Three Days in Greece | How we Almost Got Stranded in Faliraki

It's been a week (!) since I got back from the Greek mini break I went on with my mum. I've slept off the jet lag (yes, I'm aware that there's only a two hour time difference, but night flights are the creation of the devil), unpacked by case, and now I'm ready to to tell you all about it.

Let me start by saying that the entirety of my plans for this holiday consisted of eating and sleeping in the sun, with an occasional dip in the pool...if I could muster the energy to drag myself off my sun bed. No drama, no effort, just pure relaxation. And for the first two days that's exactly what I got.

My 2016: I Got Old, Made some Bizarre Life Choices and Drank Tequila.

Congratulations world! We made it through the madness that was 2016! We survived a year in which Britain left the EU, Harambe the gorilla was killed in cold blood, and Donald Trump was voted president of the United States. It all kind of feels like a bad (and totally ridiculous) dream, doesn't it?

While 2016 might not have been the best year for the world as a whole, on a personal level I had a pretty good year. So, as is traditional, I'm going to sum up my entire year in a nice bite-sized blog post for you!

Swapping High Heels for Trainers: How the Ultimate Girlie Girl Survived Sports Camp.

Well, I've shaken off the jet lag, caught up on those two months worth of sleep, and the green tie-dye on my fingernails is finally starting to fade. A month ago I was a camp counsellor in Maine. I'm amazed at how quickly I got back into the monotony of the real world and began to feel as though it was all just some kind of hazy dream.

There's no excuse for abandoning you all for so long again without a post. True, my first four days back on UK soil were dedicated purely to sleeping with short intervals of napping (and a brief pause for pizza on the fourth day), but since then I've had ample opportunity to sit down with my laptop a write about my experiences in the USA. The only thing that's been stopping me is...well, where do I even begin? How do I organise two months worth of memories (99% of which now seem totally bizarre when I look back on them) into a blog post?

Well, I'm going to give it my best shot.

For those of you who don't already know, my agency paired me with an all boys' sports camp. Yes, yours truly, collector of high heels and avid lip-gloss enthusiast, was went to work in an all boys' sports camp. Have I ever given any indication to anyone that I am good at or have any interest in sports? (Aside from cheerleading, of course, but come on! Half the fun of that is the sparkly bows!)

No, I don't do sports.

But all the same I ended up in an all boys' sports camp with only three other girls to keep me sane company. Naturally everyone else there was a sports enthusiast. It didn't take long before I was exposed as the freak who couldn't so much as kick a ball.

At some point during the first few days of orientation, we were sent to meet the basketball coach for a talk. Alarm bells started ringing as soon as I realised the 'talk' was taking place in the basketball gym. By the time we got to the gym and the coach told us all the line up at the edge of the court, I had by-passed panic and had simply resigned myself to the fact that humiliation was imminent.

"Ok, I want you all to sprint up to the free-throw line and back."

Wait! What? Why are you making me run? I didn't know this job would involve compulsory sprints! I don't run. I fall!

But, above all that, was another concern. I put up my hand.
"Ok, it's just...which one is....I don't know...which line is that exactly?"
The coach looked at me like I was a Martian (which was actually pretty accurate in this instance) and said, "You do know you're in sports camp, right?"
"Yes."
As if I could forget!
"Wait, which sport are you coaching?"
"...Arts and crafts."
And just like that my secret was out. But at least from that moment on we were all on the same page. Don't ask me any sport-related questions. Don't throw any balls my way. Don't expect me to care about the difference between Michael Jordan and Lebron James.

That's not to say I managed to avoid sports for the rest of the summer. After all, it was a sports camp!

There was the afternoon I was scheduled to coach tennis. I'm not entirely sure why, when there were two professional tennis coaches, they had to bring in the arts and crafts director who hadn't so much as picked up a racquet in over ten years. I quickly got demoted from teacher to student...and was by far the worst student on the court. It's very demoralising when the nine-year-olds you're meant to be teaching are significantly better than you.  

