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.

Cheap and Easy DIY Halloween Costumes

Halloween is one of my favourite times of year. At our house we've always made a big deal of it, decorating the house inside and out, making paper mache heads, discussing pumpkin carving over dinner and the like. Personally, I love planning out my Halloween costumes and, even on the few years at uni when I didn't celebrate, I still had a costume on standby just in case. But I'm aware that not everyone has a box full of witches hats, vampire corsets and cat ears and that, for some people, the aim is just to find something quick, simple and cheap to throw on.

So I thought I'd write up a little post filled with ideas for last minute costumes made from things you'll probably already have hanging in the wardrobe. Zero effort and zero fuss.

Zombie

The cool thing about being a zombie is that you can be a zombie anything. If there is not something in your house right now that you can use to be a zombie I would be amazed. For instance, if you have any non-Halloween fancy dress costumes, you can splatter a bit of fake blood, darken up your eyes and make a very convincing zombie Snow White/ pirate/ doctor/ lifeguard...anything. I have even seen people taking it to a whole new level and opting to go as a zombie witch, so you could even recycle last year's costume.

If you have no fancy dress costumes to work with at all, a) seriously take a look at yourself because that is totally unacceptable in my eyes and b) don't panic. What's in your wardrobe? A school uniform could work or some converse with a band t-shirt to make a zombie rock star costume. Even your PJs are an option. And, if all else fails, just be a zombie you. Make up is key.

Superhero 

Forget overpriced Batman gear. All you need is bright, contrasting colours. Take a marker pen and draw your initial on a brightly coloured t-shirt, match it with some coloured tights or leggings and, if you're not comfortable going along with the traditional 'pants on show' thing that superheroes seem to be so fond of, you could always opt for a pair of shorts or a skirt instead. Then you just need an eye mask, which you could make out of spare fabric or paper and you're set to go forth and fight crime.

Animal 

If Mean Girls has taught us anything it's that all you need to make a convincing Halloween costume is a pair of animal ears. The lingerie is, of course, optional. But going as a cat, mouse, dog, rabbit, fox or whichever animal you choose is wonderfully simple. A few years back I went as a cat for Halloween. I reused my black lace dress I'd bought to be a witch the year before, attached a tail and popped on some ears and it was one of my favourite costumes of all time.

Witch

My mother does not like Halloween. She will put up with the parties, does her best to ignore the excessive amount of skulls and giant spiders we have spread throughout the house during the month of October, and even went along with us covering her bathroom in fake blood a few years back. But she will not wear a costume. Instead, what she does each and every year is dress entirely in black, grab a cheap broomstick and throw on a witch's hat. The moral of the story being never underestimate the power of accessories.

Creepy China Doll

I love creepy china doll costumes! You can get some really beautiful ones in fancy dress shops. Personally I am in love with this one:

But if you don't want to spend out any money and you just want to throw something quick and cheap together, then the creepy china doll can still work as the perfect Halloween costume. Look in your cupboard. Any a-line dress or skirt will work and ditsy patterns, ruffles and bows are all perfect. If you have a petticoat or tutu to stick underneath then even better.
Here's an example of what you can put together in a matter of minutes. I raided my cupboard and pulled out a few things at random in less than 60 seconds. Of course, it would be great if you could add embellishments or maybe take a look in some charity shops for something will puffed sleeves, but this is proof that you can put together a doll costume in a few seconds flat without spending a penny. Again, it's all in the make up with this costume.

Barbie

If I was blonde this would be my go-to costume. Think pink! Pink dress, pink shoes, pink lipstick. Providing you can find some kind of pink attire, rock some cute shoes and look unnaturally happy all night, you can pull this off without a problem.

Regina George

I saw this idea on Pinterest and simply had to share it. Mean Girls is one of those iconic films, loved by all. Quotes such as "She doesn't even go here" and "Four for you Glen Coco, you go Glen Coco" have been legendary and, despite it's simplicity, I really think this costume would go down a storm. All you need is a purple bra, white top, black skirt, and a bad-ass attitude.  

Wally 

Stripy jumper. Glasses. Bobble hat. Go.

Homicidal Maniac

And, if all else fails, take a leaf out of Wednesday Addams' book.

So, as you can see, there's no need to panic if you find yourself stuck without a costume on All Hallow's Eve without a stitch to wear. There are plenty of costumes you can put together with things you have at the back of your wardrobe. So go have a rummage and see what treasures you can find.

Happy Halloween!

My Birthday: Smiling, Laughing and, Eventually, Wailing

Fear not! I haven't abandoned you! I know I've been a terrible blogger for the past two months and I'm really sorry. I've recently had something really exciting going on which has been taking up all of my time. I can't wait to tell you all about it...but I can't for another few weeks. I know, I know, suspense is a killer.

