What the? UK television adverts are lets say . . . . a little strange

So I was on Facebook and came across a link for a new tv advert for some yummy biscuits here in the UK

Take a look  -

WHAT THE F*%#K


This would have to be the most CREEPY tv ad I have ever seen, how do they honestly think that this ad campaign will sell their biscuits?

I would purposely avoid the whole freaking supermarket if I thought two weirdo biscuit monkeys were going to drop from the roof and get all sexy with me in order to make me choose their flavour and then do some perverted celebration dance when you pick up a packet.

The way the Jammie Monkey is sitting there stroking the packets and staring blankly into her eyes just made my skin crawl. And their suggestive little voices cooing at you "Jaaaaaammmmmmie" . . . . . "Toffffeeeeee"

Now after seeing this clip it made me start to wonder . . . . . . . . are there really Jammie and Toffee Monkeys out there . . . waiting . . . . . lurking in the buiscuit isle of you're local store, ready to do their little hip gyration routine . . . . . trying to lure you into taking a packet home with you . . . . letting them into your home

IM NEVER BUYING BISCUITS AGAIN - EVER

"Jaaaaammmmmmmmiieee . . . Jammie Jammie, Jaammmmmmmmie"

Thats right, enjoy you're nightmares people

Sweeet Dreams
xxx

Blimey Mate, Quick chuck me a scooner of Tooheys, fire up tha barby, whack on me thongs and jump in me ute, I'm loosin my flamin Aussie accent bloke

Holly Shiiiiit . . . . . I think Im slowly loosing my Aussie - WHAT DO I DO???

Apart from eating Vegemite by the bucket load and walking around the house in my thongs, what more can I do so far away from home?

Yesterday I managed to say "its well hot in here" and almost died at the thought of picking up on their horrible distortion of the English language, I immediately corrected myself and then shut my mouth for the rest of the day.

Now when I talk to customers they dont look at me with that "You're not from around here" expression anymore, instead I must seem normal to them, which concerns me as my Australian-ness was so obvious to them in the beginning.

Today Hayley got out all the Australian Souvenirs and "Best of Australia" posters and hung them all around our room, it looks like a bloody gift shop in here. She even went as far as attaching those clip on Koala's to all the hanging light fittings hanging from the roof . . . . .  its boarder-lining on creepy

When trying to top up on Australian normality here we always seem to find a problem that gets in the way

Cadbury Chocolate - Just not the same, rather powdery and tastes weird

A Meat Pie - pastry is different, tastes nothing like the ones at home

Choccy Milk - Tastes like UHT milk and home brand cocoa powder

Bacon - Its all smoked here, and its sliced super thin and has the texture of smoked salmon


Steak - No-one here can cook a steak properly, let alone identify a nice cut of meat, every one we have tried has been cooked badly and is super tough, give
me some Aussie beef anyday




Beer - I am yet to find a beer that doesnt taste like horse urine here, NOT HAPPY JAN


Aioli - These weirdos look at us strange when we ask for aioli, they have no idea what it is

Tomato & BBQ Sauce - they taste nothing like our sauces, how do these people live? OMG


Please, send us some Australian care packages, we beg of you, please help us keep our Aussie, we love it dearly and dont want it to leave us.

ANZAC bikkies, Tim Tams, Tomato Sauce, we need you, we love you, please come to us.

Aussie - Over and Out

So . . FYI Home sickness SUCKS - Anyone have a private jet or a giant slingshot?

I woke up, accidentally elbowed Halz in the head as I turned over, stepped out of bed straight into some broken glass on the floor, wandered down the hallway filled with random boxes of cleaning products, napkins and straws, into the bathroom, took a look at our 'shower' and the wet carpeted floor, glanced in the mirror at my tired pale face and took a big deep breath in . . . . . another long day, for another few measly pounds. 

I felt a little flat and heavy chested . . . . what is this icky fog Im in today? . . . . . Oh SHIT . . . . . Im Homesick

home·sick

  [hohm-sik] 

–adjective

sad or depressed from a longing for home  or family while awayfrom them for a long time.

