"It Tastes Like Christmas!"

This isn't a horror story... not a fictional one anyway
LOOK AT THOSE CLOUDS!

4pm on Friday 13th May.

I know what your thinking, I have a Friday-the-thirteenth horror story to share with the world. But while I sit here, slurping down my third coffee of the day, and without jinxing myself too much, I can cautiously say that I haven't really noticed any final destination chaos hurtling towards me with a vengeance. 

Nope. I can confirm that this post is totally unrelated to the mythical day that karma takes a holiday and everyone throws their shit at a fan. Today, at this time, I am hear to report that it is 20 degrees C. That's right everyone, regardless of what John Snow and his northern friends believe, winter has most certainly come to Sydney, Australia. 

I, like so many other misty-eyed, first-time backpackers before me, were shocked, outraged and left threatening to sue the country of Australia after discovering it's not all scorching deserts and humid rain forest biomes* down in this mystical place called the Southern Hemisphere. Sadly, it does in fact suffer from the world's worst sickness: winter. 

As a self-diagnosed cryophobic, I escaped to the sunny corner of the planet which promised deadly holes in the ozone layer and temperatures so high that the entire Australian population has evolved to live little further than running distance from the ocean. I discovered very quickly that not even the only exotic English-speaking country could escape the weather systems I revised so poorly for my Geography A-Level.

So while everyone else taps away about their hilarious Friday the thirteenth run with THAT ex while their hair was a mess and they'd just snapped their favorite pair of Jimmy Choo's, I'm here to send a very important message to the wonderfully bewildered people of the Northern Hemisphere: the theory that Australia is permanently enjoying summer, is the biggest con since capitalism (and we all know how well we bought into that one).

I mean, am I telling you that Sydney and Melbourne are six feet deep in snow from June-September? Of course not, how gullible are you guys? Seriously.

However, am I telling you that by the end of April you can wave goodbye to that golden tan you've been sporting like you're first ever Prada handbag since stepping off that 20 hour plus plane journey? Yes, that I am. 

But the lie doesn't end there my little frosty-fingered friends, oh no no no. From one's first experience of a hurricane-style thunderstorm- which lasted over a week and had me sky scanning for the next flight to Bali- I was looked in the eye and told, totally honestly, that by the time winter hit New South Wales, it would still be warmer than British summer time and you can always scoot up north for the "actual" part of Australia that doesn't experience winter. 

Lies.

After being totally randomly and spontaneously (and in true backpacker style) "let go" from my totally stable job (Ha!) in the cooky suburb of Newtown, conveniently before my long-awaited second trip to Bali [gasp for air] I've considered the possibility of a surfers paradise lifestyle.

You know the dream, casually well-payed job at a surf shop, inches from the sand and an overpriced shared apartment just inches away from work so I can practice those appalling surf-skills everyday on my brand new little fish... An impeccable new fashion sense, hair cut and a fling that even Jill Mansell couldn't put into luscious-enough cliched words wouldn't go amiss either. We can all dream right? 

No. No we can't. Because while all of this is 100% possible (ahem...) I'm going to have to achieve it in temperatures too far under 30 degrees to maintain a serious tan or frolic around in a bikini at all hours of the day and night without a care in the world.

This is a fact that a self-diagnosed cryophobic is finding seriously hard to come to terms with. Especially following a culture shock that nearly had me twitching on the floor in a processing error fit. The chef at my former place at work once thrust a spoonful of the new winter menu into my face for a delightful and wonderfully surprising taste test before I'd had my first coffee of the day. Without even thinking, I looked at the chef, doe-eyed and gleefully munching on baked apple/cinnamon flavors and said "It tastes like Christmas!" ... All I can say is it's a good job that this Australian chef had been to England, had a cup of coffee that morning and also had a basic understanding of the Northern and Southern Hemisphere and where their seasons fall on a calendar.  

