A New Year's Resolu-don't

Blogging from my bed again, ladies and gents. We can see that I'm A) taking this seriously and B) decided to really work on my new year resolutions... not.

I won't lie to you, new years has never been the best time for me. I'm still eating too much after getting used to it over Christmas, and I'm still thinking it's okay. I know it's not, but tell that to the Caitlin who's consumed a 4-stick KitKat, 1 Creme Egg (they're back hooray!) and a mountain of cheese today. Go on, I dare you to take HER on.

I think I had a motivational new years once, the kind where you look at your life and want a change. I found myself waking up naturally at 7am, I'd eat a cereal bar, and then go for a walk/jog/run. Yeah, it was cold, but I didn't care. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the feeling of doing something to help myself. It was going well.

That lasted about ten days.

And that's not me being melodramatic, I really gave up. It wasn't even a bloody resolution and I gave up.

Fast forward a few years to now, and I'm not in the best shape at all. I know what I need to do, but actually doing it takes a lot more effort than my lazy ass is willing to give. I would say that it's not my fault, but just because I was brought up to reject the gym doesn't mean I can blame my parents and sisters forever. At some point I had to realise that them saying that was either a joke or a reflection of their personal exercise experiences, and even though I was made to feel like a traitor when I visited the gym once in a blue moon (yes, actually labelled a traitor), I should put away the snacks and get my act together.

I've been in bad habits for years, though. In my last year of high school we could choose to go to the gym instead of attending the P.E double. Everyone went for it, of course; it meant freedom, and to be honest, you probably got more real exercise done. I said I'd do it, and after climbing over the extremely raised eyebrows of every friend/teacher I told, I signed up to the gym. I paid for a membership. 

It was my intention to go swimming during my P.E lessons, instead of 'working out'. I couldn't go into the actual gym of course, I was allergic. This is something I genuinely used to tell people (and still do, lets face it).

I went a few times, enough for my teachers to genuinely believe I was going there. They checked up on me two or three times. Then I started going less and less until, eventually, I didn't go at all. Not very good of my teachers, really - I was technically still under their pastoral care and they had no idea I wasn't where I said I was.

No, in my P.E lessons, I would walk home, make lunch, and watch Gilmore Girls. Others exercised, they got fit, and I would sit on my bed and attempt to compete with Lorelai and Rory in terms of how much junk food I could eat within a two-hour period. And I never got caught out, not by my teachers, or by Lorelai and Rory. Lucky me.

And I suppose you think this blog is my way of committing to a new, healthy lifestyle. It's really not. I just wanted to share. Sharing is caring, after all.

So what's the lesson? Well, I'm going to attempt to get healthy, and you should start watching Gilmore Girls. While you wasted your time at the gym during year 11, I got a head start and have now seen every episode. Now who's the loser, huh?

Yeah, thought so.

Happy New Year chums.

The Story of the Frozen Fish

I haven't posted on this blog since April 2015. Nine months ago.

No, I haven't had a baby: do you really think I'd be blogging if I'd just had a baby? Honestly.

There are many reasons for my absence: I went travelling in Australia, worked at a summer camp for two months, travelled America, and after a brief month at home, I left for university.

Something that I once enjoyed so much felt like a chore. Instead of working on projects I'd already created (such as this one), I ignored them and began starting new ones. Mainly as a form of procrastination, but also because I'm an ambitious fool upon occasion. I often think that I can manage every task I set for myself all at once, but here we are, many months later, and we can all plainly see that is not the case. 

I'd forgotten how it felt to just write whatever I wanted, just for the sake of it, or for my own amusement. I manage to tweet multiple times a day, and if you put all my tweets together you could probably form a small book, so I'm sure I can manage a blog post once in a while.

So let's begin the new year, 2016, with a story. The Story of the Frozen Fish. (RIP Nemo).