What a can tell you about is my birthday party. I turned twenty three a fortnight ago (and yet the night before my birthday I got asked for my ID to prove I was sixteen so I could buy a lottery ticket) and, to celebrate the anniversary of my glorious birth, we had a BBQ. All themes were banned after the Wonderland Extravaganza I organised last year. Apparently my mother wasn't entirely on board with the amount of glue-gunning and googly eyes required to make our garden look like a Lewis Caroll novel.

But a theme emerged on its own and that theme was Jack Daniels. We had Jack Daniels chicken, Jack Daniels cupcakes, Jack Daniels bottles as ornaments and generally so much Jack Daniels that I spent the entire next day wondering whether or not I'd be able to survive the hangover.

But the BBQ was a success. My friend Beth from North Wales came to stay again. She is the perfect person to have around if you’re planning a party. No matter how many cupcakes need to be iced, no matter how stressed I am about the distinct lack of batteries for the fairy lights, no matter how challenging it is to choose the right pair of shoes, she is always able to keep a level head, sort everything out and stick Toddlers and Tiaras on to calm me down.

Everyone had a great time. Auntie Linda insisted on being the ‘quiz master’ despite the fact that the ‘riddles’ she was asking us were, in fact, jokes. Lauren managed to sneak at least three Jack Daniels cupcakes before I managed to explain to her they weren’t chocolate (and then possibly another two afterwards). And I got up on a chair and sang pretty much the entire Frozen soundtrack at the top of my lungs. At one point, during my somewhat overly enthusiastic rendition of Love is an Open Door, it was only my uncle’s quick reactions that stopped me falling off the chair. I didn’t miss a note despite the near death experience.

As the night progressed we ended up squashed into my Dad’s man cave (his shed decked out with all kinds of weird and wonderful man-type things). It was there that we had a sing-a-long to Les Miserables. It was well past midnight by this point so my sincerest apologies to my neighbours.

And then, when the last of my guests got up to leave, the vodka got the better of me and I burst into tears. There is a reason I don’t drink vodka. I’ve sat on a pavement crying into my handbag at the age of eighteen, wailed with strangers in the toilets of Wind Street on more than one occasion and bawled my way through many a walk home in Exeter and vodka is always to blame. It’s a real conflict of interests because I simply can’t rule Cosmopolitans out of my diet.

So, after a lot of singing, dancing laughing, drinking and, eventually, wailing, I headed to bed. And bed is where I stayed for the whole of the next day. Since then even the thought of alcohol turns my stomach. So, odds are, my twenty fourth birthday party will not be Jack Daniels themed. But, crying and vomiting aside, I had a really wonderful time. I only wish I’d eaten more burgers…

A Princess Perfect Frozen Party...and Some Woman in a Wig.

The Littlest Loon turned five last week and, as a family, Wellingtons are not known for throwing low key, run of the mill celebrations. I attempted to throw a small, casual gathering for my birthday last September and ended up with a full blown Alice in Wonderland extravaganza  ("I want it to feel like an opium trip...lots of clocks and giant mushrooms..."). So it seemed only natural that I would spend the weeks leading up to Lauren's birthday battling with the glue gun, brushing glitter out of my hair and running around town trying to find a life-sized Olaf balloon to put together a Frozen themed party fit for a princess.

The party itself was a roaring success. True, there was a brief period at the start when things looked a little rocky. Lauren worked out how to use the smoke machine and, within a few minutes, you couldn't see from one side of the room to the other. Then the smoke alarms went off and the rest of the building started to evacuate. Right in the midst of the piercing shrieks of the fire alarm, the Elsa impersonator turned up and added an entirely new dimension of weirdness to the scene. Her yellow wig was off centre and her black bra was on show. Overall, I'm not sure anyone was convinced she was really the Queen of Arendelle.

"I'm not sure anyone was convinced..."

But, once we'd deactivated the smoke alarms, opened all the doors and windows to let out the fog, and 'Elsa' had left the building, things really picked up. We had all the usual children's party games, pass the parcel and musical statues. Then we brought out the karaoke, which was simply adorable right up until the third or fourth time I had to listen to another rendition of Let it Go. There were happy children everywhere and, after the last little one headed off with their party cone and a big grin on her face, I was more than happy to take a deep breath, relax into a chair and have a Jack Daniels. Who would have thought organising a fifth birthday party could be so stressful?


Anyway, I thought I'd show you some of the little bits and pieces I put together for the party in case any of you are planning a Frozen themed party of your own and want a few ideas. Most of the decorations I made were put together with things I already had around the house so be creative. In this instance anything with glitter is probably going to work just fine. 

I rushed this sign yesterday morning right before we went to the party and it's taken me until just now to realise I'd spelled Arendelle wrong (I knew it didn't look right!). Luckily most of our guests can't read very well yet so I think it went undetected for the most part.  

 I loved these little jars! I made three of them and each was slightly different. They were very simple to make, although quite time consuming. I made some very small tissue pom poms (instructions can be found on Google), glued them to some ice blue straws and embellished them with glitter and sparkly ribbon. I cut some snowflakes out of plain white card (who knew snowflakes were so hard to draw?) and added some gems and glitter and stuck them to the straws too. I made the little snowmen out of little white pom poms and coloured wooden craft sticks. Then I added some ribbon and sparkles to glass jars, stuffed them with cotton wool and arranged the decorations inside. 

