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Prahaha

yeah it's been a while. I'm guessing I oughta change the name of my blog now.

So here I am safely ensconced back in Prague. But it has been a battle. First of all my job turned out not to be the job I hoped it would be. After accepting the position and resigning from Vodafone, with my life in boxes and the contract on my apartment anulled, my new employers then decided to demote me and cut my pay. Before I even set foot in the building. Then even worse shocks were to come. The busy account I was supposed to be working on turned out not to be so busy. When my wages finally did come I found that they had misinformed me about the 'net amount' I was supposed to get, and I significantly worse off, like a months rent worse off.

I did consult lawyers but because I'd signed the contract there was not a lot could be done. Dumb ass.

So after a lot of stress I have tried to become zen with this shakey, sloppy and at times downright dishonest introduction to the company. In real terms it is still not a bad job. And it is not an awful wage, but it is not a wage I would have moved back for.

However in this economic climate I am stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I have not been here long enough to show them my stellar skills and use them as a bargaining chip.

To cut a long story short, I'm stuffed and earning less than I did as a copywriter 3 years ago.

Anyway the plan is to stay here for a year, get some agency experience, and perhaps move back to Turkey, should things with the man work out well.

For the moment I am staying with my friend steve, and will probably continue to do so until such time as my trial period is over on January 1st.

On the bright side though, I lobbied for more work and got to work on some fun things like an energy drink and vaginal infection cream.

I should also be taking over the O2 account soon. So back to the exciting world of telcoms.

So I'm here. Not entirely happy but not entirely miserable either. Rather tired of fighting and endless negotiations with a company who I don't believe are malicious, just slightly incompetent.

I'm also glad that I didn't sign up for a rather smashing penthouse apartment this week. That would have left me really screwed! I am now looking at more modest little abodes.

ho hum.

Fond farewells in the house from hell

So i've had a vaguely action packed week. First of all the lovely Klara visited me from Budapest for 3 days. We spent a lot of time eating fish and wandering about. On at least two evenings we stayed in and watched DVD's. We were simply too tired.

On Saturday I held The Last Showdown at La Casa De La Cucaracha. I had 10 or 15 people over for drinks, and we managed to consume enough to float a battleship.


Have you ever noticed that everyone always brings a bottle of red and then drinks nothing but white?

I wonder how many parties these poor unloved full bodied reds have been passed around, sitting jauntily on the kitchen sideboard, trying to look their best in the hope that someone might pick them up and then sighing in disappointment as they prepare for yet another cab ride across town the following Saturday night. Actually sounds like a few women I know.

Today the international movers came to give me a quote. They will remove my stuff on Wednesday. In between that I have a string of customs paperwork to clear including getting lawyers to notarize documents, packing, going to utility companies and cutting off my services. I also have to go into Vodafone this afternoon to finalise everything.

Now I am starting to get a little sad about leaving Turkey and am pondering all of the things that I am going to miss about the place. The friends, the food, the sea, the friendliness, the weather...

My pest infested palace, however, seems to be aware that I am leaving and is acting with all the spite of a malevolent child. Suddenly wardrobe doors have started falling off their hinges, radiators have sprung leaks, bizarre mould spores (the like of which I have never seen) have appeared, paint and plaster has started to fall off the walls in great chunks, windows now won't shut properly, electrical appliances have started to make odd noises. And I swear I saw a cockroach the other night.

To top it all, this morning men started demolishing the abandoned house opposite. And after demolition will come building. So its a probably a good time to be leaving.

When I move to Prague I am going to have a shiny new flat. NEW I tell you. With nothing previously touched by human hand. With big shiny clean appliances that work.

This morning, aside from trying to fix the wardrobe doors, I found myself impregnating ladies sanitary towels with insect spray and putting them in all my wardrobes and suitcases (thanks for the tip Paul) in an attempt to stop the buggers following me. If the adverts on TV are anything to go by, leagues of cockroaches will suddenly find themselves able to roller blade, sing and wear white trousers with abandon no matter at what stage they are in their cycle.