This story really began when I was around seven or eight years old, and I had the great idea of wanting a pet fish for my birthday. I couldn't wait - mum and dad had agreed to let me have two. We'd picked out the tank, bought the gravel and food, and I'd started thinking of names. I imagine I was the seven year old equivalent of a new parent; I think I even got the 'Big Book of Baby Names' out at one point. 

I'd settled on Rosie and Jim (I was a big fan of the show at the time, come on, I was seven), but, I was young, naive, and easily manipulated - my older sister told me that those were LAME names, and why not call them Nemo and Dory? Well Bryony, they're my fish, not yours, besides, Nemo and Dory are UNORIGINAL names, everyone calls their fish Nemo.

So, I ended up naming them... Nemo and Dory.

She'd made me feel uncool, okay?

I was still a bundle of excitement all the way to the aquarium-shop-place within our local garden centre. I picked Nemo and Dory out (RIP to Rosie and Jim, the fish that would have been...), and we took them home. I loved them.

For the duration of five minutes.

No-one told me just how BORING fish were as pets! Bet my parents were loving it: cheap present, thrilled child, when they secretly knew, all along, just how bored I would become when I realised what having a pet fish actually meant. It actually meant a fish just swam around in a tank on your sideboard for the next ten years. What a farce.

And as any seven year old would do, I gave up on my new found love for my pet fish, and left them to my parents. My dad to be precise, and he would care for Nemo and Dory for the next four years.

Apart from a brief episode where the neighbour nearly killed them both by overfeeding (we went away for the weekend and came back to find the tank full of fish food. He'd given one handful a day rather than a pinch, we could barely see the buggers through the murky water!), Nemo and Dory seemed the epitome of health. They could have been on the front cover of a fish magazine or something.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, Dory took a turn for the worst, and died of a heart attack. At least, that's what I tell people. I was eleven, and after seeing a red thing coming out of her fishy-chest, I just assumed that's what happened. There was no post-mortem, so I guess we'll never know. RIP Dory.

Well, we just assume that the one who died first was Dory. They were both the same breed of Goldfish and looked identical, so who knows... Who knows?

Understandably, Nemo pined for a while. Wouldn't eat. Well, that's what my mum says. I just noticed that he got bigger and bigger, now that he had the whole tank to himself. And, y'know, now that he got to eat Dory's portions as well. My father was never good at portion control when it came to the fish.

He outgrew the small blue plastic tank that I received so excitedly on my seventh birthday, and got a fancy glass one instead. Jeez, your best fish friend dies and you get a new house, talk about compensation.

And life went on as normal. At least, for the fish. A lot of stuff happened to us humans, but, you know, that's not why you're here, reading this.

That is, until, approximately two years ago, when Nemo developed... a problem. No, not drugs, and he wasn't swimming in vodka (although I don't like to think of what could have happened to him at some of the house parties over the years). He developed, ur, a tail. Made out of poo.

I'd say you'd need to see it to believe it, but trust me: no-one wants to see that.

It became a bit of an attraction for visitors to our house. "Welcome, please come in, here's the kitchen. Oh, there's the fish. That thing? Oh, it's his poo, trailing out behind him."

We did try to help him. I would knock it off with a spoon. Come to think of it, it's a bit gross that we washed it and reused it afterwards. Ew.

We even stopped feeding him for a while; he was quite clearly backed up for all to see. It seemed to work at first, but after the first bit of food he consumed it suddenly reappeared. It was like some sort of really gross magic trick.

But he survived. His poo tail just became a part of him. We had a constipated fish, and we lived with it.

And that brings me up to present day, and to the focal point of the story. Of how our fish, Nemo, became frozen.

It was the 3rd of January, and my parents had been away for New Years. I hadn't seen them in about five days, and whilst they'd been away, I'd been feeding the fish. He'd seemed fine, nothing wrong, eager to be fed. And I'll be honest, I didn't often spend time with him. Unless you're really into fish, who actually spends time with a pet fish? He can't tell me what's up, he can't wag his tail or purr to let me know how he's feeling. So, I went about my business.