I wish we had a better picture of the snow doorway, but you get the idea. The kids loved it (although by the end of the party it looked less like a flurry and more like the aftermath of a blizzard). I just threaded cotton wool balls of various sizes onto fishing wire. With the glue gun I secured each ball with a dot of glue underneath so they wouldn't slide back down the wire. Then I attached each length of fishing wire to ribbon, which we then pinned to the door frame so guests had to walk through the snow to enter the party.

These little food signs were easy to make and really emphasized the theme. It's essentially folded card that looks fancy because I added glittery snowflakes and cut it with a craft scissors. Sometimes the simplest things look the most effective.

I piped faces and buttons onto these marshmallows with writing icing. I never want to see another marshmallow for as long as I live, but the kids really loved them.

 

The Sven cupcakes were a big hit! All I did was ice my cupcakes with chocolate butter-cream, use mini marshmallows for the noses, iced on the eyes and mouths with writing icing and used cut up Curly Wurlys for the antlers.

Then my sister-in-law amazed everyone by making a three tier birthday cake. True, it's got nothing on Cake Boss, but considering she just picked up some icing and thought, 'I think I'll make Lauren's cake myself' I think it's fabulous! I thought cupcakes were stressful, but this is something else entirely!

Needless to say, it's going to be a while before I can bring myself to watch Frozen again. I'm still finding glitter in my shoes and last night, after weeks of stressful planning and late night glue-gunning, I slept for a solid twelve hours without any party related nightmares for the first time in a while. But Princess Lauren had a fabulous time and overall I'd call it a success. 

Now to plan my birthday party for next weekend. I've been pre-warned by my mother that this year all themes are banned...

My Life as a Grown Up gets Boring...and Sticky

I know things have been quiet on the blog-front recently. That's an understatement. I'm actually surprised virtual tumble-weeds haven't started rolling across the page. But that's just a reflection on my life right now. No job = no money = no fun = nothing to ramble about. I haven't even graduated yet and I'm already fed up with life as a full-time grown up.

I had every intention of sharing the highs, lows and inevitable humiliations of my night out in Swansea this past Wednesday. Unfortunately I woke up on Thursday morning with nothing more than a vague recollection of a McChicken sandwich and the stench of shisha clinging to my hair (I dread to think how much that cost me) and that hardly makes for a gripping blog post. Seriously though, that was the first and last time I will drink Bacardi. 

Hayfever destroys my face 

I'm meant to be on an exciting adventure today, but I managed to make a pig's ear out of it. Tonight is the Cosmopolitan Super Bloggers Masterclass (or some kind of similar awesome name to the same effect) and I've had my ticket for months. I was counting down the days until I could go up to London, make new friends, learn lots of great tips, and, perhaps most exciting of all, take home an epic goodie bag. Unfortunately, while I was counting down to the 23rd July, the event was in fact on the 23rd June and, while planning a trip to London was never going to be easy, planning one in two days with no money was impossible. Especially when certain friends who live in London refuse to return your frantic messages, begging them to let you sleep on their sofa. I will name no names. Cough cough Tim! I'm so disappointed I can't go!

To make things even more boring (and miserable) my hayfever has forced me to barricade myself in my bedroom. I genuinely thought there could be nothing worse than sitting in my little room with a flannel over my face, wheezing like Joseph Merrick and listening to the rest of the world enjoying the first glorious summer Wales has seen since the Dark Ages. But then I went downstairs and realised all the Jaffa Cakes were gone and I hit a whole new low.

In other news, the fire alarm the firemen installed a few months back started screeching incessantly in the early hours of the morning because the battery was starting to wear out. It wouldn't shut up until someone hit it with the feather duster. This ridiculous ritual would start again every fifteen minutes until I lost my patience and ripped it apart with my bare hands. Now it's just making a feeble, but continuous ticking noise and there are bits of plastic scattered all over the landing.       

So, the past few weeks have been fairly uneventful. But, regardless of how high the pollen count gets and how swollen and sticky my eyes become and, in spite of my ever-dwindling lack of funds, I simply must get out and have some crazy new adventures. Even if it's only because the bloody ticking of that fire alarm is going to drive my crazy otherwise.

Life After the Dissertation

I've been back in Exeter for an entire week now and I have the dwindling bank balance and bags under my eyes to prove it. There has been an abundance of cocktails, many bad life choices (I have no idea why I insist on taking advice from strangers I meet in the girls' toilets) and many days like today, curled up in my bed of shame, watching 'Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse' on my brother's Netflix account.

But, while many of my post-dissertation celebrations have involved tacky, overpriced Exeter night clubs and hidden hip-flasks, my housemates and I have found other forms of entertainment over the last few days. Of course, when you live in Devon it's sometimes necessary to think outside the box. The most exciting thing we could find within an hour's drive was a hedgehog hospital, which, if anything, would surely make for a very depressing day out. So, when we decided to seek out fun on Tuesday it was...varied.

