The trouble with working nights is that you never get to meet anyone. Oh sure there’s the usual crowd, the drunks, the kebab addicts, the troubled insomniacs and fellow vamps, but juicy young ladies, sorry I mean cultured young ladies with a healthy interest in the finer things in life (namely travel, the arts and the living dead) are pretty few and far between. And, how can I put it, even vampires have “needs.”
I do not mind working nights, I am the first to admit. Sometimes — Christmas, for instance, and New Year’s Eve — it grows lonely, just me and Jamie, siting in our little Portakabin on the edge of the car park. Watching our little fuzzy blue-tinted screens and waiting for something to happen worth getting cold for.
We’ve had an awful lot of “fake” users sign up recently, no doubt to try and get through my rigorous anti-spam measures. So far they haven’t been able to but as a precautionary measure, I delete all users every month.
That means that if your username or email doesn’t look remotely “real” – you will get deleted.
If you love me that much you’ll sign up again, I have no doubt.
Much love,
illona
xx
We arrived at the Cambodian border in the early hours of the morning, desperately in need of a shower after our tedious eight hour truck ride. The driver motioned for us to get off and pointed in the direction of some trucks across the border. Fortunately Hugo speaks fluent French so we were able to negotiate a lift. Before we knew it our luggage was already on the back of a rusty Cambodian truck that was shortly bound for Stung Treng.
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The Gothique Literary Society had completed a Dracula tour with a difference: a trip to Romania with all the right attitudes in place.
“We wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” said Max, the society’s founder and dictator, as the members enjoyed a barbecue in the Borgo Pass with Milos the coach driver rushing around carrying ‘robber’ steaks on long skewers.
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