A Trip to London Part 1: I Take on the US Embassy

In the midst of my stress-ridden daily routine of filling in online paperwork, making my endless way through lists that never seem to get any shorter, staring into my wardrobe for hours on end without ever coming to any kind of conclusion on what needs to be stuffed into the case that I have yet to purchase, and countless other anxiety-inducing preparations for my trip next month, let me tell you about my trip to the US Embassy in London.

Perhaps it will distract me from the cruel blow of waking up this morning to find we were out of Nutella.

In a world where tourists need to be screened by the DHS before they can hop on a plane to Disneyworld, it probably goes without saying that I needed a visa for my trip to the USA next month. Applying for a J-1 visa was (in my case at least) a long, convoluted and slightly terrifying experience. It involved excessive amounts of paperwork, bizarre security questions (“Are you planning on entering the country to become a prostitute?” “Are you a drug smuggler?” “Do you plan on becoming a drug smuggler in the near future?” and so on), an array of important reference numbers, passwords and memorable information (all of which seemed to disappear as soon as I needed them) and, of course, a hugely unflattering visa photograph that makes me look like I actually could be a prostitute and/or drug smuggler. And, when all of that was done, I still had to head up to London for a face to face interview.

Naturally my mother wouldn't hear of her fully-grown adult daughter heading into the city alone so she tagged along too.

Our first issue was trying to find the embassy. As if I wasn't already hampered enough by my non-existent sense of direction and complete inability to read street maps, my phone died as soon as we stepped off the tube so Google wasn't around to save us. As it happens, there’s a big square where all the embassies are and, once we found the square, it was simply a case of working out which one was the American embassy.

“Do you think they’ll have a flag outside?” My mother asked as we aimlessly wandered around the square.

“There’s a star spangled banner on the moon. I’m pretty sure there’ll be one outside the US embassy.”

Looking back, I’m still not entirely sure how it took so long to work out which one was the right building. The US embassy was about the size of four or five of the others, with an enormous eagle on top along with what was probably the most gigantic flag I've ever seen in my life. 

There was a lot of queueing involved to get into the embassy. Queueing to get my forms checked, queuing to have my bags searched, queueing to explain to the security guy that the suspicious electronic device in my bag was my rape alarm (“because a girl can’t be too careful”), queueing to get my fingerprints taken, and, finally, queueing for the actual interview.

The interview itself was actually the quickest part of the whole experience.

“What do you plan on doing in the USA?”

“I’m going to be teaching arts and crafts at a summer camp in Maine.”

“Ok. Well, I’m going to approve your visa!”

It was as simple as that.

Obviously it was a lot more upbeat and enjoyable because the interviewer was American and therefore wonderfully friendly and happy. In fact, I got so caught up in the moment that I told her to “have a nice day”. I hope she didn’t think I was being facetious…

And so trauma of my visa application was over (apart from the ordeal of trying to get hold of it a few weeks later when the embassy released it to a mystical courier service whose location is so well hidden it might as well be protected by a magic spell that makes it invisible to muggles. But that's a story for a different day). And so, with my appointment at the embassy behind me and a full day in London ahead of us, we set off to explore.

But first we had to deal with her crippling fear of the tube...

New Year's Eve: A Family Affair

Happy 2015! Christmas officially feels as though it never happened. It came and went so quickly that I still have a bottle of Winter Jack out in the kitchen that I didn't even get a chance to open. My head is still spinning and there's nothing but a few leftover chocolates and a lingering feeling of exhaustion to suggest that Christmas ever happened at all.

And now suddenly it's 2015. I'm glad. 2014 was an odd year for me, almost like a stopgap, which went by in a blur of confusion and, as we went from November to December, I was happy to get the last few dregs of the year over and done with and start on a new one. I had my annual, "Next year I will sort out my life and transform myself into a wonderful, fully-functioning grown-up human being" pep talk and, after that, New Year's couldn't come quickly enough.