I came home from work to greet my parents in the kitchen, who were stood around a saucepan full of water, with my dad swirling his hand around inside it. They informed me the fish was dying, but dad was trying to save him.

My dad was trying to save him.

I mean, that's pet-fish dedication right there. Nemo was (theoretically) the only other male in the house. I guess that's why my dad bonded with him.

(Okay, is it weird that my dad bonded with a fish? Maybe a little.)

So I'm stood there, feeling bad for the poor guy (the fish, but also for my dad), but also with a sense of bemusement. It was the first time I'd seen my parents in 2016, and they were trying to resuscitate the family fish. Odd, sad and amusing all at once.

I knew he wouldn't make it - it was his time. The poor guy had had constipation for two years for God's sake, that's gonna take it's toll! My dad clung on to him for a little longer than the rest of us, but in the end accepted defeat. Not every fish can be saved.

Here's where the freezing part comes in.

My mum has this thing where she, erm, freezes the family pets before burial. I guess that's the best way to put it.

When my pet hamster, Dizzy, died a few years ago, she froze her. She'd died on her way to the food bowl, like a stop-motion picture. It was late at night, too late to bury her, so my mum popped her in a box and into the freezer, ready for a suitable burial the following day.

It wasn't until the next morning and we were listening to the radio that I had my doubt. They were speaking about hamsters, and how they could hibernate really randomly and in odd places. Then I thought, "what if she wasn't dead? what if she was just hibernating?". My mum very quickly put that thought to bed by saying "well if she wasn't dead then, she is now. Frozen to death." Thanks, mum.

So, Dizzy - frozen, and buried.

Now it was Nemo's turn.

They planned to bury him in a pot, and plant some nice flowers over the top of him. We give our pets a good send off in the Buller household. (Although, I have foreseen an issue with this: what if my mum forgets and empties the pot? She's going to get a grim surprise.)

My mum put him in the freezer, so they could buy the flowers and find a nice pot. And they buried him, earlier today. Mum retrieved him from the outside freezer, and he was in a little silver container, the kind you get Chinese food in. He looked like this:

And that was that. Nemo was dead and buried.

My friend Emily asked why we didn't just flush him. We are very sentimental people so it seems, but yes - that would have been bloody easier, wouldn't it?

Taking a Tour...

Now, hold your breath... this is going to be a long one.

Yes, it's surprising, two blogs in one day! What is going on?! The honest truth is that I went to the Blue Mountains earlier today and I am knackered. Blogging requires sitting, which I am totally okay with. It's not because I'm a super good blogger (you know that's true).

So today, on this fine (very cold and wet from earlier) evening in Australia, I tell you the tale of my two week SUPER DUPER TOUR with Topdeck. I haven't been sponsored or anything to write this blog, I spent a flipping big amount of money on the tour and GODDAMIT if I enjoyed myself I WILL BLOG ABOUT IT!

Luckily for Topdeck, I DID enjoy myself! Woo!

If I went into detail about each place we went to, we would be here all day - literally, I would not stop talking! The basic rundown was, Sydney to Cairns, over two weeks, stopping at (get ready): Hunter Valley, Crescent Head, Byron Bay, Springbrook National Park, Surfer's Paradise, Fraser Island, Myella Farm, Emu Park, The Whitsundays, Whitehaven Beach, Daydream Island, and finally, Cairns. Wooh. 

Told you we could be here all day.

Some of those places were just a visit - we were lucky enough to stop at Hunter Valley's vineyard and try some wine. At 11AM with a bunch of strangers, drinking seemed odd, but it was strangely bonding even at the time in the morning. We also got to stomp on grapes and make 'wine' with our feet in these great big barrels. Needless to say I wouldn't have spent a penny on the lurid grey/purple liquid that we produced in our bottle at the end of the stomping race, but it was very fun. 

From there we went to Crescent Head and spent a night at what can only be described as the most ADORABLE surf camp in the world. I know surfing is meant to be 'cool' and 'hipster' etc, but this place was CUTE. See pictures below.

