The Net Dog Blog

Last night Blake and I went to the Victoria Palace Theatre to see Billy Elliot the Musical. The movie on which the show is based is one of my favorites. It starred cute little newcomer Jamie Bell in the title roll and the wonderful Julie Walters as Mrs. Wilkinson. The film was set in a mining town in Northern England during the miners' strikes in the 80s. Billy comes from a poor working-class family and his father wants him to learn to box. He inadvertently ends up attending a ballet class taught by Mrs. Wilkinson and realizes he has a natural dance talent. Long story short, his family is against Billy dancing so he practices in secret. Mrs. Wilkinson wants him to audition for ballet school in London but his father is against it ... until he sees him dance. I don't want to give away the ending but anyone who has ever seen a movie where the underdog has to overcome many obstacles to realize his dream knows the outcome.

The play is faithful to the movie except in this version the characters tend to break into song (and dance) at the drop of a hat. Now you know I typically don't like musicals but I've decided to limit my hatred to those written by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Rodgers and Hammerstein. Except for a couple so-so songs, the music by Elton John and Lee Hall is wonderful. My favorites are "We'd Go Dancing" sung by the grandmother about her abusive late husband, "Merry Christmas Maggie Thatcher", and "Expressing Yourself" which features boys in dresses and dancing evening gowns (what's not to love?).

The character of Billy is played by three different boys who alternate between shows. I haven't seen the other two but the Billy we got (George Maguire I think) was fantastic. The only problem I had with the cast was that the actors playing Billy's father and brother were too old. The father seemed as old as the grandmother and the brother looked to be in his 30s. However, they were both great in their respective parts so it was easy to overlook.

There is definitely not a lack of good shows here in London. I'd like to see STOMP again (I saw it three times back in Louisville) but Blake is really wanting to see Ducktastic. Make of that what you will.

OK. I know I was a little hard on myself in my last blog. I was having a bad day and needed to vent. I'm in a much better mood now. :)

So this weekend was fun. After attending a rugby game (the Steelers lost yet again), Blake and I decided to pop into Iceland (the grocery store not the country) to fetch us some supplies for dinner. Blake was off picking out hamburger buns or something while I was off to frozen foods to get some french fries. By the time I noticed the box of strawberries in the middle of the aisle it was too late. SMACK! I was on my knees ... and not in a good way.

"You should sue," said the old man standing next to me. "That box shouldn't have been in the middle of the aisle," added his wife. I could already feel my knee swelling up but I could walk on it so I didn't see the need for litigation. They still informed the manager, who told me that they could file a report in case ... "Well, not that you are going to sue us or anything." I told him not to worry. I was fine and wasn't going to sue. Looking back, I should have filled out the report. Maybe it would have taught them to at least keep things out of the aisle. I'm inching toward the age where a fall like that could have left me with a broken hip or something!

After dinner, Blake announced that he wasn't feeling well and went to lie down. Meanwhile, I sat with my leg propped up and ice on my knee, watching Strip Search (a reality show where men gyrate all their clothes off to compete for spot on a male strip group ... WHAT FUN!). Around midnight, Blake emerged from the boudoir to have a vomit. Obviously something Blake ate wasn't agreeing with him. After his little episode, we went to bed thinking everything would be all right in the morning.

Now, those of you who know me well know that once I'm asleep I will sleep through anything so imagine my surprise at 5 AM when I was awakened by the sounds of Blake rummaging through dresser drawers. "I've been up sick all night," he told me. "I'm going to the hospital. The ambulance is on its way." Obviously I told him I would accompany him. Within minutes we were whisked away to St. Thomas' Hospital where we spent the next 11 hours sitting. Well, I was sitting; Blake was in a bed receiving fluids via the catheter in his hand. Luckily for most of it we had a room all to ourselves, because it sounded like a mad house out there. Drunk girls falling out of wheelchairs and naked bums cussing at everyone. I felt a little like Alice after she stepped through the looking glass.

Anyway, we're home now at least I am. Blake is packing for his week long trip to Budapest. I can't wait to hear what is wrong with him when he gets back. I, on the other hand, plan to stay in the house and avoid sharp objects and dodgy food items.

It's no wonder our friend Jason has taken to calling us Ache and Bled.