Crunchy Leaves and Pumpkins: It's Autumn!

Three weeks ago I was wearing flip flops and sunglasses. Then, all of a sudden, literally overnight, I had to trade in my sparkly sandals for wellies and have, over the last fortnight, found myself in the centre of more thunder storms than I care to recollect. Just last week I had to spend the entire second half of a day-long business course sitting in my socks like a total professional because I'd stupidly allowed myself to get caught in a downpour of Biblical proportions on my ways to Greg's at lunchtime. In my Uggs. They will never be the same again. 

So it seems that Autumn is well and truly upon us. Either that or, judging from the extreme weather conditions of the past few weeks, we are in the early stages of the Apocalypse. Either way, I've been tagged by the wonderful Mismatched Knitwear to complete this Autumn themed post. So here we go...

What do you love most about Autumn?

As much as I love that weirdly satisfying found of newly fallen leaves crunching underfoot, my absolute favourite thing about Autumn is Halloween. Carving pumpkins, watching Hocus Pocus, erecting a graveyard in the front garden to terrify trick-or-treaters...I love it all. Over the years some of my best memories have been of Halloween parties or of helping my dad put together ridiculous props and hauling all the boxes of decorations down from the attic.









And, for my fellow Halloween junkies, I'm in the middle of uploading a series of Halloween makeup tutorials on my Youtube Channel that you will almost definitely love. (Shameless self-promotion.)

What's you favourite seasonal drink from Starbucks/ Costa/ Cafe Nero?

I didn't even know that coffee shops offered seasonal drinks. Coffee is something I avoid at all costs and will only resort to if I'm travelling a long way or find myself falling asleep in my sandwich. Even then, so offensive is the taste to me that I always order a vanilla latte and add four sweeteners to make it bearable.

What accessories do you opt for, scarf, boots, gloves?

All of the above! Add to that earmuffs and mittens I can thread through my coat on a string. I may look like an oversized child, but I'll be the one laughing when you lose your gloves. 

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What's your favourite music to listen to during Autumn?

I don't tend to change my music tastes according to the seasons. I'll probably continue listening to the bizarre selection of CDs I currently have in my car. You know, the likes of the Frozen soundtrack, a Britney Spears album from the 90s and a whole lot of country music. I know, I'm the height of cool.

What candle scents will you be burning this season?

I feel like for some reason it's assumed that all bloggers should have strong feelings about things like overpriced candles and washi tapes. I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you, but if I light a candle it's usually because I want to burn something, not because I have a strong attachment to the smell of pine needles infused with tangerine extracts...or whatever.

What's your favourite perfume for this time of year?

I had a bottle of Beyonce Pulse for my birthday last month and I am absolutely in love with it. I don't think it's a particularly Autumnal fragrance (although I'm not sure what would be apart from pumpkins or smushed damp leaves), but I love it all the same.

Favourite make up look?

I'm very excited for berry lips this Autumn. In fact I would love some recommendations because otherwise lipstick shopping can be a whole minefield.

What are you looking forward to most in Autumn?

This Autumn I'm going to be setting up my own business. I know I've been promising to throw light on this exciting news, but I can't fill you in on all the details just yet. I'm still in the boring process of making cash flow forecasts and signing paperwork. But as soon as things are up and running I seriously can't wait to tell you guys all about it! (You will definitely think I'm mad.)


So there you have it. A little seasonal post, which will hopefully brighten up this chilly Autumn afternoon.

Oh, and to my American readers, I'm talking about Fall. Yeah, that confused the Beacon more than once...

The Beacon in Wales: Part 2

I didn't intend to keep you in suspense for so long, but this week has been challenging to say the least. We aren't even a month into 2014 and I've been hit with a kidney infection, the horror of navigating the university mitigation process, some kind of strange stress induced rash on my hands, and, when all was said and done, I was too ill to sit the exam anyway. Now I'll have to come all the way back up to Exeter in August to sit it. As you can imagine, I'm currently writing this through the haze of last night's Scotch. I cried, I drank, I watched Mulan, and now I feel somewhat better.

