The One With All The Jokes

"How did the man become Thor? He forgot to thtretch."

I never know how to open blog posts so I cunningly have side-stepped my dilemma with a joke. Hope you laughed as much as I did.

So I haven't blogged in a while. I keep getting into the rut of not blogging for ages and then doing never-ending blog posts that are far too long to read. I'm sorry. 

Before I begin, however, I can't believe I'm saying this, but in four days I will be moving to Durham to study English Literature this October. It still hasn't properly sunk in that I will actually be going to uni, nevertheless Durham, but I'm so excited for the challenges and experiences that it will bring! No doubt there will be many more blog posts to come with Uni stories!

My summer started on the 7th of June, after an intense two day exam period. Whenever I told people that I only had two exams, and that they were on the 6th & 7th, I was met with intense jealousy and stories of millions of exams spread over decades. But there we go. Definitely a pro of taking Arts subjects!

My first big excursion was to Holland, to visit Anne-Mai, an old friend from Nepal. I know I go on about Nepal sometimes, which my Brownies kindly reminded me of on Pack Holiday, but my childhood is a big part of who I am. Some people forget that I have spent more of my life in Nepal than in Wales, and therefore will have a big impact on the way I view things. It was really nice to be able to talk through cultural differences with someone who had a similar childhood to me, who can relate to growing up with shoot-to-kill strikes and bomb drills and fun things like that. 

So anyway, Holland. I absolutely loved experiencing the Dutch culture, which is completely stereotypical; cycling, Stroopwaffels, flatness, cheese, more cycling, canals, double decker trains, etc. Straight after we arrived at Anne-Mai's house from the airport we went on a family cycle trip, which was tiring but foreshadow of how the week would pan out! I must've toned up a bit with all the cycling we did. I definitely think the Dutch are onto something; I didn't see a fat person all week, which is more than I can say for Bridgend!

I also, however, experienced the less savoury side of Dutch culture by visiting Amsterdam. Just to clarify, it is a beautiful city, which I will hopefully demonstrate in my pictures, but the drug culture really puts a damper on the mood in the city (well, not for the people on drugs I suppose!)

The first major culture shock was walking past 'coffeeshops'. To anyone who hasn't heard of this phenomenon, basically cannabis is legal for 18+ in Holland, and they have 'coffeeshops' which don't actually sell coffee, but weed. It was just crazy to walk past them and think that it is perfectly legal, and in Amsterdam, almost celebrated to get high. 

The amount of weed memorabilia was insane; tops with cannabis cartoon characters, cannabis lollypops, literally anything that you can print a logo on. To top it all off, we went in a shop which had a sign on the counter that said 'Do a line, 5 Euros' and had some form of legal cocaine substitute right there in a pepper shaker. Insane.

*Joke Break to lighten up the somber mood* 
Knock Knock!
Who's there?
Hula!
Hula who?
P
*End Of Joke Break. Please don't despair, there is a happy ending.*

I also walked through the red light district. Again, for people who don't know, this is some streets in Amsterdam where there are big glass windows with a neon red light above it, and a prostitute stands behind the window, waiting for her next customer. 

I literally could not believe it when I walked past. Although friends had told me about it, to actually walk past it all was absolutely crazy. After passing the first window I was literally gaping and repeatedly gasping 'whaaaaaaaaat?!' and Anne-Mai had to remind me to keep walking and stop staring.

Apart from all this, though Amsterdam was absolutely gorgeous. I loved walking up and down the canals, looking in the quirky little shops and art studios, perusing market stalls (in one I bought vintage Twinings tins!) and chilling in actual coffee shops. It was so rich in culture, and it was so interesting to talk to various people and listen to buskers along the way. 

We also got to walk past Anne Frank's house, which was completely mind-boggling and humbling. Unfortunately the queue was too long to go inside, but to see the house in real life was amazing. 

Whilst we were traipsing around Leidseplein, a guy approached us. He quickly introduced himself as 'Dez' in a strong Scouse accent and proceeded to try and entice us to go on an organised pubcrawl. He was all like 'You'll be partying wi' me' (as if that would be an incentive to sign up!) I was clearly uninterested and made it very clear on my face, as I'm not the best about being subtle with my expressions when I don't like something. 

Anne-Mai, however, being the smily, friendly girl she is, asked him questions about it, which prompted a 10 minute conversation about details and meeting places etc. After he finally moved on to his next victims, I asked Anne-Mai if she actually wanted to go, to which she replied 'Noooo! Of course not!' Evidently we have different ways of dealing with people that we want to go away.