Then there were football games I was asked to referee ("I'm sorry, I have no idea what the offside rule is so you'll probably need to find someone else"), stray balls I was asked to throw back to their owners, the afternoon the ice rink was opened up for free-skate. As much as I tried, there really was no way around it. I had managed to avoid sports for the first 23 years of my life, but suddenly there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

All I could do was try my best and hope I didn't get hit in the head with a ball.

And maybe all that compulsory sport did me some good after all. I mean, by the end of the summer I could actually catch a ball and, for the first time in my life, I could do a respectable push-up! 

But even so, I think I'm going to be taking a break from sports for a while. You know, like the next 30 to 40 years.

I've Returned with my Sanity (ish): My Summer at an All Boys Sports Camp

Well, what a long, bizarre two months those were! I successfully survived a summer working at an all boys sports camp in the USA, although my opinion of cheese has been dramatically altered forever and it may be some time before I can look at a football without being reduced to random outbreaks of twitching and tears. In fact, I may have reached my quota for all things sports related for the next thirty five years. 

I had every intention of keeping my blog at least somewhat up to date while I was out there. I lugged my out-of-date, 5 tonne laptop all the way to Maine with the best of intentions, honestly. I just didn't have the time. I mean, how is it even possible to be awake for so many hours and still have so few minutes free?

One night I did find myself with a little bit of extra free time and, being the dedicated blogger I am, I opted to attempt writing up a post through my haze of utter exhaustion instead of collapsing on my bed to indulge in some American Netlfix.

And this is what I wrote...

Hey y'all! Apologies for abandoning you for over a month without much more than a few half-hearted snaps on Instagram, but when you're a camp counsellor time is like gold dust. I work anywhere from 12 to 17 hours a day and, during my one break, I face the daily struggle of trying to decide whether my highest priority is showering or napping. I never thought I'd consider shaving my legs to be a luxury, but now that point is long since passed.

And yet, even though the days are seemingly never ending, even though the bags under my eyes have gotten so bad I'm concerned they may be permanently engrained on my face from this day forward, and even though I've been reduced to wearing my hair in plaits and cutting eyeliner out of my life completely, I really am enjoying myself.

I arrived in the USA on June 21st after a 4 hour car ride, a punctured tire, a 7 hour flight and a 90 minute wait at border patrol. I was welcomed into the country by a grumpy Bostonian at border patrol who sounded eerily like an angry version of Buddy Valastro from Cake Boss. Thus my American adventure began.

What do I even begin to say about camp?

This job ranks very highly on the list of most bizarre things I've ever done and, let me tell you, that says a great deal. At least five times a day I look around and find myself thinking, 'is this just a long, drawn out, extremely bizarre dream?' Of course, it could just be that I'm so sleep deprived by this point that my brain is actually starting to melt out through my ears, but...

And that's as far as I got before I literally passed out on my keyboard. I am not exaggerating when I say I was like the living dead. Most days I survived solely on questionable coffee and sheer willpower.

But, despite the long hours, sleep deprivation, being forced to watch more sports in seven weeks than I'd planned on watching in my entire life, and constantly finding glue in my hair, it was fun. I made some good friends and I have some amazing memories. Yes, there was also plenty of humiliation scattered throughout, but, for this post at least, let's skim over that.

And now I'm back! I hope you didn't miss me too much!

Monthly Musings: May!

So I guess another month has come and gone and, all of a sudden, here we are in June with my trip to the USA less than two weeks away. I'm not entirely sure whether the last few weeks have flown by or whether they've crept forward at a frustratingly sluggish pace, but there's one thing I am certain of. My to do list never seems to get any shorter. 

So, with my next adventure just around the corner and the month of June well and truly upon us, it's time for what might be my last monthly musing until I get back in three month's time...

Obsession of the month...

