So right now it's the summer holidays and I've spent most of my time attatched to the one and only Accutemp™ air conditioner I'll ever own. It's been nice, but now the rains are here and our relationship is waning. I've read 6 entire books and worked 35 hours in 3 days, things I feel will always be milestones in my already jam-packed full of awesomeness existence. It was the most fun I've ever had, and the whole time I was stuck behind that huge-for-no-reason bar I wished that I would never have to leave. That I would become fixed to the Bacardi soaked lino, able to immerse myself in the magic of the Jubilee Bar forever more.
My co-workers were a delight. There was this one dude, Anthony, oh how I willed him to never shut up about his amazing adventures in "The Living Room". He even had his own "bar blade" (which I assume is Living Room slang for unnecessary bottle opener) and could throw Smirnoff bottles around in fantastic and unbelievable ways - ways I didn't even know existed outside of a masters degree course in serving drinks to inebreated d-list celebrities in an otherwise unheard of drinking establishment - until he dropped them, which happened around once every 2 seconds. You can't argue with £5.75 an hour though, and believe me I didn't try. Or rather, believe me I have the confidence of a particularly harrowed shock victim and therefore wouldn't dare.
Here I am with the managers:
Anyway that's over now, and I have the drugs I found on the floor to prove it! Not really, I threw them in a bin. I didn't realise horse racing was an ecstacy-fuelled event.
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