I am waiting for His Royal Hairiness to tell me when he will be coming to Istanbul this week from the Cappadocia. Aside from the TV series he will also be acting in a movie next month. He plays a traditional Muslim man. There is a sex scene. He will be naked and has been studiously growing his armpit hair for the role. Apparently I am going to the premier. I'm not quite sure how I feel about seeing my chap snogging another woman in front of millions.


Oh and for your amusement, please check out the details of the 'muffmatic' I have recently had installed. Click on the pic to make it larger....

Under the radar

When I was a girl of about 8 years old I remember having a discussion with a friend about what we would be doing in the year 2000. The grand old age of 24 seemed awfully old. And awfully far away. My friend wanted to be an air hostess, so she could travel. I wanted to be an international business woman with a brief case who flew on planes so that I could travel and people like my friend would have to bring me coffee.

She ended up working the scene, having a selection of rich fiancees and travelling the world. A hostess of sorts. This weekend I ended up in business class with a laptop case going to see my clients. Actually not a business woman at all but having a lovely fantasy in my head.


Having woken up at 3am British time, after not much sleep due to nerves, barking dogs and men banging their ramadan drums in the early hours, I travelled for 9 hours door to door. By the time I actually met my new colleagues at noon I was having difficulty stringing coherent sentences together. Needless to say that at that ungodly hour I had not taken advantage of any free champagne on my flight.

We were checked into The Hiltons executive suite at canary wharf, on a package that entitled us to free booze and food until 11pm. I managed one free glass of wine the entire trip. Nor could I take advantage of my handsomely sized bath tub, I was too frightened that I'd fall asleep and drown.

The same night we had to attend the advertising agencies 60th anniversary party. Not their 23rd anniversary party as previously thought. My dreams of dancing girls and dashing men in black polo neck sweaters were soon dashed. In fact my expectations of food were sorely disappointed. Maybe the dancing girls and dashing men had retired into the toilets to do cocaine and had taken copious amounts of sandwiches with them? So on little more than a cocktail sausage in the previous 30 hours, a smattering of sleep and with raging PMT, you can imagine that I was slightly perturbed when my colleagues (who had told me it was a 60's fancy dress party) arrived in the hotel lobby wearing black cocktail dresses and I arrived looking like I fell out of Ghandi's bum. I used to have nightmares about that sort of thing when I was at school. They came true.

I think I hid it well enough though.

Again, the free wine flowed and I barely felt capable of drinking any of it. Not because I was looking at my dress, but through exhaustion. Where's the fun in that!?

One highlight was meeting my friend Gill, now in the motherly way, for coffee in Oxford street and realising that there was someone who probably felt more tired than me... although she did have that pregnancy bloom thing going on so carried it off rather well.

My dreams of fancy executive meals and first class living have been shattered. All I wanted for most of the week was an empty meeting room I could sleep under the table in and a couple of egg and cress sandwiches.

The last day was another all day meeting, which I had to leave early to get to the airport, only to find that the computer system controlling the radar in the whole of the south of england was down and all flights were cancelled. We were booked into a rather dubious airport hotel, full of business men from Milton Keynes, The sort of place that you would never want to pass a UV light over the curtains or bed spreads or else you'd never sit down without fear of getting pregnant. I kept expecting someone to jump out and say 'aha!' a la Alan Partridge. It was full of tossers. I had a couple of drinks and went away and hid in my smelly room. And sat on a Marks and Spencers carrier bag.


Anyway when I did finally get the plane the flight was lovely. Although I swear the woman serving me coffee sniggered. Had a great weekend with BF. Was going to go to cappadocia with him while he is working this week but we both realised that it would be a waste of time, because I'd just be sitting in a hotel room by myself when I should be doing stuff here.

It looks like I'll be leaving Turkey on 9th October. I have to start working for Ogilvy from Istanbul as of 1st October. I also have Klara visiting, which I am really looking forward to, and a whole host of paperwork and loose ends to tie up and people to say goodbye to.

So I may well be under the radar this week, and not for the first time.

Detoxing

No not detoxing my life silly. But purging all the crap from my desk at work, my cupboards, those random bags you lug around with you that are full of nothing but 5 year old receipts, lighters from restaurants in Greece that you never even went to, old ball point pens, birthday cards, bits of ribbon, drunkenly scrawled email addresses and business cards of people you can't remember and electrical cords for appliances you have long since binned. Or is that just me?