My current obsession continues to be Game of Thrones. I'm sorry, but I'm still totally addicted to it. I'm halfway through the third season and, as I lie awake in bed at night, I'm plagued with the troubling thought that I might not manage to get through all of the episodes before I leave for the USA. True, I should probably be more concerned about the fact that I still don't have travel insurance, but the thought of spending the next three months in suspense, knowing there's a whole other season out there I have yet to watch...it's just too much! 

(Those of you who follow me on Instagram may have seen my ambitious attempt at Daenerys Targaryen hair. Oh how I wish I was as cool as she is!)

Accomplishment of the month...

This month I attended my last cheer competition of the season, Cheer Sport Wales in Newport. And would you believe it? We came second! Yes out opening stunt went a bit...wonky and yes the timing was off in the pyramid, but we came second! Not bad for a team who came dead last at the start of the season. In fact, not bad for any team!

Low point of the month...

Looking at my bank account after paying off the remainder of my trip. Ouch!

Book of the month...

The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins 

I'm a sucker for a nineteenth century novel and this one has the added allure of a gripping plot, twists and turns galore and so much suspense I found myself huddled under the duvet until 3am most nights, promising myself I'd go to sleep "after just a few pages more". The book is written from the perspective of various characters, jumping back and forth between them to unravel the mystery of the Woman in White, who, as you may be able to guess, is a creepy enigma...dressed in white. Expect the unexpected! 

Youtuber of the month...

Stepanka

As well as your typical hair and beauty type videos, Stepanka uploads a lot of videos where she pretty much just talks at the camera about whatever's on her mind. Be it about her relationships, her dog, her boobs, she doesn't really have a filter and that's something I really enjoy in a Youtuber. I mean, hello! Have you seen my channel? Not even I know what I'm talking about most of the time! 

Things ticked off The 2015 List...

31. Go on a trip by myself

Ok, so technically when I came up with this one I was thinking of a holiday or even a night away, but, seeing as the 2015 list has been an epic fail so far, I feel like I can cheat a little and count the day trip I took to Manchester. 

I had to attend a summer camp orientation day in Manchester at the start of the month and, when the orientation ended three hours early and I was stranded, unable to catch my train until after 6pm, I took a little look around the city. I'll be honest, it was nothing like I expected. The picture I had in my head was somewhere between a scene from the Industrial Revolution with huge chimneys pouring out a thick black smog, and Coronation Street. In reality Manchester was one of the most beautiful cities I've visited and the people were extremely friendly and helpful (which was great because I got lost...a lot). 

Next month I will aim to...

Be the best summer camp counsellor in history! Or, at the very least, not have the kids think I'm a complete and utter loser. 

A Trip to London Part 2: Scary Horse Statues, Men with Guns and the Artful Dodger.

In my last post I told you all about the seemingly endless process of applying for my J-1 Visa. The paperwork, the bizarre questions, the ordeal of finding the US Embassy for my interview and, of course, the queues, queues as far as the eye could see!

But, once my interview was over and done with and I'd bravely made my way back through the gates of the Embassy, past the guards with giant guns ("you'd better get used to guns if you're going to America. I've seen the ID channel. Guns everywhere!" as my mother helpfully added), my mother and I had the rest of the day to spend wandering around London. And here's how that panned out...

I wanted to go to the Dickens Museum. I mean, they have costumed tours and a gift shop. What's not to love? But my mother isn't a big fan of Dickens...or museums. She wanted to have a wander around Debenhams instead. In the end we compromised ended up in the Disney Store.

Needless to say I got in Cinderella's carriage

From there we went and had a quick nose around Selfridges. I'm not entirely sure my mother understood just how very out of place we were. She kept looking at me and asking if I'd seen anything I wanted to try on. When I told her I definitely couldn't afford anything in the shop she seemed to think that I was just being a bit of a miser until she spotted a dress she fancied and took a look at the price tag.
"I don't have my glasses on. What does that say? £19.50?"
"No...that's £1950."
We quickly vacated Selfridges after that.

