Tip your Bartender, or Life as an English Graduate, or British People Don't Brag.

This time last year, as I sat in my university room, contemplating whether it was time to start panic writing my dissertation or whether it could be put off for another week, I was relatively calm. The kind of calm that comes from thinking that when you leave uni it can't be that long until you find yourself in a 9-5 office job. That you should enjoy this relatively easy life before you're waking up at the crack of dawn to earn the living that pays for your crappy London flat and severely reduced social life. 

Well, several months down the line (eight, to be exact) and I'm still hanging around the house (not the London flat, but at home with my family) at 4pm in trackies and a t-shirt that's now tie-dyed from the amount of times I've bleached and re-dyed my hair in it. The dresses and blazers that I bought six months ago for my imminent office job hang, beautiful but unworn on my clothes rail. I've had interviews. I've done internships - actually I just finished one last week - and I have 'put myself out there' as much as I could have, and yet I still can't persuade someone to pay me. Except, of course, the landlady at the pub down the road. I love bartending. I've done it since I was eighteen, mixed in with other things, and it has rarely let me down. I would happily bartend forever if it paid more. Still I can't help but wonder, why are we not told more about the real world before we are thrown into it? I went to a school where university was more than the norm, it was a necessity. You go to uni, and that's that. Now I don't for one second resent that - I loved uni and I know it was the right thing for me. For one thing, it stopped me running away to Africa, a country which, from experience, is pretty big on mugging me. What I do resent though is the way no one tells you that it actually won't help you get a job. Yes, you will be more qualified, and in that respect it will. You can at least apply for better jobs. But in terms of actually getting them, you're no more prepared than before. 

Because I have a degree, I can now apply to be an  account executive, or a junior digital marketer. But I have no idea what that means. Obviously, I've researched it and, on paper, I know what the role entails. But, throw me into an office and the cracks would appear pretty hard and fast. University has in no way prepared me for the real world, with the exception perhaps of reinforcing the knowledge that I will always feel like I'm surrounded by people having money thrown at them for nothing, while I work two jobs to, maybe, be able to pay my rent. This is in my head. I know this. But it still makes me feel like I'm failing. Add to this the fact that everyone around me seems to be falling into their dream jobs and it's a wonder that I get out of bed in the morning. However, I'm starting to see through the illusion a bit. The curtain has been pulled away, and there is the small old man playing the wizard. Largely because I've noticed, the main 'dream job' status updater has landed three of her 'dream jobs' since last summer. And they're all in very different fields. Now, perhaps she's just a very positive person, or perhaps, more probably, she too has fallen into the facebook trap that is, in my humble opinion, ruining society. 

Let me start by saying that I love facebook. I can't get through a day, or even a boring television scene without it. But it has ruined good old fashioned British modesty. Because we now have an audience for every part of our lives, we have to make it all seem very exciting. We have begun celebrating every minor victory as if we have been given not only a golden ticket but the entire chocolate factory. But all it's really doing is making everyone else feel like, well, a bit of a failure. And it's a vicious circle, because obviously they don't want the social media-verse to know this, so they'll post an over-celebration of their latest tiny win to trick the masses into thinking their life is bloody wonderful too. This would never have happened if they had to share that  news in public. Name-dropping, place-dropping and general bragging is just not acceptable face to face. You wouldn't get it down the pub, so why is it ok on the internet?

This is one of the reasons I love the pub, and it brings me onto my second point. Everyone loves the pub. It's a staple of British society, as bars are all over the world. So why is bar-tending looked down on? (I'm guilty myself of responding to questions about what I'm up to with 'well, I'm just bar-tending for a bit'). And why is it not one of the highest paying jobs in the country? Imagine what would happen if there was a pub strike in England? It would be chaos across the country, regardless of class, social status, and if you consider the amount of family pubs, age. So I firmly believe this needs to change. We bartenders are therapists. Rent-a-friends. Often genuine friends. We will flirt with you regardless of what you look like (but remember we rarely mean it...).We will pick you up at the end of a rough day. You celebrate with us, commiserate with us, and your social welfare largely depends on us. Ask someone who their favourite bartender is and they'll know instantly. But who's your favourite lawyer? Or accountant? Or digital media analyst? Not a clue. So start a revolution with me. Maybe it is only temporary, but  I'm not 'just a bartender'. I'm a Bartender. And you couldn't make it through your week without me. 

Cocktails and Cathedrals

After a good solid month of doing nothing particularly exciting, I've just had one of those spectacularly busy weeks, which left me a bit torn about what to write about. There was France, London, wine tasting, not to mention my favourite holiday of them all (ok, maybe apart from Christmas); HALLOWEEN!

I planned to do some Halloween themed tutorials - I LOVE playing with make-up and fancy dress, this year I was a gruesome flapper - and I made a worm-infested Bailey's jelly brain. But it just seems a bit too late now. There's always next year I suppose, or perhaps an unseasonal Valentines post for the single and bitter. In the meantime, I swung for the rest of my holiday in France...