Anyway I removed 10kg of it from my life. I kid you not. I've travelled the world with backpacks lighter than that.

On Monday I go to London for some brand training for my new job. Ouuuu. On one of the evenings it is agency's 23rd birthday party. And it is a 60's theme. I dunno how I feel about that. I expected the theme from a creative agency to be somewhat more... well creative. I mean shouldn't it really be an 80's party? Anyway with nothing but the bits and bobs I had lying around in my cupboard I have created a wonderful ensemble. Well the bits and bobs and the 40 quid dress and the 100 quid pair of boots.

But the boots will last for years. Really. Because they have grips. AND heels. Do you know how hard it is to find that combination? For some reason all the makers of 'winter boots' seem to forget the fact that they are producing shoes for WINTER and that it might SNOW or that the streets might be a tad SLIPPY. I have actually been on the look out for high heeled boots with grips for 4 years now. I kid thee not. In Prague, with its hills, and 8 month winter and silly stupid cobble stones, it is even harder than anywhere in the world to procure anything but the smoothest soled spikiest heeled shoes. Meaning that, to avoid certain death, your only choice is manly lumberjack boots. I swear when I rule the world I really am going to get that place concreted. Or arrest the Bata family for crimes against women.

Work drags on. I have tomorrow, then three days in London, then I get back and have 2 days to work and then it's Byram, the feasting season after Ramadan where everyone who has pretended they haven't been eating, eats even more!

And that's the end of my rather unillustrious career at Vodafone. When I left Vodafone Czech I was sad. Because I was there for 5 years, because I was part of Oskar mobile which was a pretty goddamn cool place to work. I feel absolutely no emotional attachment to the Turkey branch at all. Rather than roaming the corridors reminiscing, I am prowling the staircase like a caged animal looking for an escape route. I don't even want a goodbye dinner or any of that faux bollocks. A refund on all the money I was instructed to spend on managers presents might be nice though. Especially since most of them couldn't even be bothered to say hello. Yes they actually forced you to 'donate' based on your managerial level. Usually about 30 quid, which I thought was a damn cheek since I didn't receive a thing on mine. I could have bought more boots!!!

I just bought the bf his birthday present for Saturday. I am still yet to receive one from him (there seems to be a bit of a theme developing here). However as I was purchasing it the dishy guy in the store amused me by trying everything on so I could see what it looked like, which is a first. I suspected he was gay, but he kept trying to ask me out - not actually an indication of not being gay in my experience. But he was REALLY insistent. And even gave me a discount and scolded me for not asking for one, as you are supposed to in Turkey. But worryingly he made a point at looking at the name on my credit card. I was cyber stalked for a while by a guy from the grand bazzar for similar reasons. Which was idiotic really considering his photo is on facebook, I knew where he works and he knows I had a Turkish boyfriend.

Still it's nice to be chatted up. Lord knows it never happens in Prague.

A mother scorned

Italian mums have a reputation for being a little 'protective' of their sons. Well let me tell you that Italian mothers are kittens in comparison to the formidable force of a Turkish woman and her male offspring.

In Turkey it is often said that you don't marry the man, you marry the family. It is tradition in Turkey, that when a man marries he must provide a house and all of the furnishings in it. So before the wedding the grooms mother takes him out and selects the couch, bed and colour scheme of your new marital home. And you'd better pray that his Uncle Ali doesn't own a cheap used furniture store. Upon marriage you are expected to call his mother 'mother' even if you have a perfectly good one of your own.

Bf's mum is no exception and I had already been forewarned by his friends that she had stopped at least two of his marriages from going ahead. Also he is the only child and his mum a widow who lives with her unmarried sister. You can imagine. There's an awful lot of protective love poured onto this 36 year old bachelor. You also only introduce a woman to your mother if you have intentions of marriage. Something that I am trying to learn to sit comfortably with.

But I figured out a strategy. It's amazing how far a bit of flattery about a mothers housekeeping skills can take you.
Yes I can cook, but she must have taught her son well because he is an exceptional cook
Yes I can iron, but I'm not very good at it, well not as good as her - how does she fold his shirts so neatly?



Those who know me may find this slightly hillarious.


