Similes - what are they like?

I went to London a week ago to see one of my good friends from home. He's someone I can tell everything to, and I am not too bothered what he thinks of me. He's going to be my friend no matter what, and I am certain we'll remain close. We haven't known each other a huge amount of time, but we click. We're total opposites, but somehow that makes us fit together quite well. Like the age old cliche, fitting together like a jigsaw puzzle. I'm the rather jazzy piece with a couple of odd ends, he's shaded in more sensible colours, rounded edges, more whole.

This day has been my favourite out of the many of recent weeks. The coach trip was hideous, a ten hour round journey on public transport could never be described as exciting, but it was bearable. Waking up realising you've napped for the majority of the way with your head of your own shoulder in some awkward position isn't exactly the ideal. Especially when you then have neck cramp and notice you may have been dribbling for some of your nap. I am the epitome of all beauty. It's a good thing I don't wonder why I'm single because I think that pinpoints it.

Cutting it short, we had a bit of a tourist-inspired day out. Madame Tussauds, Covent Garden, Winter Wonderland, and dinner in Leicester Square. Pretty knackering for one day.

We ate these cupcakes.

And I found a boyfriend.

Big love, xo

Tuesday

One step forward, two big steps back. Funny how one small thing, one little conversation can change the world. Or at least, your own little world. The one that's been rebuilt in a matter of weeks, now it's deconstructing itself again and the builders are back. Plans are being redrawn, new foundations are being dug. It's made me feel more at ease but somehow my head is swimming. Watery mess. I can't quite make out what is there; it's a bit murky to be honest. I've got to stop with these water-related metaphors. I'm obsessed. I need to start writing in a plain and simple form. Or would that be boring? I'm a bit of a boring person sometimes, I quite like being that way. Sometimes it's easier not to think and just sit back, take things in.

Big love, xo

You sound you're from LAAANDAN!

I went to London on Tuesday. I'm convinced I want to live there when I'm older. The Megabus drove through the streets of Chelsea and Kensington; my face pressed to the window in awe. One day I'll be living in one of those houses, traditional and white, or cream, the inside will be furnished with bare wood and pale coloured rugs, and there will be at least one mirror encased in a wicker frame. Crowded with various things from quirky shops, hand-decorated photo frames, macrame plant pot holders...

Dream big, think bigger, do even better. Push yourself to the limits and you might end up where you want to be. That's what they say isn't it? We want to push for success and money, material gains. What's wrong with making mediocre plans nowadays? Wishing for the basics, a good family, a place to live, and a job you like. I could settle for that. It's nice to have lots of pretty things, but I guess it's not essential. I like showing off, but what is there to show off if you're not happy? It's always nice to dream as well. I did it when I was younger, I'd draw and draw, crafting my ideal family in pencil, or sometimes pen. It'd be modelled on my family, that's where I drew my inspiration from. I'd be the Mum, I had a husband, 2D figure in the style of Nick Sharratt's illustrations for Jacqueline Wilson's books. Sideways noses, thin necks, hardly supporting the head of the disproportional bodies I drew. Three children, one girl, two boys, one of them still a baby. All with mildly popular names. Nuclear family. I wanted all this by a certain age. It's strange how plans change, I would be horrified if I'd completed all these things within the timescale I set up in my eleven year old self. I'm not entirely sure what I want now, which is good. I'm only young, I have the rest of my life ahead of me.

I'll write something about London properly in my next post, maybe?

Big love, xo

So many plans!

I'm far too excited for Christmas! It's almost December, which means it's almost celebration month. December has always been a succession of birthdays for me, mine, my Dad's, and my Grandad's; they're all pretty close together. My friend Lucy's has been thrown into the mix as well, she's born the day before me. Then there's Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day, and New Year's Eve. I feel exhausted listing them, let alone actually partaking in them. 

I have so much to look forward to this coming month, other than these dates. I have a sea rowing race in December in Norwich, which I cannot wait for, even though it'll be bitterly cold. It's going to be fun getting back into one of those big gig boats and rowing with my club back home! Then with the university there's the Welsh Indoors (which I won't say I'm looking forward to, we have to do a two kilometre test on a rowing machine - painful!) and also the Monmouth Head Race. I'm working over Christmas too, and whilst that may not sound exciting, it is slightly, because my shop back home gets so festive in the run up to the holidays - plus I'll get to see all the girls who work there (I say girls, some of them are my mum's age, but nevertheless they are brilliant)! Plus, I'll get to see all my friends back home that I am missing huge amounts at the moment. I have a Skype date with two of them tomorrow night!