At the start of the day it was a struggle to get my mother on the tube. Yes, it’s dank and scary and squashed full of people who shoulder you out of the way and push past you on the station. Yes, it smells and yes it is totally unnatural for human beings to be propelled from one end of the city to the other underneath the ground at hurtling speeds. But, for all its unhygienic and terrifying qualities, the tube really is the best way to get around.

And, once my mother got over her initial fear that we were all certainly going to die and saw how quickly we could hop on at one station and pop up somewhere entirely new, she really began to enjoy it. In fact, when we got home that night, she and my dad discussed the wonders of the tube in depth for half an hour or more. As if it was some kind of miraculous new invention.

Next ventured over to Camden Market on a whim. It was awesome! You could spend days wandering through the little stalls, peering at all the weird and wonderful curiosities on display. There were clothes, jewellery, ornaments, books, food, artwork…pretty much everything you can imagine, only quirkier and more bizarre. There were little winding alleyways, cobbled tunnels and shops that were tucked up and hidden out of the way, a barrage of different sights and sounds and a new smell every time we turned a corner (some good and some…not so good).

The Stables Market was my favourite (despite the fact that the horse statues made me very uneasy) because its nineteenth century stonework, worn floorboards and general hustle and bustle made it feel almost as though the Artful Dodger could pop up at any moment. I guess it was the next best thing to the Dickens museum.
  

Next we headed to Covent Garden. Yes, I know it’s one of the most famous places in London and yes I know it has a Chanel and a Burberry and it’s very fancy and all that, but I preferred the randomness and weirdly endearing griminess of Camden Market. Besides, I am in no way posh enough to go wandering around Dior so it’s just as well that I stick with the little stalls in Camden where a pair of earrings is £4. 

When the time came for us to get our train, neither of us were ready to head home, partly because we were having such a lovely time nosing around London and partly because we had foolishly left it until rush hour to catch the tube. Commuters are hostile at the best of times, but in the city centre at 5:30pm a tourist could potentially lose a limb.

Spending the day in London made us realise that we really don’t take advantage of the interesting places we have on our doorstep. Here I am jetting off to explore America and I still haven’t even begun to explore to UK. So I’m going to make an effort to travel more within the country. Top of the list? The Dickens Museum!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was as simple as that.

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

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

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

Please Prewarn Obama, I'm Going to the USA

Hand me my cowboy boots and a map to the Jack Daniel's distillery, I'm going to the USA! Yes, for those of you who missed the announcement in my latest Monthly Musings post, I've gone and gotten myself a job as a summer camp counsellor in New England. I also have 30 days of bonus travel time once camp is over so I can run wild in America, binging on Cap'n Crunch cereal and slowly working my way ever-closer to the South, which, as we all know, is the capital of big hair, hoop-skirts and whisky and therefore, my mother-ship.

In six worryingly short weeks I'll be heading out to camp with an ample supply of enthusiasm and excitement (and a suitcase stuffed with Disney princess t-shirts) to undertake my new role as...director of arts and crafts. Yes, it's my job to come up with all the arts and crafts projects, write up the itinerary, buy the supplies and to ensure that fabulous keepsakes are made, fun is had, and no one burns off their fingerprints using the glue-gun. No pressure.

I have to admit, when I was first contacted by the camp I was a little concerned. You see, it's an all boys sports camp. In fact there isn't a single female in any of their photos or videos...at all...anywhere. Naturally I was initially a little hesitant as a) I'm a girl and b) I am the least athletic person in the greater South Wales area. My friend, Beth, tried to be helpful by pointing out that with such a skewed male to female ratio at least there would be a good chance of me finding romance. I quickly pointed out that, while there will be an ample supply of testosterone, the vast majority of guys there will be aged 8-15. Not exactly marriage material.

But anxiety has melted away into excitement. After all, surely no one is going to expect me to be any good at catching a ball while I'm in the arts and crafts room...right?