The next morning, on Day 2, I had my very first (and possibly my last surf lesson). They tell you it's hard, but they don't specify just how much energy it takes to surf. Not only do you have to remember all the different steps, and when to start your surf on the wave, but when you crash and fall (which you will do, guaranteed), you have to resurface and make your way back out there again. Doing this over and over, while waves are crashing on you and you're carrying a large surfboard? It's pretty tiring!!

I was positively rubbish at first. In fact, I gave up and went and sat on the beach. But then I saw someone else going back out to give it another try. And I thought "I've not paid all this money to just give up. I want to stand up at least once." So I put my ankle cord back on, grabbed the board, and went back out there. 

I had a bit more energy after my sit down on the sand, and with the help of Ben (or Benny?), the instructor, I stood up four times. FOUR TIMES!! He took a step out of the process for me, by pushing my board so I didn't have to paddle. This made it easier, but I was still incredibly proud of not completely and utterly failing. I look like a bit of a dork, but here's some proof!

See, I stood up!

One of my favourite photos - me mid falling onto our instructor's head haha!

Surfing was so awesome. I'm really glad I tried it, and I might do it again one day. I'd urge you to have a lesson if you're going somewhere renowned for it, like Australia or parts of America and South Africa. Get a proper instructor, and just try and remember to have fun! It's tough, but it can be very rewarding :) Some of the guys on our trip were really good; you might even find a talent you didn't know you had!

So that was day one and part of day two. There will be more, but I was on this tour for fourteen days! That would be one HECK of a long blog! In the aim of being kind, I'm going to split them up. It'll be easier to read, and you won't get lost or too bored half way through! Next stop - Byron Bay....

xxxx

The First Two Weeks

Hey hey hey!

Yeah, I know, I'm late. Again.

But at least you aren't a tour company that I gave $70 to and then I nearly miss my tour because I overslept... that's another story.

So after that LONG plane ride, I'd finally arrived in Australia! - Sydney, to be precise.

It was kind of like the scene at the end of 'Love, Actually', except The Beach Boys weren't playing, and I wasn't surrounded by various members of the Harry Potter cast. Hugh Grant wasn't there either. 

BUT, lots of people were being greeted by their friends, family and loved ones... where was my family?!

After spending a few minutes looking like a lost puppy, my cousin arrived and made me take a selfie with him. After a 24 hour flight. Needless to say, I was not at my best (I even had a food stain on my white t.shirt, to say I'm a classy girl would be an understatement (but I am honest)). He drove me back to his house through the city - I got to see the Sydney Opera House and the Harbour Bridge all lit up at night - it was pretty spectacular, I can't lie.

I was greeted by his three lovely (if sometimes a bit boisterous!) Welsh Springer Spaniels: Ruby, Tang and Bassey. Over the weeks I've been getting to know the dogs rather well - I can ALWAYS tell them apart now, how about that?! Bassey loves me the most out of the three - she's my little shadow during the day, and is always first to greet me in the morning. Ruby is lovely, and has warmed to me the longer I've been here. And Tang? You can't not LOVE Tang. She's never too excitable. She never play-bites. She's so gentle, and always in a sleep-like state. I would almost go as far to say she is the perfect dog, except she barks a lot. A LOT. It drives me a bit mad sometimes! But the poor dear is deaf, so I s'pose I better cut her some slack.

ANYWAY. I got rather off topic (sorry if you don't like dogs!).

Catherine, my cousin's wife, was also at home looking after the sleeping kids. They have two daughters, one turns four next week, and the other one is three in August. They are both bright, bubbly, LOVELY red heads - sometimes a bit cheeky, but what kids aren't?! They've certainly kept me on my toes I can tell you!

Curl Curl is the name of the suburb they live in, ten minutes away from the famous Manly Beach, and then a ferry ride into the city. Curl Curl Beach itself is quiet and serene - perfect for having some relaxing alone time reading a book, or doing some writing. Even on a hot sunny day, people tend to flock to Manly or Dee Why (the next suburb over), which is why I think a lot of surfers favour Curly; there's less of a crowd to put them off their practise!

