Well, since the last entry I have broken out of my little social dead zone, in a rather huge way. You see, my dorm with good old Dominic filled up with two more South Africans and two Aussies. All male of course. Yes, I’ve been ‘one of the guys’ for the past — two weeks, which hasn’t been too terrible, as I have had people to talk to. From time to time at least. And only at the cost of having to listen to the lot of them snore in chorus. Seriously, they could have a choir group with their snoring. But other then that they’re all endearing, ish. That and the fact that everything is cold to them and it’s been really warm here lately.

But I need to start from the beginning, way back, what, two or three weeks ago now. Bloody ‘ell, time flies when you’re actually doing stuff. And I have actually finally been doing stuff. No, seriously, I swear! I’ve just been so unmotivated to write about any of it because I’ve been so busy actually doing things, shocking, I know, but there you have it.

For the past few weeks I have been working at the Royal Infirmary doing stuff with their archives, the work is alright I suppose, and there is no asshole breathing down my neck about doing things faster. In fact, the only qualm about the job itself that I have is this: ‘They have no idea how they want these archives to be sorted’ Which, I mean, technically isn’t too big of a deal, except that they tell me to do it one way and then suggest a ‘slightly’ different way of sorting things which only takes a good day to finish. This would be fine if the job wasn’t only three days a week. The best part of the job was when the agency called me, the first thing they say, before when or where I’m working is ‘How are you with the sight of blood?’

Yes, so, riddle me this Batman, if I am working three days a week for £6.50 how am I making enough money to stick around here?

I’m not.

Here’s where I tell you all about the massive trip around Europe I have planned, but I’m not quite ready to share yet as the itinerary still needs some serious tweaking.

Okay, so, all that excessive preamble and still no goods about what I have been doing (well, besides working). I actually need to dig out my paper journal to figure out what I have done, it seems a bit blurry. Not due to substance abuse, keep your minds out of the gutter, simply a lot has happened.

I guess it was about Wednesday when I finally decided to get in touch with Jamie (Hottie McScotland), we planned to meet up on the Friday of last week, which had me a little giddy. Hello, school girl. Not that I planned to really flirt with him or anything, I mean, let’s face it, I was planning to leave within the week of meeting up with him. But, hey, it’s nice to see a friendly face, all-in-all the meeting went well, he’s one of those crazy musicians that I always seem to meet up with, and so we spent the evening hopping from pub to pub listening to the bands of his mates. A number of them were quite good, and while we ended on a hand holding cheek kissing kind of note, I keep reminding myself international crushes are a big huge no-no, they lead to amazing heartbreak AND ruin awesome countries for you, the double whammy of ‘suckage’. We’re meeting again this Saturday evening, so hopefully I can persuade myself that it is a one-shot crush and will vanish from there.

Despite the above being the sort of blushingly awesome part of the weeks, what’s been really fun about hostel life is my room mates, despite the fact that they were a bunch of idiot guys. One of the South Africans (Steve) and I hit it off pretty well and spent a lot of time just talking. He had just broken up with his girl friend of six years, and I was angsting about Andrew’s trek to northland. Because that’s what 19 year olds do, we angst, and we are damn good at it. So Steve and I chatted about whatever for a good most of the week at random points. Specifically about the wild and crazy ways of Canada. It’s amazing how thing like… skating on a pond, that are such an integral part of my childhood can simply… not exist in other countries. In Canada, we skate on ponds, in South Africa… well… they have lions.

Derek and Steve fed me a few times within the week, which, since becoming an international traveller really endears me to people. Haha. In reality the last few weeks have been fun, but not in a reportable kind of way, that is to say, those involved had a good time, but it was a lot of movie watching and Edinburgh wandering rather than grand and sweeping adventures that I try and report to you.

One evening we went to a graveyard to take photos (you must note this was Steve’s suggestion and not mine, and so, don’t be rolling your eyes at me) and it was decided that I would take no more photos of the trip as Steve and Derek got all touristy and dragged out the tripods meaniong they had nice pictures and I got to frolic in the graveyard. Seemed like a pretty fair deal to me.

Another interesting event was the hike to Arthur’s Seat, upon arrival, I had a massive allergy attack and headed back to the hostel, soon to be followed by my two South African friends. I’m not sure why they didn’t go to the top, perhaps it was too cold or something. Regardless, they actually beat me back to the hostel even though I left first, only because I was on the hunt for allergy drugs.

The problem with this entry for a reader is that it is all out of order, but my retrospect for the past two weeks is kind of funny, I remember things in chunks and not chronological order, let’s see if I can actually get everything in.

On his second or third night, (this is back before Arthur’s Seat) Steve brought home a rebound fling to the hostel. He claims nothing happened, but let me tell you, awkwardness does not begin to describe sleeping in a bed beside two people who are uhm… quite obviously doing absolutely nothing. Nothing at all really. And the night before Arthur’s Seat, one of the Aussies, Zach had brought home a girl and they also did nothing I’m sure. The police showed up at the hostel in the morning because the girl’s friends had reported her missing. After being awoken by the police and assuring them that the fling was alive and well the two Aussies and the kidknappee started drinking wine, and they were still drinking by the end of the day when the three of us returned.