So today, at 5pm on Friday 13th May, I leave you with these little home truths that should be considered when packing your perfectly planned out backpack. That's right, I'm not telling you not to come, don't be an idiot. However, no harm ever came from considering two pairs of jeans, a jacket, a couple jumpers and maybe even throw in a long sleeved t-shirt if you're sure you've got enough room. 

And while I'm being bossy... DO NOT BRING HIGH HEELS.

If you do this the force will be strong with you, young padawan. 

Peace Out.

*Biome: A man-made tropical eco-system inside a a giant dome-shaped greenhouse somewhere in the South West of England where people go on a rainy day to remind the public that there is life (and heat) outside the rainy world we're from.

It's okay to Breakfast on your own.

Newtown at 10am on a weekday is a bit of an in between place. Those who work in the city have left in their town cars or via public transport hours before you have dared graced the streets and anyone a similar age to yourself is either still in bed, or working at one of the many hipster, chic cafe's or coffee shops that open before sunrise. This leaves a strange mix-breed population of tourists, the unemployed and, like me, the lost day off-ers trying to figure out what to do. 

Without much contemplation or hesitation, I decide my morning will be spent somewhere secret, because if there's one thing I've discovered in life, it's that one will always survive if one can Breakfast on one's own. My choice of haven is situated a walk slightly too far from my hostel and friends houses for me to risk accidentally Breakfasting with company other than a book and is far too much of a competitor for me to risk a co-worker run-in on my solitary day off. 

Hiding in plain site, in a tiny little corner where even the waitress herself forgets I'm there, sipping on my strong soy flat white (which has a little too much head for my liking. But that's what happens when the place you work makes the best coffee in Sydney) and munching on a Bali-style ACAI bowl with "seasonal fruit" helpfully assisting my new lax-vegan lifestyle in my own bubble of anti-social isolation. I even bought a green juice with Kale in it.

Do I meet the stereotype yet? Or is it worth mentioning that my book of choice is the latest 'must-read' at the local bookshop, "a totally irresistible page turner" : I Was Told There'd Be Cake by the "post-modern Mary Tyler Moore", Sloane Crosley.

So what is the point of this? Other than confirming that I've found that place I will claim as my haven and never utter a single word of it to anyone. Nor will anyone know where/how to find me when I am there until I have decided to re-immerse myself back into the real world after pressing a three hour pause button consisting of two coffees, one breakfast, one overwhelmingly healthy-tasting juice and digesting five chapters of my must read. I have, in fact, stumbled apon one of those situations in life that one never really knows how to react to. Of course, when I say "stumbled apon" what I really mean is it slapped me in the face at 5 O'Clock one morning while I was getting ready for work and has since somewhat consumed my brain. 

The shock and denial followed by totally ignoring the situation altogether and simply hoping to live in an out-of-body existence until it all blew over plan was somewhat flushed down the toilet yesterday evening after I discovered my well-planned evening of dinner, sex and a private room, followed by a fun-filled day of breakfasting for two and a rock climbing date turned out to be a more fictional tale than the book I had been meaning to start. At times like this, I've found myself picking up the phone, and totally intruding on two particular people's evenings. Busying myself with swimming in their pool, cooking them dinner, drinking their alcohol and smoking their cigarettes until I was out in a night club, too drunk to function and being bailed into a cab by one of them and waking up the next day far too hungover to care about any plans I had originally made for the day. 

Sounds simple right? An obvious solution that avoids me getting angry, or needy, or even a little crazy. But the simple fact of the matter is that since that early morning slap in the face a few days ago, I don't know two people who pick me up when I'm down and get me drunk and feed me cigarettes and pay for hostel rooms after I've been mugged and have tequila shots in burrito bars in the middle of the day and drag me out of bed on a Sunday morning, feed me pancakes and drag me to the beach when I should be hiding out in my bedroom avoiding the fact that I called in sick at work at 4am. 