Thats all I freaking need . . . .


Please someone tell me that there is some cooky nanna remedy for Homesickness, like standing on you're head whilst downing a Jager Bomb or spinning around 12 times while singing 'Backstreets back' and then jumping over a bar stool without falling over  . . . . I need a quick fix, because this horrible disease tends to come and go whenever it pleases randomly plaguing us and over staying his welcome.


Sir Richard Branson, we have all heard of you're grand plans to have regular flights into space and back for the insanely rich . . . . yes, its rather impressive, but how about SUPER fast flights from London to Sydney so you can do day trips for about $10 a pop - I think thats a much better idea, cater for the 'living of tips' demographic so we dont have to feel Homesick every second or so day.


Or alternatively I could build a giant slingshot in the paddock next door and pop home in time for dinner . . . . .

hmmmmm . . . . . I will let you know how this goes 


. . . . . If I die, please play Enya and Michael Buble at my funeral and I want only white tulips, no roses or babies breath and there better be some serious crying people, after all who will be there to entertain you daily with mindless drivel? Yeah, thats what I thought, you're crying already arent you . . . its ok, let it all out, you will feel better.

Egg Fried Rice and Mayo Farts

So living off tips alone makes for interesting meal choices at times . . . .

The other day we were in Sainsburys and we came across some discounted 'reduced to clear' egg fried rice - YUMMO

When we got home and gave it a zap in the trusty mica we soon realised that it wasn't all that YUMMO after all  . . . . . Disappointing right?


WRONG

I decided to bust out with the amazing Heinz Mayonnaise (which these days, living in the land of food with no flavour or appealing texture, I seem to do alot - LOVE my mayo) and something magical and out of this world was born


EGG FRIED RICE WITH MAYO FARTS


- please note: the 'fart' part of this meal name originates simply from the farting noise that kept happening while we were squeezing the mayo onto our rice . . . this simple noise tended to amuse us successfully for several hours (we dont have much in terms of entertainment these days, I know, its sad)

So I am passing this discovery on to you all, take this recipe of AWESOMENESS with you and experience what your stomach has been craving in secret all this time . . . . trust me you will never be truly satisfied until you try this - It will change you're life forever

SPREAD THE WORD PEOPLE

I would sell my kidney for a REAL shower with adequate pressure . . . . . Anyone interested? Bids start at $200

How is it that a country so old and developed can be so far behind when it comes to having a bloody shower that works? Honestly can someone explain this to me?

Since arriving in the UK we haven't had 1 decent, enjoyable, relaxing shower and it is driving me absolutely mental.

At the moment our 'shower' situation is quite unique to say the least.

Here in the UK they have these strange boxes that the shower head is connected to, which controls the temperature of the water, you have a dial which you turn to you're desired temperature and then you either press a button or turn another tap thing and the water comes  . . . . . . this is all well and good if the thing works . . . . . . which so far has not been the case with EVERY shower we have come across - EVERY SINGLE ONE

At all the backpackers we stayed in on our travels the shower pressure was the equivalent of a little man hanging from the roof taking a wizz on you . . . . At the staff house our shower only did one temperature - SCALDING OWIE BURNY TORTURE CHAMBER . . . . Here at the Nags the shower does the polar opposite - FREEZING BONE CHILLING SHOWER OF DEATH

Sooooooo, our lovely housemate Georgie purchased a handy little contraption which she has attached to the bath taps which has hose and a hand held shower head, so we can now control our temperature manually like the rest of the world

HOWEVER - the hose for the shower head is so short that you have to either bend over to get under the water OR sit in the bottom of the bath in order to get under the water - which drives me absolutely bonkers

ITS RIDICULOUS - I MAY AS WELL BE BATHING IN A FREAKING BUCKET - Im tempted trust me

This dude has the right idea

 I can only describe this frustration in one way . . .  you know when you go camping for several days and you only have that 'bag of water hanging in a tree' setup and you always feel gross and when you're on you're way home the first thing you want to do is have an hour long shower, wash you're hair and stand there under the water until you a perfectly assured that you are squeaky clean and you're fingers have turned into pruney old people fingers

- THAT IS HOW I FEEL EVERY DAY, BUT THE SHOWER MOMENT NEVER ARRIVES.