Catherine took me for a walk along Curly Beach on my first day, and although I'd slept quite well (I arrived in Sydney at 8:30PM with the hope of dealing better with the jet lag), this beach certainly did relax me even more. It's probably one of my favourite places in the area, and I'm lucky enough that my cousin lives a few minutes walkaway.

Manly Beach is somewhere you might have heard of - a ferry runs between this town and the main city every day, almost without fail, so a lot of the locals use it to get to work. I have to say, if you're going to commute to Sydney every day, there's probably no better way than rolling in and out by boat and seeing the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. I know big landmarks are often not as beautiful in real life, but honestly, these two icons more than live up to their reputation.

I went to Manly quite a few times in my first two weeks, not just to catch the ferry into Sydney. I met up with an old school friend, Matt, who'd been living there and playing cricket for a good five or six months. It's a very English thing I think, to levitate towards someone you know when you're abroad, even if you wouldn't normally hang out at home. He's always been tall and blonde, but he'd also tanned, meaning he looked like a local. I'd been in Australia for three days, and I carry my mum's 'ginger gene' meaning there would be no tanning for me! The skin difference was rather embarrassing on my part...

We had a catchup on the beach, and within those couple of hours, I managed to get burnt (I did put suncream on, I promise!!). I blame him entirely... Mainly cause I don't want to blame myself. It was nice, however, to see a familiar face - even if he couldn't see me properly due to me blending in with the colour of the sand.

Manly is far bigger than Curl Curl. There are shops and cafes/restaurants for a start, as Curl Curl doesn't have any. I quite like that though, it keeps the suburb quiet and more private. Manly Beach is lovely, but far, FAR busier, especially when it's hot! I think the reason I like it so much is that I just feel comfortable in the atmosphere of the whole town. I know my way about. I love the walk to Shelley Beach (so, SO beautiful). I love looking out over the ferry wharf. In all honesty, this is probably my favourite town I've been in on my entire trip, and I seriously think I could live here one day.

I certainly want to try.

Right, that's a basic rundown of where I was for my first two weeks - I visited lots of places for the day, so I may write some smaller blogs on those, but I'll leave you with some pictures for now!

A walk on Curl Curl Beach, my first day.

Waves at Curl Curl.

Typical tourist footprint picture, at Curl Curl Beach.

The doorway to paradise.

Walking along Curly's rock-face.

The walk from Manly Beach to Shelley Beach.

Thanks for having a read, I know I go on a bit haha!

Caitlin xxx

One Seat, Two Americans and A Whole Lot of Pee

Hey! It's me again! Look who's keeping their promise of blogging again, hmm, *makes baby noises* cutchiecutchiecutchie, yes, it's me!

*cough* Right, now that's done with, on to the flight. Or, as I like to refer to it as, 'the strangest, most claustrophobic, pee-inducing 24 hours of my life'. 

Plane rides are tough, y'all.

I booked my flights, return from London to Sydney, with Singapore Airlines. I'd been told they were one of the best, and that I would be comfortable flying with them. This was sort of true - the staff were so helpful, and really nice (their uniforms were beautiful as well!), but was I comfortable? How about you hold in your pee for hours whilst you're METERS from a toilet and THEN answer the question, okay?

I'd chosen the window seats for both flights; 14 hours to Singapore, a 2 hour stopover and then a further 9ish hours to Sydney. I'd thought at the time when I booked it how nice it would be to look out the window at the view, and when I got on the plane I even looked forward to being able to nap on window ledge. WRONG.

So wrong.

This was the worst decision I could have made (regarding the flights, not just 'in life'). Unless your flight is 4-5 hours or less, and you could potentially, hopefully, only need to pee/wee once or twice during the whole flight, AVOID the window seat at all costs. I IMPLORE you.