When camp is over and I've had my fair share of s'mores and poster paint, I have a month of travelling ahead of me. I'm hoping to make some friends at camp to travel with (hopefully they'll have a better sense of direction than I do), but I do worry that no one will want to visit the bizarre places I plan on going to. I'm sure most people will want to go to New York and Washington D.C, but I'm looking more towards the witch museum in Salem and Bourbon Street in New Orleans. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

All I really know for sure is I'm jetting off to America next month and I still don't have a thing to wear!

To hear more about my upcoming American adventure you can watch my video on it!

24 Hours of Fancy

If three years in Exeter taught me anything about myself it's that I am not a fancy person. I drink Blossom Hill instead of Prosecco, I do not understand the obsession with Jack Wills, and I have never held a £50 note. (While we're on the topic, does anyone actually know who's on the £50 note? I've always been curious.)

But last week I got the opportunity to pretend to be super fancy for a full 24 hours. It was exhausting. 

As a birthday treat for my mother we went to the Celtic Manor Resort, a golf, spa and leisure hotel and resort in Newport. Everyone from the Prince of Wales to Elton John, Shirley Bassey and even Obama have stayed there. Clearly, if it's good enough for Barack then it's good enough for us. 

I drove (purely because my car would fit in fractionally better among the BMWs and Porches than my mother's Ford Focus) and there was a long, winding driveway up to the hotel. Even the shrubbery was fancy! But there was a £15 charge to use the car park overnight! In a hotel as posh as the Celtic Manor you'd expect a valet in full livery with some kind of elaborate moustache to come and park the car for you (not that I would have dared let a valet get in my car, amongst the discarded Cadbury wrappers and crumpled up parking tickets). At the very least you expect to park for free. I mean, I can't imagine Obama standing at the ticket machine, counting out his pound coins.

However, by the time we got to the check-in desk, any irritation had been completely replaced with awe. The lobby was huge, with impressive dragon sculptures and giant Rolex clocks, showing the time in a random assortment of countries. It was even more impressive than the Radisson Blu in Cologne (although I may be biased because, well, there were dragons).

It was while we were queueing to check-in that we first spotted our holiday enemy. There is always a holiday enemy, regardless of where you go or whether you're there for two weeks or one solitary night. The holiday enemy is the person who keeps popping up at various points throughout your stay, seemingly with the sole purpose of irritating you.

Our holiday enemy was a lady in amongst a group of women who clearly thought they were auditioning for 'The Real Housewives of South Wales'. I didn't even know that people like this existed in real life, but there they were, looking more glamorous than any person has a right to at three 'o' clock in the afternoon in Newport. And then there was the holiday enemy, flicking her hair as if she was sponsored by L'oreal, laughing loudly so all the little people could hear, and staring down her nose at the rest of the world (literally, because her heels were so high).

"Look at her," My mother said. "She thinks that being in the Celtic Manor means she's really something special. But obviously it doesn't. After all, we're here!"

The room was amazing! There was so much space (I wish my bedroom was half as big) and we had a little sitting area with arms chairs, a desk, a dressing table, a view that stretched out for miles and a mini bar that we were too afraid to so much as look at. Then there was the bathroom. It was heavenly! I mean, the Bryn Meadows may have had a tv in the bathroom, but this bathroom had a giant mirror with lights all around and ample room to do makeup (even for someone who spreads out mess as much as I do).

After exploring the room we did a little turn around the lobby again, investigating the cocktail bars and restaurants and I taught my mother to carry her bag on the crook of her elbow because "that's how the rich people do it". Then we sat and had a coffee (which came with complimentary cakes!) and we tried to work out how we were possibly going to raise enough money to move into the hotel. Because clearly there was no going back to real life after a taste of such luxury.

We ate dinner in the Olive Tree, one of the restaurants downstairs, which served a hot buffet. I won't lie, I stuffed my face. Soup, turkey, duck, vegetables, weird rice things, some kind of gnocchi...I didn't turn down anything. I had five desserts and I feel no shame! Everything was delicious and, best of all, everything was labelled stating whether or not it was gluten free.

