It’s official. I have the flu.

I am in bed, with a 3 year old sleeping on top of me, curled up like a cat. We are both down with the flu.

We’ve tried all day long to stay strong: we’ve played with the trains, read books, watched Peppa Pig and tried to watch Frozen (but the DVD stopped and the idiot nanny, aka me, had no idea how to work the TV, DVD player and the three remote controls).


I have a soup simmering on the stove, an English breakfast tea with lots of lemon forgotten somewhere downstairs , a 3 year old sleeping on top of me, like I’ve already told you and a plan to watch PSG vs Chelsea at a sports bar tonight. Because boyfriend.

I also have some Advil a friend smuggled from the USA so I might actually be able to watch the game.

Isn’t Advil awesome?
Who are you gonna cheer for tonight?
How many Peppa Pig episodes can a person watch before committing suicide?


I commute therefore my train of thoughts is not going straight – 1

“There is nothing like the smell of pot in the morning” I was thinking while walking to the Overground station  earlier this morning. And it isn’t. It simply doesn’t fit with the crisp air and with the freshness of recently showered people. But this is the former occasional pot smoker speaking. Occasional meaning every now and then at some party. Now I am done with it, pot doesn’t go well with antidepressants. I can barely have two drinks without getting away with the fairies. Poor me.

I am going through changes in my life. I actually like changes, the excitement new brings, to be more precise but history taught me that changes in general have a deep impact on me. Since this time I am aware of it and most important, I can afford it, I will take it slow, to adjust to change without facing psychological consequences. Therefore, I have started my new career in London, as a Romanian Interpreter, but only two days a week. The other three I am still the happiest nanny that can be.

Speaking of being a nanny, right now I have a tummy bug and a flu bug lurking around me and a kid close to the family has worms. But no nits this week, yey!

Also, my nanny job is just up the street from the home of Jihadi John. It kind of gives me the freaks. Not to mention he was apparently trained at a mosque at Finsbury Park, very close to where I live.

Commute is almost done. So am I. Over and out.

London Fashion Week dressing code

You want to go to LFW and don’t know what to wear or how to act? Worry no more, I will disclose the drill for you. You are very welcome.

Basically, what you have to do is use the most awkward items you can find in your household. Spare nothing: recycling bin, the Halloween costumes drawer, pay a visit to that storage room where you collect things you don’t even remember anymore. If you wanna pull an old school Lady Gaga, check the food waste bin as well. Don’t hesitate to visit the neighbours’ bins too. They will not understand but hey, they don’t have a clue about your OMG fashion style.

Now that you are done with gathering the outfit’s main elements you can start to mix and match. Just make sure that nothing matches in terms of colour, fabric, style, era etc.

When you are done go to the LFW locations and lurk at the doors with the rest of the nobodies. Strike a pose whenever you see a flash nearby.

It is better to travel in pairs so that you have someone to take your picture when your picture is being taken by a complete stranger that happens to have an IPhone.

You can now instagram it with a caption mentioning the amount of paps at LFW dying to snap your picture.

If you blog about the whole experience in a week or two, you will definitely be considered a fashion blogger and a significant part of the industry. At least by your mother who loves you unconditionally.

I bought some chairs and it was complicated

I needed some high chairs in my kitchen mostly because boyfriend said he would rather eat standing than in bed (I love eating in bed, I can live without chairs as far as I am concerned).

I looked up the offer and I decided for a cheap pair at Argos. Only £25 and that’s awesome since I am not sure what I will do after my six months contract expires. I mean, I might be able to afford a one bedroom, right? Which will make my bar stools quite useless. I didn’t even care they didn’t match my kitchen at all.

Because I had some issues with how Argos makes the home deliveries, I decided to go buy them in person. By myself. I have a shop nearby so I thought I should be fine.

I went to the shop, I paid and while waiting to pick up my order I saw a box behind the shop assistant. It was almost my size and looked quite heavy. I started praying: please dear gods, let this box not be mine, pretty please, pretty pretty please. But while I was calling to the gods, the shop assistant took my receipt, looked at it, turned around, grabbed the very tall box and gave it to me.

Bloody hell, I said to myself (and something far worst in Romanian). I managed to take the box out of the shop in like five minutes, mostly by dragging it. There was a bus stop 30 seconds away. I got there in what seemed forever (ten minutes).

