I Somehow Survived those Essay Deadlines...

And so I emerge...

"My brain had turned to mush"

Any Facebook friends or twitter followers will probably have picked up on the fact that my life for the past week has consisted purely of late night library trips and sitting in the relative warmth of my bed with all manner of useless notes spread around me, trying to get my essays written. I did take a well-earned break over the weekend to unclog the shower drain. It says a lot that this was somewhat of a highlight.

One night Kirsty and I had a drink and my mind was so caught up with 'the spaces in-between identity positions within postmodernist texts' (yes, Beacon, I know it's a "hippie degree"), that I ended up drunkenly insisting that Sophie had 'exposed too much of her inner self to the world'. I don't even know what that means. But by that point my brain had turned to mush. And for some reason whenever I've had a drink I feel the need to give Sophie some deep, meaningful life advice.

And finally, now that 5,000 words have been submitted, 28 pages of notes have been thrown in the bin, and I've fully recovered from the leg cramp I sustained yesterday after sitting in the same position for 3 hours straight, I am now back home in Wales and ready to welcome in the Christmas spirit.

"...there's a gaping hole
in the wall"

It isn't exactly the most festive of places here right now. My parents are midway through remodeling the downstairs of their house and there's a gaping hole in the wall. But we have the fire on to compensate for the draft and I guess that's somewhat merry. Anyway, compared to the cave of a room if lived in while I was writing my essay, it's practically the Raddison Blu all over again. For the last week there were mugs with the remnants of cup-a-soup, dirty socks, and discarded library books scattered all over my bedroom! Neither my face nor my life are particularly attractive when deadlines are lurking.

Having not left the house in the last week, I don't have any anecdotes to share as such. I just thought I'd check in to say have no fear, I'm still alive. The 3am readings of Bleak House did not kill me or force me any further into insanity than I was to begin with.

My First Time...Scandalous!

Between essays, my dissertation proposal, trudging my way through the set texts on my Dickens module (945 pages is slightly excessive, some would argue), and practising my makeup for when I go to visit the Beacon in Germany next month, there hasn't been a lot of time for my usual antics. Plus, some of my housemates are still holding out on us turning the central heating on in our house so I haven't left the relative warmth my bed very much at all in the last week. So, as I have no witty anecdotes handy, but am in desperate need of doing something other than reading about postmodern theories of identity, I'm going to steal a post idea I found over at Mismatched Knitwear!

Don't let the title fool you. This isn't going to be about that first time, although that would probably be somewhat appropriate considering the general themes of my blog are awkwardness and humiliation. But no, this is just a little bit of an insight into some of my 'firsts'.

1. First Best Friend
My mother loves to tell this story to anyone who will listen so I may as well plaster it over the internet now and have done with it. When I was in nursery my best friend was a boy called Adam. Now, I have no recollection of this, but apparently, diva that I was, I told him he simply had to marry me. When he made it clear that he was not so keen on the idea of our upcoming nuptials, I threatened to sit outside his house in the snow until I died. (I have never been particularly good at subtlety.) Needless to say, Adam was slightly scarred by the whole incident, but my mother will insist on bringing it up whenever I introduce her to a new boyfriend.

2. First Kiss.
Assuming we're not counting the 'kissing under coats' game we used to play at school when we were six, I didn't have my first kiss until I was 17. There was no such thing as peer pressure in my friendship group. Underage sex was never a concern for our parents. We were always too busy watching Disney movies and planning fancy dress parties. And, to be honest, not much has changed.
So I didn't get my first kiss until I was 17. I was so convinced that I would make a mess of the whole situation that I every time I tried to lean in I laughed hysterically. Then I just said, "Look I'm sorry, but I can't get Bethan's voice out of my head saying 'my life is an awkward place' and it keeps distracting me". Since then kisses have gotten better. Thank goodness.

"We were always too busy watching Disney movies and planning fancy dress parties...not much has changed."

Fancy Dress at 16

Fancy Dress at 21

3. First Concert.

Remember Hear'Say? (I just had to look up what they were called on Google so I don't blame you if you can't.) When I was little I got tickets to see them. I was so excited! But the day of the concert came around and I got pretty bad tonsillitis. My mam still took me, bought me a whistle because I couldn't cheer, and held me on her lap so I could watch them. I only have a very vague memory of start of the concert and then I fell asleep.

"It just ruined the dream"

4. First Celebrity Crush.
To be honest, I've been through so many it's hard to keep track. Leonardo DiCaprio, Jonny Depp...Eminem was a particularly strange one looking back, but there's a long list. But thinking right back to my very first celebrity crush, it was probably Harvey Kinkle from Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I simply adored him. But last month I saw a recent picture of him. It just ruined the dream.

5. First Job.
My very first job was working in KFC when I was a teenager. It lasted about about an hour and a half. I was prepared to deal with the ugly uniform and smelling like grease. I was even willing to put aside my pride and wear the stupid cap. But on my very first morning, whether it was the knowledge of what went on in the kitchen or maybe just a stomach bug, I was very sick, and after that I just couldn't face going back to be known as the girl who vomited on her first day. I mean, I had to draw a line somewhere, for the sake of what little dignity I possess.