Then we got the bill and I thought my mother was going to throw four courses worth of food back up onto her plate.
"£9 for a glass of wine?!"
She complained all the way back to the room. Yes, she moaned about the price of wine all the way through the lobby of the most posh hotel in the country (but, even as she was ranting, she kept her bag on the crook of her arm in an attempt to blend in). Luckily she didn't find out how much my Cosmopolitan had cost until the next day.

After a night spent in wonderfully comfortable beds, and a morning spent stuffing our faces full of delicious breakfast goodies, we went to the pool. It was amazing! There were saunas, steam rooms, hot tubs, jacuzzis, sun loungers, a ceiling with little LCD bulbs, painted to look like the night's sky. It was all so...fancy!

But, all too soon, it was time to check-out. It was so sad, knowing that we were heading back out into a world where people wouldn't rush to our aid whenever we needed something or call us ma'am, a world where there was no one to come and re-fold our napkins between courses, where the baths were regular sizes and no one came to refill your wine glass.

We caught one last sight of our holiday enemy again, flicking her hair and posing.
"You know," I said. "If she really was that posh then she'd know you're not meant to wear open toe shoes after Labour Day."

And that's the story of how, for just one night, my mother and I became all fancy-shmancy, sipping on overpriced wine and dining on food we couldn't pronounce the names of. But alas, when the clock struck 12 it was check-out time and, as we pulled out of the car park, we instantly turned back into pumpkins.

My New Year's Resolutions (with the best of intentions)

Last year my New Year's resolution was 'to be better'. I'm not sure that I ever truly understood what I really meant by that other than that I wanted to improve every aspect of my life in one fair swoop. I had a vague idea that it would include everything from getting up earlier to reading more, dabbling in the Welsh language to becoming some kind of vegetable-loving, meditating, eco-friendly woman of the world who also puts time and effort into getting her hair to lie flat and wears good shoes.

Clearly this was not a good resolution. It was way too vague and ridiculous. I couldn't keep up with all the different aspects of it, partially because they changed from one day to the next. This year I'm going to set myself a list of clear cut, attainable goals with the best of intentions (which, as we know, the road to Hell is paved with) and I'm sharing them with you guys so that I'll feel more obligated to actually get up and do them.

From Public Pools to the Royal Treatment

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

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

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

That quickly changed.

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

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

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

The red line is the ridiculous route I took

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

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

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

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

The South West Blog Social and Nails Barbie would Envy!

Last weekend I travelled back to Exeter for the South West blog social. Never has a train journey seemed so long. There I was, standing in the cramped space near the toilets with half a dozen of my fellow travellers when the train stopped to let yet more people on board. First on was a pregnant woman with her five young children, followed by a somewhat large and very stifled-looking woman with her somewhat large and very stifled-looking daughter and then, after five or so more people had squeezed into their respective little spaces, an older lady with an enormous backpack and a fully assembled crib got on. She insisted on dragging it past everyone to the luggage compartment, injuring a few of the pregnant lady's children as she did so.

There were no windows. Very soon it started to smell like stale sweat and it wasn't long before the pregnant lady wedged the toilet door open and sat down on the loo, with her five young children sprawled around her on what I'm guessing was not a clean floor. After an hour the somewhat large and very stifled-looking woman offered to spray something on my face to cool me down. I assumed it was water. It was not. It smelled like fruit juice and made my skin itch.

So, needless to say, by the time I got to Exeter all I could think was, 'this social had better be worth the three hours I just spent stood inhaling other people's perspiration'. Luckily, it was even better than I could have imagined! Ok, so prepare yourself for some serious, shameless name-dropping because I met so many lovely bloggers and you should go and check out their sites...after you read this, of course.

I'm not a shy person, but when I first turned up at Oddfellows (which, luckily for me, is a three minute walk from my house), I was a little overwhelmed. The room was already filling up with people and photographs were being taken from all angles. That's one of the hazards of a blogging event. Everyone has a camera.

"In amongst the piles of sensible-looking cards..."

