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.

Someone Hand me a Tiara, I'm Officially a Princess!

"...we're both women of business..."

Well, I've hinted at it and mentioned it in passing and used all of my self control to stop myself from blurting it out for the past month or more while boring bits of paperwork were still being signed and nods from official-type people were waiting to be received, but at long last I am officially self-employed. My Entrepreneur Barbie beams down at me from my dressing table every morning and I think about how much we have in common. We both like shoes and pink things and we're both women of business now. Granted her hair is significantly better than mine and she never gets bags under her eyes, but I try not to dwell on that.

So what is this business I hear you cry? Am I going to be some kind of high powered business woman in a suit, talking about graphs and holding business meetings in Starbucks? No. Of course not.

"I am...a princess"

I am fulfilling my life's ambition. I am...a princess. I think the technical term is 'children's entertainer', but I love to see how people react when they ask what I do for a living and I tell them I'm a princess. They are most likely inwardly debating whether or not I'm crazy. 

But I swear I am totally sane. Or, at least, as sane as I have always been. I've started up a hire-a-princess business. If you read my post about Lauren's birthday party back in August, then you may recall the Elsa impersonator we hired. The one who had her black bra on show and seemed to have no actual knowledge of Frozen. And didn't actually talk to the children. Or smile.

Well right then I there I decided to go ahead and become a princess impersonator myself. I mean, clearly this job is only second to actually working in Disney World! And, being a perfectionist, and lifelong princess fan, I knew I could do a good job of it.

So my bedroom is covered in glitter and rhinestones and there are princess-themed props all over the house (much to my mother's dismay). I've gone on a business course and can now confidently navigate Microsoft Excel and sort out my taxes. I have leaflets and my very own business page on Facebook (which you should totally go and like, by the way) and things are finally getting off the ground.

I had my first party this weekend and it was absolutely magical! The little ones were in awe and it was just fabulous! We had a princess story time, lots of lovely photos and the birthday girl had a very special pixie dust wish. One little one was a particularly big fan and came out with all sorts of wonderful questions and comments. My particular favourite was, "I've been at work all day in the killing factory. We kill the nasty animals for people to eat. Not the nice ones though, only the nasty ones". Oh, the mind of a four year old is a wonderful thing!

So I am officially a princess and loving every minute of it (apart from the accounts, obviously). I mean, prancing around, singing, watching Disney films and getting to dress up in sparkly princess dresses...it's the job I was born to do! 

The Job Hunt

Once upon a time I worked in a Call Centre. Customers swore at me and made me cry and I was gulping down Kalms as if they were Skittles on a daily basis. But I look back at that time in my life with a kind of wonder. Back then I had a monthly income. True, I also had no self-esteem and a great many nights where I woke up screaming about PPI, but I had money for YSL make up and Cosmopolitans and an endless amount of shoes. Three years later I have a BA, a great gaping hole in my bank balance and no job on the horizon.

I knew the job market wasn't great, but I didn't think a girl with my qualifications and infectious laugh (scrap that, it’s more of a cackle) would be finding it so difficult. I haven’t limited my options. I’ve applied for waitressing, admin, retail, secretarial…true I didn't apply for the grave-digging job my friend went for, but you have to draw the line somewhere. But, if nothing else, I've come away from my various failed interviews with experience…and something to write about.

The first interview I went to was for a sales position for a high end beauty brand. I sent off my CV, highlighting my sales experience and beauty channel on Youtube (I knew they’d want a girl who knew her way around an eyeshadow palette). A few weeks later, joy of joys, I was invited to an interview. At this point I genuinely thought it was in the bag so long as I could get my hair to lie flat on the day of the interview.

But when I rounded the corner of the department store on the day of my interview, I couldn't believe what I saw. Over a hundred girls were queueing up outside the door, all dressed in black. Either there’d been a tragedy in the shoe department or we had all showed up for the same interview. I joined the queue, prayed my feet would last in my new shoes, and looked around in despair at the hordes of girls. Faces all around with kohl eyes, red lips and hair that was lying flat. That day I queued for 2 hours and 15 minutes for my interview. Soon the queue was wrapped right the way around the side of the shop. On at least four occasions people approached me to ask if the shop was doing a giveaway.

But eventually it was my turn. It was worryingly similar to the kind of quizzes you get in magazines for teen girls. I kid you not when I say that at the end the interviewer added up a score to see if I’d passed or not. I did. I’d be called back for a follow up interview…some time between April and June. After wasting an entire morning and getting blisters on my feet, all I had was a vague promise that, some time in the future (no one knew when) I could come back to try and impress them all over again. My nine year old nephew runs his loom-band business better than that!

Then there was the job I attempted to apply for in the new coffee shop in town. The manager didn't look pleased when I turned up.

