Christmas with the Wellingtons

Christmas went just as quickly as it came this year. I still have an entire jar of home-made candy cane vodka in the kitchen and suddenly it seems as though the moment has already passed for festive flavoured drinks. (Don't worry I will not let it go to waste.)

The week before Christmas was somewhat stressful. I was determined to fit in as many festive-themed activities as I possibly could in an attempt to pin down the Christmas spirit, but it did not go to plan.

Car-tastrophe! Hot Doctors, Whiplash and Plenty of Stress.

I know I've been Missing in Action for a while and I apologise. I've been stretched to my limits over the past few weeks trying to organise the new business. Who would have thought being a full-time princess would take up so much time and energy? And, to make matters even more stressful, I've been sharing my car with my parents for almost two weeks now. Few things are less comfortable than being forced to sit in the back seat of your own car. Except, of course, if you have a Peugeot 206 cc. That's even less comfortable due to the fact that the back seat is only really big enough for a very small child. Or a chihuahua.

But, unfortunately, my parents' car got towed away in a very sad state after a car crash, which mangled the entire back end of the car, potentially traumatised Lauren for life and, above all, ruined my plans for the evening.

It was a Thursday afternoon and, by some cruel twist of fate, I had been forced to go to the Harvester with my mother and the children after school. I loathe the Harvester. Even if we put aside the fact that every time I've been there my food has been tasteless and disturbingly soggy, there's something about an all you can eat salad bar that does not sit well with me. Perhaps it's the thought of refrigerated beetroot or perhaps it's because, having been there with Lauren, I've witnessed how easy it is for a small child to lick the giant spoon used to serve the blue cheese dip without anyone noticing. Whatever the reason, I was looking forward to putting thoughts of questionable coleslaw behind me and heading off to my yoga class that evening.

Unfortunately, I never made it to yoga.

On the way home Ellis sat in the passenger seat and I sat in the back with Lauren. They were arguing about who could think of the most words beginning with the letter F. Ellis was coming out with 'frustration', 'fusion', 'fraction'. Lauren, on the other hand, was listing things along the lines of "Frozen castle", "Frozen Elsa", "Frozen Arendelle".

It was rainy and dark and it was rush hour. The motorway was packed. For some reason the driver in front slammed on her breaks and my mother couldn't slow down in time. We all screamed (admittedly I screamed the loudest and for longest) as we bumped into the back of the car in front. I had time to think, "Oh wow, we hit it" before the car behind went into the back of us with full force. Apparently she hadn't seen us so she hadn't even put on her breaks.

There were a few moments of stunned silence (and total agony through my entire back) before the scene erupted into chaos. And then there I was, standing on the side of the motorway in the rain, looking at what was left of the boot of my parents' car with a screaming child in my arms. Lauren was hysterical.

"Where are the police?" She screamed, sobbing into my neck.
"Don't worry about it darling. We're all alright."
"No, I want to talk to the police! I want to talk to them right now!"
Goodness knows what she intended to say to them.

Ellis, on the other hand, stayed put in the front of the car, listening to the radio and happily surveying the scene. He was the calmest one of us all!

Then, as if things weren't dramatic enough, another group of cars crashed just a little way up the motorway from us. Before long the hard-shoulder was packed with half a dozen cars, all looking rather worse for wear, two ambulances, a police car and a screaming five year old, still demanding to speak to the police.

And so, at just about the time when I should have been working on my downward-facing dog, I found myself in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital. Lauren had cheered up considerably by this time and was asking the paramedic a thousand and one questions.
"What does that button do?"
"Why is that tissue blue?"
"Why is Ellis sitting on a bigger chair than me?"
"Why are you sitting like that?"
"Are you going to put one of those tubes in my arm?"
And, as if I hadn't been through enough already that evening, my phone died in the middle of a Snapchat conversation. That was worse than the back pain!

When we got to the hospital, Ellis had to be put onto a stretcher because his wheelchair was crushed inside the boot of the car back on the side of the motorway. Naturally Lauren insisted on wheeling him through the hospital, happy to mow down anyone who got in her way. She steered him into the wall a few times, but eventually we made it into the paediatrics unit with no further injuries.

When the doctor finally arrived to check the children over (Ellis had hurt his back and Lauren was insisting that absolutely everything was hurting, despite the fact that was alternatively crawling around on the floor and climbing up onto Ellis' hospital bed) I couldn't believe my eyes. He was gorgeous! I couldn't help wishing I'd taken a few moments during the ambulance ride to reapply my lipstick!

