"Why did I ever let you go?"

It's adorable isn't it? You've sat there through the emotional roller-coaster of a Rom-Com. The leading lady has been through so much. She started off as a single girl, feeling lonely because all her friends are happily in love. She probably has a heart breaking unlucky-in-love background and has excepted that she'll be lonely forever. Then a man comes along. He's usually a beautiful Ryan Reynolds looking guy and she falls in love, he breaks her heart and there's a long, wasted period of time in the film where she's back to being her lonely, single self. At the end the guy comes to his senses and makes a massive show of his love and shouts from the roof tops "WHY DID I EVER LET YOU GO?"

How romantic.

But lets stop and think for a second, because I think I've heard this one before. It's called fiction and no matter how beautiful it sounds coming from Ryan Reynold's mouth, it's just simply not that convenient.

"You don't know what you've got until it's gone" seems to have a catch here in reality. And it's called "gone and lost weight, found a skin matching foundation and invested in a new wardrobe".

But the main question here is: What was wrong with me before? Was it that I was too young; had a few pre-adolescent pimples on my face and hadn't yet discovered frizz-ease shampoo? Because here's a shocker, you weren't that pretty yourself.

I'm still the same load mouth, weird and awkward girl that you dated before. And if none of that bothers you, then the reason we broke up, isn't because "it wasn't the right time" or you were "really bogged down with work" but because I just wasn't pretty enough. And now, because according to you I am, I'll get a text message from you declaring (quietly) "WHY DID I EVER LET YOU GO?"

How romantic.

Really, I mean it, I'm thrilled. It's not like I've moved on, grown up and totally forgot we ever dated. Honestly!

At the end of the day, this is just going to cause an awkward situation, ruin the friendship we built up over time and waste a whole evening, dedicating carefully selected words to letting you down in the nicest possible way after you dumbed me on my ass the first time round.

How romantic...

The Last 18th

Nearly two years since the crazy festivities began, all my friends have now successfully entered the part of their life that involves enough alcohol to fill the Dead Sea. Fact. (Well... I can imagine it would).

Every birthday has been different, and some substantially messier than others, but I'm not giving out awards. EVERYONE'S A WINNER!!

This 18th was no different. A weekend of madness which is still going on now, and will for the rest of the week.

So here's a few little snippets from the weekend in crazy drunkern pictures....

I arrived at 9pm on Friday night and walked into a chaos of absolute strangers. And in the half hour she remained with the living, my friend did her best to introduce me to everyone, before running off to the bathroom to flush her memory of the night away... I only wish I had a picture of her bent over a bucket.... Sadly, this will have to do:

The next morning was messy, and a trip into Waterlooville in the same clothes we'd worn the day before without showering is something that is only excusable if it's in the form of a walk of shame. We did see a super cool mini on the way though...

 

The night out in Portsmouth both hilarious an painful... Turns out no matter how drunk you get, you can't get along with everyone, not even your six inch high heels. But if you power through the pain, don some neon gear, you can bop along to the cheesiest pop song in history ... Or just leave and go to another night club. We did both.

(No, I don't know where I god the viser from....)

(... Or the neon shades that look photoshopped onto my face)

The next night club was much more sophisticated... If you ignore the overwhelming smell of sick and B.O. and find a space in the crowd where men don't want to violate your innabiltiy to run away (more issues with the six inch heels).

.... But we're also getting drunker, and I look like a gremlin. But that's what alcohol is all about.

After a long night, and a long taxi journey home, I think Katie's had enough:

Only one night of madness left! And it's to the casino in Gunwarf for a meal and a 'bit of flutter'. But before that a lovely lunch down Southsea with the sun shining and everyone feeling lovely and hungover.

Turns out I'm pretty lucky until a cowboy stands behind me and steals my luck. Bastard.

The birthday cake was pretty awesome though.

Happy Birthday Katie and bye bye Portsmouth. It's time to go back to uni. 

Hello Brighton!

Now it's my sister and all her friends to turn 18... Good grief that'll be a mess.

IT'S CHRISTMAS!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Every year,  my family, and hundreds of other people, head down to Sennen Beach; strip down to our summer time bikinis/swim shorts, and run like headless chickens into the sea for a five minute swim. 

This crazy and probably really stupid tradition is quickly followed by hugging flasks of Horlicks, grabbing the biggest,  warmest, fluffiest jumper you own for the painful walk back to the car.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Feeling Festive

I may be 18, but I'm never too old for an advent calendar. 

Squeezing it into my tiny suitcase as I pack to head home from uni, there are a few things I've had to sacrifice for this small symbol that Christmas is coming and it's time for the festivities to start.

Everywhere seems to have caught the bug. Even as I sit getting my hair done, girls are having shiney bits of tinsel and festive colours fused into their glossy locks. 