"Why did I agree to come here?"

Anyway, this is not going to be a 'woe is me' post. This is picking up from where I left off in my last post. The Beacon and I had checked out of our hotel and were heading to my parents' house in Port Talbot. One of the striking things about approaching from Port Talbot from the east is that the first thing you're hit with is the sight of the steelworks. Unless, that is, you are hit with the smell first. For anyone who lives there it's a strangely comforting sight. "Yes! Home at last." For everyone else it must be slightly disturbing. "Why did I agree to come here?"

The Beacon only said that it was strange that people lived right next door to it. And right next door to the motorway. And in houses that seemed to be built practically on top of one another. In Wales our houses are generally small and squashed together. We're only a teeny tiny country after all.

Once the Beacon had been introduced to my parents and shown to the 'spare room' (which is so small that once he put his suitcase in there all the floor space vanished), we sat down in the living room and my parents tried to give off an air of normality. My mother was talking in her telephone voice so the Beacon would have half a chance of deciphering her accent.

That evening we went to the local pub, the Tyn y Twr, or 'tiny tour' if you're the Beacon. It was there that the Beacon first met my brother.
"Bonjour!"
Great, he's drunk.
I had to later assure the Beacon that it wasn't just the accent. In fact, none of us had understood very much of what he'd said. But such is the beauty of New Year I guess.

"we were very cultured"

The next day we were very cultured and went to the Penderyn Distillery for a tour of Wales' only distillery. I would highly recommend it. It was cheap to get in, it was interesting, the staff were lovely (obviously, they were Welsh) and the free samples at the end were in no way stingy. The only downside was the Beacon constantly asking me to translate the Welsh signs into English, despite the fact that there was already an English translation printed below. And I haven't spoken Welsh since I finished school. My brain didn't seem to understand what I was trying to make it do.

We were intending to continue along the cultural side of things the next day, but the mine in The Big Pit was under construction and it was too wet, windy, and cold to venture to St Fagans so we went to see the new Disney film, Frozen, instead. Not particularly Welsh admittedly, but it was so great. Even though we were the oldest people there. And the bad weather had messed with the ventilation systems in the cinema. I'm sure the cold would have been more bearable if we weren't watching a film about snow. As it was, even with my coat and scarf on, I felt like I had somehow become part of the film.

That night my parents threw a party. There was no way they could convincingly disguise the fact that it was in fact an excuse for my entire nosy family to meet the Beacon up close and personal, but he handled it very well. Even when my mother's friend got drunk and told him she loved him...4 times. And when my niece wrapped herself around his leg and refused to let go. It takes a special kind of person to make it through these kinds of family functions with their sanity still in tact. I barely made it myself, having to crawl into bed at 3am while my auntie and the Beacon continued to discuss why the Americans consider the Brits rude and why we, in turn, perceive them as slightly crazy.

The next day was questionably even stranger. We visited my brother's house, where my niece, still at the height of her affections, would not let the Beacon out of her sight and randomly adopted an American accent. Then of course, she donned her Toddlers and Tiaras dress I made her for Christmas and danced to Eden Wood songs for 20 minutes, insisting that we "keep watching" and "act surprised".

That night we went to Cinnamon, which is a fairly new Indian restaurant near where I live. The food is amazing and it would have been nice to take a romantic stroll along the seafront afterwards. As is was, we valued our lives too much. The weather was like something out of The Day After Tomorrow. So we just headed home.

And all too quickly came Sunday 5am and a trip back to Bristol airport. Luckily this time my father drove, but the Beacon refused to let me sleep on his shoulder. He said I should get used to early mornings. I am not willing to even count 5am as morning. It was still dark.