The first week was spent largely lying by the pool and doing the odd spot of painting as the house was finished around me. But who could blame me? As England was being torn apart by storms (or so the news would have us believe) I was cycling to the bread shop in the morning and sunning myself with a good book (Along Came a Spider - brilliant read) in the afternoon. I even braved a swim, although the pool wasn't heated and so was pretty darn cold.

This is not to say, however, that I didn't earn my keep. My cocktail making prowess was called upon almost daily for sundowners, and I was even called upon to host a cocktail party for the local ex-pat friends and neighbours (it was intended to be pre-dinner drinks, but no one left before midnight - I call that a victory for my bartending).

Pimms

Here, Lynda and I are enjoying an ice-cold Fallet Royale - created especially for the occasion and named after the house. It's incredibly simple, similar to a Kir Royale (Cassis and Champagne) but made with Floc, a local liqueur that's a bit like sherry, a bit like port, and quite delicious. Simply pop roughly a single measure into a champagne flute and top with bubbly. Add a blackcurrant or black grape for garnish and enjoy in front of a French sunset. Or an English one. Or Made in Chelsea...

I did also manage to squeeze in a bit of culture during my trip, before you judge me too harshly. On Monday I went on a trip to Auch, a small town west of Toulouse.

 

We stopped here for a bit of lunch. By which I mean three courses of butter-soaked deliciousness, obviously. I had an incredible pumpkin soup with hazelnut foam and roasted hazelnuts that I'm desperate to figure out the recipe for. I'm fairly sure it's largely butter and cream, maybe some duck fat. It is the fois gras region after all. 

The main event however was the Cathedral.

The Cathedral is a little replica of Notre Dame and, despite the scaffolding, is quite beautiful. It's even more so inside...

It may be a bit smaller than its Parisian sister, but it no less impressive. I loved Auch, it's full of beautiful architecture and small winding streets. Big thanks to the Sturtivant family for letting me tag along with them, you wonderful brilliant people.

Sigh. I miss France, and really hope I get to go back soon. At least I made it back for Halloween though.

I couldn't not give you a picture...

Callum's feeling 22...

It may seem as though most of my blog is dedicated to birthdays. It's starting to seem this way to me too, but I couldn't not write about my wonderful Callum turning 22 - and doing it in style with a good old fashioned English rainy barbecue.



Gazebo party! Callum and family whipped up an amazing barbecue feast, and there were many cocktails (I may have helped out with this part) and live music courtesy of 'All the Clever Lines'.

They may be a band made up of family friends, but they're not your typical dad-band. They're pretty darn good, and had us all standing out in the rain all night, without minding a bit. They even let Callum have a go, which actually wasn't the disaster we were expecting from his previous karaoke dalliances *cough high school musical*.

Special mention also has to go out to the other band who formed specially to perform their own interpretation of Taylor Swift's '22'...

...and Callum's incredible speech (written by me and McGuigan, filled with awkward stories and inappropriate poetry).

This is quickly becoming one of my favourite birthday traditions...apart from the cocktails and cake, obviously. I might leave you with a recipe or two at the end, after a few more snaps from the night.

So. Sweet.

The best fondue ever. Made inside the bread. OMG. 

Cheese-gasm.

Bathroom Selfies. Had to be done.

One of the most photogenic people ever, Mark.

Twerking. I think...

Callum's interests are apparently quite well known...

Callum is one of my favourite people in the world, and his party, despite being slightly damp, was amazing. Big thanks to the Thomas family and everyone else involved. Hope you're having an amazing time in Amsterdam Cal!

The Bar

The amazingly well stocked bar. I ended up going off menu for most of the night, but I like how fancy the board looked. You can find the recipe for the ginger and lemongrass martini's here. I'm going to give you some fab shot recipes.

Red White and Blue Shots

These are so simple, and make you look like a pro. All it takes is grenadine, blue curacao, and either vodka or sambuca. I used vodka, because sambuca is awful in my opinion. Pour a bit of grenadine in each glass, then pour the curacao down a spoon sitting just on top of the red layer, then the vodka/sambuca down the spoon on top of the blue layer. Pour slowly so they don't mix, and the different densities mean they'll sit one on top of the other (I think if you use sambuca it will sit in the middle, where vodka sits on top). Easy Peasy.

Brain Haemorrhages

These shots look amazing. Unfortunately I didn't take any pictures, but they should look like this:

(Credit here)

How I make them:

Fill a shot glass about 2/3 full with sambuca. Using a bar spoon, dribble Bailey's onto the top (to get the brain effect do it in a few drops). Then pour in using a speed pour. You want a quick drop so it pulls down the Bailey's a bit with it (if you don't have a speed pour put a bit on a spoon and  then drop it in from a height, it has the same effect). These are definitely going to be whipped out at halloween - maybe with some blue curacao to make them 'Alien Brain Haemorrhages...

I learnt a very similar shot in South Africa that uses Frangelico and Amarula (no grenadine), stomach-churningly called the Soweto Toilet (eugh), but it is delicious, and, if you have the ingredients should definitely be tried.

Happy Shotting!