Apart from our Amsterdam day, the rest of my trip was quite uneventful but lovely. We talked a lot, cooked pancakes, had a painting day, listened to hipster music, visited her school in Utrecht, played boardgames and cycled. 

I won't bore you with a detailed explanation of the rest of my summer, so instead, here is the last 3 and a half months in a nutshell.

Prom. Spray tan. Plane. Holland. Waffles. Plane. Painting fences. Back-to-back episodes of The Renovation Game/Motorway Cops. Tea. Painting dining room chairs. Tea. Painting Lydia's wardrobe. Baking. Brownie Pack Holiday. Painting more fences. Heatwave. Camp 3. Bala. Sweet Fellowship. Family camping. Tents. Loud drunken Scousers. Aber. Curry. Sister Mary. Lighthouse. Results day. Crying. Driving test. Jubilation. The Lorax. Uni Paperwork. Reading list. Robinson Crusoe. Parent trap dance. Balloons filled with paint. Paddleboarding. Gloucester. Friends. Minute mysteries. Dunelm Mill. 18th. More friends. Packing. Goodbyes.

So there we go. It'll be sad to leave, but I'm really looking forward to starting a new chapter of my life! Cheeeeeesy. 

I'll leave you with my master plan of How To Make Friends In Uni. 

Step 1: Make them chai tea lattes with my new milk frother.
Step 2: Give them cake.
Step 3: Tell them jokes like: 

Me- Knock Knock!
New Super Cool Uni Friend-Who's there?
Me-Little old lady
Other New Super Cool Uni Friends joining in-Little old lady who?
Me- I didn't know you could yodel!
*New Super Cool Uni Friends hysterically laugh*

I think I'll be just fine.

 

Story behind this photo: I took a photo of the cheese as I was passing, armed with my Stroopwaffel,  saying loudly 'ooooh cheese!' This guy was like 'have a picture with the cheese!' Typical tourist photo.

Liebster Award aka 11 Things You Probably Don't Want To Know About Me

So today my good friend Jemimah, who can be found on her lovely blog here, nominated me for a 'Liebster Award'. I'm not trying to devalue the award or anything, but it's more a 'Here's an idea for another blog post you can do' kind of thing, rather than 'Wow, your writing is so fantabulous that I just have to award you!'

Basically, the 'award' gets you to write 11 facts about yourself, answer the 11 questions set my your nominator, and then nominate 11 people yourself and give them 11 new questions. As you may know, I did a '10 facts about me' sort of post when I started on the bloggersphere, but I suppose my life has changed a bit since then. So here goes.

11 Facts About Me That You Probably Don't Want To Know

1) I am 17 years old, and the youngest person in my year. I am actually meant to be in the year below, so this fact is cheating a bit.

2) I am 1 of 5 children, 4 of whom are girls. I love being the eldest girl, because being bossy is pretty much expected of me.

3) A llama spat on my face when I was about 12. I know I said this one in my last list of facts, but I think it is worthy enough for a second list.

4) I am currently learning to drive, but I was held up a bit since my last instructor was a criminal and I didn't know it. Long story.

5) Linked to the last point, I have failed my theory test twice. Did you know that was possible? Nope, I didn't either.

5) There are two number 5's in this list. Hahahaha made you look.

7) I drink milk like an alcoholic drinks wine. That's a clumsy way of saying that I drink a lot of milk.

8) I have a growing obsession with One Direction. There, I've said it. Please don't judge me. I know half of you are closeted Directioners really! But T-Swizzle is still my no. 1 :)

9) I like tea. A lot. I can't remember the last time that I didn't have at least one cup in the day. My favourite is Twinings English Breakfast, but my dad only gets that when it's on offer in Tesco, so I have to put up with Yorkshire Tea at the minute. Not complaining though, it's quite nice!

10) I make really good crepes.

11) I don't eat raw cheese. Or seafood (tuna doesn't count).

Okay, now for Jemimah's questions.

1) Where is your favourite place in the whole world? 

Chicago. I went there last summer and absolutely loved it. When I get the chance, I want to go there for a summer, or possibly live there. That would be nice.

2) What's the most annoying idiom/phrase you've ever heard?

Probably 'reem'. Euch.

3) Would you prefer to be absolutely freezing or absolutely boiling all the time?

This has been a dilemma of mine for a while. I think freezing (no change there then, thanks Wales!) because I hate the idea of burning to death, but I'm still wrestling with this one. So yeah, freezing I think, but I may change my mind later.

4) Would you rather be deliriously happy for a short period of your life, or content for your whole life?

Deliriously happy. Absolutely.