I can't say I miss being woken up at 9am by the Beacon shouting in my face to see how much he can make me jump. Or the annoying way he pronounces aluminium. Or the criticisms on my cooking (my toast was perfectly fine, thank you very much). Or the crowd we seemed to attract every time we left the house ("Oh, is this the American we've heard so much about?"). But I do miss the Beacon. And watching the amusing way my niece followed him all over the house. But, next time I guess, is Germany.

The Beacon in Wales: Part 1.

It's 2014! In the immortal words of Abba, 'happy New Year! May we all have our hopes, our will to try. If we don't we may as well lay down and die.' Uplifting.

"I spent the countdown to 2014 with the Beacon."

Usually I'm not a big fan of New Year, partly because it's the most expensive night out of the year and partly because it is the official marker for when I have to stop stuffing my face with leftover Christmas chocolate. But I spent the countdown to 2014 with the Beacon and a room full of people over the age of 50, which, weird as it may have been, was pretty fantastic.

Yes, the Beacon came to stay with me in my parents' house over New Year, and yes, there was drama before he even managed to step foot in the country. He was meant to fly into Bristol on the 30th, which was also his birthday, but due to delays he missed his connection and ended up stranded in Amsterdam overnight. I'm sure there are worse places for a man to spend his birthday. ("Birthday or not, no prostitutes sweetie.") I'd booked us a hotel in Bristol as his birthday present and, after eventually deciding better of turning up by myself and getting hammered in the room by myself, I spent my evening pouting under a blanket. The only plus side was that my mother felt sorry for me and bought me a pizza.

Since the last time I was home, my 2001 Ford KA has gotten mysteriously moldy on the inside, and hopping into it at 6:15am to drive to the airport before the sun was up or I had mustered the strength to apply mascara was a challenge. But I stuck to the usual early morning driving routine. Stick Collin the SAT-NAV on and argue with him the entire way between singing at the top of my voice to keep myself awake. And despite the fact that the weather was practically apocalyptic, I made it.

I decided to take the Beacon into Cardiff so he could see the capital city of Wales. In fact, I generously gave him a scenic tour because I got lost trying to find a car park and we drove around in circles for over an hour. He only found the Millennium Stadium impressive the first 2 times we drove past it. That said, he was very excited when he spotted Glam, having watched the entire second season of MTV's The Valleys. When we finally parked, I was in charge of choosing somewhere to eat lunch so naturally we ended up in that traditional Welsh institution...T.G.I Friday's. The Beacon soon got over his initial objections after knocking back a few house cocktails. In fact he ended up completely hammered, mumbling about how creepy the dolls in the Disney Store were. It wasn't even midday at this point.

We had booked to spend New Year in Bryn Meadows, a posh hotel in Caerphilly with a golf course, a spa, a pool, a bed big enough for the Beacon to escape from my cwtches during the night, and a TV in the bathroom. It was beautiful! And so, after getting out of the torrential rain, and dumping our bags down we did what any star-crossed lovers kept apart by the British Channel would do when finally alone. We napped until it was time to get ready for the New Year party.

After surveying our fellow guests and feeling an initial concern that we would be the only people under the age of 60, we made our way through the free champagne and canapes. The Beacon had no idea what the word canape meant and even if he had he couldn't understand a word any of the waitresses said anyway.
"Would you like a canape?"
"Sorry, what was that?"
"Do you want any canapes?"
"Wait...what?"
"Do you want canapes?"
"I'm sorry..."
"Canapes!" I broke in. "It's tiny food!"

Looking back, the canapes were probably a bad idea considering they were followed up by a 7 course meal. In the end it was almost painful.

1. Salmon with little pieces of bread and salad.

"They were in fact sugar cubes."