6. First Phone.
I have never been good with technology so I really have no idea. I know it was a Nokia. I know it was a brick. I know I named it Mike. There was no colour screen and it had monophonic ringtones. If I handed one to my 8 year old nephew he probably wouldn't recognise it as a phone.

7. First Music.
Back in the day I was all about the Spice Girls. I had Spice Girls dolls, Spice Girls lolly pops, a Spice Girls headband. In fact, I will unashamedly admit that I still have their album. I'm a little more embarrassed about the orange puffa jacket I had with the Spice Girls logo on it. But let's face it, the 90's were not kind to anyone fashion-wise.

8. First Tweet.
Twitter is a constant battle for me. A Facebook status I can handle. It's straightforward. Twitter involves @s and #s and it's taken me until now to have any kind of clue what's actually going on with it. (#technophobia) My very first tweet was:

After a complete stranger approached me to say my facebook updates 'made her life' it seems it's time to spread the joy and start twittering

11:59 AM - 21 Dec 2011

Hardly the opening lines of one of Shakespeare's plays, but there we are. And while we're on the point, I'd love more followers (#shamelessbegging). My twitter name thing is @Welliiboots91

9. First Make-Up.

Who even knows? I can't really remember a time without make-up. I don't think I got into it with as much vigour as my niece when I was her age. She's had an obsession with make-up for a good while. She's 4 now and very into the street-walker look at the moment. She won't accept that there's such a thing as too much blush. 

10. First Word.

I really have no idea, but I don't think it was a showstopper by any standards. My nephew on the other hand, decided that his first word would be 'dirty'. It was great just hearing him shout it at strangers.

11. First Pet.

When I was very young and my older brother still lived with us, he had two goldfish called Archimedes and Einstein. I decided we would share them. Then, diva that I was (are you seeing I theme running throughout my early years?), I decided I would just claim ownership of them. It was at that point that they lost their intellectual names and became, instead of Archimedes and Einstein, Jimmy and John. Because clearly Jimmy and John are fantastic fish names.

Well, that was certainly a nice distraction from the piles of work I need to get through this evening. And I'd love for this to be an opportunity for you guys to tell me about some of your firsts or even just openly mock mine. I mean, come on guys, this blog has now had over 1,500 views and not a single comment! I might start to get offended soon, which wouldn't be great because that teeny tiny diva might still be in there somewhere.

The Beacon Visits the Mad House

While we were in Cologne, the Beacon and I decided that he simply had to make a trip to visit me in merry old England. So last weekend he stayed in my grotty student house in Exeter with my insane housemates. Because clearly that's how to impress a man. And what with Kirsty and the Beacon bickering over Northern Ireland, my determination to impress him with my culinary skills (that don't actually exist), and a near death experience, it's safe to say there's plenty to write about.

I went to meet the Beacon at the airport. I did the whole walk, train, bus thing and got all the way to Bristol without my hair going flat, which led me to believe things could only go well. But I attract unfortunate situations the way my friend Hayleigh attracts creepy stalkers. So I stood at arrivals, innocently thinking nothing could possibly go wrong in the few short minutes before the Beacon walked through the automatic doors, trying to work out where the best place to stand was.

Then it happened. The doors opened, I looked up expecting to see a tall blond American, and there, as if my life were suddenly an episode of One Tree Hill, was 'The Ex'. In the time it took my brain to register that I wasn't delirious and that there, in real life, by some freak coincidence, he was, not in the Netherlands where he was meant to be, but at Bristol Airport arrivals, I'd lost sight of him in the crowd. He didn't see me. We wouldn't have to make awkward, polite conversation/valley holler insults at each other (depending on his frame of mind at the time), which was a blessing. But when the Beacon walked through the doors seconds later the voluminousness of my hair wasn't enough to cover the unattractive look of confusion and horror spread across my face.

"I introduced the American to the sights of Exeter..."

The train naturally took twice as long as usual and stopped at every single station so we didn't get into Exeter until the early hours. The Beacon had been stuck in Turkey right up until the night before his visit because there was something wrong with his plane so he'd flown through the night from Turkey to Germany, before doing the whole Germany to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to Bristol journey. Nevertheless, I was the one who slept all the way home.

On Saturday I introduced the American to the sights of Exeter, which as it turns out, are very few when it's raining. But we went to Mango's on the quay, where I had the world's best hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows, whipped cream, biscuit, and a chocolate flake! Then we headed to Exeter's Underground Passages, the highlight of which was watching all 6 foot of the Beacon crawl on his hands and knees through a space that even the kids in front of us had struggled to get through. And that night, in true British student fashion, we sat with my housemates, drank alcohol, and watched The Valleys. And the Beacon secured the love of everyone by ordering in pizzas. Because the way to a student's heart is always through Dominos.