I decided my priorities were first to get a drink in my hand and second to make some friends. I sat down at a table with Hannah from Cupcake Mumma and Issy from Life and Times of a Student and they were really sweet. Issy studies English too and Hannah has two children, which amazed me because she looked so amazing. That isn't to say that women with children usually look like swamp creatures or anything like that, but it was one of those, "What? You have children? But you're so young and radiant looking!" type scenarios. I feel that in fifty words or less I've just offended mothers everywhere, but trust me when I say I know what I mean and it's not a bad thing.

Moving swiftly on from that...

I tried one of the signature blog cocktails that were made especially for the event and they were delicious! The till downstairs was broken so I had to venture up a set of creaky wooden stairs to order my drink. As I walked into the upstairs bar the barman was taking a tray of cocktails downstairs.
"He'll make yours up when he comes back." The manager told me.
"Oh great." I said. "Will he bring it down...?"
"No, you'll have to wait."
"Ok, I was just wondering because I'm a little nervous about getting back down the stairs in these shoes."
Maybe he thought this was an attempt at a damsel in distress act rather than a genuine confession about my complete lack of co-ordination or balance, but he was a little patronising when he said, "I'm sure you can manage to walk down the stairs."
Unfortunately, though, he was wrong. At the top of the stairs my heel got caught in a gap in the floor boards, I lost balance and spilled half of my drink over myself and (the horror!) ruined the heel of one of my favourite shoes! People just don't understand the extent of my incompetence. The only plus point is that no one was there to witness my humiliation.

"Even Barbie would envy these nails"

There was so much going on downstairs! I had my nails done by Rachel from Monkey Nail Art. I love them! Even Barbie would envy these nails they're so pink and sparkly. She was so talented and so nice to chat to. Then I dropped off my new business cards at the business card exchange. In amongst the piles of sensible-looking cards, the pictures of me pulling
a ridiculous face really stood out...I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. We had really interesting talks about publishing, advertising and content. There really was a bit of everything going on and something for everyone. Oh, and I had a giant pizza to myself and felt no shame.

Then there was the raffle. Determined that for once in my life I would win at a raffle, I bought 6 strips of tickets. Ultimately it paid off because I won twice. I think the "Yesssss!" when my name was called was perhaps a little too enthusiastic, but I wasn't as loud as I was the time I won £10 in bingo so presumably my social etiquette is improving.

The day really slipped away from me and it seemed like no time at all before I was collecting my goody bag and thanking Albertine from Dippy Writes and Jodie from a la Jode for putting together such a wonderful event. And then I got home and stuffed my face with complimentary Quiz cookiesQuiz cookies and riffled through my freebies. What a fantastic day! I would quite happily stand squashed between a smelly woman and a crib for three hours to attend a day like that again!

And...
If you'd like to see what sort of goodies I got at the event then your curiosity can be satisfied by watching this video. Because I'm kind like that.

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.

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 Weirdness that was my 2013!

At the risk of sounding like someone's great aunt, time really does fly. I can't get my head around the fact that 2013 is about to come to an end. It has been a fantastic year for me! I'm partly sad to see the back of it, but partly excited to see what kinds of adventures 2014 will bring. 

My Year in Pictures!

 I thought I'd do a review of the year with a little questionnaire, all about my 2013.

What was your favourite memory of 2013?

How can I even choose? This year has been crammed full of great memories. Over 20 of us went on a family holiday to Greece this summer. A particular highlight was when my sister-in-law and I drunkenly hid behind a tree to make bird noises at the others, totally oblivious to the fact that everyone could blatantly see our heads over the branches. The joke was on us as they sat, silently judging us. But my absolute favourite part of the year was the Eurotrip I took with my friends, Hayleigh and Bethan. Midnight police raids, humans with gills, giant penises…and that was all before we made it as far as Germany. If you’re intrigued (which you should be) I blogged all about it back in September. Trust me, it’s dramatic.

 What was your most embarrassing moment?

