Serviced Apartments

I've stayed at many different serviced apartments in my time of travelling so I think I'm in a good position to tell which ones are good or bad.  Hence, I'm not sure how this place can pass as a serviced apartment when my 'stove' looks like this:

It's a portable hotplate!  On top of that, there is no oven in this apartment. *groan*

At $157-$239 a night, I'm glad I'm not the one paying for my stay.  What a rip off.  I've stayed at another serviced apartment around the corner for $120 a night.  It was waaaay better and equipped with a full kitchen and laundry facilities.  Oh well, I guess staying here for the next two weeks will be marginally better than my previous two weeks in a Canberran hotel whereby I had no cooking or clothes washing facilities.  Breadtop and Sushi Train are also downstairs too!  :D

Not Much Happening (except for some template issues)

Yeah.  Nothing much is happening in Pooeytown.  I am counting down the work days until this stint in Rad-City ends.  Just five more days to go.  Only five.  But the last two weeks have really been dragging on....  Boooo

On the blogging front, I've had a problem with my template for a few months now and it is really bringing out the OCD, anal retentive side of me.  As loyal readers (I like to call them fans) of this blog will know, I changed my template almost two years ago.  I thought I was pretty smart because I managed to tweak to the HTML code of my chosen base template.  It wasn't very fun.  I also managed to modify the HTML codes for the 'Recent Comments' and 'Label Cloud' widgets.  The 'Recent Comment' widget supplied by Blogger does something weird and doesn't colour co-ordinate the font colours (very important for aesthetics!) and the standard Blogger 'Label Cloud' widget wasn't 'cloudy' enough  for me.  Compare my cloud with Mooey's and Kahoon's cloud - you'll see what I mean. Anal, indeed.

So, when Blogger introduced their template designer about a year later, I pretty annoyed.  About frigging time!  I had a play around with the new feature and saw that it very user-friendly.  Excellent for non-IT folk like me.  Where were you 12 months ago?  I was so impressed with the designer, I told Moo to change her template.

Anyway, so the problem with my template now lies in the blog archive.  See those little triangles?  When you click on them, they're meant to expand and list the titles of my previous posts.  I noticed they stopped working on my blog sometime last year.   I thought it was a Blogger issue, but nope, the archive expands on other people's blogs.

So I googled for an answer.  It seems I'm not the only one with the problem but I can't seem to find a way to rectify it.  I've tried uninstalling/reinstalling the widget.  I've tried altering the style of widget to drop-down and flatlist, saving it, republishing, exiting and then going back to change it to the original hierarchy style.  Nup, didn't work.  I tried finding a new HTML code.  Gave up cos I couldn't be arsed reading all that technical stuff.

I think it's got something to do with the Blogger Template Designer and the new templates having different basic HTML design to their predecessors.  Of course, my template would have been based on the older format.  Who bloody knows, I am not a programmer, IT person, computer script writing person.

If I can't find a way to fix it soon, I might have to use the template designer to change the look of the blog again.  That should fix it!

Necessary Signs, Street Art and Disappointment Noodles

A few things spotted around London.

This interesting sign in Soho on the front of a Georgian house door. (Now a converted office). Blink and you would have missed it.

I mean, they must have received so many propositions that they felt it was necessary to clarify the situation. It was a very sexy black door otherwise.

Giant hair? Coming out of a window and into a door? Again in Soho. This was a little gross but quite funny to watch people avoid the 'hair' when walking past.

A giant electric socket near Carnaby street. I actually think this has been here for awhile. I think...can't remember.

Smee and I had the hungries and so off we stopped at Cha Cha Moon.  This was another venture into the restaurant world by Alan Yau, the same guy who brought Wagamama into the world.  I hate Wagamama but the food at Cha Cha Moon wasn't bad.  I dare say, it was good!  When this eating establishment first opened, all the dishes cost £3 each.  I remember being seated next to a couple who ordered the entire menu.  Ok I exaggerate but they had a good 15 plates on their table and could barely keep up, merely sampling each dish.  Much fun for them though!

The first few times that Smee and I ate here, it was only peppered by a few suspect dishes but overall we usually quite happy with the meals and definitely had our favourites.  Time went by and while it was a good thing while it lasted, the prices soon went up.  Not by much but by about £1-2.  No biggie.

