Bye Bye, Boarding

“You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.”            


So this is it! I'm finally writing the blog that documents "The end".

...not of my life, but certainly my college/boarding life, the one I built up and made all by myself nearly two years ago. As I type this I'm lying in the same bed I anxiously tossed and turned in the night before I left; the same one I would cry in because I didn't want to go back and felt I had made the wrong decision; and the now the one I'm going to be sleeping in a lot more, because this time is nearly over. And frankly, I am gutted.

A year ago, I couldn't have been more keen to get the ball rolling, wrap up my exams and return to Germany. A2? Pffft, get it over with - that was my mind set. But after an unexpectedly amazing second year, it's almost completely over with and I feel a little bit lost. It was such a life changing, character building thing, to leave home a bit earlier than usual and enter a period of almost-sort-of-independence and make some of the best friends I could have wished for and study subjects that challenged and stretched me. I am returning to a place that I love, but will never quite fit in to like I did before the Peter Symonds era began. There is a definite sense of being in limbo here, with no real direction for me to take off in.

There's the friends I have made in boarding, who I consider more like family these days. These are the hip cats who have felt every trip, witnessed every bad moment and have been brave enough to face me in my most ferocious, hormonally-charged fits of rage (you can't hide anything when you do 'communal living'). These are the friends you'll make in life who have seen every little twisted and messy part of your personality, but love you anyway. But it's these people who I have the most amazing memories with: warm ciders in fields became cocktails in bars so quickly, and it's hard to believe that soon I won't wake up and see any of their faces first thing ever again. If any of you are reading: yes, you, you're a beautiful, crazy bastard and I bloody love you.

There's Alex - more affectionately known to me as Twatward or Aylfail - who I will amicably part ways with in less than 3 weeks. Here's the thing; this isn't my first relationship, but it is the one in which I really grew to understood the cliché of there being a 'thin line between love and hate'. There have been times when I've just beamed at him and thought "I am dead lucky to have you", and times when I've bitterly glared and thought "I would so much more lucky if you were dead" in equal measure. But the really good, positive feelings always outweighed the despairing ones for both of us, and that's why it's worked for so long. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the anticipation that it's going to end abruptly in a matter of days now; bitter in a "it's 3am and I'm awake thinking about it all" kind of way. The one great thing to remember, however, is that one day he might be the drummer in some cool band, and I will have an awesome claim to fame. Silver linings, right? He may soon be reason for the endless frowning I'm going to do for the first few weeks of the summer and become a bit of an issue for me, but he'll be the good kind of issue. The kind of issue I'll ultimately be grateful to have.

And of course, the lessons I learned along the way - not just the academic type - are ones I'm going to remember forever, which I probably wouldn't have taken on board so much if I had just stayed at home. For one, your parents are usually right and should be listened to, since believe it or not, they're genuinely motivated by love over kicks to make your life as miserable as possible. Furthermore, if you don't work to the point that at one point or another you do consider sacking it and working at ASDAs, you won't get the results. Good work doesn't appear with no work ethic and nights in with the Here Comes Honey Boo Boo over The Crucible. Also, don't wear summer dresses in the winter and think it's fine because you're wearing boots. It's not fine.

Still, I sometimes have trouble keeping my gaze firmly ahead and into the future, when everything so solid and good is crumbling away and life is set to resume a very slow, quiet pace. This isn't like a regular old military move, when I pack my life up with my family in one place, and open it up again somewhere else with someone to supervise my every step to make my life easier. This time, it was just me, with nobody to bail me out of tough times; building things for myself which I now have to take apart and kick elsewhere for the time being. I do know there's a good future ahead of me though, but as with life sometimes it is far easier to concentrate on everything that's disintegrating, rather than coming together.

But things will come together again. Yesterday, I found out I had been offered the summer job I really wanted. Fingers crossed, I will be going to the University of Glasgow in September. For every damn good door that shuts, another one opens, and until then I'll just have to be patient.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me...

Gatsby? He Ain't So Great

Disclaimer: I am crap at reviewing things. But I couldn't let this one go...

After over a year of anticipation and "God-doesn't-this-look-awesome?" I FINALLY saw the Great Gatsby last night. I was so excited I considered dusting off my trusty glittery dress and buying a cigar for the journey. I read the celebrated F Scott Fitzgerald novel once again, and was left no less spellbound. I even managed to threaten harass my sceptical boyfriend into coming with me.