"...our cultural adventure..."

I was forced out of my bed of pain at an unearthly hour to go to Brody's all you can eat breakfast buffet. Usually I'm not a big fan of buffets (or salad bars for that matter), but I loved it! Up until the point where I'd eaten so much that it hurt to breathe. It wasn't quite on par with the breakfast buffet I had in Florida (then again, does anyone really need ice-cream for breakfast?), but it was delicious. There is no such thing as too many pancakes.

After a brief time of resting my head on the table with a glazed stare, too full to move or communicate in any way, we headed across the road to the Royal Albert Memorial Museum. I can't say I learned a great deal, but they had costumes to try on and mosaics to play with so it was a big hit with everyone. I particularly enjoyed the World Cultures exhibition, which was a bit like being on the It's a Small World ride in Disneyland. But without the boat. Or the cool music.

When our cultural adventure was over we decided the logical thing to do next was to splurge on white clothing to take home and tie-dye! Let me just say, I had no idea Primark pants was so large. I now have four pairs of enormous tie-dyed knickers, which really aren't in any way as cool as I'd envisioned.

What a great way to pass an afternoon though! Yes, Jess may have dipped her hand into the bucket of purple dye without her glove on and stained her fingers. Yes, we may have forgotten to take the clothes off the washing line before the rain started and made all the dye run. And yes, to anyone walking past our conversations on why whites are easier to work with than blacks may have sounded like the ravings of a group of racists rather than the innocent discussions of a merry band of crafters with fabric dye. But now I have a new skill, some unique t-shirts and some hideous giant pants. Overall I'd call that a success.

I'm glad I have housemates who enjoy a day of trying on ridiculous hats and flicking dye onto pillowcases. How boring it must be to be normal! 

Rumour has it next week we're going to paint mugs!

My Life is no Fairytale...Yet

I'm back in Exeter, patiently waiting for my housemates to finish their exams and doing my utmost not to run into their study area with a bottle of tequila and demand someone entertains me. Instead, I've spent my afternoon looking up a half-decent questions tag for my blog (note to whoever writes these, 'what do you order at Starbucks?' is not an interesting or enlightening question). Eventually I found the fairytale tag and, as I am on board with anything Disney-related, I've spent my time typing away at this and avoiding housework. After all, I'm not Cinderella. 

"I am on board with anything Disney-related"

Snow White - Do you consider yourself beautiful?

There are some variables to consider here. For instance, am I wearing make up? Did I just wake up? Am I sober? Sometimes I can look in the mirror and think, "Oh wow! I look great!" but I'm always treading the line between Beauty and the Beast and you never know which way it's going to go.

Sleeping Beauty - How many hours do you sleep at night?

Somewhere in the region of 10-12 hours a night, which is slightly excessive.

Cinderella - Do you have a curfew?

It would be rather ludicrous for my parents to officially implement a curfew now that I'm 22 years years old, have been living alone on and off for three years and have proven myself to be an upstanding member of society (most of the time). They always know exactly when I return home anyway because I've usually forgotten my keys and have to wake them up to let me in. I'm a joy to live with all round. 

Rapunzel - Do you love being outside?

"I'm always treading the line between
Beauty and the Beast"

I'm no hiker if that's where we're going with this. I have hayfever, I'm allergic to insect bites and camping is my idea of the ultimate torture. In a world where you can get a room in the Premier Inn for £20, why would you choose to sleep outside on the floor? But I'm more than happy to be outside if it's on a beach. A warm beach. A warm beach with men who bring me cocktails. 

Red Riding Hood - Do you trust strangers easily?

Unfortunately yes. There was the time Kirsty found me making friends with a large group of Iranian men who were giving away free champagne. Then there was the time Hayleigh and I agreed to follow a group of army officers in posh suits back to an after party in the Grand Hotel. (Free gin? Why not?) And who could forget the incident in Venice when I led my friends into a wine cellar because the waiter told me he owned it? And that he had a gondola. 

The Wolf and The Seven Young Kids - Are you easy to fool?

See the above story concerning the man with the gondola who, in hindsight, had so obviously illegally broken into that wine cellar. 

The Little Mermaid - What would you sacrifice for love?

I'm a true romantic. That said, I don't think I would ever willingly give up my voice the way The Little Mermaid did. I'm sure there are many people who wish I would, but it would take a seriously amazing man to convince me to shut up for more than five minutes. However, there's plenty I would give up. I'd move away, I'd spend all my money, I'd set aside my plans...I wouldn't give up my shoes, though. That's not negotiable. 

The Frog King - What do you find disgusting?

There are many things I find disgusting, but what instantly pops to mind (probably due to some recent escapades) is the decline of chivalry. Call me sexist (I'm sure you will), but there is nothing more disgusting to me than a man who pushes past a woman in a queue, allows a door to slam in her face, or dashes for the last seat on the train and lets a girl stand. If this is progress, hand me an apron and count me out.