Smee and I returned today and we saw that prices had pretty reached the 'norms' of Chinatown - about £5-7 each.  Still not expensive by any measure but if you think about it being only £3 only two years ago, yet the serving size hasn't changed - maybe shrunk? - well, it's not such a bargain after all. 

The menu had changed somewhat with the addition of the 'Dolly Mee Goreng'.  I like mee goreng - both the hawker and instant varieties - but wtf is 'dolly'?  Anyway, I expected to be served something like this which is what I expect to receive from hawkers.  The noodles are thicker, egg noodles.  What I got was this:

Hrrrmmmmmmm.... *scrunched up face*  Instant noodles!  Not the thick, egg (Hokkien) noodles!

I mean, this mee goreng imposter really upset me.  I understand that some hawker stores do serve this type of mee goreng and it's called 'Maggi Mee Goreng' which makes it very clear it is the instant noodle variety.  All Cha Cha Moon did was open up a 45 pence packet of instant noodles, toss in the cheapest vegies possible, two slices of fish cake and called it Dolly Mee Goreng.  Is the 'Dolly' meant to imply the instant noodle usage? 

Smee could tell I was disappointed and offered to buy me a cheeseburger as a consolation.  Smee's char kway teow (which had been his favourite) was quite disappointing too.  They had cut back on key ingredients yet was charging more than ever before.  Based on this, Smee and I will probably never return to Cha Cha Moon.  The food really is only so-so now with no price point to draw us in.  You could say that maybe they were undercharging but c'mon people, everyone knows you get ripped off in London. 

I'm not an Alan Yau worshipper and to the purists, his food wasn't always the most authentic.  However, he did know how to run a restaurant properly and appease customers.  I have now discovered that he ceased his relationship with Cha Cha Moon about a year ago.  No wonder the food has slipped!

(Note:  Smee actually realised later that 'Dolly' (bad Anglicisation) in Cantonese implies instant noodle.  Still, the menu description doesn't make it clear!)

Cairns

Prior to moving to London, Cairns was on my places-to-visit-but-use-work-to-pay-for-it list.  I didn’t manage to cross it off when I was working for the Big Evil but now, I’ve managed to find my way and here I am in tropical Queensland.  Mmmm… humidity… so good for the eczema prone skin.  I’ve finally looked properly at the map and have just realised ‘Hey!  I’m really far up north!’  I’ve been provided a car for my travels and while that might seem extravagant, public transport doesn’t really exist here and nothing could be more painful than waiting in the heat for a bus to arrive. 

Me and me Holden, mate.  Actually, it’s quite a nice drive and a pretty ice-blue colour too!

I'm a bit annoyed with the accommodation I've been provided for my stay in Cairns.  Sure, it has it's own pool and is a short walk to the beach - don't be stupid, I still drive to the beach.  I have a car to get around, so what's to complain?  Well, this place has no accessible internet.  I could go to any telco and purchase my own personal wireless account but why the fark should I  have to do that?  For times like these when I'm traveling for work, all I ask for is dial-up internet.  That's right.  Dial-up internet.  But....I don't even have a phone line in this stupid apartment!  So, for the rest of December I'm dependent on internet cafes.  *grunt* I hate internet cafes.

Now…. I’m off to the beach!  Not to tan but to exfoliate my feet and then sit in the shade and read trashy mags :D

The Journey....

The brain is no longer mushy, so I can now recount the most stressful journey I’ve ever had to Heathrow and blog how I nearly missed my flight home. Independent factors combined forces to thwart my journey to the world’s most hated airport.

First, it was raining. Not just pitter-patter but pissing down rain.  Yeah, look I can deal with rain.  Rain isn’t anything new.  Next, the person using our rented Streetcar returned our car 15 minutes late.  Grrrrrrr…. Smee and I loaded up my luggage and began the drive westbound.  Unfortunately, it seemed the rest of London needed to go to Heathrow too.  Rain slows the traffic - we all know that - so I wasn’t terribly surprised to see a minor jam near Harrods.  However, this was a sign of things to come – from then on, cars were bumper to bumper before the M1.   Still, I’m a pretty Cool Cat and despite it being 8pm (my flight leaving at 9.55pm), I was confident that we’d get there by 8.30pm.  That would give me a comfortable 85 minutes before departure and 45 minutes before boarding.  My flight didn’t allow online check-in so I needed to also have that sorted. 