Instead, I now know two people in prison. So last night I slept alone in my private room and silently dropped off my key at reception at 8am, put on some clothes, and went for breakfast. Because you know what? When life throws you lemons like a tennis ball out of one of those aggressive training machines, all you can do is press those lemons into a healthy juice with FAD diets' new best friend, the curly kale, and accept that it's a Wonderful Life, as well sung by Katie Melua, no matter how bitterly healthy that juice tasted. I'd probably drink it again tomorrow.

So next time you see someone sat alone in a restaurant or a cafe, possibly reading a book, possibly writing one, don't pity their loneliness or consider how awkward a lonely breakfast would be, because you cannot knock it's effect on your overall mental state until you've tried it. I dare you. 

Peace out.

WonderLost

This is my face now...

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I'm half wondering if I've forgotten how to write all together. Unless you count taking coffee orders and venting in my diary as adequate writing experience then I've been somewhat lacking as of late and I think I owe my totally imaginary readers an explanation.

Since the 14th December 2015 I have been 10,780 miles away from my little seaside life in Cornwall, living it up/totally stumbling through life in Sydney, Australia. Vowing to leave all forms of publishing and journalistic thoughts behind until June 2016 when I supposedly return to my well mapped-out life on the yellow brick road to success and marriage and all that jazz.

When I started my travels I had absolutely no plan and no idea what I wanted to gain from my trip. I vowed never to hashtag "wonderlust" or "gap yarrr", learn how to surf and stay far away from men and their allure. Two out of three ain't bad.

Definitely don't fit the #wonderlust
streotype

So what's my life like now? I live in Newtown, a Bristol/Brighton-like suburb in inner west Sydney, where I also work as a waitress in a cafe that has a menu dedicated to bacon, South American coffee and blue denim with black and white striped uniforms. I eat at a vegan charity restaurant called Lentils is Everything where you pay what you can afford and I holiday in Bali and escape to Gerringong once a fortnight. I shop at Billabong and haven't blow dried my hair since my hair dryer (and the rest of my hand bag) was mugged from me during an eye-opening spell of fundraising nearly 2 months ago.

Bali was okay I guess....

I've made friends for life in the places I've traveled and collected all the weirdest and best kind of memories. I've been poor, I've been rich, I've almost been homeless a few times but I've always stumbled through it all, enjoying nearly every second. Wondering, lost, but happy.

Things I've learned include:

• Australia isn't actually that expensive, until you come back from Bali because everything there costs $3 max.
• It's a really fucking small world. Like really small. That person you don't want to bump into, will totally pop up at some point.
• Fuck making plans. I didn't even make plans and I still failed to achieve any of my original goals. Want to know how that's possible? Go travelling.
• Bladder infections are stupid.
• Make-up is stupid
• Owning more than 5 T-shirts, 2 pairs of shorts, two pairs of jeans, 3 bikini's, flip flops and trainers is stupid. No matter how much you want to raid all the surf shop sales. 
• Over dramatic people are an unnecessary drain on your energy resources. 
• It isn't always sunny in Australia. In fact, it rains A LOT in Sydney, and now it's nearly winter, it's bloody cold. I'm still figuring out who I can blame for this massive cover up of information. I think it's the media. Fucking irony.
• NEVER underestimate the significance of the avocado. Because they're everywhere, and there is no escaping them.

  

  I was always a foodie... 

What's next? 

I'm going back to Bali in May for 10 days of fun fun fun and going to New Zealand in June and Splendour in the Grass (festival in Byron, headliners include The Strokes and The Cure) in July and Perth in September. 

Hang on a minute? Wasn't I suppose to be 10,780 miles away in Cornwall in under 2 months? 

But how can someone leave this behind?

Whoops... 

Keep you posted from now on, I promise.

Peace Out!

24 Days and Counting

There really is no way of describing the freaking panic and nauseating excitement of realising that my trip of a life time down under is less than a month away. I'm now forced to count down the remaining time in weeks and days.

3.233 Weeks.
24 Days.
576 Hours.
34,560 Minutes...

Amidst this panic, which left me rapidly inhaling my own carbon dioxide out a paper bag, I started realising all the things I needed to do before I left. At first all the obvious stuff came to mind such as packing and saving enough money and purchasing the strongest bug spray money can buy.