Some things are even nearer on the horizon than I expected, too! I am going to London this week to see my friend from home - I have my fingers crossed that we'll go to the Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park and do some skating or something. Well, I don't really have my fingers crossed. I just know I'll whine and whinge about it for long enough that he might give in and we'll go there because he'll want me to be shut up about it. Actually, just walking around London to see the lights will do, as long as there's a bakery stop at some point. Cupcakes in London are the best. It's a ten hour round trip on the coach though. I am going to have to invest in some kind of entertainment - I'll probably end up buying some trashy magazines. You know the ones with the ridiculous stories; 'Aliens stole my toe,' 'Big Macs made me go blind,' 'I got married in a giant shoe' or some other nonsense. They're my favourite for long haul trips.

I guess the point in this post is that it's not all bad. It might be dreary outside, with the constant drizzle (or if you live in Wales, the flood-like quantities) of rain might be less than appealing, and everyone is experiencing the winter blues (it's mostly homesickness from what I've gathered), but thinking of all those lovely things you have happening to you is definitely going to cheer you up. 

My Dad is a very wise man. I am definitely one of the ones with the winter blues, because I'm calling home everyday! But he gave me some very good advice - to focus on what's happening now, and what good things you have coming up. Not to dwell on things that have happened, or what might happen that you're worried about, just to focus on the here and now. My Dad is wise for more reasons than that, though. 

So that's what I'm doing. I'm getting all festive. I want to wrap myself up in fairy lights and bake gingerbread, cutting it out in bauble and tree shaped patterns. Christmas definitely makes me crazy.

I am doing an essay right now though. That's less exciting. Much less. 

I wonder if they'll ever decorate the library with tinsel? They definitely should. 

Big love, xo

This time it's on paper

Writing in blue pen is something of a novelty for me. Always black, always a biro, always made by Bic. I've convinced myself that I don't trust any other pen manufacturer; I am skeptical of any writing instrument without an immediately recognisable brand stamp. This one is pretty though. Pink hearts of varying shades cover the middle section, the silver clip at the top printed with neat lettering: Emma Bridgewater.

I'm a sucker for brands. I'm that typical materialistic market consumer, enjoying owning anything with a label on it. I tell myself it's because those items are better quality than cheaper brands, but I know it's more to do with looking good. Truth is, you can look good in a charity shop outfit. I have Primark tops which have lasted years and still look pretty damn good on, even if I do say so myself. Just because you're showing off your Hollister and Ralph Lauren logos, emblazoned on the front on that cute cable knit jumper you're sporting, doesn't make you a better person.

I can hardly speak. I went to Cardiff on Thursday for a talk (uni-related, I got terribly lost trying to find the building), and ended up doing some late night shopping afterwards, getting sucked into the overperfumed realms of Gilly Hicks to buy, ironically enough, a bottle of perfume. It does smell nice though. I'm surprised I found the fragrance section. It's so dark in there. I almost walked into a mirror, I'm not even joking. The sales assistant was definitely laughing at me.

I wonder if we'll ever change? I wonder if people will stop this desperation to own expensive brands? I know I've only talked about high street designers, but its like a brainwash effect. Will there be a day when I don't actually see anyone on campus dressed in a Superdry hoodie?

I say this as I slip on my Hollister top.

Hypocrite.

Recipe Time: Spiced pear cupcakes

FINALLY. A recipe. Make these little winter warmers and brighten up those chilly evenings in.

Okay so this is an easy one. I'm such a cheater. Refer back to my Vanilla Cupcakes Recipe, and follow the instructions until you reach step 3, just before you fold in the flour.

This will make about ten cupcakes.

PREHEAT THE OVEN TO 180C/350F/GAS MARK 4 TO PREHEAT.

What You'll Need...
All the ingredients from the vanilla cupcakes recipe
Two tinned pear halves, chopped finely
2 tsp mixed spice
1 tsp cinnamon
150ml double cream

1. After following the steps from the previous recipe, you'll be at the point where you'll want to be folding in the flour. Make sure you add the spices to the flour mix, and then you can begin to fold in the dry ingredients.
2. Now add the pear pieces. Stir these in until they are well distributed among the mixture.
3. Pop the mixture into the cake cases that you've lined your trays with. Fill to about three-quarters full, as usual.
4. Bake for 15-20 minutes, until golden brown.
5. Leave them to cool after taking out the oven.

6. Whilst waiting for the cupcakes to cool, whisk the double cream until it is light and fluffy.

7. When the cakes are cool, use a teaspoon to place the cream on top of each one. You can do it as messy or neatly as you like! I then finished with a dusting of cinnamon.