So Dr Gorgeous examined the children and did his best to fend off Lauren as she tried to climb up his legs (she is just as partial to a handsome man as I am. Thankfully I have slightly more self-control) and I was inwardly cursing the harsh hospital lighting, which was doing nothing for my already drained and pale complexion.

That's when the handsome doctor referred to me as Ellis and Lauren's mother. Really?! Either I look so young that I have to produce my driving licence to buy a scratch card or I look old enough to be a mother of two children. It can't be both! I mean, I know the lighting was anything but flattering, but come on!

The children were given the all clear, despite Lauren's best attempts to convince the doctor that she was in agony, whilst simultaneously trying to swat him with a book. Then he asked if my mother and I were injured at all, which triggered a great deal of inner conflict. My back and neck were still hurting, but I had foolishly ignored my grandmother's wise advice of always wearing matching underwear in case you're ever hit by a bus. True I'd only been hit by a three door car, but there was still a chance I'd be forced to expose the fact that I was wearing mismatched lingerie. Of all the days to opt for comfort!

Luckily, after a few quick questions, I was able to bypass an x-ray and keep my pink pants hidden. If only Dr Gorgeous could have done me the favour of not mentioning 'possible incontinence' I would have escaped the hospital without any further mortification. I guess you can't win them all.

Despite the total destruction of my parents' car, an evening spent flitting between horror and humiliation, and a missed yoga class, things really weren't as bad as they could have been. My back is still very painful (and my neck makes a disturbing clicking sound when I look to the right), but no one was badly hurt. The woman in the car in front had barely any damage to her vehicle and was able to drive away from the accident with no problems. The woman behind had obviously squashed the front of her car by going into us with such force, but neither of them were hurt and that's the main thing. Yes, my favourite lipstick was in the car when the garage came to tow it away, but, that great loss aside, we were all very lucky. 

From Public Pools to the Royal Treatment

Everything suddenly came to a screeching halt. No new blog posts, no new Youtube videos, my nails are a disaster and I can barely remember what my friends look like. Over the past month all of my time has been sucked into some kind of vortex and I'm not entirely sure what I've even been doing other than looking for jobs and mourning the loss of my footless and fancy free student days.

Maybe I haven't adjusted to living with my parents again yet. I'm used to waking up to a plan I made the night before or a totally blank canvas ("What's the plan for the day? Four hours of Netflix followed by cocktails and the Sex and the City drinking game with my housemates? Why not?") Last week I woke up to the sound of Lauren scampering into my room.
"We're going swimming!"
I broached the subject with my mother. Admittedly, rather tactlessly.
"Swimming? Nobody consulted me. I could have had plans for all you knew."
"You don't though, do you?" She said, knowingly.

She was right. It was meant to be one of those blank canvas days. Maybe I'd have gone to pilates. Maybe I'd have gone to the pub. Maybe I'd even have finally gotten around to writing my new blog post. But my blank canvas day was snatched away and instead I was heading to the swimming pool with two small children. Still, my soul was, as of yet, uncrushed.

That quickly changed.

We drove all the way over the Swansea, only to find out the gym we're a member of wasn't open to children for another hour. Try explaining that to a four year old diva. So we ended up on the road again, heading towards the public pool in Neath, which, as it turns out (the lady on the phone failed to mention this little gem) is free for all school children after 2pm. Wonderful if you're a ten year old, but not so great if you arrive at quarter to 2 with a small child in a wheelchair and a tiny loon with no patience and find yourself in a queue that winds itself around the building. Especially as my mother had phoned ahead to make sure we could go straight over with the wheelchair with no problems.

Lost adrift in a turbulent sea of scores of screeching children with a worrying lack of manners, I started to lose it. To cut a long story short, the staff at reception made me despair at the state of humanity (and the education system) and I ended up wandering around in a towel looking for change for the locker. This is why I pay a monthly membership for the Village. That and the Village has ample room to do hair and make up when you're done working out.

Anyway, that's the kind of thing I have to put up with now that I'm no longer living the glorified student life. One small mercy is that I had to come back to Exeter for today's exam and I stayed overnight on campus. It was like being a fresher again, brushing my teeth in my little en-suit, collapsing into bed safe in the knowledge that there was nothing to wake me except an alarm I personally controlled. No one tried to make morning conversation. No one asked me to do the dishes. It was bliss.