But then I started to think about all the little things I was going to miss about home; all the things I needed to do one last time for the next 6 months, and I only have 24 days to do it all!

I've made hundreds of draft to do lists for things to pack, things to buy, things to remember (passport/visa/insurance details etc.) but haven't even considered the things to do before I leave.

I tore myself away from the paper bag, flattened it on the table and started to scribble a list of all the things I needed to do. My pre-adventure bucket list.

So here it goes...

• I need say goodbye to the friends and certain special people who I haven't said goodbye to yet. I was forced to say an early farewell to most of my friends a few weeks ago because they're all at university, but there's still some serious buddy time to squeeze into the next 24 days. 
• I have a gift card for a shop in town that runs out in 2 months that I seriously need to use up. I'm not going to need jumpers and jeans for almost a year and that's all they're selling but I need to spend it!
• I need to eat a Cornish pasty... I know Warrens delivers to Brighton, but I doubt they deliver to Sydney.
• I need to visit Praa Sands. It's my favourite beach in the world and if I'm going to be adulterous and spend six months on the golden sands of the east coast then I should probably say a proper farewell.
• I need to buy one last large latte from my favourite coffee shop with the sexy barista I've crushed on for about 2 years, because his coffee is fantastic and his smile makes my day.
• Passing my driving test would be totally radical. It would be totally awesome to go pick someone up from somewhere and take them somewhere else just because I can. It would also be dramatically useful in Australia. Give me that van!
• I want to make sure my kitty gets plenty of cuddles so she doesn't forget me in her absence and me and the dog will have to go for one of our crazy long walks to who-knows-where.
• Last but certainly not least, I need some family time. It could easily be argued that I've had far too much family time since I decided to take a gap year and live at home 3 months longer than recommended for someone my age. However, my Mum and I have a tradition of going to the big M&S in Hayle for coffee and toasties and I'd like to do it again before I fly off to an M&S deprived country. I want a movie marathon night with my sister and a night in cooking for my Dad, because he bloody loves my food and he'll probably miss it in the next six months more than me!

Realising that's a lot to do in 24 days, I've resumed the hyperventilating position with my all important to do list inflating and deflating in front of my crossed eyes.

I think I'm going to go and lie down.

If anyone can help me complete any of these bullet points I'd be very appreciative and if you have anything else to add... fuck off! Can't you see I'm freaking out enough?!

Peace(?) Out ♥






 

The metaphorical new leaf of doom

Turning over a new leaf. It's a cliche adopted by many.

A promise from a son to father that he won't fail his next exam because he was hungover. 

A promise from boyfriend to nearly-ex-girlfriend after he betrays her trust again. 

A promise to yourself to start a fresh and leave the past behind you. 

Sometimes it's not that easy. When reading a book, you don't turn the page and totally forget what was on the previous page. You'd never finish the story and if you did, you wouldn't understand the plot or concept and you certainly wouldn't have learned anything from whatever moral might be hiding between the lines. 

How does anyone ever move on completely, cut all ties and pretend like everything that happened before that moment was just memories and learned lessons? 

Before diving into any new relationship, I always scroll through my Facebook friends thinking "who needs to go to make this relationship work?" The answer's usually pretty simple; estranged exes, previous booty calls, any friends I've accidentally slept with that one time. You name it, they gotta go.

Of course, that's quite a plunge to take. Turning round and looking at this guy and deciding he's worth burning your black book for, knowing you'll have to buy a new one and start all over again if it turns out to be a mistake. 

Do men do the same thing? Do they rid their past of threatening evidence before diving in to a new relationship or do they just hope for the best, knowing they have back up just in case it goes to shit? 

Men are a mystery. 

So this metaphorical new leaf is never as easy as you might hope, no one wants to throw out their previous exploits, take the plunge and, God forbid, actually trust another human being to do the same. 