5) If you were only allowed to listen to one song for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Ooh, that's a hard one. I would probably say the song that I posted on my last blog post, which was the O.C theme tune. I don't know why, but I can listen to that again and again (trust me, I had it on repeat a few days ago) and I don't get sick of it.

6) Name three things that make you happy.

Tea. Pretty things. Other people being happy.

7) What is your favourite film of all time?

The Parent Trap.

8) What annoys you more than anything?

Injustice. It sounds really fake and contrived, but it's true. It makes me really angry, like the type of angry where I shake, go really quite and keep muttering how angry I am. Not a pretty sight.

9) Why did you start blogging? 

I've always written in some form to formulate thoughts, in diaries, letters, stories etc. but blogging was a new challenge since it is so public. I suppose I started blogging to express my rambling thoughts and feelings to the world, and kept going because for some reason some people like reading my ramblings!

10) Do you see yourself as more creative, or more practical? 

Creative, definitely. If you asked me to replace a lightbulb I would probably have a mental breakdown and electrocute myself, in no particular order.

11) Would you rather have a house made of cheese or a cheese made of house?

Neither, I don't like cheese.

My 10 Questions

1) What is your most embarrassing memory?

2) Cats or dogs?

3) W0uld you rather freeze to death or be burnt alive?

4) What is your favourite book?

5) What is a fact no-one knows about you?

6) If your last ever meal was a pizza, what toppings would you order?

7) Would you rather be an anxious genius or a carefree 'simple-minded' person?
8) Would you rather be deaf or blind?

9) If you had to speak another language for the rest of your life, what language would you choose to learn?

10) Mac or PC?

11) What is your favourite word?

Sadly, I'm not really in the blogging world, so I don't read that many blogs...but I shall nominate the ones that I read but haven't been nominated for this award (as far as I know). 

Katie
Libby
Luke

So there is is! The 'Liebster Award'. I'll leave you with this jolly (albeit extremely politcally charged) song that my brother found. Happy (belated) Easter!

"Life Is Like A Camel's Back..."

Okay, so I made that quote up. But it definitely applies to my life right now. Hopefully you'll understand my little analogy by the end of this post!

The past few weeks have been quite exciting. If my life was a newspaper, the headline would be 'DURHAM OFFER!' with a tearful picture of me holding my acceptance letter in a very Bridgend-Gem-esque manner. 

In other words, I could potentially moving up North (and I mean proper up North where they say 'rate' instead of 'right') in 6 months. Writing that has given myself a slap in the face from my good friend Reality. Ouch. Better get revising!

In Durham, you are sorted into a college (where you live) after you have been given a place to study your desired subject (mine being English Lit). I like to think of it in Harry Potter terms, Hogwarts being Durham and the houses (Gryffindor etc) being the colleges.

As I waited for the e-mail telling me which college I had been allocated to, I genuinly felt like Harry when he has the sorting hat on, and is begging it not to put him in Slytherin. Seriously, I had a nightmare the day before I was allocated where I was put into Trevelyan (the equivalent to Hufflepuff in my head) and woke up in a state of panic.

Thankfully, this was not to be. No offence to any Trevelyan people out there, I'm sure your college is lovely really (!)

I was allocated St Hild and St Bede, which I am pretty happy about after researching it about, so I thought I would share a couple of pictures with you. Alternatively you could be even nosier and google it yourself, whatever.

Despite the lovely surroundings, I was quite upset when I found out that St Hild and St Bede is one of the only colleges in Durham not to wear gowns (basically Harry Potter cloaks) to formals. Since I have to buy a gown anyway for matriculation (big word for officially joining the uni) I may as well get some use out of it. 

Maybe I should walk around in it all the time anyway, humming the Harry Potter theme tune as I go. I'll be known as the Crazy Cloak Lady. That has a ring to it, don't you think? 

My other slight concern is that the college is known for its intake of 'rah's' and its sporting prowess. Since I am not a 'rah' and certainly have not been blessed with sporting ability, let alone balance, I wonder if I will be a bit out of my comfort zone.

However, they stressed on their college video that they encourage everyone to take part in sports, no matter their ability. They might want to retract this statement after I join, as I fully intend on joining the rowing team as the 'cox' aka the person that tells everyone else to row whilst they enjoy the ride. Watch out Rio 2016!

This is where my little 'Camel's Back' analogy comes in. Hopefully, you would realise that my Durham offer made me happy. However, as I have experienced in the last few days, disappointment rears its ugly head just when you least expect it to. To make this part slightly less depressing, here's a picture of a camel smiling. You're welcome.