“I have got a job going, but, to be honest, I really need someone older who has experience and isn't going to just work here for six weeks and then quit. I don’t want people wasting my time. I’ve had enough people wasting my time.”

“Oh…well I know I look young,” (10:1 he thought I was in secondary school) “But I’m a lot older than I look and I…”

“Yeah, but I need someone who knows how to run the place. I've had people in here who can’t even turn the coffee machine on. If you haven’t got experience don’t even bother. I won’t even read the CV.”

“Actually, I've worked in a coffee shop before. I know how everything works and…”

“Yeah, but the thing is I've already hired and fired seven people. I just don’t want people wasting my time.”

“Ok…so do you have an application form or…?”

“No.”

I'm not entirely sure whether that counts as a failed interview or whether it’s just an indication of how strange some people in Port Talbot can be.

Then there are issues with my qualifications. Because, what they don’t tell you when you’re revising for your GCSEs is that it’s possible to look too smart in a CV.

“I know you got an A in Maths, but we do everything on the calculator here anyway so it won’t do you any favours.”

“I’ve seen your qualifications. But this job isn’t rocket science, you know.”

And so the job hunt continues and my treasured student life seems all the more fabulous by comparison. Instant noodles and mouldy bedrooms beat this job hunting malarkey any day. 

Clean 9 Part 1: I Lose 9lbs in 2 Days and Retain my Sanity!

I am 22 years old. I should not have to spend my summer days cooped up in my room listening to Dolly Parton and doing arts and crafts. But the pollen count is at a menacing level at the moment. My entire head, inside and out, is alternating between  burning and itching, my eyes are producing a less than glamorous sticky goo, my nose no longer functions as a means of breathing and I have no choice but to cower away in a stuffy cave of self-pity, hiding from all plant life like it's the Day of the Triffids.

I've tried everything I can get my hands on (prescription, non-prescription and downright weird) with no avail. Nothing even takes the edge off. Seriously, my entire face is swollen. So I've decided to take my mother's advice and try out products by a company she swears by called Forever. They have a vast array of products, all totally natural and all with great reviews and renowned for combating a variety of ailments. I'm no expert on aloe vera, but we'll see how it goes.

Anyway, the long and short of it is that I have signed up for a nine day Forever cleansing programme called the Clean 9. Again, I'm no expert, but luckily I know an expert, Christine, and I had an in depth conversation with her today. She told me the products had significantly helped rid both her and her husband of their allergies. I became instantly interested. Then she told me that weight loss could be a side effect of the cleanse. At this point I all but threw my money at her. Usually I'm not one to jump on any kind of bizarre supplement-type band-wagon, but everything Christine said made good sense to me and after three years of uni life, living on raw cookie dough and cheap wine, I could do with a good cleanse. So I've got a kit with aloe gel, a shake mix, garcinia tablets and bee pollen tablets. For the first two days all food is off limits and after that I can have a 600 calorie meal each day. 

So I thought you guys may as well join me on my Clean 9 journey for the next nine days. I hope the image I have of myself when it's over, half a stone lighter and dancing in a meadow of wild flowers with a fully-functioning respiratory system, isn't too optimistic...

Day 1

10:05 am: Ok, first I must share this amazing news. Even though my detox didn't officially start until today, I started taking the Bee Pollen tablets on Thursday with the hope they could take the edge off my hayfever. In five days I went from swollen-eyed hermit surrounded by piles of used tissues to an actual fully-functioning human being, sitting outside in a field with trees, laughing and enjoying life without so much as a sniffle. Seriously, this is like some kind of voodoo or something. I haven't had to sleep with a flannel on my face and I can actually wear mascara again! So bring on the Clean 9 because I am very optimistic.

11:17am: Ok, I'm getting hungry now. I could do with some toast. Or an entire birthday cake.

1:49pm: Amazingly, I'm not as hungry as I thought I'd be by now. I just made my first shake and it's really yummy. Granted it's got a lot of lumps. Maybe I didn't mix it properly...

6:20pm: I've definitely felt better. I'm hungry and all optimism has been replaced by grumpiness. I would really like to eat something. Anything.

6:53pm: Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! Longest evening ever!

Day 2

11:43am: I had to get up three times during the night to pee. If that wasn't bad enough I kept having nightmares about food. Needless to say, I don't feel particularly well-rested. Also, I have a bit of a headache and time is going by reeaally sloooowly. 

11:47am: A plate of English muffins would go down really well right now.

1:00pm: Ok, so you're meant to do twenty minutes of exercise a day during the Clean 9. I cheated yesterday and didn't do any because I was pouting, but I did ten minutes this morning. I'm not a super fit person, but I go to the gym regularly and I know what I'm capable of. So I could see a difference when, after six minutes, I had to lie on the floor all light-headed, mourning the lack of carbs in my life.