But my hopes for the film were dashed pretty quickly.

Set in 1920s New York, the plot centres on mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby (Leonardo you are so fit di Caprio) and his longing for the beautiful - and very much married, to the boorish Tom (Joel Edgerton) - Daisy Buchanan (Carey Mulligan). Gatsby may have the most extravagant mansion and the fastest car but only Daisy can make him truly happy. The story is narrated by retrospective narrator Nick Carraway (Toby McGuire), who soon becomes drawn into the alluring world of the super wealthy and their lifestyle of deceit and hedonism. With Baz Luhrmann (Moulin Rouge, Romeo + Juliet) in the director's seat and Jay Z creating the soundtrack, I was expecting some serious silver-screen magic. Were my expectations too high? Or has something genuinely gone wrong here?

But in the spirit of mantra the Nick tries to live by, "Always try and see the best in people". So firstly, you can all take your Project X's to bed - there ain't NO party like a Gatsby party. The anticipated shindig scenes are just as OTT and visually dazzling as you'd expect from a Luhrmann production; think more glitz and champagne than you could shake a flapper dress at. Toby McGuire is exactly as I pictured Nick Carraway, and was perfectly sweet and acceptable. Despite the character depth he was completely robbed off by the scriptwriters, Leonardo pulls off Gatsby - a striking balance of almost childlike naivety and a pain behind in the eyes, masqueraded behind charm and charisma.

Sadly, Gatsby is depicted as this rich geezer who is like, well desperate, rather than a tragic victim of the American Dream. I did not find myself rooting and hoping for Gatsby as he holds onto his convictions. Also, you didn't need to read the book to know that his downfall was imminent; it should hit the audience in the moment of its occurance, rather than a minute of ominous music that immediately suggests to the squeamish they should maybe cover their eyes. The peak moments of drama were handled pretty drably in contrast to the highly paced party and city scenes, so much so that you'd hope a character had snuck in a flapper girl, just to liven the scene up a bit.

Overall, Luhrmann's expectedly star-spangled adaptation of one of the greatest American classics of all time had all the potential; it showed, but then it telled, too. If it weren't for the almost uniformly excellent performances of the cast, the adaptation would have fallen just as flat as the ill-fated Myrtle.

Alex, maybe you were right...we should have seen Star Trek.

A Less Than Titillating Problem

I have an issue. Perhaps it is not the most dire, pressing, or deserving of your valuable time. You may be in predicaments far worse than my own, and you have my sympathies. But it is an issue that is undoubtedly close to my heart.

Quite literally - my issue is my boobs.

It's alright for some.

Indeed, it seems odd that mine are seemingly causing so much offence, to the extent I feel the need to furiously blog about them (because it's clear this blog is a platform for serious, topical issues...). At the end of the day, we all love a good rack, and mine is frankly not too bad. But sometimes, the "cushions of love" are more like "the furniture of fun-hoovering", particularly if they're attached to me.

For want of a statement a little less dramatic, THEY ARE RUINING MY SELF PERCEPTION.

They are. It is making me tired, bloggees. Tired of going into a clothes shop and finding a dress in my size that I seriously suspect would make me look a little bit like Mila Kunis from a distance, trying it on in the changing rooms, then weeping in despair because it won't fit over my boobs. I am not a big girl. I do not want to feel like I am. I cannot afford tailoring. I rely on these shops for their affordability and accessibility, and if they can't offer clothes to flatter my shape, what else will?

Truthfully, this isn't a blog purely about the humble tatty-bo; it's about the high street. Sure, it is commendable that many high street shops are starting to stock clothes for the larger and petite lady. Less of us feel marginalised, and that's actually wonderful. But I don't feel wonderful when I have to summon a feeble looking shop assistant to physically pull me out of a dress that my boobs have trapped me in.

Oh yeah, that happened. TODAY.

I know what some of you might be thinking - complaining about having a pair is selfish, or ungrateful somehow. On the contrary; thank God I have them. I love mine dearly - they're womanly, fill out a bra nicely and double up as excellent cushions on long train journeys. But they become a problem when I can't find clothes in my size that also accommodate them. Why should I buy a larger size that still won't fit? How is that okay?