Seriously, you only see the view during take off and landing, providing it isn't dark, and then the rest of the time you literally see clouds. Or darkness. Or cloudy darkness. Or you're asleep. The window seat so isn't worth it! 

"But it's nice and easy to sleep in the window seat" I hear you say - wrong again! ALL the seats are comfortable to sleep in, well, as comfortable as they can be, and I would favour being able to get up, walk around, and pee whenever I wanted over the possibility of a bit more sleep. You can sleep when you're dead, but you can't pee when you're dead. No. You need to be alive and able to get to a toilet to do that!

Anyway, you can probably see where this is going judging by the title I gave this blogpost: I needed to pee. And I had this American couple sat by me. Nice enough, but they clearly had some flight issues as an attendant kept coming up to them at various points during the flight with apologies and 'options'. But this couple, they were slightly larger than a lot of people, which meant I could not step over them or around them whilst they were sleeping. There were a couple of times where I just had to sit and wait, for what felt like hours, and just had to hope and pray that they would wake up soon and see my desperate little face and let me out. I would have felt really guilty if I'd have woken them up. I couldn't even concentrate on any of the huge array of films they had on offer - now that is a first world problem.

And, as it was a long flight, you are advised to walk around and stretch your legs to avoid blood clotting - nothing like a bit of Deep Vain Thrombosis to get you in the holiday mood! 

My aunt who has made the trip many times, told me to walk down the aisles every few hours. I PLANNED to follow this advice, but every time they let me out for the toilet, they would stand around WAITING for me to return! So I didn't feel like I could take my time. Yes, like a stereotypical English person, I felt RUDE. As one always does when they want to walk around on a 14 hour flight, how despicable of me! 

When you sign yourself up (and pay £900) for a flight this long, you don't really think about 24 hours being a long time to fill. At home, or out and about, time just flies by. You could be sat in a coffee shop on Twitter for a good couple of hours and not even notice time passing. But boy, on a plane, time just goes at 0.000000001 mph I swear. It only hit me when I sat down on the plane at London Heathrow that I had 24 hours to go. You end up just staring out the window trying to forget the time, and hoping an hour has passed, when in reality it's only been 10 minutes. It all becomes relative then, 12 hours left down to 6 hours is a joyous occasion - when 6 hours is actually the length of a full school day. Needless to say, I was so very happy to get off that plane!

I managed to get through the first leg of the flight without peeing my pants, but I hadn't slept as much as I'd liked. I'd only watched two films as well, bearing in mind all I do is watch TV at home, and they had all the films I'd wanted to see at the cinema in one place! But lack of sleep and the need to pee had drained me so much, and just looking at the TV screen made me feel ill and tired. What a waste of movies, huh?!

After the longest and loneliest two hours in Singapore airport, which included witnessing some indescribable frightfulness in the toilet and me basically crying to my friend Alex over text (thanks again Alex), I made it onto the second flight. Shorter, only 9 hours, and I managed to sleep through a lot of it - huzzah! And I was in the middle, one seat closer to the toilet - AMAZING.

Now plane food... quite a marmite subject. Some people hate it, some people hate it slightly less.

I realised quite quickly that I was going to have to eat as much as I could from what was on offer - there wasn't exactly a shop I could pop along to and buy a sandwich from, plus it was free. I do love free food... most of the time.

To be honest, the food on Singapore Airlines wasn't THAT bad. Sure, the meals were bizarre to me at first, they served breakfast when my body felt like it was dinner time, but that's time difference for you! Breakfast was good, the other meals were questionable. But, it wasn't as awful as the food I was served form Sydney to Wellington a few days ago... yuck! It smelt sooooo bad, I can't even tell you! Unfortunately though, I slept through the sandwiches and crisps round on Singapore Airlines (my faves :( ), but I managed to nab the last packet of crisps after I'd woken up. She said they'd run out of everything else, which makes me wonder now, if I'd have been awake, would someone else have missed out? YEAH, SINGAPORE, HUH???? *cough*

Well I think I've been going on long enough. But, here are 5 tips I've messily put together of the top of my head, for the next time you want to fly half way around the world:

1. BOOK AN AISLE SEAT. Sweet baby Jesus, you will be thankful you listened.

2. BRING YOUR OWN SNACKS. Got a favourite chocolate bar or packet of crisps? You are allowed to bring them! Just do it. Worst thing that happens is that they throw it away at Singapore (no food through customs there!), so just eat it before you arrive on the plane.