By 8.26pm we had barely covered the majority of the freeway journey, the GPS indicated that we still had 30 minutes journey time and yes, I was getting a bit antsy.  Our GPS then indicated we exit the M1 .. wtf…   I’ve only ever travelled to Heathrow on the M1!  The previous driver of our Streetcar had so kindly left us next to nothing in the petrol tank and we HAD to interrupt our drive to fill up the tank or risk breaking down.  At 8.46pm I bolted inside the servie station to pay for petrol while Smee filled up.  The attendant couldn’t have taken more time to process payment.  He had to cancel our transaction (his mistake) which involved printing off not one, but THREE receipts before he was able to re-enter our payment!  Moron!

Smee caught every light possible red traffic light on the remainder of the journey which also included driving through the most claustrophobic tunnel I’ve ever been in.  It was like driving through a 1 kilometre-long single car garage!  We pulled up to Heathrow at 9pm (55 minutes to take off!) and I made my way to the check-in counter while Smee parked the car.  Luckily there was no queue and I dumped my suitcase on the conveyor belt while the attendant began the check-in process.  She then told me “You’re not on this flight, you need to go to Counter G, not F”.  Eeek!  I pulled my suitcase off the conveyor belt and ran to Counter G. 

Again there was no queue because I WAS THE LAST PERSON TO CHECK IN.  I dumped my bag on the conveyor and was then informed that it weighed 28kg.  I knew it was heavy, I had problems dragging it into the terminal but I always intentionally over-pack (half of it were gifts!) and manage to get away with it.  I was not in the mood to be cute so I tried reasoning with the dude, I tried looking pathetic and I even kinda tried being desperate when I said ‘I have a one way ticket!’ but to no avail.  Bastard!  Either I pay £240 or re-pack 5kg from my suitcase.  Well really… there was only one option.  I heaved my suitcase off, flung open the lid and started moving stuff into Snowball, my faithful backpack.  I had no intention of taking out 5kg and put my suitcase back on the belt at 25.5kg.  “Is that fine?” I queried.   “That will do”.  It was obvious that he just really wanted to go home.  He closed the counter after giving me my ticket and a curt “You need to go to your gate NOW.” 

Smee and I ran to the security gate and the most time we had together was separated by a velvet rope as he watched me queue to present my passport to security.  There was no time for shopping, no time to pee and my departure gate was a far as it could get. 

My shoulders started to ache with the weight of Snowball on my back.  I didn’t want to find out how much she weighed but I estimate about 12kg.  I got to my gate… only to find that boarding was delayed by 10 minutes.  GRRRRRRR… well at least I wasn’t crying like the girl next to me who had been waiting at the wrong gate. 

The LHR-SIN leg was uneventful which was just GREAT!  I squeezed in two movies and got a little shut-eye.  We stopped over in Singapore which gave me enough time to clear the pipes (no time to shop as our flight was late) and begin boarding for the second leg of the journey.  Let’s just say I’m not a fan of Qantas International.  Despite being a FF member, I’ve always considered their planes a bit old, their menu a bit meh and service as nothing outstanding.  The only incentive for travelling with Qantas is my FF membership - otherwise I’ve cannot recall a flight which has won me over.  This particular leg only reiterated my less than favourable opinion.  We were informed that for the next 8 hours the entire plane would have NO INFLIGHT ENTERTAINMENT.  W…. T…. FAAAAAAAAAAARRK!?! 

I downed just enough red wine to make me sleepy and grew a zit on the plane.

How to get rid of a wart

Warts are disgusting. No doubt about it. Their root protusions are least likely to fall into the aesthetically pleasing category. A wart on your hand is gross. A wart on your foot is pretty gross too. A wart on your face, well that's just freaking hideous isn't it?

You might be wondering why am I offering advice about removing a wart? It is because like the majority of people, I unfortunately had one. As if that wasn't already disgusting enough, it was on.....my.... FACE!!!  Before you start thinking that I'm one Dirty Ho (I demand you take that thought back right now!!), I'll have you know that the HPV is very common and sits dormant in many people. If you did not have a wart as a child, well then you my dear are part of the minority.