When I get back to AUS, I am going to spend the first week IN THE SHOWER and its going to be amazing . . . .  I dream of this moment every night

So every time you step into you're heavenly showers and the warm pressured water flows down upon you, take a moment to think about poor Ash & Halz who are sitting in the middle of a freezing room above a pub with our arses in a bucket and a jug of luke-warm water in our little shaking hands

- Donations can be made to aid our cause at www.moneyforpoorarsesinabucket.org

Im Back Baby - Prepare to be BLOGGED

Did you miss me . . . . . I know you did

I have felt so disconnected from the world for the past 2 weeks . . . . so here I am, hooked up to the IV . . . my life force . . . my beloved internet

I have been going crazeee without my glorious blog to keep me sane (well my version of sane at least) soooooooo I have been hand writing all my planned postings and now Im going to type them all up for you're reading pleasure

SUCH DEDICATION OOOOOHHH YEAHHHH

So whack some popcorn in the mica, whoop out a cuppa and get comfie in you're computer chair, its time to catch up on the interesting events of our past 2 weeks.


Drumroll people . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Oh cleaning fairy - We know you're out there somewhere, Please come to our aid - We seriously need you

Ok, so we're currently attempting to pack our room up to move into the new place . . . . but we have hit a little speed bump, which looks rather like this -

DAD - CLOSE YOU'RE EYES - DONT LOOK

As our room came with no wardrobe or any storage at all we have been living out of our hopeless broken and tattered suitcases (which we wish to burn once we move into the Nags - we have formed a great amount of hate for these lime green and orange vessels of pain and misfortune) which means that all our crap is spread all over the place, we cant even see what is what, its very confusing.

Imagine . . .  you're getting ready for work, you need you're jeans. You look at the couch where you placed them ready for today, but the couch has been enveloped in a swarm of clothing - shit now where are they? You see the corner of something dark blue, you pull it, nope thats a sock, damn. You pick up some of the jumpers on top, makes absolutely no difference.

In a panic you toss through the whole pile throwing each unwanted item behind you and onto the floor - no success, the jeans are nowhere to be found. You're only other option is now the overflowing suitcases - meh. where do you start?

You scan the suitcase and floor around it for ANYTHING that resembles jeans . . . . nothing.

AH HAH! You spot something hiding underneath, in unmeasurable joy you launch yourself forward and grab it, you yank it out, yay it has legs - huh? DAMN IT, its a pair of stockings!

The frustration overwhelms you, you get angry "FUUUUUUUUCK" you get desperate, grabbing anything blue or even black . . . . scarf, singlet, that same sock from before, jacket, undies . . . .

You're  blood is now boiling, you're contemplating going to work half naked and spending you're whole shift explaining to everyone that back home in Australia on Mondays no-one wears pants, we all go to work in our undies and that its one of our most important traditions. . . . you sit on the end of you're bed in defeat, whats that bump under the doona? ARE YOU SERIOUS?! they were there the whole time, hahaha

- Ashley = 1  Tatty Suitcases  = 0

This is where packing everything up has become a problem, we just dont know where to start and we're a little worried we may be bitten by something during the process. only god knows what gremlins are lurking in that nasty pile of clothes.

To be totally honest, that photo is EXTREMELY embarrassing, but I believe in an accurate and genuine representation and description, so that is why I have shown it, everything in this blog is accurate and isnt exaggerated in any way . . .  the only way you guys can try and understand what we are experiencing is to see it all in its raw form - 100% original and if that means embarrassing and rough, then thats what you'll get, lol

Anyway, I better get back to the piles of crap I need to move into our new love nest - I will be back later today with some pics of our new place. Oooooh and some photos of the glorious burning ceremony that will take place soon after - Burn suitcases BURN

chat soon

- Ash xxx

If this place goes up in flames do I really want to die sitting on the dunny?