If I allowed myself to feel embarrassed I would have to immediately move to a cave, far from any kind of human contact. My life is just that full of socially awkward situations. I tend to scream at strangers quite often. I’m just so jumpy. If they happen to be on the other side of a door I open, or are within 3 feet of me when I turn around quickly, I scream in their faces. Loudly. And then scurry away with eyes diverted.

What were you most proud of completing?

My 3,000 word Acts of Writing essay. ‘Discuss the spaces in-between identity positions.’ I successfully managed to blag my way through 3,000 words of rubbish during one of the most awful weeks of my university life. For two whole days I didn’t leave my room and by the time I finally finished typing it up I had lost all feeling in my right leg because I’d been sitting down for so long.

What was the biggest risk you took?

Flying to Cologne to meet the Beacon for the first time. In part I was terrified of having a ‘Taken’ type scenario kick off (and it’s safe to say my Dad is no Liam Neeson), and in part I was worried that he would turn out to be a balding, 40 year old man instead of the good-looking guy I remembered. And then there was the risk that he wouldn’t like my shoes…

What was your worst habit this year?

Procrastinating! It is the curse of my life.

What do you wish you had done more of?

Reading for uni. I’m sure it would help with the exam I have next month.

What do you wish you had done less of?

Candy Crush Saga. Why do you plague me?

Have you positively influenced a child this year?

I got my niece a dress like the one she saw Eden Wood wearing in Toddlers and Tiaras…so probably not.

Did you suffer any illness or injury?

Amazingly no! (Although, let’s not tempt fate. The year isn’t over yet.) I am a doctor’s worst nightmare! Between allergies, low iron, and my general poor excuse for an immune system, I was pleasantly surprised to get through the year unscathed.

What was your favourite book?

Gone With the Wind. I’m just waiting for hoop skirts to come back in fashion.

What was your favourite film?

I really haven’t watched many new films this year. I think I only went to the cinema twice, once to see The Conjuring and once to see Disney’s Planes. I didn’t particularly like either of them, although I spent half of one crying into my popcorn and half of the other trying to get Lauren not to throw hers at me.

Describe your style for 2013 in one word.

...Aimee.

How old did you turn on your birthday and how did you celebrate?

I turned 22 and, to celebrate being a very grown up person, I had an Alice in Wonderland tea party. We had cocktails, tea cups, cupcakes, pink flamingos, playing cards, and all things quirky. I loved it!

What was a typical day in 2013?

When I’m in Exeter my average day starts at about noon. If I don’t need to go anywhere then I may or may not change out of my pjs, depending on how zealous I’m feeling. I will typically consume at least one Cup a Soup, crawl into Kirsty’s bed while she’s trying to work, avoid my own work at all costs, and bug the Beacon.

What were you doing most Saturday mornings this year?

Sleeping.

What were you doing at 3pm during the weekdays?

Sleeping.

What were you doing on Sunday evenings?

Napping.

How will you be spending New Year’s?

The Beacon is coming to Wales! I’m not sure if he fully understands what he has let himself in for, between my crazy family, the constant rain, overwhelming number of sheep, and indecipherable accents. But we will be spending New Year’s Eve at a golf club about an hour from where I live, where we will have a meal, entertainment, and copious amounts of alcohol. The next day I’ll be bringing him back to Port Talbot. Pity help him.

What are your New Year’s Resolutions for 2014?

I want to work on my blog next year. I’m finally ready to deal with my technophobia, which means I may also be experimenting with video blogs on Youtube…providing someone can show me how to make that be a thing. And to kick things off I’m going to attempt a January Instagram challenge. It will challenge my technophobia as well as my memory because I’m meant to post a different picture every day. Goodness knows how that will go. But I’d love some new followers (because it’s slightly sad if you’re uploading pictures purely for yourself).

My Instagram name thingy is aimee_oddball

What quote sums up your 2013?

“Guys, would you rather be a fish with lungs or a human with gills?” 

Happy New Year everyone! And if anyone does this New Year review post for yourselves I'd love to take a look. I promise I won't try and copy your answers or anything.