2. Mushroom soup - this one sticks in my mind the most because once I'd eaten all of my croutons I took a handful from a bowl in the middle of the table. They were in fact sugar cubes. I made some very interesting faces during that discovery.
3. For some reason neither of us could remember what this was. Maybe we were so full at the end that we started repressing the memories.
4. Haggis with mashed swede and potato. This was my favourite course so it's a good thing I didn't ask the waitress what it was until I had finished it because there is no way I would have knowingly shoveled innards into my mouth.
5. Steak with side plates of vegetables and potatoes. By this point I was starting to feel overwhelmed.
6. Chocolate brownies with clotted cream.
6.5. Casual plate of chocolate covered fruit slices because obviously 7 courses wasn't enough and we needed this little extra in between.
7. The cheese platter. I couldn't even bring myself to look at it. I had been well and truly defeated by the sheer overwhelming amount of food.

As I had a feeling it would be slightly inappropriate to just collapse across the table in a food comma in such a classy establishment, I attempted to dance it off. Second bad idea of the night (well, third if you count the crouton/sugar cube fandango). A good life tip is to never follow up 7 courses of food with any kind of fast movements. Before we even reached 11pm the Beacon and I were sprawled out in the lobby while people 3 times our age who had clearly never heard of the likes of Robin Thicke, were up dancing to the greatest hits of 2013.

Unable to keep up with the pace of our fellow guests, we made friends with the staff. What I mean by that is that the teenage waitresses all but collapsed at the Beacon's feet and practically fell over each other to laugh at his jokes. The Beacon put it down to his 'charming' American accent. Clearly it had nothing to do with the fact that he's 6 foot tall, gorgeous, and was the only man in the room under the age of 40.

"No celebration is complete without a ridiculous hat."

And so I spent the first few minutes of 2014 dancing with the Beacon and pretending to know the words to Auld Lang Syne whilst wearing a ridiculous hat. No celebration is complete without a ridiculous hat. It was a far cry from the way I ushered in 2013, outside Shaun's father's house, banging a saucepan with a wooden spoon while Jordan David ran around the street in nothing but his boxers. Some might say that this New Year was a somewhat classier affair.

But by 12:30am the early morning, seemingly endless drive through Cardiff, devouring of somewhere in the region of 1 million calories, and dancing like loons to the Motown supermix, had left us exhausted. I am not even ashamed that the oldies were still shaking it out on the dance floor while I was in tucked up in my reindeer pjs. In honesty, I am slightly ashamed that, despite our early night, we still managed to sleep through our complimentary breakfast. Slightly ashamed, but in no way surprised.

From Caerphilly we headed to my hometown of Port Talbot, where by this point, the Beacon-related hype had spread so far around town, that I wouldn't have been too surprised if we had been greeted by the mayor. But before the Beacon could do his meet and greets with the ever-growing list of people desperate to catch a glimpse of this mysterious American, he had to meet my crazy family...

The Beacon and the Ball

Guten tag everyone! I would say my mini break in Germany this week has taught me some language skills, but that would be a lie because I stayed in a town that (Wikipedia has led me to believe) has the largest American population outside of the USA. I guess in some ways it was a cultural experience. I learned that Americans don't use duvets (despite the fact that, in my opinion, a bed is simply not a bed without one), picked up a new song called 'Red Solo Cup', which has been stuck in my head for 2 days and is slowly driving me mad, and came to conclusion that eating mac and cheese imported from the US is likely to cut about 5 years off your life expectancy.

"2 delayed flights"

I left Exeter on Friday 13th. My day started at 4:45am after 3 hours sleep, and I was dragging half my body weight in luggage through the city before the sun was up. At one point I was so tired and disorientated that I saw my shadow and literally screamed. Travelling on such an unlucky day, I wasn't surprised when I lost my train ticket and had to buy another one. I was slightly more surprised and considerably annoyed when I realised the man had charged me for 2 tickets. Come on! It isn't as if ticket inspectors work on commission!

After hauling all my bags out of the train station at Bristol (and then back in again to get to the ATM), I held up the shuttle bus by not being able to get my ridiculous case into the luggage rack. At first I was judging every man on the bus for their lack of chivalry, but then I remembered I looked like some kind of half-dead hag and so I couldn't really blame them. After 2 delayed flights and an unpleasant business at the Mac counter in Amsterdam, when the sales assistant kept me waiting for 30 minutes to buy concealer when there was no queue (and she, unlike the ticket inspector, was working on commission, so judge that logic of that for yourselves), I finally got to Frankfurt. By the time I got to Kaiserslautern my impatience with the entire world burned in my eyes and showed through my freshly applied 3 inches of make-up ("Yes, Beacon, I am just naturally this fabulous").