The next day I bravely set out to make a full English breakfast, complete with sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, fried bread, toast, hashbrowns and grilled mushrooms. Considering I had to quietly take Kirsty to one side to ask her what making scrambled eggs actually entailed, it went quite well. There was that moment when I knocked over the entire tray of fat, but we can skip over that.

"The air was just full of thick smoke
and cries of terror."

That evening we celebrated our own belated Guy Fawkes Night. Sophie, Andy and the Beacon were in charge of fireworks, which in itself was somewhat scary, especially considering we had already started drinking again at that point. We stood in the garden as the rain came down in sheets, watching them trying to light rockets out of empty wine bottles. It went surprisingly well until one of the fireworks fell over and started shooting out towards us, one fireball after another as we all screamed and ran for cover. Even some random people who happened to be walking past our garden at the time started screaming. The air was just full of thick smoke and cries of terror. That was not a high point of the evening.

 And now the Beacon is back in Germany and while I can't say in all honesty that I miss him waking me up at 7am, I might be just a little excited to see him again next month.

A Fabulous 48 hours...with the Beacon

After being separated from my laptop for an entire week, I am finally back in Exeter with access to my blog, the internet and, most importantly, Roller Coaster Tycoon. So now I'm able to share all the gossip from last weekend's trip to Cologne to meet up with handsome American I met in Prague and also say, "I told you so" to anyone who secretly doubted whether I would make it back alive.

My weekend away started with thirteen hours of travelling. From my house in Exeter, I walked to the bus station, caught a coach to Bristol bus station, had three people push in front of me in the queue at Greg's while I was at said bus station, caught the shuttle bus to the airport, got a flight to Amsterdam, almost missed my connection because people will insist on not labelling the airport gates properly, got another flight from Amsterdam to Frankfurt, and then drove from Frankfurt to Cologne in the Beacon's fancy car, all on a single glass of wine. Add to that the fact that I simply couldn't fit all my necessary liquid items into the one clear plastic bag I was allowed to take through security, and that trying to smuggle my moisturiser through customs almost tipped my stress levels over the edge.

Needless to say, by the time I boarded my second plane, I didn't look as alluring and sophisticated as I had hoped. The woman next to me probably thought I was going to have some kind of nervous breakdown as I waited for the pilot to turn off the seat belt sign so I could have a go at trying to make myself look presentable. There was a lot of twitching, drumming of fingers, and muttering under my breath until I safely had my make up bag in front of me and a glass of wine in hand.

Forty minutes later I stepped off the plane with a face so transformed that the air hostess didn't recognise me and I was ready to do the whole, "Yes, I naturally look this great after travelling all day in the rain" charade.

We stayed at the Radisson Blue in Cologne, which was quite a step up from a Travel Lodge, let me tell you. It was absolutely amazing, what with its high ceilings, huge television in the room, two types of showers in the bathroom, swanky little bar downstairs complete with swivel chairs, and staff that called me 'Madame'.

And so that night we sat in the swanky little bar, drank whiskey, talked, laughed, and rolled our eyes at the general lack of chicken nuggets.

My hopes for the weekend were simple enough. Be absolutely perfect at all times and don't humiliate myself in front of the Beacon. I didn't even make it twelve hours before that bubble burst. First I delved into my makeup bag only to find that I'd left my mascara on the plane. Then we couldn't find the hairdryer. So I was forced to walk through the streets of Cologne with pale eyelashes and my damp hair tied up in ridiculous plaits. I looked like a tramp.

To compensate, I got all dressed up that night. Curls, LBD, the full shebang. Unfortunately when I opted to wear my sexy new stilettos I didn't anticipate how far away the train station was...or how many different ticket machines we'd have to walk to because none of them were working. All I could do was smile and hope I wouldn't end up with an incredibly unattractive limp. I didn't want to replicate both the tramp and pirate looks all in one day!

In the end we gave up on public transport (something I wish I could do for good based on my track record with busses) and got a taxi to Pepe's Cocktail Bar. Apparently it is the place to 'see and be seen' in Cologne. I'm not entirely sure how that works as the lighting was fairly dim so I didn't really see much of anyone. But the people we did see, from the staff to the somewhat awkward-looking couple at the bar, we made up dramatic and intricate fictional lives for. Anyone who thinks people watching is boring really needs to reevaluate their life. Or just drink more, because as the cocktails went down the back stories of everyone around us got more and more impressive.

In spite of having had one Black Russian too many (for which I totally blame the Beacon), I was determined to keep an air of grace and sophistication. This was especially difficult for me considering I don't have much of either even when I'm sober. But, that said, I somehow managed to get through the night without making a fool of myself. And a lovely evening ended with us watching Halloween entirely in German. Having never seen the film in English I found it rather hard to follow, but I enjoyed the dreadful 70s outfits.

And then came Sunday morning and with it, a rush to stuff everything back into my suitcase, an airport breakfast, and another full day of travelling. I've spent more time in packed airport shuttle buses, sat on a bench in Schiphol Airport, and dealing with liquid restrictions in my hand luggage than I care to think about. But maybe...just maybe, the Beacon was worth it.