Now, all I want to do is share my story..... 

To the people who know me in real life: Don't think that I wasn't aware you were looking at my right cheek wondering wtf was up with that flesh-coloured lump which seemed to have magically appeared overnight. I could see your eyes darting to the conspicuous growth.  Most of you were too polite to ask what it was, preferring to avoid possibly embarrassing me.  However, some of you did not give a shit and were brazen enough to ask "What's that on your face?".  The best one was "What are you harvesting there?"  Mooey endearingly so, bestowed upon me the moniker "Witchy-Poos". 

The offending bump (I dare you to click on the photo for a clearer view) - forever immortalised in Lymbo's wedding photos.  No, that's not an photographic artefact on my right cheek, that's a side-profile destroyer!  Not to mention a self-esteem destroyer too!




I guess I should be appreciative that it was a flat wart as opposed to the those rooty ones (ew), but still, this does not belong on my face!!  I'm an advocate for modern medicine but I'm not an advocate for shitty locum GPs who do two minute consults.  I sought the early opinion of a GP when the lump resembled a barely noticeable fleshy skin tag but was assured 'It was nothing'.  So I was downright annoyed when three months after that consult,the wart grew to 5mm in diameter within a period of 2-3 days.  That might not sound huge, but you don't realise how smooth your facial skin is until you grow an unsightly bump on it!  I initially thought the rapid growth signified something more sinister but I saw another GP who confirmed my initial diagnosis. He declined offering me cryotherapy in case it scarred.  He suspected that any other sensible doctor would be of the same opinion.  So what happens when a GP offers you nothing?  You treat it yourself!

I started with the conventional OTC treatments and ignored their 'Do not use on face' warnings.  I didn't care, I was ready for a small scar.  Topical salicyclic acid - faithfully applied according to the instructions for two months whilst I tolerated the shiny, superglue patch it left on my cheek.  It hardened the wart and made it easier to file down with a pumice stone but once left alone, the wart just eventually reconstituted itself like a packet of instant mash potato.  Wart stickers - applied nightly and removed in the morning.  I really didn't want a sticker on my face during the day.  All that did was leave a white residue on the wart which was difficult to remove at times.  Sometimes I couldn't be bothered scrubbing so hard and I would just go to work with a sticky, white patch on my face.  I didn't notice any significant difference in size.  Home cryotherapy kits - 'Surely', I thought, 'This will kill it!!'  What a waste of money.  A single application, my ass.  It turned the wart white (as it said it would) but after 14 days, it sure didn't fall off as it promised!  Repeated application within the 14 day period (a big no-no on the instructions) didn't help either.  The GP had suggest duct tape occlusion but I couldn't be bothered going to a hardware store for something that might not work.

I had pretty much given up hope and resigned to the fact that it would just disappear by itself... eventually.  This could take anything from 6 months to 2 years!  But then, I came across this video.

Apple cider vinegar?  My initial thought was 'What is that?  How does that differ to normal vinegar?'  I had my doubts.  The pH was similar to that of salicylic acid - how could it be any more effective?  After reading people's testimonies, recounting how their wart 'fell off in just 10 days', I figured I had nothing to lose and bought my £1.50 bottle of apple cider vinegar.  I suspect that normal white vinegar will do the job just as well, but I'm a stickler for instructions.  Maybe it's the apple that works just that much better?

After following the instructions from the video (slightly modified for the fact that I could not keep a band-aid on my face for 24 hours), I noticed a definite change.  After 3.5 weeks, I'm happy to report, my wart is gone!  Even better yet, there is no scar! :D

Ok, so I am wearing make-up but look!  My right cheek is clear of warties! 

The general instructions involved dipping a cotton bud/ball and placing it on the wart.  The cotton ball was then held in place by a band-aid and kept on overnight.  Some people kept theirs on for 24 hours.  Upon removing the band-aid in the morning, clear nail polish was applied and then at night, the dried nail polish layer was removed and the vinegar-soaked bud and band-aid goes on the wart again.  The cycle continues for about 3 days after which your wart should begin turning black.  It should fall or peel off easily after 7-10 days.