Jack and the Beanstalk - What plants do you have?

None. I have an excessive amount of mould growing in my bedroom in Exeter if that counts?

Puss in Boots - Do you have pets? If not, do you want them?

I have no pets. I have no desire to get pets. And I do not appreciate pet owners trying to force me to love their pets. You may see it as some kind of small child with fur, but I wouldn't take kindly to your real children slobbering over me and I don't appreciate it from the dog either.

Pinocchio - What is your biggest wish?

I've got my fingers crossed for a miracle. My nephew has Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, which is a progressive muscle-wasting disease. My biggest wish is for a cure. 
Yeah, I know, way to darken the mood.

Peter Pan - What is your mental age?

My mother calls me childish. I prefer to think of it as a youthful inner glow. After spending some time at home I realised just how much I have in common with my niece. We love the same films, I envy her amazing pink dresses, we discuss Barbie at length. So, from that, I would put my mental age at four. No. Four and a half.

"We discuss Barbie at length..."

The Star Money - What is your most valuable possession?

I have some fancy mod-cons, I have my cute little car, and, when my Nanna was alive, she used to buy me expensive earrings (which I am too terrified to wear). But I'm very sentimental. My most treasured possession would be something left behind by my grandparents, photos of me when I was tiny and adorable, or the weird gifts my niece and nephew get me.

The Princess and the Pea - Are you sensitive?

Yes. I especially react badly to being shouted at. My neighbour shouted at me a couple of weeks ago and I cried for four hours. That probably had more to do with the fact that my dissertation was due in a few days later and I hadn't slept in nights, but, either way, I am still slightly terrified of him.

Bluebeard - What is your weak point?
Chocolate cake. That counts, right?

So there are some random insights into my life based on beloved children's stories...and some stories that I've never heard of in my life. Now all I can think about is chocolate cake so I'm probably going to have to buy some. Seriously, I'll never be fairest of them all if I'm popping out of my jeans.

Nil Pois and an Excessive Amount of Wandering

My favourite way to spend Eurovision night is sat in front of the tv with my dad, arguing over whether or not half the countries even exist and resorting to pulling out the atlas, which never settles anything because it's so old it still has the USSR in it. I will expose my worrying lack of geographical awareness ("Wait, I thought Belgium was the capital of Holland...") and we will give a running commentary on everything...including the running commentary.

This year was different. My friend, Shaun, was hosting a fundraiser so I spent this Eurovision night in the local golf club, taking part in a drinking game that rendered me useless before half the performances had happened. Drink every time someone winks at the camera, there's someone on stage doing something pointless in the background, Russia gives points to the Ukraine...it was intense.

So I wasn't surprised when I ended up in a taxi on the way to Swansea at half past midnight. I was in no way shocked when I found myself having an in-depth and weirdly emotional conversation in the women's toilets about a girl's choice of lipstick colour. I wasn't even flummoxed when I looked up from my Jack Daniel's to find all my friends had been kicked out of Bambu. But I still can't grasp how I came to end up in the smoking area of Monkey, consoling a random man about his recent breakup. But here are the facts as I know them.

I had, in front of me, a free drink. (Note to my mother, yes I watched the bar tender pour it and no I did not take my eyes off it for a second.) To my left was a good-looking man who, from the outset, appeared to be somewhat of a compulsive liar.
"I work here." He said. It was entirely plausible.
"Oh, at the bar?"
"No, I'm a bouncer."
I tried to remember which shoes I was wearing so I could do a quick calculation of how tall he was. Not very.
"Oh, you don't look big and bald and scary enough to be a bouncer."
He laughed it off. Later I found out he was a promotions worker.

Nonetheless, we had a good time. Then I realised that the club was closing and everyone else was missing. There was, at the back of my mind, a vague memory of a search party going after Jonny and Hayleigh walking past me, telling me they'd been told to leave. Even now, I have no idea what any of that meant, but I knew then that they'd gone to Monkey. Whatever that was.

"You have to take me to Monkey." I told Mr Bouncer.
His friends did not look impressed. One of them had just broken up with his girlfriend and looked like he'd rather chew his own arm off than go to another club. 
"I have no idea where it is and I can't go wandering around Swansea on my own."

So we headed off. Me, Mr Bouncer, Mr Heartbroken and...some other guy. It wasn't until we got to Monkey that he earned himself the nickname Mr Forgot-my-ID. And so, following a barrage of complex conversations and assurances, I ended up in the smoking area with Mr Heartbroken, leaving angry and probably very confusing messages on each of my friends' answering machines. From here things went from unusual to plain weird.

There I was, giving my best drunk love advice to a stranger who clearly wanted to be anywhere else, waiting for some sign of any of my friends or even Mr Bouncer, when a random man sat down on the other side of me. He explained, in great detail, that it was his birthday and he was all alone and in need of a friend. As much as my sensitive heart felt sorry for him, he gave off a bit of a crazy vibe. I looked to Mr Heartbroken to do something, but he seemed too relieved by the fact that I was no longer lecturing him on the downfall of chivalry to shoo away this new guy.