I'm not feeling very good about myself today.
Recently, I was contacted by a former colleague of mine from the Courier-Journal. She told me that a reporter from the free newspaper owned by the CJ was doing a story about Louisvillians living abroad (which is totally different from living as a broad in case you didn't know) and would I be interested in being interviewed. I agreed and was soon interviewed, via email, by said reporter. While I typed my answers I thought how boring and unimportant they sounded. I had even considered telling the reporter that I changed my mind and that maybe Blake could do the interview instead of me. At least his answers would be interesting. Never the less, I hit the send button and off went my interview.
This morning, I was informed by my best friend Jim that the article was published in this week's edition so I went online to read it. I was one of three people interviewed for the piece. One lady teaches English in Spain and the other is bringing organized sports to African tribes. And then there's Maude.
I was the unemployed computer programmer who complained about how mean the checkout girls were at Sainsbury's. I never realized how vapid and shallow and a bit stupid I am until I saw it in print. I'm not blaming the reporter. He just wrote what I said.

Immediately after, Blake mentioned something about us not having a lot of spare money this month. Of course, I started feeling uneasy about not contributing anything to the purse. You are the missing link. Goodbye.

When he left for work, I went online and found two jobs in London which I looked capable of doing. I sent off my resume (CV or curriculum vitae here in Britain) and waited. Imagine my surprise when somebody called me within the hour. I started to feel upbeat!

That feeling lasted maybe 5 seconds. He proceeded to tell me basically how I wasn't right for the position, my resume sucked (his actual turn of phrase was "not detailed enough"), and that, due to my UK Working Holiday Visa (which is only good for 2 years), no employer would be inclined to hire me.

Later, I went online and chatted with my ever optimistic mother who said to me, and I quote, "Your grandpa keeps asking if you are working yet, so I finally told him that you work off and on. He's worried about you." Great! Even my family thinks I'm worthless.

It's times like these that I wonder about this decision. Maybe quitting a job without having another one lined up wasn't the brightest thing for me to do. It makes me very uncomfortable when I'm in a group setting and the inevitable "And what do you do?" question comes up. They all tell me how jealous they are when I say "I don't work. I'm a housewife." But as they turn to talk to someone who has a job I know that what they meant was "Loser."

But what do I know? I'm vapid, shallow, and a bit stupid.

After lunch, we crossed the Danube River from Buda into Pest (seriously) to enjoy the thermal baths at the Gellert Hotel. Once I got over wearing a modesty flap (apparently most men wore swimming trunks... a fact Blake neglected to tell me until we got there) I was able to soak away my troubles in the warm, therapeutic waters despite being forced to see very fat, wet, naked, old men. Ewwww.

Next, we hiked up Gellert Hill (which I would have classified as a mountain more than a hill) to the Citadel, a 19th century fortress from which you can enjoy a view of practically all of Budapest.

Sunday morning, we took a taxi to Hero Square which is home to several statues of ancient Hungarian kings and military leaders. We also visited the Museum of Fine Arts and the Hungarian National Museum, but the best place we visited was the Municipal Zoological and Botanical Gardens.

It was an old zoo but the animals were healthy (according to Blake). I was very surprised that people were allowed to feed the animals. Giraffes and zebras were eating right out of peoples' hands. My favorites were the flamingos and a family of otters. The otters were so small and incredibly cute. Afterwards, we walked to the City Park where we had a cocktail. I was dead on my feet at that point so we grabbed a taxi and headed back to the hotel. There is so much more to see in Budapest and I hope I get the chance to go back soon. In the meantime, I'm looking for a really good goulash soup recipe. I think I'm going through the DT's.

Today Blake and I arrived in Budapest, Hungary. You can tell that this used to be a communist country. Most everything is gray. And I have to say that the stores have the ugliest mannequins I've ever seen. I swear one of them looked like it had polio or something.

Anyway, so far, I have to say that the food here is much better than the bland stuff we usually get in London. For lunch, I had a beef stew and boiled potatoes which was very yummy. For dinner I tried goulash soup. I have got to get a recipe for this and make this myself when I get home. Very good.

After dinner, we decided to check out a couple of the bars. On the way we were approached by a man trying to get us to go to a strip club. "Tits! Pussy!" he shouted at us. "You don't have to touch the pussy. You can just choke the chicken, spank the monkey!" Charming.

Needless to say, we declined his offer and headed down to Angyal bar where they were putting on a show that can only be described as booger drag. Underfed drag queens lipsynching to records that skipped several times during the performance. So far I've yet to see a drag queen in Europe that's as good as the ones back home. I guess that's something to be proud of.

Next we walked a block or two down to Coxx bar. Does every major European city have to have a bar named Coxx? Is it a chain or something? Anyway, we consumed our one drink minimum (our fourth vodka and orange juice of the night) and decided to pack it in. Tomorrow, we're off to the Turkish baths and I wanna get rested up. More news later.