I was just sitting in the lounge room having a chat with 2 of my housemates and we somehow got onto the conversation regarding the fire alarm system our place is rigged with.

Being a 3 story home the place has one of those big control panels that indicates where in the house the alarm has been triggered and one of those pin pads to deactivate the alarm . . . .  however none of us know how to use the damn thing, nor is there any information in the house on who to contact if the alarm was going mental and we needed to shut it down.

As 90% of the house are smokers, and 99.9% of the smoking is done INSIDE the house, I asked how it is that the alarms aren't triggered when they smoke in their bedrooms?

After finding out that they all have the smoke detectors in their rooms wrapped heavily in cling wrap I freaked out a little and decided to check out Hayley and I's options in case the house was to go up in flames . . . . . . and they don't look so flash.

On the wall next to our bedroom door is the following sign -

Awww, isnt that handy  . . . .

The sign clearly states that in the event of a fire we are to leave our room, turn RIGHT and proceed down the stairs - HOWEVER - the stairs that lead down to the front door is actually on the LEFT hand side, hahahahaha

If we were to follow the 'Safety' sheet and turn RIGHT we would be walking straight into a spare toilet . . . .

YES I SAID TOILET

So my question to you all is, in the event of an emergency in unfamiliar surroundings, would you follow the evacuation procedures to the T or are you happy to die sitting on the dunny while the place goes up in flames around you?

The most comforting part is that Halz and I are moving out tomorrow (so unless there is a freak fire tonight sometime we are in the green) - yaaaaaaaay

So off to bed for me, big day tomorrow of packing, moving, cleaning & unpacking - oh the joys

Night all

- Ash xx

Kopparberg - You Bloody Rippa

Helloooooo,

After slaving away serving the needy population of Brentwood all day yesterday, Halz and I ventured down to the High Street on the good old, unreliable and ridiculously expensive 498 to get a few movies.

Let me just say that Saturday night in Brentwood High street is absolutely MANIC . . . . Its like everyone looses their marbles as soon as they enter the street.

People parking in the bus zone to run into the shops, so the bus then has to stop in the middle of the street to let passengers on and off, whilst honking his horn continuously just to express his frustration . . . .

Crazzeee and extremely intoxicated Essex 'ladies' screaming out from the pub on one side of the road to get the attention of the person they know walking on the opposite side . . . . .

Young 'women' wearing practically nothing, when its like 10 degrees outside, and wearing insanely high heels the size of stilts, which you would require a ladder to climb into and trying to maneuver  themselves along the cobblestone footpath, doing something that can only be described as the 'drunken giraffe shuffle' where each step is a cross between a deep lunge, a booty shake and a very subtle death wobble . . . .


Stretch hummers parked in the middle of the road for 30mins, disrupting the whole flow of traffic, just to deliver a bunch of V.I.P guests to the front door of 'The Sugar Hut'.

On that note, please PLEASE google the television show 'The Only Way is Essex' . . . . watch a bit and only then will you truly understand the kinds of people we deal with at work on a daily basis. The Sugar Hut is mentioned on the show alot, and this popular club just happens to be located in our High Street - yay for us  * Note Sarcasm *

So Brentwood High Street on a Saturday night is NOT a place for the sane and of sound mind.

After experiencing this wacky display of local weekend ritual we decided that we, without a doubt, required an alcoholic beverage, or 2, to help us deal with what we had just encountered.

And oh my lord, did we discover a beverage . . . . .

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls (when you turn 18, of course, this blog does not endorse the consumption of Alcoholic beverages by those under the legal age of 18 years . . . . . unless you stash it in you're bag and go on a 'movie night' at you're mates place, in that case - go for gold buddy!)

