back up blog

I have so much to tell you, Internet. But right now I just woke up the manager of my bed and breakfast to tell you to visit me at Jet Set Zero , so I will keep this short so that I at least get fed breakfast in the morning. I need my Nutella. Some stuff is worth waiting for. I promise...

Story of my life.

Ouch This is me doing the splits with my host cousin. She is seven. I’m quite impressed with myself that I got so low- I’m about six inches off the ground. She, however, got up right after we took this photograph and sat back down at the dinner table for dessert. I’m still there.  

I’m not sure what all this Italian food has done to my system but MY GOD I’ve been making a lot of deposits to the bank of poop this past three weeks. Like, three a day. It’s the only bank where I’m in the black. And I don’t actually eat that much food- my output is definitely higher that my input. I’m no mathematician but SURELY that doesn’t add up. Maybe I’m about to get thin. Chronic pooping is better than bulimia, I suppose. The host family I lived with this past week physically walked me into the toilet at their house when I arrived Saturday and pointed to the loo. “Only pee-pee,” I was told, and I presumed that because it was an organic toilet that essentially I was being told that any (AHEM!) “lady products” must be safely gotten rid of in the bin. Meaning that poop was fair game. I mean, look at all the shit they spread on country fields- it’s totally organic, right? So Internet, I won’t lie to you. All week, even though my roommate Judith told me not to, I pooped in the organi

Me and my BIG FAT MOUTH. This week my host mum speaks fantastic English, so rather than using international hand gestures and smiling far more than is normal for somebody who is trusted to be alone with children we have been able to indulge in actual conversation. Naturally, the, we started talking about the Royal family because, of course, that is the be-all-and-end-all of what it is to be British. I started out defending Sarah Ferguson in her recent TOTAL ENTRAPMENT scandal, declaring that if somebody set me up in the same way I'd probably fall for it too because we're all human, and money talks, and I'm as free of scruples as the next guy. And then, before I know it, we started talking about Kate Middleton. "Urgh! What an awful example for a whole generation of young girls!" I exclaimed from atop my soapbox. "Making a shrewd, calculated move to be in the same time and place as a prince so that you could ensnare his heart, and then put your ENTIRE LIFE on h

Oh? This? Just a little something my host mama threw together FOR NO SPECIAL REASON AT ALL. This is just how she rolls. 

Let me tell you about Matteo. Every camp I work I have a favourite kid, and woah . Matteo is probably top of the all-time list. And I've met a lot of Matteo's. In fact, never met a Matteo that I didn't like. I've met several Lucrezia's that displeased me though. But Matteo? A winning name. Not unlike LAURA. He is six. And teeny tiny, with dark hair and those adorable milk teeth that can melt even the coldest, darkest heart (HI!). He is the smartest kid I've ever taught. Literally, I will explain something to the class ONCE and he will watch me closely, intently, never fussed by his two friends who are hanging upside by their ankles from the one wall fixture in the room or the blonde girl that is drawing phallic representations in his workbook, he just watches. And when I stop speaking he nods, and automatically all of the other kids turn to him so that he can translate. We did Days of the Week and I threw myself around the room making a different silly voice for

And on the seventh day, she had them colour in their books so that her head would stop aching...

Internet, meet the team I’m working with this week. This is Annie, Derrik and Judith, which with the addition of me is also known as Team Awesome. Without me, they’d be known as Team Above Average. Obvi. L-R Judith, Annie, Derrik, ME. Annie is from Chicago  somewhere in America. She’s a total space cadet. Often, in team meetings to discuss camp activities she will go into screen saver mode, mouth agape and eyes glazed, and then she’ll answer a question with, “Urm, Posh Spice!” Even to her kids. She smokes like a chimney and worries that she isn’t dressing conservatively enough for school. “My love,” I told her. “If my thighs didn’t chafe at the top I’d wear athletic shorts that teeny too,” I said.  She said she felt better after that. And then she saw something shiny and wandered off. Going, going, gone... Derrik is from Utah, BUT NOT A MORMON. He has a sense of humour and EVERYTHING. When Derrik was on his tutor orientation and I was responsible for helping to train him up, I soooo

Today at English camp, we have been mostly learning "I like...". "I like pizza!" "I like pasta!" "I like purple!" I was told. "I like boy," said one six year old girl. That MADE MY LIFE. "Sweetie," I said, looking at her intently. "Me too." I might have sighed a little in the delivery.  And then, as if on cue, a little dark-haired thing looked at me as I stared wistfully off into the distance thinking about boy and declared, "Mi fa male la pancia". My tummy hurts . And then he threw up his lunch, all over himself and my shoes. We had eaten risotto. Risotto looks the same coming out as it does going in, fact fans. His nine classmates and I stood and stared for a moment. Open-mouthed. Like, really? Then they turned to me for teacherly guidance and support, mouths open. I took the initiative to use the moment as a learning one. "I DON'T like," I said, pointing at the floor and pulling my 'do

Click to enlarge. If only that were true for so many other things in life. 

I've never been bothered by Milan before. It seemed to me a bit like when your best mate meets a boy and she talks, talks, talks about him until the image in your mind is Denzel meets Colin Firth. Then you meet him and instead of the style, the adventure and the undeniable charm you get Jon Gosselin. But then I changed my mind. Maybe it was the food I had just eaten at the best bistro in town. Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the fact that after five hours sleep in two days I could sense bedtime getter closer. I don't know. What I do know is that the clicking noise you just heard? THAT WAS THE PENNY DROPPING. Now I get it. Milano: Second First Impression from Laura Jane Williams on Vimeo . Hey! Remember that time I went to Milan and all I did was worry about how I looked?

Internet, you know I would have your babies if I could, don't you? That even when I don't write to you, I'm thinking of you. You are on mind, you infiltrate my soul, you are my raison d'etre and I promise you- when I'm on the road I don't even THINK about putting it about with anybody else. I might not have been about much this week, but please. Forgive me. I'll make it up to you. Take down your pants and give me three minutes of your time. So. I've had two weeks in Sanremo and duuuuuuuude. It really is a good job my luggage allowance with Ryanair (thoughts on a new name: SHITAIR) didn't allow for me to pack my dignity. I've had many thoughts this past two weeks. Mainly that I've spent twenty-four years being a dick, and now I have a job THAT PAYS ME TO DO IT. In Italy. With cute boys and funny girls. I've not mentioned it to my boss or anything, but even without the paycheck I'd show up. Keep that to yourselves though, eh? I do need

Question: On a scale of one to ten, how inappropriate is it to ask a stranger to read you a bedtime story because their voice is smoother than caramel? And this stranger is a fellow female? I anticipate the answer to be 10.

This past week I have been helping to train up 120 people from across the English-speaking world, to then send them out to English camps across Italy and essentially make total arses of themselves for money. I realised this as I stood in the centre of them one afternoon, all of them ready in a circle around me, singing a song about a tea-drinking penguin. " Have you ever seen, a penguin drinking tea ?" I sang, and they watched me, listened to me, and then repeated it all back to me. " Well take a look at me, and a penguin you will see! " I then preceeded to flap both arms, both legs, stick my bottom out and hang my tongue out of my mouth before repeating the song all over again so that they could do the same. This morning they all left to various English camps across Italy. The Penguin Song is going with them. This is the best job in the world.

Note to self: when somebody asks how big is too big when it comes to ear piercings, it's probably best not to reply, " If it's bigger than the hole in my vagina, you've gone too far ." Urm. Yeah. About that.