This is just the Beacon, being 'an enigma'

That evening I was thrown in at the deep end, meeting a room full of the Beacon's friends, all of whom enjoyed the novelty of my accent, but could barely understand what I was saying. It took me a while to get over the initial feeling of being in an American sitcom (surely that accent is always followed by canned laughter?), but everyone was lovely and I had a fantastic time. We played some kind of high-tech version of charades on the Ipad called 'Heads Up', which was hilarious. I highly recommend it. Then the Beacon tried to get me to take part in Just Dance on the Wii, which I declined for the health and safety of everyone in the vicinity.

The next evening was the night of the ball. In reality, it wasn't a ball. It was a Christmas party. I just insisted on referring to it as a ball so I could feel like Cinderella. I had sparkly princess shoes and everything! Although I don't recall Cinderella ever sitting on the sink in the bathroom, cursing under her breath at the mangled state of her feet.

Despite the fact that there were no Cliff Richard songs or Christmas crackers, it was so beautiful and festive. And everyone was so nice! I don't think that British people are particularly rude, but we do tend to have that 'British reserve'. We're a bit socially awkward, like Hugh Grant. Walking into a room full of Americans was like nothing I've ever experienced in the UK. Everyone was so keen to introduce themselves. I learned the names of more people in that party than I have people I've had classes with over the last 3 years in uni. Cue me drunkenly insisting 5 hours later that "Americans are just the nicest people in the whole world". Another couple of parties like that one and I may well be talking about how America is a beacon of hope for the rest of the world.

After the party, more or less everyone headed to a club in town and I could no longer escape inevitable humiliation. I cannot dance. Everyone I tell that to seems to think I'm either modest or crazy because 'everyone can dance'. Then they see my attempt at it and realise how wrong they were. Grinding being the preferred dance move of the Americans, the situation was more complicated than usual because I had to keep in time with the Beacon, who seemed genuinely stunned at how little rhythm I had. 3 different people attempted to teach me how to do it, but I simply could not get my hips to move the way they were meant to and, as always when I dance, my fingers started jabbing the air in wild motions without me having any control over them.

The next day was spent in large part recovering from the tequila shots and me fighting with the blankets (a problem that easily could have been solved by a duvet. I'm just saying). And in the evening things got all Christmassy. The Beacon and I went out to get logs for the fire and we watched Love Actually. I wore a tiny Santa hat with bells on, much to the Beacon's obvious distaste. What a Scrooge!

"the new love of my life"

And on my last night we went into town to explore a real German Christmas market, where I discovered the new love of my life. Crepes with melted white chocolate. Where have you been all my life? Needless to say, by the time I was done eating it there was white chocolate everywhere. It was carnage. But it was great. I washed it down with a mug of Gluhwein, which I suppose is similar to mulled wine. Whatever. It was warm and alcoholic.

The trip home on Tuesday took about 16 hours from start to finish. By then a large part of the festive cheer I'd acquired had worn off and I had morphed back into half-dead hag. But I had such an amazing time. It's always lovely to spend time with the Beacon. I especially appreciate being able to poke him, mess up his hair, and generally annoy him in all the ways our Facetime conversations don't allow. But this was an extra special trip because I got to be Cinderella...and stuff my face with crepes.

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 Beacon of Hope

For those of you who didn't keep up to date with my Euro adventures, a) Where have you been? and b) I'll fill you in on the essential information.

So this one time, in Europe, I was innocently crawling my way through the pubs of Prague. I'd successfully spilled my last koruna's worth of Jack Daniels all over my new skirt and the poor guy who happened to be sitting next to me.