Let's Just Call It Over...excited

Greetings my wonderful friends :) I am here this evening to tell you of the very good week and a half I have had. It was full of sexy. And lovely and delicious. I'm currently feeling really rather mentally energised and replenished and like I could smile until my eyes pop out. The biggest contributing factor to this was my recent weekend trip to Transnistria, a small crazy Soviet breakaway state between Moldova and Ukraine. It was fookling amazling. Then when I got back I did some work and got some shingles and then met a very important person. So much to tell, not sure when or how or orange juice to begin! Ayeayeaye.

The tale begins with me being on an aeroplane from Luton to Bucharest. It was early on a Friday and I was an excited little camper. My flight landed in a boiling hot Romania where I treated myself to some cherryade and got on a bus to the city centre where my lovely Romanian friend was waiting for me. It turns out that they either REALLY LOVE the Macarena over there or me hearing it three times in one day was just a statistical anomaly. Saw some sights and drunk some beers and then I was waved off on my lonesome on the night train to Chisinau, Moldova (in first class, no less, with a very attractive train attendant who kept making me tea). For some reason there were a large quantity of overexcited cockrels at the Moldovan border; they were going completely bananas at about two in the morning. Maybe it's mating season. How do chickens even have sex? Do chickens have sex? Obviously chickens have sex. Ssh.

I woke up in Chisinau, wandered over to my Super-Soviet hotel and realised I had no idea if you can drink Moldovan tap water. I chanced it and I'm still alive so I'm guessing yes. One tram up a hill and much wandering later I eventually found the bus station (Google Maps is not to be trusted.... Like a man who stands on street corners offering children sweets. I actually had to just follow a bus in the hope it was going there) and got on a minibus to the wonderful TIRASPOL, TRANSNISTRIA. The border was a laugh, it's all mean looking men with guns, no wonder the government advises you shouldn't travel there, it's more intimidating than Arnold impersonating a brick. Everyone else on the bus was obviously either Romanian, Ukrainian or Moldovan. And then there's Constanze, the shifty English person. Needless to say I got a LOT of questions, mostly about whether I was a journalist (I think they saw my camera). Not even questions. Just them passing my passport around their office and shouting "JOURNALISTA JOURNALISTA" at me and me standing there shouting "TOURISTA TOURISTA". This went on for a short while until my bus driver arrived at the door and began yelling some incomprehensible shit which I presume translated as "FOR FUCK'S SAKE I'M TRYING TO DRIVE A BUS WILL YOU PLEASE STOP INTERROGATING THE ENGLISH GIRL SHE'S QUITE OBVIOUSLY A BUMBLING IDIOT FUCKINGHELL". Reluctantly they gave me my immigration card and I was in. Success.

The first thing I did upon my arrival in Tiraspol was buy a sandwich. But it was not like any sandwich I had even known... I could identify approximately 25% of the ingredients. It tasted good though so who knows, whether it was a simple vegetable or a horse's penis I'm not entirely bothered. I wandered around all the main monuments and marvelled at the massive police presence, all while getting a LOT of stares from the locals. I seemed to have visited on a day where there was some kind of weird event going on, there was lots of patriotic yelling and children dancing in the road. Including one who saw me and got so excited about my green hair that she lifted her skirt over her head and ran around with her knickers showing for a full 30 seconds. There was one poor lady in a corner shop that I had a massive ditsy moment with, I got completely confused and ended up speaking in four different languages to her while trying to purchase cake and liquid, I think I said hello in Romanian, yes and no in Ukrainian, German when pointing then said bye in Russian. Dahhhh. D'oopz. Internationally spreading the news that us Brits are rather dim. I also met a man who'd been to England and really liked Grimsby (for anyone abroad reading that's a town up North that's every bit as bad as the name). Grimsby?!? I travel thousands of miles to hear someone tell me they love Grimsby? The world is a weird, weird place...

The sun began setting so I decided it was time to venture back to Moldova. Getting out of Transnistria was a lot easier than getting out and I was soon back in Chisinau. I was super sleepy so had an early night to get plenty of sleep before my trip to an EPIC SEMI ABANDONED CEMETERY. Good lord bacon butties that place was amazing. Again though, it took some finding. Fortunately some very handsome topless builders came to my aid and showed me the way. I don't know what it is about me in Moldova but I suddenly become very attractive. Poland, Ukraine, Romania, etc., they're not all that fussed about the mental English girl. But in Moldova I am sizzling hot, I was fighting the men off. Maybe a bit too hot though, this man came to chat me up on a bench and I was polite then it got a bit awkward so I made my excuses and left and then I realised he was following me and wouldn't stop so I had to do a James Bond style escape down an alleyway. Aside from him it's a lovely city with a nice relaxed atmosphere, not unlike Pristina.