3. BRING A JACKET/HOODIE/BLANKET/SOCKS. They give you a pillow and a blanket, but it's always nice to have your own, and if you have double then you're extra comfortable! You do not want to get cold on the flight, it won't make sleeping any easier!

4. PUSH THE BUTTON. Don't be afraid to call the attendant if you need something - that's why they're there! And believe me, there are worse passengers than you on that plane, people who are more annoying/needy, so don't worry if you need another drink or have a question. Plus, calling them over could potentially wake your sleeping neighbours, so an excellent excuse to FINALLY go to the loo (hooray!).

and 5. FREE FILMS. Unless you're really tired and just can't face looking at the screen (eh, word playyyy), then try and watch a few movies. You'd have to buy Netflix, buy the actual film, or search around to borrow it from a friend to watch it at home/abroad, so watching from their huge selection on the flight is a bit easier!

Okay, that really is enough for now. I'll finish off this post with a few pictures of my travel companion, Gerald the finger-puppet cat, enjoying his first ever flight.

Until next time

xxxx

My Koala socks from my friend Anna, specifically chosen to be worn for this flight.
I'm nothing but easily pleased.

Gerald ready for take-off! 

Some mountains... somewhere...

Gerald posing with his favourite part of the plane, the left phalange.

Hmm yeah well

Right... hi there, again. Eventually. After what feels like thousands of years.

I'm currently in New Zealand after travelling around Australia for a month. So I guess I've got some explaining to do...

But I've already got ahead of myself. Let's start at the beginning, okay?

_________________________________________________


Lets back-track to Christmas 2013.

Almost everyone in my year at sixth form was applying to university. And I did the same. However, I ticked this little box on my application, stating that I wanted to defer my entry until 2015, rather than September 2014.

Don't worry - I meant to do this!

I had this idea/thought in my head of travelling for a year in Australia. I have family in Sydney, and I had saved money from my job at home... why not?!

And I just kept saying it.

And telling people. 


And saying it again. 



And telling more people.

Until it came to August 2014 when BAM, results day came, and I got into university. Hooray!

It's a scary day for everyone, but luckily I came out of it relatively unscathed. I did end up crying at McDonalds a few hours after receiving my results - but that's another story.

So, you with me so far? I'm into uni, and I've told all my friends that I'm basically going to Australia for 6 months to a year... well it didn't exactly work out that way.

Come September 2014, and all my friends bar a few have left for university - Scotland, Leeds, Kent, Sheffield... all places far away from me. I'm still working at Homebase, a job which I loved, but still stuck in my loveable but unfortunately average hometown.

My plans for Australia were still just talk. I kept saying I was going, but I wasn't booking anything. I was all talk and no trousers, or so the saying goes.

Eventually I started looking into things, because by October my friend Charlotte (who was also still at home) was making plans. Before we knew it, Christmas had gone, we'd said hello and farewell to our friends home from university, and I waved Charlotte goodbye as she embarked on a three month adventure to Nepal as a volunteer with the ICS.

It was time to get my butt into action, I thought. It's 2015 and I'm still here. So I spent money, money that it pained me to see disappear, but I got in touch with my family in Sydney. I got a visa. I booked return flights to Australia. 

And suddenly it was all very real.

After what seemed like no time at all, it was a month until I left. I was still working, and then I had to hand my notice in. 