I don't want to go into great detail about my trials of life, as they are completely trivial when you think about people in developing countries, but nevertheless, I will briefly summarise them.

Thursday was results day. I had resat my German AS after being convinced by my teachers that you always improve in a language. I still think this is true, and have definitely seen a big improvement in my attempts to 'spreche Deutsch', but my result certainly did not show this. Somehow, I got 14 marks less than before, which was a bit of a surprise and a knock.

Then, that same day, I had my driving theory test. I went up with two friends from Bridgend, Morgan and Tom, and they passed whilst I failed by one mark. I didn't even think it was possible to fail theory, but apparently so. 

Since I had already foolishly made a deal with the other two, that whoever gets the highest mark gets their meal paid for by the others, I then had to fork out for half of Morgan's meal. When it was time to pay, my card was rejected at first, and I told the waiter that the world was against me. Evidently thinking I was being dramatic, he asked why. Bad move.

After ranting at him whilst he desperately tried to work the card machine, he concluded 'well I haven't passed an exam in my life but the one I have passed was my driving theory!' Ever heard the saying 'rubbing salt in the wound'? There's the definition.

Then, after enduring never-ending mocking on the way home ('Sarah, what does that sign mean?' Hahahahaha.) I realised that the Eisteddfod was the next day, and I was meant to be playing piano, and hadn't practiced my piece in about a week.

So, in short, I came last. Not because I played badly, as despite my lack of practice, I played it quite well. To put things in perspective, someone playing a grade 3 piece beat me playing a grade 8 piece. 

When I asked the judge after why I placed where I did, she responded that she's played the piece, thought I interpreted it wrong, and told me to do a more clinical aka boring one next year. Except there won't be a next year. Thanks a lot, judge-that-shall-remain-nameless.

This is why life is like a camel's back. There are ups and downs, but that's just how life is. If a camel didn't have it's humps it would be like an ugly horse. 

I'll leave you with that strange mental image, and the song I've been listening to one repeat whilst writing this. Whenever I hear it, I immediately think of The O.C. - loved that show! Enjoy.

Giving is in my Blood*

As many of you know due to the need to show everyone my 'scar' and bruise today, I gave blood yesterday. It was a very interesting experience, and although I'm glad I did it, I'm not sure I will do it again. I know it saves a life and all - actually 3 lives, did you know that? - but...it hurt.

This might seem kind of obvious, since a thin tube is stuck in your arm for about 10 minutes, but I was convinced by the nurse that the miniature iron blood test you do before hurts more. It doesn't. So instead of basing your decision to give blood in the future on the nurses with their false promises, dear blog reader, you can get a more unbiased view from cynical old me in the corner. Mwahahaha.

So one of the things they tell you is that you will be in and out in 45 minutes. Lie Number 1.   I was there from 3.30pm til 5.40pm. I may not be a mathematician, but that was 130 minutes. And no, I did not just use a calculator to work that out.

There was a good reason why it took so long, though. There were so many people going to donate that there were longer waiting times, which is great for them, but not so great for the would-be donor sitting in a room with an automatic door leading outside that keeps on opening. Oh, and did I mention that this was when Porthcawl had gone into shut down because we were having a blizzard? Yep.

But 1 hour later-ish, my name was called. I had become pretty nervy by this time, and my poor friend Harvey, who had agreed to go donate with me, was probably more relieved to hear my name that I was. 

I was escorted to the next waiting room. Just to clarify, there were 3 waiting rooms. It was like levels of tension. And so the waiting game began again. 

The next level was The Interrogation. They escort you into this little cornered off section of the room, sit you down, and ask you loads of questions to make sure you aren't infected or something.

Another thing: every time a new nurse talks to you, they ask you to confirm your age, address and date of birth. By the end I had worked a way to say this in the quickest way possible. Not that I'm going to write it on here, I don't know if any of you are stalkers of pedophiles or something (I'm sure you're not. Please don't go.)

So anyway, they asked the usual questions about drugs and stuff, even though I had filled out a questionnaire before hand. There were some very obscure, specific ones, but not for young ears, so I shall leave that to your imagination.

But then it got complicated. I had put down that I was born in Nepal, which has caused me loads of problems in the past, particularly on my UCAS form. I've realised recently that if you say you were born outside the UK, especially in somewhere like Asia, alarm bells ring in people's heads. It's like 'IMMIGRANT ALERT!' or something. So anyway, they clearly were concerned I had malaria or something. I would have thought I would know if I had, or had ever had malaria, but there we go. 

