Please help me, there's a couch in my pool

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I haven't sat down for a month to write because I've been so busy. Was I out exploring and sightseeing? Nah. Five words. Orange is the new black. I figured if I moved to a different country I'd be bitten by the travel bug and I'd wanna get amongst it all and go on adventures, the truth is, if God wanted us to get out and see the world he wouldn't have invented Netflix, Dexter or True Blood.

One thing I do love about this country is the food, most things I've done so far has revolved around my stomach. We went to a night market; a celebration of all things delicious. Every stall was a different country's dish and it all looked spectacular. I went to a stall selling "elephant's ears" and once I'd gotten over the vomit inducing name I realised it was a type of bread covered in sea salt and garlic. Well that's right up my street so I inhaled one of those then left with a bucket of churros covered in sugar, cinnamon, caramel and chocolate sauce. Bikini season can kiss my doughnut loving ass.

The main thing I love about food markets is the testers. I just wanna get straight in there and devour them like I have a life threatening disease and homemade hummus is the antidote. The problem with being all up on the samples like a real life game of hungry hippos is that if the sellers suspect you're just there for the freebies they'll give you a disapproving look. I don't like that look and I won't tolerate it being bestowed upon me. And so begins this act that will be repeated at each stall. Phrases include: "Oh that's delicious" "Ohhh how much is this one?" "Oh wow, best cake I've ever tasted!" "Yum this fish is amaaazing" and ofcourse, when necessary, "I'll be coming back to buy some of that as soon as I've been to the cash machine". However, playing this game is a gamble for two reasons. First is you might get something in your mouth which you immediately want to spit out. You can't. Under no circumstances can you let them know you think their produce tastes like rabbit shit. So you have to continue with the nods and smiles. The second is that if you go back the following week with the same people, the same coat and the same phrases you might just get an upper cut to the jaw. Or even worse, a chorus of tuts. I found that one out the hard way.

I'm sure I mentioned in a previous post that our house was once a brothel. There are mirrors for walls and weird little rooms everywhere, as you can imagine it makes for a fantastic party house. So when it came to one of our housemates leaving dos I was well up for the craic. As a pack of glamorous lasses we spent a good 55% of the party getting ready. Men - when was the last time you glued something to your face? We love it us. Get them big hairy lashes on me eyes. Several empty bottles on the floor, a smashed glass and several selfies wearing just a bra later and we're immerging from our dressing room. One of our girls falls at the first hurdle and we have to put her straight to bed. The rest of us pour onto the deck to find the rave in full swing. The worst thing about being drunk and in your own house is that when you start to feel mischievous you forget you'll have to deal with the consequences in the morning. We had made a fairly ordinary discovery earlier in the week which would prove quite detrimental. A laundry shoot. So during our vodka fuelled mayhem we found it hilarious to throw the entire contents of the living room down the shoot. It started with the yellow pages and quickly escalated. The problem is, I can't seem to find where the shoot ends. I guess that's someone's fifty shades of grey collection gone forever, and if google ever shuts down and someone wants to order a pizza or look up a florists, I'm afraid the yellow pages is long gone. When I woke up the next day, after I'd kicked off with the McDonald's drive thru man for forgetting my extra order of chicken nuggets, I strolled onto the balcony to find a wonderful sight. A couch, right in the middle of the pool. I'm glad there's someone out there more nuts than me, it makes me feel mature.

After almost six weeks of living in New Zealand I have learnt some valuable life lessons. I guess the most important one if you're attending wild parties, never ask "where's the craic?"

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