2:54pm: My shake isn't really hitting the spot today. Weirdly it's too sweet for me, which is pretty unbelievable seeing as my idea of heaven is a chocolate chip cookie dipped in raw cookie dough. Christine said my tastes might change while doing this. It would be amazing if this was the end of my chocolate addiction because my sweet tooth has definitely had an effect on the size on my bum.

7:48pm: My dad doesn't understand that I literally cannot eat anything. Last night he was offering me biscuits and tonight he keeps asking, "Are you sure you don't want me to make you a bacon sandwich?" I think it's fair to say I'm swinging between high points and low points. One minute I'm full of optimism, feeling proud and strong and the next I want to cry over a sizzling frying pan. But I get to eat tomorrow!

Day 3

9:18am: I've lost 9lbs! 9lbs in two days! I can squeeze my butt into a pair of shorts I couldn't even get past my hips last week. I didn't think I'd lose that much in nine days, let alone two! And, even more exciting, I can eat tonight. 

"I'm even too drained to be enthusiastic
about the shoe department."

2:12pm: It should be a criminal offence for my mother to drag me around clothes shops in this state. My lunchtime shake was due an hour ago and I am getting hungrier and grumpier every moment. I don't think she understands that, after almost three days of no food, I'm not up to trudging around or using the last of my energy to feign excitement over clothes that look like they belong in a closet in the Von Trapp family home! I'm even too drained and miserable to be enthusiastic about the shoe department. Woe truly is me!

6:05pm: So I never actually got around to that lunchtime shake because I only just got in, but after an extremely miserable half an hour, hunger and bitchiness subsided. Hurrah! The only issue I had was that my eyes started to go all gooey and itchy because I didn't have my bee pollen tablets with me and the pollen count is high. This is proof to me that those tablets are well and truly amazing and that I need to carry them with me always in future.

6:25pm: I just finished my first meal in three days. It was kind of...overrated. I expected it to be the most amazing moment of my life (some choose their wedding day, the birth of their child etc, but these people have probably never gone this long without food), but it wasn't that big of a deal when it came down to it. I started to get full up quite quickly (which is a first) and my jaw started to ache from the pure effort of chewing. I don't think I miss food so much as the freedom to stuff anything in my face whenever I want.

Day 4

12:18pm: I feel great! It reminds me of that buzz I used to get after eating blue Smarties. You know, before they took out all the colourings and made them taste like soil. I'm not even thinking about food this morning. What a wonderful day! (Even though I'm in Port Talbot. And it's raining.)

6:27pm: I have felt amazing all day! I've been full of energy and positivity (true it wavered slightly when a rude old man annoyed me in Tesco car park, but generally I've been in a great mood). And changing to two shakes a day has definitely made a difference. I haven't even felt hungry and I could take or leave my evening meal tonight. I didn't even need to be restrained from stealing the chicken dippers off Lauren's plate and that is a monumental milestone.


So I'm halfway through my nine days and it's been tough. But all at once I'm starting to see some amazing results. I mean, can we just circle back to the part where I lost 9lbs in two days? I didn't lose that much in two months  when I was dieting over the Spring. And then my energy levels are up, I'm feeling great and I no longer feel the need to scour the biscuit cupboard every half an hour.

I'm excited to see how the second half goes. I'll keep you all updated.

And if any of you fancy taking on the Clean 9 challenge then you can order your here:
Forever Product Shop
And make sure you tell me how it goes!

I am, slowly but surely, trying my best to become a Forever expert and I'm totally won over by the company. Now I'm going to be rambling on about it to every I see...

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.

The Littlest Loon: Like me, but Smaller and Louder.

My four year old niece, Lauren, is a loon. When her older brother first laid eyes on her he said, "Welcome to this world" as if she was an alien rather than a newborn. At the time we thought nothing of it, but looking back he may have been on to something. At two months months old she started to growl at us. She has only very recently grown out of it.

"...my little diva..."

Cupcake Mumma has a cute little interview with her daughter on her blog called 43 Questions for Midge and I thought I'd steal the idea to try out with Lauren. Unfortunately, I knew my little diva wouldn't have the attention span or patience to sit through forty three questions so I cut it down a little.

When I turned up at my brother's house yesterday afternoon, Lauren answered the door in an Anna dress, high-heeled Snow White shoes, fairy wings, and a face full of make-up. Her left eye was covered in purple eyeshadow and the right eye was plastered with pink eyeshadow. I'm not entirely sure if she was trying to set a new trend with that one. Then she began dancing and referring to herself as Strawberry Girl. It was a while before I could sit her down to answer my questions, but the answers were...interesting.

