The Pub. Thursday night. I had just left a technical rehearsal at College that ran a bit over, so I hopped on my trusty two-wheeled piece of lightning and cycled to work. The night consisted of my manager running around stressed as usual barking ever so often about the next task he wanted to be done. The main manager is on vacation for 2 weeks. This means that John has to take care of the whole pub until she's back. He's not going to have any hair left by the end of it. God love him, but he's not the kind of person to take a deep breath and move on. Darting from one extremity of the building to the other and trying to make sure all is in order. Today is a very special day to add to John's stress because we have the extreme pleasure of Inventory! Oh what joy! We get to count all the bottles in the building, all the bags of crisps (or chips for my fellow Americans), all the beer down in the cellar, and all the wine. I can take John in stride. He really is a lovely person as long as you never take him too seriously. But then there's Nerys (very Welsh name. very Welsh girl.) Her accent is so thick that even the Welshest of people cannot often understand her. If she were merely difficult to understand, I would easily let that sin pass with a warning, but that is only the beginning. Please allow me to take a moment to clear my throat... thank you. As my friend Nicole (who has now moved to London and been set free from the terror of Nerys) also witnessed, Nerys is a bit of a magnet. No matter how much room there is to pass by one another behind the bar, Nerys will climb mountains and swim rivers to run into you. It is a constant pin ball game where I long for a paddle to knock her the heck out of my way! She walks around with tunnel vision. She's very polite and apologetic when whe assaults you throughout the evening, but that's not good enough for me. Her lack of spacial awareness is inexcusable. I do find her incredibly amusing when I'm not annoyed by her. She has one token mistake that I've witnessed on multiple occasions. She pulls the lever to begin filling up a pint of beer and as she pours, she glazes over. She glazes like a Christmas Ham. Her pint glass has been overflowing for more than a few seconds and you begin to call her name. "Nerys...Nerys...NERYS!" Usually the third time is the charm, but there's no fine art in getting her attention. Its a toss up every time. She dings around behind the bar bumping into everyone. No one is safe. I should soon take up Nerys insurance just in case she bumps into me near the cellar sending me toppling over down the steep stair case and end up lying at the base of the stairs in a pool of my own blood moaning for someone to call an ambulance. Maybe I'm a bit picky and too easily annoyed...or maybe you've never experienced a girl like Nerys!

Just got back from Paris. Well besides the wonderful Notre Dame and the Musee D'Orsay, give me London any day. Now I don't know if it was the language barrier that put me off or the general Parisian attitude. They weren't so much rude, they just seemed to think that they were better than you. Sometimes they would try tell you the score lightly, but nonetheless, they had their nose set so firmly in the air that I could see more nostrile than face (and being French, they were never trimmed). I shouldn't load the entire country into one barrel and call them all monkeys...just Paris. I would much rather stroll down the web of streets in Soho and sit in a small coffee house where some lisped queen serves me my daily dose of Earl Grey. I tried my best to speak in French to the citizens of Paris...I think that every single one of them could speak better English than Webster, yet wanted to have a poke at "the American". Well, they can take their Creme Brulee and sit on it. Perhaps I'll go back some day with a band of friends and have the time of my life, but my first impression was...well, lacking. If faced with the decission between Gay Paris and Foggy London, take my word for it: "Head for Good Queen Lizzy and give the Parisians the finger." I think I'll try to head for Italy next...maybe Spain, and I assure you I'll have my opinion. Cheerio.