Luckily, all at once, a very odd phone call from Hayleigh confirmed they had somehow made their way down to a gay club I'd never heard of, and Mr Bouncer arrived.
"You have to take me to the gay club." I told him.
"What?"
"My friends are there and I have no idea where it is."
Suddenly the birthday boy piped up and offered to take me.
"No offence," Said Mr Bouncer. "But I don't know who you are and I don't feel comfortable sending her off alone with you." I didn't point out the fact that I'd only met him two hours before.

I very rarely get hit on and, when I do, it throws me a little bit. So try to imagine how awkward it was, heading off to a gay club with a man on either side of me, vying for my attention.
"I just bought a new car."
"I have a convertible."
"I take three holidays a year."
"I'm going to China this summer."
Oh goodness, I just want Hayleigh!

Right in the midst of what was becoming an intense struggle for alpha male status, I spotted my friends on the other side of the street. I'm not entirely sure they'd even noticed I'd been missing for the past few hours. They all seemed very merry.

So I thanked my escorts, who were still quibbling about who could out-do the other, apologised for the drama I'd caused and jumped in a taxi with Hayleigh. The moral of this story is...don't get lost. And if you do, don't try to give love advice to strangers. Always carry a rape alarm. And don't believe a man when he tells you he's a bouncer. If your friends go missing, check the gay bar first and always, always wear a good shade of lipstick.

I guess next year I'll just stay at home with my dad and the old atlas.

There's No Place Like Home

It's been a while since I last wrote a post. I've been slowly sinking in a pool of despair and MLA referencing, but I'm officially half-way through my dissertation and the end is finally in sight. I'd planned out the entire month of April to ensure I had half a hope of retaining what was left of my sanity. The plan was to spend the first two weeks at my desk until I had at least a solid first draft, to go back home to Wales the next week and force everyone to proof read it, and then spend the last week sleeping soundly, minus the looming prospect of antebellum-themed nightmares.

I made it to the 3rd of April before I abandoned that plan entirely and booked a train ticket home.

I decided to be very sneaky about the whole thing and surprise my loving parents by turning up on their doorstep two weeks early. So, last Saturday, after five hours of public transport and a taxi ride, I burst through the front door, ready to spread joy.

"Surprise! Your favourite child is home!"

My father, who had been napping on the sofa, looked like he was caught somewhere between thrilled and terrified. My mother appeared at the top of the stairs a few seconds later and merely said,

"Shh! Your brother's sleeping."

Clearly the favourite child had been there all along and was currently sleeping off his night shift in my bed.

As much as I wanted to collapse on the sofa, enjoying the novelty of warmth and cleanliness (student houses are grim to say the least), it was my cousin's 18th birthday party that night. I had just enough time to stick some rollers in and don some fabulous shoes.

Family gatherings are always eventful, but they are downright dangerous when Dave the Laugh, my older cousin's boyfriend, is there. He lurks around the house, waiting for the opportune moment to swoop in and top up your drink, which sounds great, but, in reality, borders on deadly. On this particular night it led me to declare,

"I'm going to town!"

I do NOT look like the older cousin...

Yes, I was going to crash my little cousin's first night out. And in Station Road of all places. I have plenty of good memories of Station Road. But I was 16 then. And fishbowls were on sale.

Totally unprepared for a night out and two and a half bottles of wine worse off when I thought I'd only gone through one, I had to borrow a handbag. And a phone. And money. But off I went with my cousin and her friends, totally oblivious to the fact that I had somehow become the uncool, old person.

Thankfully, I wasn't the only uncool, old person in Station Road that night. Hayleigh was there with some of our friends. I wish I could describe the level of gleeful screeching that occurred when we spotted each other at the bar. I imagine it's the kind of noise you'd expect to hear if dolphins were reunited after 20 years apart. Dolphins on crack. And perhaps even more shrill than that.

It wasn't long before my cousin had ditched me (I swear, I used to be cool!) and Hayleigh and I ended up in a bizarre after-party in a nearby hotel. It wasn't so much a party as a random collection of people arguing over which drinking game to play while I insisted on slurring through stories about last year's adventures in Europe. All I know is, a Scottish man was wrapped in a blanket and there was an excessive amount of gin.

And, in a nutshell, that's the story of how, on my first night back in Wales, I turned up on my parents' doorstep at 4am and came to spend the entire following day curled up in a ball, cursing Dave the Laugh.


But, before I go back to my cave of despair and dissertation-writing, I'm going to do a little shameless self-promotion. I've set up a Youtube channel (yes, in spite of my technophobia) dedicated to me talking about beauty products, and generally making a fool of myself in front of the camera. So here's my latest video if you want to take a peek.

And, because I have such little faith in my ability to actually use the computer, I'll post the link to the channel...just in case.