The bus came, I dragged the box inside and I was okay for the next three stops. Then I got off the bus. I was five minutes away from home, only five minutes. I could see my street from where I was standing. I looked at the box. Tall up to my shoulders, as wide as me or a bit more, and ten kilos heavy. All I had to do was get to the zebra, cross the road, cross the tiny patch of the park, cross another road, walk one minute up to my building. It seemed so simple.

But it wasn’t. I dragged the box to the zebra. I waited for the green colour. I dragged the box across the road, mostly on the red colour. Green didn’t wait for me. The drivers did, though. I must have put on quite a show. Green coat, black tights, short dress and a handbag, of course. Plus a carrier bag with a few things I had shopped before buying the chairs: some glasses and candles. And envelopes. A plant pot. But no plant, thank god. Oh, I also had nice shoes on, by the way.

Anyway, back to the story. Once I was on the other side of the road, I stopped. My arms were hurting. I was heavily swearing in Romanian like I didn’t know I could swear. I had to find a solution because dragging was not an option anymore. And I did. I dropped my load on the pavement, knelt by the box and tore it open with my bare hands. I took out the chairs and ripped the plastic off. I gathered my belongings, left the box there (I am really really really sorry for littering but it was a life and death situation), I grabbed the chairs and crossed the park to get home.

And I finally did. It took me almost half an hour to get from the bus stop to my flat! I unfolded the chairs and guess what? Too high! And I cannot return them because, yes, I left the box on the pavement.

I didn’t even bother to do some measurements, I figured my eyes are good enough. Well, they aren’t. And I feel like slapping the cheap me so bad, whenever I look at my kitchen.


A pair of brown wood chairs is the only thing that could cheer me up right now and I might go ahead and get them, in order to forgive myself for being such an idiot. I will sell these ones on Gumtree, if the buyer is willing to do the pick up. I will never ever ever carry furniture on the street again.

P.S. For those of you who wonder, yes, I was offered a hand by some strangers but I refused them for various reasons, mostly because I didn’t feel comfortable to let strangers know where I live. A very handsome guy insisted in helping me and I almost let him but I felt sorry for the Burberry coat he was wearing. Aren’t I nice!

Nanny Diaries: Today I went up The Shard, I watched “Matilda” and I made Rice Crispy Cakes.

I have finally reached the next level of my life in London. I am living ALONE. In a studio flat but ALONE. The only time I lived in a tighter space was when I worked in Bucharest and I lived in a hotel room for nine months. Other than that I was always in a two bedroom (my parents’) or a one bedroom (my own). I was talking to my boyfriend the other day about how we put up with living in tiny expensive places for the sake of being in London. And we both agreed it is worth it.

I will leave the tales about my flat and about life on my own for a future blog post. Instead I will tell you about my day at work. My nanny job will finish in a few months and I am determined to write more about it since it is the best job I had in my entire life. And I had some “posh” jobs, mind you :)

Today I woke up to this glorious warm morning.


I made some eggs and a strong coffee, preparing for the first day of half term. Half term means that the two siblings of the three year old I take care of don’t go to school and we get to spend time together. Which is always lovely but not always quiet.

I don’t know if it was the eggs or the coffee or both but we had the most perfect day. All children were at their best behaviour therefore we managed to do so many things that I feel two days have passed instead of one.

We started with a visit at The Shard (kids go free this week!)

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Then we had lunch at Absolutely Starving. I didn’t take pictures of the food, pardon me. They make custom sandwich baguets so you can let your imagination run wild. I would have expected some crazy combinations from the kids but they played safe and had only cheese in their baguets. I had a very good rice and chicken (I skipped the bread, saving myself for some brioche I was planning to have with my afternoon coffee).

After lunch we went to a park and played in the rain for a while. Rain, from my point of view. The kids said it was just a bit wet. Them Brits!

In the afternoon we went home, watched “Matilda”, made some Rice Crispy cakes, had hot dogs for supper and made plans for tomorrow. Apparently, we will go to the Museum of Childhood&more. I love that museum, please go visit if you haven’t been already, it is always a treat, no matter how old you are.


P.S. See why I will terribly miss this job?