"Bloody Hell!"

This week's/month's/year's phrase. It can be used under all sorts of circumstances. For example:
-when the flaming builders start drilling on the roof at 7:30 in the morning, every single morning. Bloody Hell.
-when you're literally swept into a wall by the wind walking to work at 9:45 in the morning. Bloody Hell.
-when you arrive at work at 9:57 to realise the flaming wind has ruined your hair do, which you were sure was the best yet (this week at least) a mere 25 minutes earlier. Bloody Hell.
-when walking home after work at 18:10, it's just started raining and you put your umbrella up but, alas, no use as in Iceland it doesn't rain on you, it rains at you. Bloody Hell

In other news is this:

11 days and counting. The number of days 'till I hop on an Icelandair Boeing 757 (yep, the airplane nerd creeps up again) bound for Heathrow to start a totally new chapter in this thing called my life.
Mind you, ever so exciting, but that feeling of excitement is totally mashed together with all sorts of other feelings which my brain is too tired to seek out from my extensive vocabulary of such names.

I've secured myself a place to stay in the UK at least.
I'll be renting a room in a 5-bedroom house in Langley/Slough in Berkshire (a 15min busride to Heathrow Terminals 1/2/3), sharing with 4 other training British Airways hosties, three gals and one guy.

Friday evening I'm hosting a sort of 'farewell'-do for my co-workers with the theme "Countries". That entails picking any country and dressing oneself up according to that, with a dash of imagination tucked in hopefully. I know some people are deciding to put a bit of effort into it, as am I. It should be interesting to say the very least.
In an unprecedented move I have decided to have absolute minimal catering this time, apart from some nibbly bruchettas and Absolut Mandrin cocktails.
Although totally not my style, in case people do get hungry, there's always the old bag of microwave-popcorn in the cupboard.

Ain't I just gona make a fantastic hostie?