Youtube Channel

"What goes with pyjama bottoms?" "Shame!"

Five minutes ago there was a knock on my bedroom door. I crawled to the door on my hands and knees (naturally). It was my housemate, Iona.
"I just read your blog from start to finish and I really like it. I think you should write another post soon."
I was both touched by her compliment and impressed by her procrastination skills.
"Thanks," (still on my knees) "I want to write one, but I've just been so boring lately doing my dissertation. I don't know what I'd write about."
When she left and I crawled back to my pilates (which was my own form of procrastination and the reason I was crawling around the room), I realised that, in fact, my weekend had been far from boring and now is the perfect opportunity to write my next blog post...and procrastinate by doing so.

What started out as dinner with Kirsty and her parents on Friday night ended with me walking home through puddles with no shoes on at 2am with Sophie and Jess. I have a knack for spreading the evening out.

It was Emma, from Wasting Tuition Fees', birthday. I only realised when I was on my way out the door to go to dinner, but I'm not one to pass up an opportunity for a cocktail or seven so, after stuffing my face with the world's best chicken in mushroom sauce, I headed over to Monkey Suit, which is one of my favourite places in Exeter because they know exactly how to make a strawberry daiquiri, a skill which is often overlooked in life.

I told Sophie and Jess I'd meet them there so I was alone when I got to the entrance.
"Are you just coming in for a drink?" Asked the bouncer.
"No...I'm going to a party."
"Whose party?"
"Emma's"
"And how old is Emma?"
I stopped and stared blankly, partly because this interrogation seemed somewhat unnecessary and partly because at that moment, I couldn't even remember how old I was.
"22. No. 21. 22. Wait. No. I'm 22. So she must be...I'm just so confused."
But my confusion was obviously believable because in I went.

By the time Sophie and Jess got there I was three cocktails better off and already had a wristband for queue jump at Timepiece, despite the fact that it was originally going to be a 'just one drink and then home so I can get up for the library tomorrow' affair. Fast-forward to us heading home in the early hours with me carrying my shoes, something that simply does not occur in my life. I once kept my shoes on all night despite the fact that my feet were bleeding and yet here I was splashing through the puddles, high heels in hand, like some kind of shoe-novice.

"I feel no shame."

But, as much fun as we had that night, it was the next day that inspired me to write this post. Having point blank refused to leave my bed all morning, I assumed the others had made it to the library. Imagine my surprise when Sophie popped up on Facebook chat.
"Have you got any self raising flour? I need cookies."
What a genius idea! Cookies were exactly what we needed. And so I made the most productive move of the day thus far and moved from my bed to Sophie's bed.

So Sophie, Jess and I sat on Sophie's bed, each at various levels of exhaustion and all still wearing our pjs and last night's eyeliner. It was a serious issue, trying to decide what treats we needed. We could make cookies, but we had no chocolate chips. We could make cake, but deep down we all wanted cookies. There was ice cream, but no brownies. The odds were seriously stacked up against us.

At last there was no alternative, but to head to Londis in our pjs, hair unkempt, eyes bloodshot, faces unmade. There was a bizarre moment before we left when Sophie couldn't decide which shoes to wear.
"We're in pyjamas. I don't even have a bra on. I don't think it matter which shoes you wear."
"It's just...what goes with pyjama bottoms?"
"...Shame."
We simply needed chocolate chips. And it was worth wandering the streets in my Mickey Mouse pyjama bottoms to stuff my face with cookies...and cookie dough....and ice cream...and Dorritos. Because sometimes, when you simply can't face another day of reading about the antebellum South, the only thing to do is to lie in bed and eat and week's worth of calories.

I feel no shame. It was amazing.

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...

My Christmas Countdown

Well, somehow it's Christmas Eve which is slightly concerning because it feels like only yesterday I was putting up my advent calendar. But the presents are wrapped, the cookies have been baked and the Muppet's Christmas Carol has been watched so I guess there's no denying that it really is Christmas. So I thought I'd mix things up and give you a rundown of my '12 days of Christmas' as a kind of overview of how the festive season has gone so far.

12 Beacon Inquiries...
You really don't realise what a small town Port Talbot is until you come home and everyone knows your business. I seem to have become at least 70% more interesting since my last visit home and the question on everyone's lips is "When's he coming?" And they don't mean Santa!
I was a little surprised when I ran into my cousin a few days ago and she informed me that the entire family had watched a video of the Beacon on Youtube ("Beacon, I'd like to introduce you to my creepy, stalker family"). I was downright confounded when a women I didn't even know tapped me on the shoulder and asked when my 'young man' was flying in from Germany. I suppose in a place where nothing has changed in the last 30 years except the names of the bargain shops, an American pilot from Germany is going to cause a stir. And some doubt apparently.
"I mean, is he even a real person?" Asked my friend, Chris.
Yes! Yes, he really is!