Mine didn't go quite as smoothly as that.  You have to be prepared that the wart WILL initially increase in size after the first application.  It turns white and fluffy after it absorbs the vinegar for the first time.   It does sting a little bit, but I have a high pain threshold.  I started applying Vaseline on the surrounding healthy skin after my initial application because it burned my healthy skin down to the capillary level and caused a small scab!  My wart did not turn entirely black but I did get a few small black spots.  After a few days, small pieces of dead, white wart could be peeled off and eventually I could peel off enough layers to be left wart-free :D  Let's hope it stays that way!

I thought maybe the vinegar stimulated an autoimmune response and promoted rapid epithelial cell renewal.  But really, I don't think the process is anything that complicated.  All it basically did was burn my wart down to the normal, healthy skin level.  Yay for acid!  When all else fails, don't knock alternative therapies!

So much for giving up Pirates...

A week on from getting frustrated at how Pirates has taken over my life mmmmm.... I am still playing Pirates...mmmmm.

I had vowed to Moo that I would stop!  But no, I haven't.  I figure this game is self-limiting given that any advancement involves increasing my crew size.... and I'm not quite ready to add people willy-nilly just to do that.  I shall play until I can advance no more!

Sad.  So sad.

Killing the Pirate

I'm going to frigging stop playing Pirates!!! Argh!

It is just killing too much of my time and is seriously affecting my work. Having to worry about your treasure and energy refills when I should be working... it's not good.  Secretly logging in during work hours... not good either.

I ♥ my Uggs!

I held off for as long as I could in regards to the Ugg boot trend. I mean, it's a relatively new boot in the eyes of Hollywood and celebrities alike. Me? I was brought up in a land where sheepskin footwear had strong associations with bogans and dole bludgers. It's a hard thing to shake off.

Sure, I had a pair of pink sheepskins moccasins (or 'moccas' as I endearingly nicknamed them) when I was young. From the age of 8 to 9 I wore them everywhere - in the house, out of the house, to the parentals workplace, to the library.... I don't think I ever wore them to school despite my peers being quite bogan-y. Even back then, I knew that I didn't want to lower myself down to the plebs. In Australia these things can be bought off the shelf at markets all over the place and no one can deny their warmth and comfort.

When the celebrity trend started (thank-you Pamela Anderson) my initial reaction was 'eeerrrrrrrrr'. My opinion still remains 'eerrrrrrr'. However, I have succumbed to the Ugg-wearing masses. I'll emphasise it's not succumbing to a trend (although that helps) but because I can no longer stand having snap-frozen tootsies. Being in cities where it's common for winter temperatures to hover around 0 degrees has left me at the end of my tether.

Of course I'm not a moron who will go and buy those exhorbitantly priced 'Ugg Australia' branded boots. £180 (approx about AU$380) for a pair of sheepskin boots? Wtf?! On top of that, it's an American company (Deckers) and their boots are made in China? Pfffffft. I'll put my money to the Aussie-made stuff and support the farmers, thanks. My boots cost me AU$140 :D

I settled on chocolate brown.

Since getting back to London I've walked to work in them many, many times and my feet remain warm and toasty :D I'm practically living in them now in this dreary winter! Embrace the bogan!

Me: The Superbad, Super Evil Security Threat

I'm pretty eager to finish off this scarf for Smee in time for the London winter. Before leaving London and with the long haul flight in mind, I figured knitting was a really good way to wile away the hours and be productive at the same time. I was a bit apprehensive about bringing my needles on the flight but after reading a few sites (this one being quite useful) and checking my international airline carrier's prohibited list, the general consensus was that knitting needles were okay. I packed my project along with the most innocuous needles - clear plastic, bendable, blunt ended, glittery - into my carry-on. They don't even appear on the security scanners. If I had to remove from my carry-on, oh well, I'd just buy another pair of needles later. They're not exactly expensive.

Anyway, I made it through the Heathrow security scanners without an issue. I managed to knit for a few good hours on the flight from London to Hong Kong and again during the Hong Kong-Oz leg. Woo-hoo! The flight attendants didn't give me a second look. Yay!

