the flat viewing I had lined up was, in fact, cancelled because the room had already been taken. Good Friday it was definitely not.</div>
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Happily though, this is where today's sob story ends because then I went to the gym. Obviously I was a little apprehensive after my previous gym experiences but the class was actually good (although not as good as Granada because nothing can beat Spain, obv), I met some actually friendly Parisians (I kid you not, they do exist) and spoke French. Et voilà I am now a member and Parisian life is on the up. You can tell this from the amount of French words making their way into tonight's blog #frenchmachine. There was a hairy moment in the metro when I couldn't find my i-Pod in my bag. Given my track record with gyms and losing things you can see why I almost ran back screaming onto the train, but thankfully it was just hiding under my towel and my heart palpitations could stop. Now all that's left to do is enjoy a 3 day weekend. Fiestaaaaaaaa.</div>
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Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-76308495299836724722013-03-26T21:20:00.000+00:002013-03-26T21:20:44.261+00:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: #firstworldproblemsBelieve it or not I have literally not stopped since my last post. You probably still wouldn't swap your own social life for mine, but the prospect is no longer quite so horrifying. In that time I have also managed to acquire some exciting new additions to my wardrobe. They have yet to make their debut but when they too they won't be too hard to spot given I'd pretty much worn everything else to exhaustion. Apparently you can have too much of a good thing.<div>
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Good news is that my boss is back and he doesn't think my lace trousers look like army pants, hurrah. He also brought us back some sort of indian dessert which was basically like eating nutmeg flavoured, hay-like candy floss. It may sound odd but the other Irish intern and I did a pretty good job of polishing it off. Maybe it's because we're (Northern) Irish that we enjoyed eating hay... there's probably some awful stereotype joke about that somewhere so I thought I'd put it out there first.<br />
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I started writing this at 20h00, then mama dearest face timed and well here we are 2 hours later and no further on. We have however just set out a plan for my life in Paris to avoid further social exclusion, so I am starting Spanish lessons tomorrow and finding myself a French boyfriend (Karl says I don't have to be fussy because I'm only here for 6 months, it's good to see he has high hopes for me). Obv will keep you posted on how that turns out but I won't hold my breath as I would almost certainly die.<br />
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In other news my French is quite possibly getting worse and I could well be homeless again if people don't start replying to my emails (that is if my neighbours don't complain about me belting out Natalie Imbruglia at the top of my voice and get me evicted first). I came back from a weekend in Bordeaux thinking only positive thoughts, but that lasted until I got within about 15 minutes of Paris and hasn't really resurfaced since. First world problems are a bit of a nightmare really.<br />
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BesosClarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-29168662686954823262013-03-12T20:11:00.000+00:002013-03-12T22:24:29.860+00:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: 20/08/1926 - 11/03/2013When I went to work this morning I thought the subject of this evening's blog was going to be the ruddy snow that had decided to fall in March and how it had forced me change my choice of shoe. Then I got a phone call from home to tell me that my Grandad had passed away last night and suddenly I couldn't care less if it was Antarctica outside and I had been forced to wear snowboots. I wasn't sure whether or not to write this given grief isn't the kind of thing you like to share with people but I've become quite accustomed to sharing the ups and (mostly) downs of Parisian life so it seems like the natural thing to do, especially being so far away from everyone. So I guess this is just like my own little tribute to the man who did everything with his family's best interests in mind and who taught Karlos, or Richard as he called him, to do the same.<br />
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Grandparents always tell you how proud they are of you, but I was proud to be Alfred Gordon Saunders' granddaughter. Up until recent years you wouldn't have believed he was in his 80s, out digging up the garden or spinning around Rotherham in his impeccable automobile, and he had an incredible mind. He also had a pretty impressive geography of Wednesbury and the Black Country, which is something the rest of our family now possesses after several repeated conversations. But more importantly he was a humble, loving and honourable father, husband, grandad and man, who was respected and loved by us all and who is already missed more than these slightly soppy words can express.<br />