I know some people will think that I'm crazy, but I really didn't want to leave my job. Lots of people who work in retail know the everyday, mundane stresses over customers and stock, and yes, every job can be a pain, but I loved it. It was the best first job I could have ever had, and I had so much fun working there. I'd made so many good friends, too - leaving my job sucked, and I stand by that statement.

Before this I had booked a two-week tour of the East Coast of Australia for while I was over there. There were lots of problems and money worries regarding this, and I don't know whether I should go into it online, but let me tell you it was not a happy time - and I was leaving in a matter of weeks! But it got sorted out. I guess that's what matters now, looking back.

Suddenly I had a week left, my first week of not working since the previous summer (I was rubbish for taking holiday time!). I had to do all my packing, and say my goodbyes. And, after copious amounts of vodka with my friends, and almost sitting on my suitcase to get stuff to fit in, I was ready.

Although my original year-long Australian travel dream had dwindled down to two months, at least I was going. And when I booked it, it felt like it would be the longest time away from home ever! How wrong was I.

I have less than a month left now, and I don't want to go. Australia has well and truly stolen my heart thus far.

So, I think that's enough for now. I'll be back with a blog about the flight - believe me 24 hours is far f**king longer than you think. Honestly.

Until next time,

xxxx

A little in love

There are certain places in life where you just feel comfortable. Most would think of home, or the place where your family resides or used to live, but as we get older these comforting places become more and more obvious to us, and they are further afield than we would have ever thought before.

These places may not want to be where you want to live, or the place you want to spend the rest of your life, but they will always mean something to you for one reason or another.

Currently I am writing this blog in the student union of Leeds University. I have come to visit my friend, Anna, as she lives in the city and studies Environmental Science here. Universities ‘up North’ never appealed to me, but in truth, I never even bothered looking at them. Maybe I should have.

Although I have barely spent two days here, and have hardly explored even a fraction of the city, I believe that Leeds is beautiful. I could be looking through Autumn-tinted glasses (a season which for me has taken on a certain unexplainable and incomparable beauty this year), but I still believe what I am seeing is true.

The student union itself is HUGE, and we haven’t exactly visited every nook and cranny - the bars, clubs and cafes all seem to have a different feel and atmosphere, each suiting the person it sits and holds within its walls. Me and Anna are sat on a big, diner-like table, on the upper floor of The Refectory, which is a very large cafe/restaurant. Downstairs there are many students sat round table eating, drinking, working and chatting, but upstairs is a slightly different story. We can still hear the hustle and bustle of the people below, but it’s a lot quieter on the upper level. There are less people and more space, so we are both getting some work done. For me this is a lot easier: my work has no deadlines, no critic apart from myself. I’m editing a video, and writing this blog as a bit of a creative break. Unfortunately Anna is trying to tackle Chemistry, a rather lacking and difficult part of her course. Judging by the look on her face, I don’t think she’s too pleased about it. As I said to her, I’d offer to help, but I am “more pants than you”. Direct quote there.

Anyway, back to what I was saying.

The union, based off my brief experience within it, seems to be a good place to socialise as well as study. The current window we are sat by does not provide many distractions, but nonetheless other parts of Leeds would certainly want me, and maybe force me, to give up my books. The park we walked through on the way here was composed of Autumnal reds and oranges, and the winds we are receiving from the tail-end of Hurricane Gonzalo made the leaves swirl around us - it was magic.

My arrival here yesterday showed me the more commercial side of Leeds. The Trinity Shopping Centre seemed light and bright, with weird and wacky and alternative shops/cafes, as well as the hipster favourites (i.e Costa and Starbucks). I have not explored this place as much yet, but I plan to, and I want to do some shopping there before I leave.

—————————

I know this is a bit of a strange blog, not like one I've done before. I’m writing this part the next day back in Anna’s flat.

I guess the point I was trying to make was that, despite the fact I have spent such little time here, I feel at home, I feel comfortable.

I like my surroundings, I like the park, I like the city, I just like it. And the longer I spend here, it’s becoming more of a special place for me.

I think I may be a little in love with Leeds.