I figured if I can knit on an international flight, then I would have no probs on a domestic flight, right? BZZZZZZZ ..... WRONG!

The Melb-Syd flight is not a long one, but it's a decent amount of 'knitting time'. There I was happily knitting when the following occurred (the conversation was a little more extensive but you get the picture):

Male Flight Attendant: Excuse miss, but I'm going to have to ask you to put those away.
Moi: Huh? But they bend. *bends needle as proof* And they're more blunt than a pen.
MFA: I'm sorry, but it's because of these... *points to needle ends* Unfortunately, we don't make the rules.
Moi: Ok, fine. *finishes row and puts needles away*

Ten minutes later.....

Female Flight Attendant: Excuse miss, but because of your prohibited items, I'm going to have to ask you to remain on the plane when we land.
Moi: *raises eyebrow with an incredulous look* What? *I scoff*
FFA: We're going to need you wait behind while all the other passengers leave and security will need to guide you out of the terminal.

My face was a furrowed brow with wide-eyed absurdity. I nearly started laughing in her face. Smee sat there gaffawing in the window seat. What logic allows me to knit for HOURS on an international flight and yet it is intolerable on a 1 hour domestic flight?

I mean, I know I look super-dangerous and intimidating with my body builder frame, gold teeth, mean monobrow, scarred face and tattooed forearms but ...... really? My bendy, glittery knitting needles? Maybe they were more worried about my innate ninja skillz suddenly materialising.

So I sat waiting for 'security' to guide me out of the terminal. What I got was a female airline staff member (no older than me I assume) who happily tried to chat to me on our way out of the terminal. It was all just a bit ridiculous.

Annoyed as I was, I later reviewed the airline's prohibited items list and there is NOTHING ... NOTHING!! about knitting needles. I totally understand the importance of airport security but where do they draw the line between the necessary and the excessive?

London Westfield

The new Westfield London opened recently. There was much media coverage and hoo-ha about it. It was billed as 'Changing the Face of London Shopping'. When I first arrived in London, I always wondered 'where are the shopping malls around here?' and 'why are people still subjecting themselves to street shopping in this stupid weather?'. I am puzzled as to why 'shopping on the High Street' still reigns supreme here. Mind you, it took me a little why to figure out that bit of British terminology. (Me in London first time: 'Shopping on the High St? Wtf does that mean?')

High street shopping has it's charms and perks. I enjoy wandering down Bridge Rd, Chapel St and Oxford St (Sydney). The Antipodean weather often encourages that kind of lazing-up-and-down-the-street-now-I'll-just-stop-for-a-coffee type of shopping. However in Australia I also have the option of going to a shopping centre which usually are no more than a 10 minute drive away.

High street shopping in the UK is perky and charming too.... when it's sunny. When it rains (and yes, the stereotype fits) or it is just plain cold, then it's just plain old shit. Hmmm for me, that would be about 80% of the calendar year. Umbrellas everywhere, people everywhere, puddles everywhere, buses splashing puddles everywhere. It really is an ordeal. Hey, even when it's sunny outside, it still can be crap. Going into a store on the High Street expecting some relief from the relative heat, you come to the realisation that effective air-conditioning doesn't exist in this town. The closest shopping mall is somewhere in Zone 4 or 5. Bleah.

There are plenty of those worried about Westfield affecting the Brits traditional high street shopping. To that I say:

"I'm all for the quaint high streets with the boutique and quirky stores (Carnaby St, Covent Garden), but look at the typical High Streets (Oxford, Regent St) and it is all just chain store after chain store - nothing special. Where is the charm and uniqueness? Even the cafes are chains. The advantage of a mall is that all the chain stores are within close proximty and you don't have to fight the elements. The Brits cling onto High Street shopping for no other reason than a means of identity - maintaining 'Britishness'. With the UK's climate, they should embrace shopping malls or at least, covered footpaths."

So...... *nyah*

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that sheltered footpaths are non-existent in London too. Maybe I wouldn't be blogging this post if Oxford and Regent streets' footpaths were covered.