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A wonderful friend told me to smile at the memories, so that's what I will do (when laughing doesn't turn to crying), and it's not hard to do when you can think back to being welcomed to Pakistan whilst driving through the outer areas of Sheffield; to having "have you ever seen a dream walking?" sung to you when you came down for breakfast at any time of the day; or to being congratulated for being astute enough to recognise the test he set you when it was blatantly a mistake he was trying to cover up. So I will listen to 'All you need is love" by the Beatles and hear him bra-ba-da-ba-da-ing the trumpet part, taste the hairspray on my tongue from the extreme coiffing before leaving the house and be glad that I had such a fabulous Grandad for the first 21 years of my life.<br />
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Un beso muy grande.Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-43048578485506200042013-03-11T19:04:00.000+00:002013-03-11T19:04:52.451+00:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: #selfieIt suddenly dawned on me today when I was looking through my iPhoto library that I am quickly becoming some sort of serial mirror-selfie poser. Approximately one month ago I would have rather eaten an entire Marks & Spencer's carrot cake than take, never mind post, a mirror-selfie so this realisation is bothering me greatly. However pour le moment there's nothing I can do to avoid this (except not posting, but what would I do with my evenings then?) so basc just do not judge me, I am ashamed enough already. Although as if to disprove this, here is today's selfie pose.<br />
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I was feeling super business-woman like with my choice of outfit, very professional I thought. Turns out not everyone appreciated it. So I had to go to on a hotel outing and when I arrived back to the office I was greeted with "you wore that to the hotel?". Err, yes? There had been no mention of the red suit and there was no way in hell I was bringing it up, so I figured I was free to wear what I want, and figured a pair of dressy, lacey trousers would be a good choice. Except that to a non-fashion conscious male they look like some species of camouflage army trousers and so he did not share this opinion. Not amused. </div>
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And you'll never guess what I saw in the office today: identical pink flower branches. Talk about making me feel cheap. Incase you're wondering electrician guy lives in the same courtyard and apparently also fixes work's sockets so it's not as weird as it would appear without this explanation. </div>
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Other than that, today's excitement consists of a now burst blister (this occurred mid-run which really wasn't ideal) and me finding my post box. I did attempt to find it on Saturday and I did find it a bit odd that my key didn't even fit into any of the locks, never mind opening them, but as it would turn out that was because I was using the wrong key. It only took about 30 attempts today and thankfully no-one came and asked me what I was doing trying to open their post-box, so I am now the proud owner of box 43. Oh emm gee it's so exciting.</div>
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<br />Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-55119321854774605692013-03-10T20:42:00.001+00:002013-03-10T20:43:49.831+00:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: LocaRelatively busy weekend, not really doing much but at the same time having an actual life (as untrue as this will seem as you read on) so hence I'm only posting friday's update now. Went a bit crazy with the camera angles (camera-face method is proving quite difficult at times so might have to research new options) so you might need to cock your head a little, but the majority of us have the head tilt pose down to a tee so this shouldn't pose any problems.<br />
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Turns out I didn't actually make it shopping this weekend so unfort no new bling to unveil this week. In fact I only ventured outside of the flat to go out el viernes and to go running, and so now as I write, I am sat soaking my feet in a lettuce-spinner (I had nothing bigger) full of hot soapy water because the poor soles (ha) are all blistered. 2 x 4.5 mile runs in 2 days without coming close to dying is reassuring me that I have not yet lost my fitness but I think my feet would prefer it if I had.<br />
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Made a new friend yesterday, a greek electrician who lives opposite and came to fix my sockets. I greeted him at the door at 10 am in my pyjamas and looking scary as hell after 4 hours sleep, yet when he was finished he returned with a branch (literally) covered in pink flowers in a little vase of water "it's company for you because you're on your own". Fml if ever there was a social rock bottom I think this may be it. It was however sort of sweet, and even though he had previously told me I ate too much for breakfast (fruit and wheaten bread is definitely not too much) I smiled and said thanks. He also left me a cube of restaurant sugar because when I presented him with his milk-but-no-sugar tea he took one sip, winced mid-swallow and set it back on the table. Talk about hurting my feelings.<br />