As an independent self efficient person who has supported herself alone pretty much since the age of 17 I can't help but cringe a little as I write it. But I think of it more as an exercise in sociology and politics. If I can convince a Turkish mother that I am capable of looking after her precious son, I can probably rule the ottoman empire. AND not even have to iron the emperors clothes to boot.

Anyway other BIG news. I am moving back to Prague. I have landed the job as creative director at a major advertising agency where I will be in charge of the British Airways account, which means I'll be doing the creative for the print and internet advertising for 27 countries. This is like a shit hot position. This is like the dogs bollocks of a job for me. When I was in college at 16 I had 3 dreams. One was to be a journalist, the second an underwater photographer and the third to make up advertising.

As the fat man once sang: Two out of three ain't bad.

I'll be gone within the month. With a little trepidation.

As kafka once wrote 'beware the old crone she has claws' by that he referred to 'mother Prague'. He also said that the only way to get prague out of your system was to build two fires, one at Prague castle and one at Vysehrad and burn the whole place to the ground. A group of american artists even once made a low budget film called 'rexpatriots' about expats who tried to escape prague but always ended up returning.

It seems the old crone has hooked me again. I have spent many of my formative years in this city. Its the first foreign country I ever lived in, at the age of 19. I survived a lot including carbon monoxide poisoning, the subsequent death of a flat mate, homelessness and associations with the most unsavoury of characters.

However, I was always absolutely bloody determined never to call on my parents for any sort of assistance no matter what happened. So while other people would have turned and ran to the bosoms of their families, I stayed and did a lot of growing up.

My second encounter was on better terms, with a job as a copywriter, a decent flat, old friends, a more mature attitude (well I was in my mid 20's anyway). But soon I found the carpet whipped from under me again with the death of a parent, the loss of a true love (if unrequited love can indeed be true) and slightly too fond a penchant for crap czech wine.

Prague, perhaps, is the toughest mother in the world. But she always sends you back into the foray a little older, a little wiser and infinitely much better prepared. I can't help thinking, in the most romantic of senses, that she knew things weren't working out for me here and decided to call me back to give me another good bloody talking to.

Anyway, whatever personal crises the world decides to heap upon me within the next few years, I hope that at least my job pans out. I could do with a bit of pocket money as a treat because I sure as shit have done my chores.

Wish me luck!

The man with the golden drum

It is ramadan right now. This doesn't really mean much except that the Turks, although they still continue to eat in my office, are slightly more pious than usual. It also bloody means that every morning at 4am a man with a big golden drum stands outside the bedroom window of my cockroach infested flat and bangs a great big drum for half an hour, to remind the Turks, who are already gorging themselves during the day, that they ought to get up and eat before sunrise, because its ramadan. And thats important. Even though when I ask the guys in the office they all look slying to one side, avoid eye contact and say that they 'have a relationship with god in their own way'. Also I swear the man in the wine shop tutted at me this evening when I bought a bottle of wine, which, btw, was so shit I had to pour it down the sink. Coincidence? I'm not so sure.

Cockroach infested flat? Yes I am back in it again. And it is still infested. Well only in the downstairs ensuite. I could be staying at my boyfriends, but after a major argument on the eve of my birthday which resulted in me spending the entire next day sobbing into a bottle of wine, pride prevents me from moving back.

I am, however, going to Prague tomorrow for a job interview with an ad agency. And I am praying that I get it, because after this last 3 months of hell I feel the urge to run away. And it is a pretty smart job.

However if that doesn't happen I will bite the bullet and either try and make a go of it here or return to London.

I won't, however, work for bloody vodafone turkey. Honestly I cannot stand the corporate political bollocks here, teamed with the unenthusiasm to make any sort of change.

The guys are okay. Most of them have at least studied outside the country. I went to my bosses leaving party today. I was speaking to one male colleague who asked me if I didn't find all this travelling around unsettling. I had to admit that I have started to feel an urge to set down roots somewhere. 'Perhaps its because this company is in such turmoil?' he asked. 'you can't feel settled when this whole company and your job is shaky'. I am inclined to agree.

Ah well. lets see what this week brings. Looking forward to prague, although with some trepidation. Am I really ready to go back, and will it be on different terms this time?