The town has been transformed into a winter wonderland, trees and lights and seasonal offers in shop windows tempting fellow Christmas lovers to spend their Christmas money before it's even seen their bank account.

Couples really come into their own during this festive time. Gloved hands in a finger embrace floating down the road on the cloud. I'm not pessimistic, that was me a few months ago. I'm just honest.... It's a tad cliche.

Surrounded by couples and sporting my new 'do'; my friend and I sit sipping Christmas flavoured coffee and talking Sex and the City style.

This is my first Christmas being single in a while and I think I like it. No need to fork out my hard earned wages to get a present. No one telling me how I should spend my New Years and no uncomfortable extra Christmas at the beau's family home.

This Christmas will be different. 

Down It Fresher.

It's not everyday that you're thrown into a new home with sixty strangers, approximately three hundred miles from home and facing life as an adult; with bills and shit.

That's university for you: a surreal drunken blur of young adults trying to get by in the world. Somehow managing to make friends along the way, doesn't the human mind just baffle you?

Two weeks of Freshers later and as a collective group (#bassmentclub) we've created a dynamic that can only be described as chaotic; and it's amazing.
         
                              "Strangers plus alcohol equals friends for life........."

All the drink, drugs, friends and painful all-nighters were worth the amazing memories made over the two weeks of freshers and the further three beautiful months of university.

#UniLife

As my dad drove away in his now ten tonne lighter Citroen Picasso, leaving me standing outside my new home, the only thought that passed through my mind was "Fuck."

I had left all my stuff in boxes upstairs in my room, and to put off the awkward meeting neighbors ordeal for just that little bit longer, I thought it best to unpack and try and make the place feel more like home.

But seriously, how long can it really take to put clothes in a wardrobe and books on a shelf?

There comes a time in your life when you just need to stop acting like such a pansy and start acting more like ... well, someone who doesn't hide in their large en suit bedroom to avoid awkward introductions.

So this pansy blossomed; socialized, got very drunk, went clubbing, made some friends and lived happily ever after.

Of course it's never that easy. Alcohol may be the best social lubricant there is... but a hangover is not.

By night, the freshers experience exceeds all expectations and everyone gets on like a house on fire; following the well known social equation of strangers + alcohol = best friends.
By day, being a fresher is lonely, a little awkward and all you want is for your mum to tuck you into bed while she makes you tuna pasta bake [insert other hangover curing food here] for dinner.

One weekly food shop for £10, a few conversations with people in the hallway about the night before and a long nap later, I'm sat here, in bed thinking I should probably eat something, or drink something ... Or at least go on a half-hearted quest to find people I think I know the name of.

Uni life aint no picnic, and I haven't even started lectures yet. I mean, is it even possible to meet and befriend 60 strangers in one night?

[Shout outs to the strangers who added me on Facebook or provided me with the internet or a bulb for my lamp. You're my faves]

So in conclusion. I'm on a fucking roller coaster, drinking green tea and eating socca, because apparently that's the kind of person I have chosen to be at uni.

Wish me luck.
Peace Out ♥

Cornish Cheese

The 10th Cornish Bluegrass Festival was my first, and boy was it a totally unique experience.

Forget everything you think you know about festivals; the mud, the camping, the rain pouring down during a gig. We stayed in a caravan, on the beautiful Hendra Holiday Park in Newquay and both stages were in doors, sheltered from weather that can only be described as wintry.

The atmosphere was amazing, with even the headliners of the weekend joining the supportive crowd before and after their set.

The air in the bar radiated the local ale's and as the drink started (and never stopped) flowing, so did conversation with some of the top Bluegrass performers in the world.

During all the festivities, I got to thinking about the drunken cheesy conversing between a couple. Why does it suddenly become so okay to drown the other in confessions of love and trust and that gooey/fuzzy/fluffy feeling you get deep down whenever you see them? 

Why is it suddenly not okay whenever you are sober?

What is the deal with cheese?

Quoting Shakespeare, looking deep into the eyes of a lover, meaning every single word. The thought makes me cringe. The thought makes everyone cringe; but do we secretly crave it? And how cheesy is too cheesy?

Taking example from idol and fictional character Carrie Bradshaw in the final series of Sex and the City, is romance really considered a bad thing in the 21st century? Or do we all want to be whisked off our feet by a poem-reading, dress buying, french speaking Russian artist? 

It seems people have a love/hate relationship with the cheese. When it's with you're lover, it's suddenly acceptable; but from a pessimistic singletons point of view, it's just people bragging about their false happiness in their stupid relationship with a man who will obviously run off in the night. Ahem... We've all been there. 

So at the Cornish festival, talking cheese with my cheesy boyfriend, starting to feel the effects of the rum and Pepsi's and the odd swig of straight whisky, I thought to myself.... this aint so bad. 

... Just don't let anyone else know I've gone soft. 

Peace Out ♥