The following is what happens when you ask a four year old loon questions about herself. Everything I say is in orange, Lauren's answers are in purple and side remarks from Ellis (he couldn't help himself) are in green.

What makes you happy?

....

What makes you happy?

....I'm thinking....

Oh, ok. Take your time.

...Playing with Ellis on Infinity.

What makes you sad?

When Ellis shouts at me when I want to play infinity.

That's a lie!

What makes you laugh?

Bursting balloons.

If you could do anything today what would you do?

Oooh. Anything? If I bought an Elsa doll like my Rapunzel doll with long hair and not any plaits. Elsa one...umm...with the dress.

How old are you?

Four.

How old am I?

*Shrugs*

Have a guess.

...Thirteen?

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Princess.

Who is your best friend?

Tommy.

What is you favourite animal?

Oooh. Unicorn!

*Sigh*

What is your favourite song?

You know.

Let it go?

No.

Cutie Patootie?

No. 

Underpuppy?

No.

Gangnam Style?

No! Wreck it Ralph! *Laughs hysterically*

What is your favourite food?

Chocolate.

Where is your favourite place to go?

Neverland.

What are you really good at?

You know. Balancing.

What are you not very good at?

Jumping.

What do you want for your birthday?

The Elsa doll like my Rapunzel one.

What did you do today?

Play princesses.

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

Umm...go in front of them?

"...a four year old loon..."

So there you have it. It's like a window into the mind of a deranged person. When the questions were over, she looked at me and said, "Now I'm going to follow you wherever you go because I love you. I will follow you. Forever. You can't walk away from me."

"So...kind of like a stalker then?" I said.

"Yeah."

"Ok. Great."

But I want to leave you with this anecdote. Lauren went into my brother's room one morning, woke him up, leaned in close to his face and said, "Mam Morgan is going to die in one hundred sleeps." How creepy is that? We have it marked on the calendar. Just in case.

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

I'm Sorry! I Just...Ended up in Wales Somehow.

First things first, I apologize for disappearing off the face of the virtual earth for the past few weeks. I'll blame a combination of my latest trip to Germany, having no internet in my bedroom and not feeling inclined to walk all the way down to the living room, and a completely unexpected turn of events that meant I ended up back in Wales this week.

I left the Beacon's house at 3pm German time last Sunday. I was prepared for the usual 10 or more hours of travelling and the hassle that is navigating Schiphol Airport. But then I remembered that due to recent 'adverse weather conditions' my train to Exeter wouldn't be running. My plane would land at 9pm and the next bus was at 2am and no amount of free KLM wine could make that prospect any less daunting. So when I landed in Bristol and found my Dad waiting to take me back to Port Talbot, for the first time ever I was grateful that my mother is so paranoid about me doing anything after sundown. Suddenly the fact that she says things like, "take extra care and make sure you have your rape alarm" when I walk home from campus at 6pm in winter was overshadowed by fact that I wouldn't be travelling through the apocalyptic Devon weather on a bus until 4:30am. Within an hour and a half I was warm, comfy, and wearing my amazing Mickey Mouse pjs.

Determined not to step outside the house into the whirling chaos of gale force winds and bone-chilling rain (why put my hair through such an ordeal unless it's absolutely necessary?), I decided to put my time to good use and get some work done. So naturally I constructed a cave in my parent's living room and watched Gone with the Wind. There was only another 40 minutes or so left until Scarlet finally realises Ashley Wilkes isn't all that, even if he does have a completely unnecessary British accent, when the storm cut off our power. After some deliberation about how my mother would react to us using her 'display candles', my father and I drank Jack Daniels in the dark. I did not leave my cave.

Picture from the BBC website to show
 I'm not being melodramatic.

A quick summary for my readers from outside the UK, we are currently experiencing mass flooding and 80mph winds. And will continue to do so until at least the end of the month according to the weather people. They've issued an Amber Warning, although I can't say with any certainty that anyone knows what that actually means. But it is wet and cold. Even by British standards. We're talking evacuations and train tracks in the sea.

That said, I was in no way discouraged from heading into Swansea with Ellis, Lauren, and my mother for a trip to TGI Fridays. That is the kind of necessity I am willing to risk my hair for. Lauren, now 4 years old, asked me for relationship advice. It seems her boyfriend won't play with her in the yard at lunchtime any more. I briefly outlined the 'men are like elastic bands' theory, but she couldn't quite grasp it. So I distracted her with a colouring book.

And now I'm back in Exeter with a cold, a full laundry basket, mould growing on my wall, and absolutely no inclination to get out of bed and face those 'high risk' winds. Maybe it's time to make a new cave...

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.