Anyway I made my way down to "Shoppo" to see how it stacked up to it's Australian counterparts. I was impressed but at the same time not impressed. I've never been to a decent mall in the UK or Europe for that matter so Westfield London was impressive in that regard. But otherwise, it reminded me much of Westfield Bondi which opened several years ago and also Chadstone. Ok, so the London complex was purpose built and has a clearer layout than Bondi but it exhibited the same clean lines, glass fronted stores and modern design. I'd expect Westfield Donnie and any other Westfields undergoing refurbishment in Oz to look similar. I think I'm just jaded with shopping centres and they have to be really superspecial before I'll be impressed.

I was happy to hear that Boost Juice had opened it's first London store in Westfield :D

That was my highlight. Although paying the equivalent of $8 for a $4 drink wasn't great.

I got the same ice cream headache I get whenever I drink a Boost Juice. That's reassuring :D

So verdict on London shoppo? Yeah it's pretty good, I'll go there again. Way better than shopping on the High St.

Ikea = Fat Biatch with Sh*t Customer Service

You know, I like hanging out at IKEA. I do always have to refrain from buying super useful pieces of cheap furniture which has a 50/50 chance of falling apart. It's a bit of a different affair here in London. I don't own a car here and the IKEA stores all seem to be at least in Zone 4 or 5.

Anyway, I'm pretty much going to vent about last night's experience.

Me and Smee had bought some wire baskets and storage frame. We had no use for the extra ones purchased and no storage space either. It was a sensible thing to return them.

This is a little irrelevant but it made our simple adventure to Ikea a trying one. The late afternoon began with a bus ride from from St. Pauls using a bus that went direct to one of the numerous Ikea stores in London, specifically the one in Tottenham Hale. The timetable said it would take an an hour. Ok, ok we weighed that up and thought it wasn't so bad given that tube + bus would’ve taken at least 45 mins. Thirty minutes into the trip, the bus slowed due to a really really bad traffic jam. Then the driver turned off the bus lights and told everyone to get off!!! We had no idea where we were! No help from the bus driver either!

Luckily, I stayed awake during the ride and saw that we had passed a Tube station about 1km prior. So we jumped on the Piccadilly line, changed to the Victoria line to bring us to Tottenham Hale and then waited for a bus to Ikea. A one hour trip ended up being 1 hour 45 mins and we got to Ikea at 9pm. Good thing it shuts at 10pm.

We had to endure another wait at the returns desk. Once there, the 'helpful', dumb, fat biatch told us that the wire baskets we were returning were originally wrapped in packaging. Hence she could only give us a 60% refund because it wasn’t in it’s original state, but our other return items were fine.

Now, I know exactly what I picked up in the Ikea warehouse and these frigging baskets were stacked in a huge pile, without any form of tagging or packaging and I'm not going to let anyone tell me otherwise. Especially, when I KNOW they are wrong. On top of that, she was just blatantly rude, had the worst attitude and was just really asking for me to smack her out.

We told her it wasn't wrapped in any packaging of any sort. She huffed (she was a bit obese) with "Do you know how I know it has packaging? It says so on the receipt’. Then, she had the nerve to explain packaging to us "It is covered in plastic or has a tag" - by which we had to stop her mid-sentence as she was clearly insulting intelligence. We asked to speak to the manager, to which she grunted "What for?’

What for!?!?!!??!?! Are you f**king kidding me, woman!?! *imagining my fist going into her face*

Whilst she searched for the manager, we examined our wire baskets and found the barcode - ‘packaging’ if you will - printed on the basket itself. This was pointed out on her and the manager's return to the desk, by which she huffed again. An apology? Customer service? Nothing of the sort.

After watching her process the return of 4 baskets, she gave us a receipt and I realised that she only processed 3.

Me: ‘Excuse there are 4 baskets here’
Fat Biatch: ‘Well I saw 3’
Me: ‘Well there are 4, have a look’
Fat Biatch: ‘Don’t worry IF there are 4, then I will process your refund’

Wtf – I don’t give a f**king shit about a £3.50 basket. She was just downright patronising. I want a freaking apology and an acknowledgment that YOU WERE WRONG. Again, nothing of the sort.

We tracked down the manager and gave him a walloping complaint, like never before. At least he demonstrated a level of professionalism. If you're going to have that much attitude, at least back it up with knowledge. If you hate going to work, then stay in your frigging home. Stupid ass woman. *punches face*