Steve and Derek were feeding me in the ‘Southern Hemisphere Kitchen’ so all of room 2 just sort of hung out there. Two sloshed Aussies and the South Africans about to bust out the Brandy and Coke.

But again, before I continue I should talk about what the Southern Hemisphere Kitchen is. Basically in the hostel there are two kitchens. The clothes dryer feeds into the one kitchen and it is always really stupidly humid in there, whereas in the other kitchen it is sort of generally chilly. Chastising me for being in the cold kitchen it was dubbed the ‘Northen Hemisphere Kitchen’ by my almost sneering room mates. If I didn’t want to be alone I was forced to go against my natural inclination and hang out in the Southern Hemisphere Kitchen.

Back to my tale though, though looking at it now there isn’t much to tell. Everyone got drunk and started laughing about god knows what. It whole incident was so politically incorrect I had to shield my poor Canadian ears. I eventually made an almost dramatic exit when an Aussie accidentally dropped a glass of wine in my lap. That was all she wrote for me, and strangely enough it wasn’t long before the chorus boys came back to sleep.

The next day we went to visit Rosslyn Chapel and the beach. Two total opposite ends of the city but we figured since we had a bus pass we may as well see all of the city that would require bussing. Rosslyn Chapel was, well, interesting I wished I had managed to get there before the Da Vinci Code had come out so I could actually see it. The chapel itself is under a tin barn like canopy, making it very unphotogenic on the outside and you are not allowed to take photos on the inside. The only good thing about the canopy is that there were steps along it so you could climb up and see the art of the roof of the chapel exceptionally well. We also hiked to the ruins of Rosslyn Castle and, apparently someone’s house. On the whole, the Rosslyn Hike, while a nice one and such sort of suffered in that it seemed very much like Canada, but Steve and Derek seemed to enjoy it. Only to be let down by the beach which they seemed to expect would be something like the beaches at home. This is Scotland, beautiful white sand is as common here as it is in Canada.

I finally got myself something from Scotland, it only cost me 50p so I don’t feel bad having bought it. A half penny from 1888. The person who guesses why I picked that year wins… something. I’ll think on it and decide once someone figures it out — it’s really easy and only took two tries.

Yesterday Steve left for Dublin, and the day before the Aussies vanished into thin air. Dominic (The old South African and my lifelong room mate it seems) is in London, so it’s just me and Derek now, and to be honest, I almost miss the snoring. Though not enough to ask for it back… trust me.

I’ll probably remember something I forgot to say as soon as I sign off this entry, so the next entry my be incredibly long like this one. Apologies in advance. Next entry will hopefully detail the itinerary for my last hurrah. I should be home June 11th 2008 and I expect 24 hours to sleep, and then people offering me gifts and love. Or gifts of love.

To my commenters:

Amber, glad you liked it! Despite the grammatical errors in it. I don’t want to leave yet, curse making the mature decision! Curse it to heck! Hopefully you’re feeling better since last night, lav.

Mom, naw, I would never make that face at you.

Val, Brazil was pwnt. But seriously, ghost tours are so much fun, I think I’d like to lead one.

Kassi, argh, I’m going to miss your return! I hung out with Will just the other day, we sort of wandered the Burgh and talked. I have to catch you later, maybe you should come to Canadatown.

HOWEVER. I am going to KILL my only room mate this week. KILL HER WITH KNIVES. Call my BFF Jack, teh rippxxorzxcorelollerskates.

But seriously.

This woman is probablyyyy about 60 something or 70 something. Therefore lulling you into a false sense of security. You’d THINK it would be me pissing her off, after all, I am a strapping teenager full of vitality and life.

But no. Not at all in fact, night one, I politely introduce myself and say ‘I have to sleep now, I need to work tomorrow’ Does she shut up? No! Is it general chatter? Nope! Specific questions that I feel obliged to answer in the interest of peace in the hostel? Abso-bloody-lutely!

Now, generally speaking, talking too much is forgiveable in a hostel, last night is why I want to kill her.

I go to bed nice and early after talking to Stacey on the phone, I notice her bags and stuff are still around but she’s not in yet, I figure I should sleep any ways ‘Hostel Law number five hundred and twenty four states if thou gets to thy hostel after thy first person in the room falls asleep thou shallt get thy shit together silently in the dark, in the mercy of our lord, the manager’ Which I assume she does, because I didn’t wake up when she came in.

It’s not until she turns her radio on at 3:55AM that I wake up. A talk show. First assumption is it’s a mistake, or some kind of seriously funked up alarm system, as the topic of discussion seems to be rice. Then I hear the volume and station being adjusted slightly, to eliminate static.

I am floored by this. As I try to decide if it is quiet enough to sleep through I decide I am too indignant to even try. I try to subtly get across the fact that I am no longer sleeping, by conciously tossing, and sighing. No avail. So I growl over my shoulder, ‘You mind turning that down a bit?’ She offers a gloomy half-arsed apology and turns it off. As though I am putting her out. Hello? It’s 4 AM, don’t funking mess with me.

