Guested Out.

It is a bit full on, one might say, living and working in the same little holiday village:
1. I end up having dinner next to the man who made me repeat his stupidly complicated coffee five times and his beer twice.
2. …or sunbathing next to the lady who has a grudge against me as I told her the restaurant was full Wednesday night. It is paella night you see.


Some days go well, others less well. Today is one of the less well varieties. The lowlight - being alone at the reception when the electricity in the holiday village cut out. Less a trickle of guests and more a stampede of the French, they seem to think I had personally cut out all their electricity just to agitate them. As I try to sort the problem out, I accidentally break 2 bottles of wine in the storeroom where I swear a bit too loudly in English and I reappear to 20 frenchies who probably now think I have tourretes. Anyway the electricity works again (not that I aided the situation) and the frenchies go off to cook their frogs for lunch. Pheww..
Then a guest approaches in his unnecessary speedoes in a sheepish manner, with his cheque book out after breaking a glass. He looks like he is about to break out into a hot sweat and I am going to scold him like an angry schoolteacher. I love it how the guests think I actually care if they break plate or a ping pong racquet. If only they could see my side of the reception was simply an array of English magazines, ‘fats …I have glass indented in my hands and two bottles of wine to clear up before my boss walks through the door’…..



Yesterday a particularly moody French specimen gave me her satisfaction questionnaire, after circling that the reception was very unsatisfactory. That made for a particularly awkward dinner sitting beside her. I wish I could do the same questionnaire for whether I like the guests or not..Monsieur Dubois should probably go to anger management courses.

There has just been a music complaint; a guest complained that the music in the chalet next to hers was far too loud. I politely acknowledged her and said I would go and talk to the family and sort the problem out immediately before realizing it was my own music.

The solution? Wear a headscarf with just my eyes showing to avoid all recognition?

getting older..

So it has happened, not only am I not a teenager, I am not even nearly a teenager now. I am twenty two.

The thing which i find somewhat discontenting is when the 1990s kids start achieving things, reading articles about people who have won gold in the Olympics and then reaching the end and seeing their date of birth in smallprint..1992. I usually think, "oh when I am that age I will have done that", well that age is here and I haven't won X factor, I haven't made a million pounds and I haven't even won Wimbledon.

It is like the older you get, the more you feel that you should have achieved.

Sometimes good looking guys are with their families on holiday here and as i recount my 'welcome speech', I take a sneeky look at their age. This along with rolling chairs is such a perk of being a receptionist. 17....a little bit of me dies, 5 years younger than me. Is it even legal for me to think he is good looking?

I guess you could look at it from a different angle though, I am 22 and nothing dramatic has gone wrong yet. I have got all my limbs, haven't had a fight with a wild boar, and haven't been taken to court yet through parking fines.

Anyway, best be off, got rather a lot to do before I am 23 and the TO DO list will have doubtlessly grown. You know the normal: modelling at Paris Fashion week, climbing Everest, cycling across Africa.

The faux pas of a foreign receptionist/barmaid..

1. Never serve the post lunch coffee late for a frenchie.
2. Never get age and room numbers mixed up when assorting the post..I say no more.
3. Think a client's spot is a piercing and ask if it was painful to get done.
4. Do everything with confidence, confidence is the key, including lying about the whereabouts of the nearest supermarket.
5. Never overbook an event by getting confused over foreign numerical systems.
6. Never overserve profusely a stong liquor. I have to say being behind the bar is quite fun: pouring beers, hearing couples argue..pouring cocktails fairly sporadically. As I said, confidence is the simple key.

When clients realise I am from England, they sometimes start to speak reallly sllloooowwwlllyyy and LOUDLY! Often people show me photos of Big Ben on my camera, am I supposed to pretend I don`t know what Big Ben looks like?? and my favourite question:

So, how is the Queen?

The joys of the `Third Age`.

Since being clapped into dinner on arrival of my stage in France by 50 pensioners, I lave learned to appreciate the `the third age` as they are described as in french.

They are, in fact, like children in many ways: They pass around sweets on the bus, and the one who remembered the sweets has a proud grin plastered to his face. They sing on the bus, they sing at the bar, some even get so into it, they proceed to stand on the bar whilst blasting out their beloved french songs.
On one particular trip, there was a spectacular view of the sea to our right and to our left = some flowers. Of course, everyone`s heads were tilted very much to the left, along with the `ahh ing` admiring the floral beauties.

At the aquarium, one old lady followed a fish around a tank for 25minutes filming with her video camera. I am sure the grandchildren will be riveted come christmas day and they are forced to endure such footage.

NB never tell an 80 year old frenchie, the scrabble is being used. I had always thought of board games being a spontaneous matter, not here:scrabble, 8.15PM, july 14th.

modern lives...

Equating to BBC iplayer, skype and according to topshop - playsuits.

It also means tesco self service tills, something which I seem to have slight difficulties with. A recent visit to my `local` exposed that I was not the only one. They simply appeared to be expensive decoration. -Unfound bar codes.
-Too much weight in the bag area.
-Too little weight in the bag area.
In the end, the staff just waited defeating the whole point of saving staff costs. Maybe there should be a sign, people with high practical intelligence use the machine, others get Margerie on the left to help you with a BIG HELFUL SMILE.

Skype - an invaluable part of modern jetsetters lives, nevertheless conversations with my family are nothing short of transatlantic chaos:
~Me in Argentina with a slight time delay,one sibling in Scotland, the rest at home.
~Everyone trying to speak at once, father waving frantically at the camera...`Laura, i am here!! Can you see me??!!`
~The other sibling as she speaks feels the need to write down her words as well as saying them so skype messenger is flashing at me too.

It all gets a bit much, I have to close the screen and go and get a nice cup of tea.