Then it was time for the night train back to Bucharest. I got in at about six in the morning and went to see the Presidential Palace as the sun rose and it was fabulous, such an imposing building. I then got on the train to this town in the mountains (decided going to Vlad the Impalers burial site was a bit of a trek, I was plum tuckered) to go on a cable car. Which was a great plan until I got there and it was CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE. Argh. The problem then occured that there's only one other interesting thing in this town and that's on top of another hill. So I had to walk down my curreny hill and try and get up the other one but I just couldn't make it because my legs are shit. So I saw the castle from a distance. So close, yet so far. SILLY CANCER. One of those moments when I was genuinely a little ticked off that I have it.

I wandered back to the train station and made friends with the local crazy bag lady. Disaster struck though as my train was over an hour late and I was inserious danger of missing my flight. I zoomed across Bucharest in a mad panic, sweating like a pig in muck and having a dramatic moment with some meatballs. I just made it to the gate on time and... FLIGHT DELAYED. Monday was not my day. We eventually set off about an hour and a half late. And then I was back on cold, wet British soil.

And on the Tuesday I was back at work. But then to the left side of my fanny I noticed an unwanted old friend was returning... Shingles. Damn bastard shingles. By Wednesday my left leg and most of my nether regions were a sore red mess so I phoned up the doctors to get an emergency appointment (I was terrified of getting as poorly as I did the other time I got it in my crotch) and I got the worst doctor imaginable. She was really dismissive and didn't want to see me, I had to fight to just get her to write a aciclovir prescription. She didn't even offer me any painkillers. For the most painful think known to man. Grumble. I was feeling a bit rough (there was one day where I got really emotional for no reason, I cried twice in the toilets at work, I think the massive amounts of hoarded painkillers drugs I was on went to my head) but it's really starting to clear up now which is amazing. I hate shingles. As I said before, it is way worse than cancer. Jesus schmeeeezus it hurts like a biatch who's pimp you just stole. And always in my crotch. Why? Why must it attack my embarassing places? Everyone else gets it on their stomach. I get it on my crotch and inner thigh so it rubs like there's no tomorrow for extra pain and discomfort.

But, things perked up yesterday. Over the years I'm sure you've noticed me mention a name over and over. the name Jimmy Carr. My dream man, comedian, Cambridge graduate and general ball of handsomeness. Well.... I met him!!!!! I actually met him, in the flesh, proper and everything. I went to one of his gigs and he did a meet and greet after and I meeted and greeted him. He asked me my name and I said Constanze and he said oh where are you from (I think he was expecting somewhere exotic) and I said Chesterfield and he looked very puzzled. He said he loved my style and that I looked like Lol from This is England (I'd never heard of it but I promised I'd watch it and he wrote the name on the back of my ticket for me) and I told him off for only visiting the Teenage Cancer Trust unit in London because I'd had cancer for five bloody years and and I literally only got cancer to meet him and he looked very sorry. Then he TOUCHED MY ARM and asked me about my tattoos and we talked about our favorite sculptures and he have me a HUG and I scuttled off with glee. I was awful though. You know how I'm usually a charismatic, super cool, attractive young lady? Well, he turned me into a hideous super awkward mess. But I almost don't care because I've met him and la la la la I win. I know I sound like an idiotic fangirl but you have to cut me some slack, he's the only celebrity I proper fawn over.

I need to go for a bath and calm down. I have had Jimmy Carr's arms around me. I've been to Transnistria. This is all too much. LIFE IS TOO MUCH GOOD.

Constanzistan :) xXxXx

P.s They gave me business cards at work. They're excellent for building forts. Anyone want to do their business with me? Have you rented a whole floor to do your business in? HE HE HE.

P.p.s Finally got my next hospital trip sorted out. It's in about a week and a half. Ultrasound of my mysterious bump and bone marrow extraction. Oh yeahhhh baby.

P.p.p.s Jesus this is a long post. I should be banned from writing when I'm excited and full of drugs :D