Keen as mustard. And other relishes.

Three days in a full-time job. I am a wreck.

I write to you in my comfiest pink track pants, nursing an emergency wine and full of my last, hidden Easter egg. I plan to be asleep by nine. I am absolutely shattered.

But stoked.

Finally, this chick has a job!

And with it, our story has a new setting. A totally cool, totally trendy new restaurant. One with a charming, enthusiastic chef, a sweet, shy manager, and an army of beautiful waiters in designer sneakers.

And how do I fit in?

Firstly, I am OLD. Some of these kids were born in 1994. 1994! Guys, I remember 1994 like it was yesterday! I bought ‘The Sign’ by Ace of Base! I went and saw ‘The Lion King’ and cried about Mufasa! And some of my coworkers WEREN’T EVEN ALIVE! It’s terrifying stuff.

And, I don’t know if it’s because I’m old or what, but it turns out I am keen. SUPER keen. Embarrassingly, enthusiastically, but unstoppably keen.

It seems like this chick is always the one with her hand up to answer a question. Offering facts that no one asked for. Jumping up to lend a hand. And yes, leading the role play with an overly enthusiastic and pretty awesome Tyrannosaurus Rex impersonation, if I do say so myself.

Yep. I am a total dork.

But I’m happy.

For the foreseeable future, I’m going to be super busy. I’m going to make money for the wine fund. I’m going to flirt shamelessly with young, gorgeous boys.

And I’m going to eat a criminal amount of free hot dogs.

It’s all pretty delicious.


Don’t count your chickens…


I’m in my pajama pants. My hair hasn’t been washed in four days. My fridge is bereft of cheese, eggs and milk. And a reluctant look at my bank account yesterday provoked a pathetic flurry of tears.

I still don’t have a job. It’s STILL freezing cold (c’mon London, it’s nearly APRIL already!). It’s getting pretty hard to make rent. And now, I can’t even make cheese on toast.

But there’s no need for pity. No need to feel sad.

Because we’re just one day away from the BEST WEEKEND OF THE YEAR.


A shelf of happiness. And that bunny? AUSTRALIAN.

A shelf of happiness. And that bunny? AUSTRALIAN.

And while I may not have any REAL eggs, I have a bucketload of chocolate ones. Easter egg chocolate, in my opinion, is the absolute best, most delicious chocolate of the year. While everyone else complains when the Easter eggs start arriving in the shops on December 26, I celebrate. That’s THREE WHOLE MONTHS you can eat the best chocolate in the world!

And being the contrary, nationalistic thing I am, English chocolate WILL NOT DO. I don’t care if the UK is the home of Cadbury – I swear to you, they do it better in Australia. Something to do with a chemical to stop the chocolate melting so easily, apparently. Well, BRING ON THAT MYSTERY CHEMICAL, I say! It tastes delicious!

So I’m counting down the hours until the Easter binge, jealously guarding my stash of Aussie chocolate from dodgy Londoners who don’t appreciate it for the magic that it is.

And who knows, when I bite into my breakfast turkish delight egg on Sunday, things might just fall into perspective. I’ll realise that my turning point is just within reach. Have an epiphany about new life, rebirth, and all that stuff.

Or just get an awesome sugar rush.

Either way. My hair might be dirty, my fridge might be empty, and my ego might be battered. But come Sunday, I WILL EAT CHOCOLATE.

Happy Easter, everyone!

Feathers ruffled, but still kinda fabulous. This chick in actual chick form.

Feathers ruffled, but still kinda fabulous. This chick in actual chick form.