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Weekends are too short and 8 am on Monday morning comes around quicker than it should so je vais love and leave you all and continue to soak my feet whilst watching 101 Dalmations. It would be a lie to say it beats the Marc Jacobs bag, but it's definitely up there on the birthday present list. Possibly the world's worst 21 year old.<br />
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Bisous.Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-51196263555567302112013-03-07T19:46:00.000+00:002013-03-07T19:46:09.482+00:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: WowBonsoir mes cheries. You were almost lucky enough to have two studio style photos this evening, but then I decided you've seen the red suit once, there is no need for you to see it again. So here you have just the one standard camera-face photo, and a noticeable lack of accessories. TGIF tomorrow - I'll blow my hostess wages at the weekend and show you ma new bling next week.<br />
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Exciting progress today. Not only did I avoid major disaster (other than messing up my computer screen yet again and eating an almost entire pack of jaffa cakes), I actually impressed my boss. He said, and I quote, "Wow"! Say what now? Turns out A-level maths was actually useful for something in the real world, contrary to everything we said in class to make ourselves feel better for not having a clue. It may have been a relatively simple calculation, but the fact remains that I am no longer just the northern irish girl who says her vowels funny; apparently there only exist 3 vowels in my english - eeii, oouu and aaee - but what I don't get is how a Greek man can make fun of <i>my</i> accent?! Hashtag rude.<br />
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There was definitely more but my brain is too tired to think. There was literally nobody on the streets of Paris when I went out this morning which tells you something about what sort of ridiculous waking hour it was. I was even wapping someone in South America who hadn't gone to bed on Wednesday and there I was living it up on Thursday travelling across Paris in my red uniform. For this reason I will be in bed and asleep before 9.30, hard lad 2k13 hi.<br />
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P.S. for those who noticed Tuesday's grammar error, I hereby apologise for any offence caused. It is in fact 'consist of' and not 'consist in'. I am quite excited though because that was a error in English caused by thinking in Spanish and not the other way round. I may be living in Paris but my heart still lies in Spain. Os quiero!<br />
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Un besote<br />
<br />Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5448416006065187042.post-69301591091815119252013-03-06T20:53:00.001+00:002013-03-06T20:53:41.184+00:00Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: A pomegranate a day keeps the drama away.Yet another drama free day! Hell to the yes. Although to be fair, when I started the day with my first bowl of pomegranates in 3 weeks it could only be good. I may have gone into work this morning with said bowl of pomegranates in tow and breakfasted in the middle of reading last night's emails, but that was only because I spent a lil' extra time on today's outfit choice. If you don't think it shows just keep that to yourself.<br />
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I'm starting to notice the results of my aversion to buying accessories so might have to take a little trip to Zara soon. My feet are also starting to notice the effects of 3 consecutive heel-wearing days, but they're just going to have to lump it because I'm having too much fun playing grown-up!<br />
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I also have exciting news: this evening I met two actual French people and spoke actual French that consisted in more than <i>"je vais vous passer à mon collègue". </i>A fair percentage of this 'French' may have been spanish, but at least I've got one language down, and the resemblance of a social life.<br />
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Hate to break it to y'all but that is all for tonight because lucky me has a gruelling 4.30 am start for a hostess job (no, not that type of hostess). The wonderful suit is hanging staring at me and both my alarm clocks - the office insisted in giving me a second one for some reason - are set. Bit nerveuse, but I am getting paid almost 2 days wages so one must not complain (don't get excited, I earn 3 euros an hour). Paris gets more glamorous by the day.<br />
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Bisous.Clarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06911242074373198226noreply@blogger.com0