In my experience, the new chapter in your life go two ways. It can turn into a book or barely last two pages before you decide it sounds like shit, select all and delete in a heartbeat and start the chapter again. Kind of like this blog post actually.

In light of this discover, I've coined a new phrase: the metaphorical new leaf of doom. Because no matter how many times you turn over a new leaf, take the plunge, burn the black book and, here it comes again, trust another human being (!!!) it could always be doomed.

So I leave you with no conclusion but a mere 'to be continued...'

How do you know when it's right to take the plunge and when it's doomed to the 'lessons learned' chapter of the book? 

And can you ever really burn the black book of doom? I mean it's all online now baby.

Peace Out ❤️

Qualms and Resolution

When I decided to take a gap year, I think it's fair to say I didn't consider all of the obvious hiccups I may face before I reach Australia.

It's October. 68 days before I fly out to Aus for six months (and live on my own and attempt to not fail and hopefully get a sun tan) and the summer has officially come to an end in the UK. The tourist season is over and my plans for 30 hours of work a week have jumped on the First Great Western out of Cornwall at a speed far quicker than any Cornish train.

On top of my dwindling budget, I didn't consider that not going back to university resulted in me having to stay at home. Watching all my friends run around on Facebook, making in rain with bare student finance and #lovinglife.

Meanwhile, in Cornwall, I'm getting wasted at work drinks while desperately searching for another job and seriously considering selling an organ to pay for the rest of my trip. Moaning into cheesy pasta and watching Bridesmaids and finding way too many parallels between me and the main character. 

The mid youth crisis continues but not all hope is lost.

I've been filling my time with eating out. Cornwall may have its short comings, but great eateries is definitely not on of them. 

With this in mind I've started a new blog: What's Up Dog

It's a food blog where I rate all the places I go and eat PLUS me attempting to improve my own cooking skills! 

Link and more info to follow 

Peace Out ❤️

My Outrageous Decision

To: Hope Smyth
From: University of Brighton Admin
Re: Gap Year Enquiries 

Hi Hope, I think it would be a good idea for you to have a chat with Jo MacDonnell regarding this decision, and if you have not already done so I would also get in touch with Lorraine Roberts for further support and guidance, (I have copied both into this email). If you decide to go ahead with the gap year, we can intermit you – this means that your record will go on hold until you decide to resume your studies. Please let me know if this is what you would like to do once you have sought further advice from Jo and Lorraine. All the best, Amanda.

_________________________________

So here it is: When life gives you lemons, sell those fuckers to pay for a well needed break from reality.

I've been trying to figure out the best way to write this post, justifying to everyone I know why I've made this outrageous decision. But the truth is, why do I need to? 

I've worked so hard for my education and have never needed more... until now.

Last week I woke up and realised that I was so utterly lost, I didn't know up from down. Life had lost it's muchness and I was left wondering what was the point of it all? 

Cliche's aside, I was miserable and I have been for longer than I can remember and I've worked myself into a rut as a result, locking myself away and pushing people away, scared of something happening that would ruin the very little mental stability I had left....

Basically, it was pretty shit and I think it's about time I burst out of that rut and get my fun side back in gear. 

So here it is: I'm taking a gap year.

Yup, you read that correct. I'm packing a backpack and going to Australia for six months starting in December. I'm going to work, travel, eat, pray, love and all that other cheesy shit our generation feels the need to do. 

Most importantly, I'm going to find me. Because once apon a time, I was really good fun and crazy and I loved every drop of life and you know what? There is no point going through all this crap if I'm not going to enjoy the ride. 

This is my fucking ride and I'm sick of not knowing whether life is passing me by or trying to run me over.

My soulmate sent me a poem from her hostel wall in China:

Hope is the thing with feathers,

That perches on the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never speaks at all, 

- Emily Dickinson 

So I'm flying away and my blog will document my outrageous ride on this journey.

One more thing, whatever you're thinking right now about why I'm doing this, you're wrong.

Peace Out ❤