Beautiful! Now go eat!

Big love, xo

Hitting rock bottom

This is the beginning of a multiple post spree. After a week of hell (I'm not even exaggerating), which I did partly bring upon myself, I am setting myself up in the library. Ready to work/at least pretend to be working. Getting things done. That doesn't necessarily mean doing university-related studying, it includes a manner of all things. I have my belongings spread out around me, laptop case to my right (one of my most pretty studious possessions, it has a Cath Kidston-esque rose pattern; it makes me feel better about lugging my laptop onto campus); a block of lined paper to my left, covered by forms I have received this week (all shall be explained); and then my slightly battered pencil case rests on top of this slightly disorganised pile. I had full faith in nabbing the corner desk; the basement part of the library is never packed out unless it is exam time, but have had to settle for another. It's not quite the same. Massive evils for the guy who is sitting in my spot. Go swap seats please, and take your massive folder with you. It's not even a nice coloured folder. I need to stop being so possessive. Or stop being a bitch. One of the two.

I shall start by explaining a bit about That Week. I've began the words in capitals because it is that type of experience in my life that I know I want to forget but will have to refer to it at some point in future. It has to have a name, because it is a relevant piece of history. It's like the Easter weekend or something, only a lot less festive and a lot more depressing. But maybe a similar amount of chocolate is needed. If only I wasn't pretending to be healthy... (This consists of eating less junk-type food but huge portions of it, so, in effect, I'm still a little piggy whatever I do. Dieting doesn't seem to work on me, ever).

Back to the story. I went out with a boy. A really lovely one at that. Lovely isn't even the word. Kind of indescribable. I was one of those cringey relationship people that I now hate - not hate, really, but I am probably just massively jealous of. I was soppy, I was so willing to please, I would have done anything for him. But this summer, everything took a turn for the worse. Bloody hell, I think I'm going to have a little weep in the library. Pull yourself together woman! We went through the break-up motions. There wasn't really any sense to it; I didn't see any sense to it. And it hurt. Feelings changed, things wobbled, the balance was thrown off. It's never returned either. It's like a boat. Hello rowing reference. We're sitting in a pair, one behind the other, and our hand heights are terrible; my oar is hitting the water, and his is somewhere up in the air. We're trying, we're trying so hard to get it back, but somehow we can't readjust. We're always somewhere far from getting it right. The boat shudders, halts, I fall in. I'm now in a entirely different place altogether from him. Dragged underwater, the current is pulling me... I'm trying to swim, trying to breathe. I am struggling. We're totally separate. Apart.

I should have told him. I should have done things differently. I should have considered the future. We can't change the past though can we? My silly decisions have led me to this outcome, and now I have to live with it. I think I might have accepted that, but I think a tiny part of me is telling me it's all a bad dream. I wish it was a nightmare - I will wake up soon, in my bed at home, perhaps in a hot sweat and clothed in my Eeyore nightie (I don't bring this to uni, it's too embarrassing). I'll be eighteen, I'll be full of ambition and dreams and idealised university nonsense. Nothing will have hurt me, hurt anyone. Innocence is bliss.

I don't really wish that. I kind of do.

This week has been horrible because I lost him again, when I thought things were coming together. Hopes were crushed, again. It's hideous when you've built yourself up numerous times and every time you've been pushed back down. Flattened. Fly swatter. Smack in the face, squished on a wall. Destiny is the black bin bag, joining the rest of the unwanted rubbish.

'It's good you hit bottom. Now the only place you can go is up.'

You're totally right, Jill Clayburgh. I love the film Bridesmaids.

That was deep for a library session. I stopped midway through this for a food break, and am now a bit spaced out, sipping on my Praline and Cream Latte (oooohhhh Christmas coffee!) from the Costa outlet which takes pride of place in the front foyer of the library, raking in buckets of dollar from the caffeine junkies of Swansea University. I happen to be one of those, buzzing in the library, diffusing my tiredness. Bit disappointed. I got cream  (of course. I already said, I'm a little piggy) but underneath that it was more foam than coffee. No good. Should I email them complaining? RA, RA, RA, I DIDN'T GET ENOUGH COFFEE IN MY CUP.

It's sad that talking about the quality of my coffee is an interesting topic for me right now.

Big love, stay safe. Tell the truth always. xo

P.S. You're not just the main character in your life story. You're the author. Don't get stuck on one page, write that book for yourself. You have the opportunity to begin a new chapter, slowly but surely.