YHA, Youth Hostel Association my…

Anyways! Ireland!

I was surprised at how ‘hardcore’ Dublin was. I imagine it has a much ‘younger’ population in London. I arrived after about 45 minutes on a plane and met up with Marilyn. Every sign is in Gaelic and English! My room at Marilyn’s was preeetty much like a hotel room (needless to say I was pleased)

Our day around Dublin was awesome, I managed to get all my touristy stuff down. The Book of Kells, Trinity Collage, and of course I am physically unable to enter a city and not see the official museum. And NOTHING makes you feel like a bad person for being English like an Irish museum. You know, every atrocity EVER was committed by the British. EVER. Nazi Rule? The Royal Family is German! You kind of feel like putting on an Irish accent just in case. The surname… uhm… O’Bagg… yes, that’s me, Caitlin O’Bagg, and of COURSE Caitlin spelt with a C and an I what do you think I am? British?

The worst part is I am Irish and I still felt bad.

After doing Dublin Marilyn took me out to the countryside to see the lambs. I nearly died of adorable overload. Especially the little black one, I relate to the little black sheep. I am the little black sheep.

Sunday was… amazing.

We went to this castle ruin. Only it wasn’t a ‘popular’ castle ruin, so I had the whole castle to myself. It was breathtaking, and to be the only one there. On the way down Marilyn and I met up with a local. I think he said he was going to be doing an archaeological dig there, but I didn’t understand a word with his thick accent and the speed he was talking.

We also went to a monastery and cemetery which I would have appreciated so much more if I wasn’t still in awe of the castle.

To my commenters:

Ange, some of the Hardcore Irish boys were pretty swoonable. My joke was most amazingly amusing! My jokes always are! You said so! You have to stop hanging out with me if my jokes stop being funny! You are ultra fabby (my Britishism) Huzzah!

Daniel, Do comment more, or I’ll set… Dana on you!

From the last entry:

Emmadawn, I needed you and your ‘le 1337 (un-trois-trois-sept) skillz francais’ in Paris. I was so happy getting to see Jim <3

If you want to send me le mail de escargot you can send it here:

16 Bowling Green Lane,
London,
EC1R 0QH

And I will get it <3

Bwahahah on the evil Yellow faces which I’m still trying to figure out how to disable.

To Crystal, I know D= I misses real internets

To Amber, I have a few pages for you to start with, how many do you want at once?

To Mah, no only dead people I hero worship get that sort of love. Syd’s next.

Oxford, was there maybe last week or so, it wasn’t too bad, I mostly did (dun dun dun) shopping. So, I can’t tell you about the beautiful sites. Also, incidentally, it was pouring. I did get a copy of Memento and eat pizza though, so it wasn’t a total loss.

So! What else have I been doing? Working! YAY! A charming £9/hour with a 1 braincell/second tax. Angelena’s rant about going to school plays ad nauseum in my head daily. I’m just waiting for my Tell-Tale Heart moment when I shriek to the silent room “I GET IT! SHUT UP!” The office is as silent as a tomb usually, as I liken tapping on keyboards to rattling bones or something equally spooky.

I am allowed to listen to music, but my ears actually hurt from two weeks straight of having ear buds in them. So I’ve gone unplugged today (buy the album) and kind of want to gouge my eyes out. No particular reason, but it might alleviate the boredom.

Some nice things about my job — well, not the job specifically, but they are more work related than not. The nearest Tube (Chyuuuube) Station is St.James’ Park. I work on the short street between the Chyuuube Station and the actual park.

I talk to mom quite a bit because I get so bored at lunch, see example below.

April 1st:

“God, mom, the weather here is bloody TERRIBLE! I have never seen anything so miserable.”

“Tell me about it, at least there’s something in common!”

“APRIL FOOL’S! I’m sitting on the grass in the warm sun in the park surrounded by flowers!!”

Wasn’t that a funny April Fool’s Prank? I thought it was hysterical.

My new pals the Kiwis don’t get it. But then, they’re so far south they frequently get cut off the bottoms of maps.

Ah! I haven’t mentioned my new found knowlage of New Zealand, and love for all things Kiwi! New Zealand is the Canada of the Southern Hemisphere you see. Always getting bullied by stupid Australia!

I learned much about the Kiwis after meeting Clare the Kiwi in the Earl’s Court Hostel, then finding out my fellow bored temping co-worker James is ALSO a Kiwi! We hardly talk for fear of hurting the silence, but when every one else was in a meeting I found the ideal ice breaker.

“Am I the only one who wants to KILL myself?”

“Yea, I’m on Facebook.”

“Fair enough.”

So, he was on Facebook and we had quite the talk about how little work he does. Thus, my rebel-blogging!

I went pub hopping with my Kiwi Pal Clare, and a (quite good looking) Scottish guy named Jamey. Andrew and I are finito (again) and so I am allowed to look at cute guys. I have his phone number so I win. Told me to look him up if I was in Scotland. He’s 22 so there’s no prayer, I’ll just gaze dreamily off into space.

Thank you to my beloved commenters, I’ll reply to them on the next entry. I’m off to Dublin tonight!