We have discovered a beverage so amazing, so refreshing, so DELICIOUS that the minute it hits you're lips the clouds open and a stream of light beams down from the heavens and illuminates you're soul, and for the next 20 minutes all you can hear is a choir of angels singing the theme song for KOPPARBERG'S PREMIUM CIDER . . . . . thats right people - Cider!

They sell it everywhere here in the UK, we even have cider on tap at the bar . . . . but this cider, it shits all over the others.

Koppaberg's Premium Apple, Strawberry & Lime cider is THE MOST amazing thing I have ever tasted . . . . it is so good in fact that I am going to buy a years worth of the stuff, contact the amazing crew at Raitt International Freight and get the glorious liquid shipped back to Coffs Harbour and store it in the garage at home . . . heads up dad, start clearing some space dude, there is some serious cider coming your way!


So I think it would be an accurate assumption to mark today as the birth of our new-found alcoholism, from this point onwards it will not be blood that pumps through our strong Australian veins, it will be the fizzy, fruity awesomeness that is KOPPARBERGS PREMIUM CIDER.

(Please note children: Alcoholism is BAD and we do not support the slow and damaging death caused by the excessive consumption of Alcohol and related products  . . . . however if you happen to get you're hands on some Kopparberg's, go for it champion, and share the love with you're mates too, spread the word!)

Oh and if there are any company representatives from Kopparberg who are currently reading this blog post, please contact my people to organise the payment for my marketing talents, I will expect my cheque in the mail - thanks mate.

On closing statement - KOPPARBERG - YOU BLOODY RIPPA!

And Im off to work . . .
I hate Sundays, freaking Brits and their Sunday Roasts  . . . . They all rock up to stuff their faces with delicious baked dinner goodness. And I mean ALL OF THEM, the whole town comes through our doors at some stage each Sunday.

The worst bit is that they all want the best bits from each kind of roast - Jeeezus people just choose 1 kind, don't come up to the bar to order and tell me that you want the lamb roast, but you also want some crackling on the side, and that you're wife wants the pork roast but with a yorkshire on the side and the kids both want the beef roast, but with stuffing on the side . . . . . . SERIOUSLY PEOPLE, JUST CHOOSE ONE KIND AND DEAL WITH THE TRIMMINGS THAT COME WITH THE BLOODY THING!!!  It takes like 20mins just to put one family's orders through . . . . and then at the end, they all want special drinks - FOR GOD SAKE!!

Oh and If I have to make one more bloody PIMMS I am going to scream and throw the bottle at them! IT TASTES LIKE SHIT ANYWAY


aaaannnnnnyyy way . . . Im out, time to go to work

Catch Ya Later peeps

- Ash xx

Important Announcement - Take note

Attention all . . . . I would like to make an important announcement regarding vitality and the value of something we all take for granted at times . . . . . .
A full and happy belly.

On arriving here in Brentwood, with very little money and an extremely unhygienic and poorly equipped kitchen, Hayley and I had to find a way of adequately feeding ourselves with a seriously tight budget and no tools of the trade.

Hayley's ingenious solution to our dilemma was something that was very cheap, tasty, filling, easily customised to suit the individual, easy to make & requires only milk or water and a heat source.

Yes people, I am talking about the one, the only, legendary . . . . . PORRIDGE

This simple box of oats has provided us with breakfast, lunch and dinner on many of the desperate occasion, and every time we have sat back after eating and were both satisfied and had a full and happy belly - IT CANT GET ANY BETTER THAN THAT!

So this short, but important post is just to say hats off to the unsung hero hiding in the back of everyones pantry, the legendary Porridge ~ Oh how we love you

So next time you're belly has a little grumble and is feeling a little neglected reach into the back of you're pantry, dust off the porridge box and whip yourself up some delicious warm porridge.

And when you're sitting back in you're chair dwelling in its awesomeness, think of us . . . . on the other side of the world, sharing you're love and appreciation for that amazing little box of oats.


Thank you for your time and attention