The red line is the ridiculous route I took

What made it even better was that I was staying in Holland Hall, which will mean nothing to you if you didn't go to the University of Exeter and will mean everything to you if you did. Back when we lived on campus, hearing someone say, "I live in Holland Hall" was like hearing someone say, "My father wears tweed and shoots pheasant...which the servants then cook." At £6988.80 for a 32 week contract, it's officially like the Mecca of Exeter rah culture. Oh the rumours I've heard about that place...

After searching for it for 20 minutes and seeing no sign of it, I was concerned. I'd lived down that end of the campus two years ago. It isn't a big place. I took the most obscure route possible, finding myself lost more than once. ("Wait...why is there a children's park here? Where am I?" And so forth.) I started to worry there was some kind of Hogwarts-style enchantment over the place so that peasants couldn't see it.

And then I found it. Perched on the perfect spot for stunning panoramic views, close enough to campus to crawl there in the mornings with the least amount of uphill walking (a big problem in Exeter), courtyards, an outdoor dining area, a bar, full English breakfast with a selection of cereals and juices on the side...it lived up to all my expectations. Still, a girl like me with a valleys accent and an aversion to gilets would have burned upon crossing the threshold if it hadn't been during the summer vacation.

So call me a loser, but my trip to Exeter to sit my exam has been like a mini holiday. I got to have fried bread with breakfast, didn't have to share my bathroom, and no one ordered me to go swimming. In reality, I'm not really all that hard to please...

Another Little Loon

So I’m nearing the end of a 4 and half hour train journey up to North Wales to visit one of my best friends, Beth. I do not enjoy trains. Public transport is, after all, where society’s loons congregate. Like the lady across the carriage who stared intently at me for 20 minutes. And the old woman who stood in the middle of the aisle, shouting about everyone and everything and refused to take her seat because she was convinced the conductor was ‘up to something’.

So I thought it would help make time go by a little faster (and keep me from having to make eye contact with anyone) if I caught up on some blogging. Despite the fact that my life has become boring and meaningless since I left uni, it’s surprisingly hard to find the time to sit down and type up a blog. 

If you read The Littlest Loon then you'll get the idea behind this post. This time the spotlight falls on my nine year old nephew, Ellis, who was born an old man and, in recent months, has taken to informing me that I'm embarrassingly uncool (gone are the days when my knowledge of Disney films and extensive fancy dress collection made me a legend in his eyes).

A few weeks ago I asked him a series of questions to see what kinds of bizarre ideas lurk in that little brain of his. There are some very odd answers. Everything I said is in red and Ellis' ramblings are in blue. 

What makes you the most happy?

Having someone to play with.

What’s your favourite food?

Meat.

What advice would you give to mammy and daddy?

You’re awesome.

If you were invisible for a day, what would you do?

Not go to school.

You’re not in school now and you’re visible.

...Still not go to school.

What’s your favourite thing about Lauren?

Pause

She's cute?

What’s your least favourite thing about Lauren?

She annoying.

What are the best at?

Building things.

How would you describe your Auntie Aimee?

She’s amazing! (Emphasis added)

What’s your favourite memory?

When I went to Disneyland?

What part?

When I went to Sea World.

What was your favourite holiday?

When I went to Greece for the last time. 

If you could go anywhere where would you go?

Texas.

Why?

Because it’s awesome.

If you had a million pound what would you do?

…..

Mulling it over?

…..

A million pound. What would you do?

Go to Route 66 and buy the Lego Movie video game…because that’s the best game you can get and you can get a better chance of not having a glitch if you buy it in California.

…Ok.

What’s your favourite time of the year?

Summer.

Why?

Because it’s the season that people umm…go on strike. And you can go down the beach a lot.

Do you have a girlfriend?

No.

Do you want a girlfriend?

No.

Why?
Because I don’t.

What five words best describe you?

That’s too hard for me. I can’t.

What’s the hardest thing about being a kid?

You have to do more…you have a lot of problems because you have lots of bullies.

What’s the best thing about being a kid?

That if a ship is sinking, children get off first.

If you could have one super power, what super power would you have?

Oooh. I can’t think...Telekinese.

Telekinesis?

Yeah.

What do you want for Christmas this year?

Mmm. Disney Infinity 2.0 if I don’t get it… if it isn’t….no. No, not that. The Lego Movie video game. That’s the main one.

And now that I've shared the weird and wonderful musings of a nine year old loon, I have to return to my train journey of doom...making a concious effort not to accidentally glance over in the direction of the woman I'm pretty sure is still staring at me.