I was finally cleared by the Senior Nurse ("Can you confirm your name, address and date of birth please?") and moved on to do the blood test. This involves them practically stapling your finger with this little device, and then squeezing the blood out of it, and dropping it into solution. The idea is, if your iron levels are right, the blood will sink in 15 seconds. Guess who's blood didn't sink?

She reassured me that a lot of people's blood doesn't sink the first time, so I should try again. Yip-de-doo. Thankfully she didn't have to staple my finger again, as the hole from which the blood was squeezed last time was still oozing blood. Yummy. And, hurrah, the blood sank! Meaning I was put through to the final waiting room. Cue Jaws music.

This was probably the most tense part of the whole experience. By the time they called my name, I was literally shaking. Stupid, but true. I lay down on the bed and waited for my nurse. I think I probably looked pretty pale at this point because random nurses kept smiling at me reassuringly and asking me if I was okay.

Finally, my nurse arrived. He put one of those tourniquet things on my arm so he could see which vein to use. He looked and prodded. Looked more. Prodded a bit more. And then it happened again. He called the Senior Nurse, or the 'Special Nurse' as I had started to call her, to try and find my vein. Turns out I have small veins. The Special Nurse reassured me about my 'small veins' by telling me that it was normal as I have small arms, like I was going to go away with a vein complex or something.

So there they were, both prodding away, trying to find a big one, but their search was in vein. (See what I did there? I'm so punny.) So they tried my other arm, but no such luck. I was starting to get cold feet by this point, so I slightly hopefully asked them if I wouldn't be able to donate but they assured me they would use the best vein I had. And they did. 

Giving blood is completely different to when they take blood in the doctors. My friend Jon thought it was taken through a needle into a tube and that was that, so when I told him your blood is sucked through a tube into a bag he almost spewed. 

Finally, after much prodding and sighing, the needley-tube-thingy was inserted. And it hurt.  They tell you that the iron blood test hurts more than the needle. Lie Number 2. I'm fine with injections, seeing as I had about 10 year growing up in a foreign country, but this is quite a chunky needle. Ouch.

It is quite an odd experience, though, lying there squeezing a roll of dressing to keep your blood pumping, while seeing your blood flow through this tube into a bag which is rocking back and forth in this cradle-esq contraption next to you. The special nurse stayed with me the whole time, asking if I was okay and trying to make conversation. 

The funniest was when she saw my Head Team badge and thought it was some sort of sports team. Just to clarify with anyone out there that doesn't know me, the closest thing I do to sport on a regular basis is 'stew' with my Brownies (which is a strenuous workout, I can assure you!)

Apart from my blood mysteriously slowing down half way through, the actual giving of the blood was quite uneventful. I was a little bit irritated when after the nurse had taken the needle out, she was chatting to another nurse and said 'Well I was going to stop it at 420ml but it was going so well...' 

I was rather disappointed, however, at the final part of the process, which they said involved a 'cup of tea and biscuit'. Lie Number 3. I was offered squash, which is possibly my least favourite drink ever, but I was a good girl and treated it like medicine. No tea though. It was a sad day.

Reading back through this I just realised how negative the whole thing sounds. It was fine, honestly. I would definitely recommend you doing it at least once in your lifetime. And it probably will be different for you because you don't have an awkward birth place or small veins. So whatever you do, don't let this put you off! Hahahaha.

In other news, I haven't blogged in ages (yet again.) Things are happening though. I've had 3 offers for uni (Royal Holloway, Leeds and Exeter) which I'm really happy about. A few months ago I didn't feel ready to go at all but after enduring 2 months of sharing a room with my sister Lydia I am more than ready for a change of scenery. 

People think I'm exaggerating when I say how irritating Lydia can be to share a room with. Don't get me wrong, she's lovely, but singing 'On My Own' for about an hour non stop at the top of your voice (TOP of your voice - I had my headphones full blast and I could still hear her) and then after all this telling me how she wishes she was 'Epony' is  just too much to handle. Eponine, Lyd. Eponine.

But back to uni and all things exciting. Looks like I'm going to be somewhere in the north of England, as if Durham don't give me an offer I'll probably go to Leeds. This is rather exciting as I find northern accents very amusing. 

I was musing over this the other day and said to my dad 'Wouldn't it be funny if I went to Durham and came back with a Yorkshire accent?' to which he dryly replied 'Well yes it would be funny, as Durham's not in Yorkshire!' 

Apparently the whole of the north of England isn't called Yorkshire. Whoops.

*As much as I wish I had made up this clever little pun thingy, I didn't, it's the slogan for Welsh Blood. But still, isn't it clever?! Bud-dum-tshhhh.