11 Shots of Whiskey...

This year, my best friend, Hayleigh, happened to have her birthday on Black Friday. For those of you who, like the Beacon, have never heard of it, Black Friday is the Friday before Christmas and the basic idea is that people start drinking at 12pm, drink until they can't walk, continue drinking until they can't see, and stumble home the next day somehow or other with little or no dignity. I had no intention of being a part of the madness.
Unfortunately, after a few drinks at Hayleigh's house, my friends decided it was time to head out. Not just out, but into Port Talbot town, which is a great place for a night out...when you're 17. Wetherspoons had to shut midway through the night due to an emergency. No one had a clue what the emergency actually was (although rumours ranged from a cat fight in the toilets to a tragic death) and, try as I might to convince staff that I was a member of the Exeter press and needed the details, no one would tell me anything. The night did not pick up when a 39 year old DJ with a very questionable haircut told me I was 'too old' after I requested a Britney Spears song, and when I found the birthday girl vomiting into a gutter I was ready to call it a night.

10 Yards of Ribbon...
I love wrapping presents. I make my own gift tags, glue on pom-poms and bells, cover everything in glitter, and have perfected the art of ribbon-tying. So my mother kindly left all her wrapping for me to do when I got home from Germany (it has nothing to do with the fact that she hates wrapping and can't do corners properly, I'm sure). Trying to squeeze all that wrapping into a few days was a festive challenge. Perhaps the most stressful part was wrapping my nephews Furby, which my mother insisted had to be wrapped with the batteries already inside. Trying to tie a bow around something that keeps moving around and complaining that it's hungry is not an easy task.

9 Hours of Gluing...
For Christmas my niece wanted a dress like the kind her newest idol, Eden Wood, wears. Naturally, those dresses start at about £200 and the one she had her eye on was going for more like £500. My budget was £30. But, being Super Auntie, I was determined to make it work. I ordered in a cheap dress in the right shape from China and several hundred rhinestones. And so I've spent the last few days peeling super-glue off my fingers and trying to make a replica of the infamous Eden Wood dress. Next year I'm just getting her a Barbie.




8 Dodgy Cookies...
After the carnage that was my attempt to make gingerbread cookies with my niece and nephew last year, we played it safe this Christmas and bought a pack of precooked biscuits with icing and sprinkles to decorate them with. Ellis took the whole thing very seriously. Lauren, on the other hand, covered each of the cookies generously in icing and then licked them clean, one by one. Needless to say, those ones did not make it onto the Christmas tree.

7 Stolen Crackers...
When the children had finished decorating/ destroying the Christmas cookies, they turned their attention to the crackers on the tree. Long story short, we have one Christmas cracker left. And a draw full of tiny sewing kits and keyrings.

6 Secret Santas...

Ok, so this is going back a bit, but before I left Exeter we had a house Secret Santa. In reality it wasn't a secret because Kirsty and Sophie spent weeks figuring out who everyone had. At one point algebra was involved (see, they said it would be useful one day). When I found out that Kirsty was my Secret Santa (long before the present-swapping took place, of course), I was thrilled. I knew I'd be in for a treat because that girl is a talented shopper. And I was not disappointed when I unwrapped my Minnie Mouse slippers, fairy lights, and pink, sparkly hip-flask. Apparently the latter is exactly what I would be if I were an inanimate object. Girlie, over the top, and full of whiskey.


5 Days of Drilling...
As we all know, the best time to do any major remodeling of the house is just before Christmas. That way everyone can enjoy the immense stress, struggle to do DIY during the dark nights that start at 4pm, and postpone putting up any kind of Christmas decorations because a tree is hardly appropriate in a room that has no flooring. Luckily, by the time I got home, the majority of the building work was over and I was able to come home to a beautiful new living room. However, it was slightly inconvenient that for 2 days the only furniture we had was a Christmas tree. But at least it was festive.

4 Quirky Decorations...
While we're on the topic of the Christmas tree, I want to show off the decorations I bought while I was travelling during the summer. Our tree has always been a place for memories and it's full of decorations from all over. Some are particularly ugly. For example, my mother forced me to hang the one I bought in Poland at the back of the tree. But each year she is forced to endure the Christmas decoration she hates above all others. The slightly creepy angel I made for the top of the tree when I was little. I think it's a beautiful tradition. Mam thinks it's some kind of Christmas curse.

"Christmas curse"

3 Thousand Words...
This is basically the point in the blog post where I complain about the fact that I have a 3000 word essay due in January...and an exam. Way to be Scrooges, University of Exeter administrative staff.

2 Crazy Children...
Earlier this evening we called into my brother's house, aka Bedlam. Lauren has turned all of the Christmas trees in the miniature Christmas display upside down. Perhaps it was meant to be some form of protest? I am just grateful that we've made it passed the years when they were babies and there was a threat that they would pee under the Christmas tree...which, unfortunately, did happen one year. Now we just have to keep our fingers crossed that we won't have a repeat of last Christmas Day, when Lauren projectile vomited all over me and the majority of her new toys. Barbie has never been the same.

And a festive photo of me...

Merry Christmas everyone!