If we're entering a new generation that celebrates women of all shapes and sizes, I would like to be a part of this. Anonymous Clothing Bigwig, if for some reason you're exploring the Bloggersphere and find this - help a sister out, and sort it out. I would not like to be left out of wearing pretty clothes I feel good in because of the very curves that we are supposedly embracing in the first place.

How To Not Win An Argument

Being charming, pleasant and an all round do-gooder (ahem) it may come as no surprise to anybody that it's not often I find myself in an argument. It could be these attributes that are my saving grace, or it could be that I have absolutely NO balls, in every sense of that term. The only real manifestation of bravado from me is seen on the level of spice I go for at Nandos. I would be the duck who speedily waddles back to the pond if there is bread thrown at it. That is no mere metaphor. It's been made clear on this blog many times that I am NOT the confrontational type and am far more likely to write about my frustrations rather than openly have it out with the bitch provoking them.

But to be aware of my own meekness, I've had to stumble into the odd spat, some of which I've left with success. Let's be honest, nothing beats that triumphant feeling when you've emerged from an argument unscathed; like you could take on the world, and it would tremble with fear.

What not to say if you want to win an argument:

"I FEEL SORRY FOR YOU"

Really? This didn't even work when Harry Potter said it to Voldemort, and that was for one reason only - it simply wasn't true. You feel sorry watching cleft lip charity adverts, and passing Big Issue sellers when you've got no money. You don't want to give any sympathy to this guy. What you'd really like to give them is a good soaking of petrol, so you could then set them on fire. Pretence of any kind is pointless.

"I HATE YOU"

Even the frontman of the Plain White Tees had the maturity to say "hate is a strong word, but I really really really don't like you". He's got it right. Plus, it's likely to hang in the air if it's said with any real conviction, which will make things very difficult to patch up.

"YOU'RE NOTHING COMPARED TO.."

Eugh. Could you imagine? That's a hell of a low blow, especially if it's to the person you go out with. Never bring up exes, never bring up sexual prowess. Again, if you do reconcile then the chances are you'll spend a good 80% of the time trying to convince the recipient of the comment that you didn't mean it, it was a "spur of the moment" remark.

"I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS RIGHT NOW"

Unless there's a piano with the target of "your head" hurtling towards you from the heavens, you can. You just don't want to. It's best to get it over with than to prolong the tension.

"I'M NOT ANGRY"

What, you're not? Then why are we locked in this HELL of inevitable indirect Tweets and glances across a room? Seeing as you're not angry, let's hit the Slug and Lettuce. Not feeling it? Still got a face like a smacked arse? Oh yeah, BECAUSE YOU'RE ANGRY.

Aside from the odd heated, impassioned debate, I get no joy from any kind of argument. However, if you want to gain an optimal experience of confrontation, I highly recommend these songs to get the angry juices flowing before or during:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bzWSJG93P8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfilo0Plb7M

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJxX-MIXtXo


(sorry for yet another blog in a list form - mega writer's block. Nothing much inspires me when I should be inspired by sociological theory, The Crucible and other things my energy should be burned on right now)

In Which I Teach Menfolk The Ways Of Women

Boys baffle me - I've made no secret of that fact. With every book I read that explores gender, or women's lifestyle magazine that claims men are just "simple creatures" that need to be "nurtured" (pah, you'll have to try harder than that, Cosmo), I feel I'm no closer to decoding some of their strange ways.

"Well, you know how men are. They think 'no' means 'yes', and 'go away' means 'take me, I'm yours'" - Meg, Hercules.

...thanks, Meg. She seems to sum up my feelings more concisely than I ever could. But if boys are baffling, then where the hell does that leave us, ladies?! Come on - we're complicated. Even excluding that one week of the month when we're just plain irrational by default, at the best of times, we're rarely straight forward.

So I'm going to try my humble best to sum up the main points that I feel guys sometimes miss about girls. You might be a modern man, and every point I make you're very much aware of - in which case, I applaud you, and I feel many of my friends need a guy like you. If not, take note - it could spare you a lot of confusion in the future.

• In an era where seemingly nobody physically talks to each other an ordinate amount of time, there's a lot to be said for conversing through text and online. The basics are relatively simple. Only leaving one kiss hints you're edging towards danger, no kisses mean you'd better get your apologies ready. If you 'see' her messages and don't reply, she'll assume you aren't as into her as she'd hoped. If you don't start the conversation after being online for at least half an hour, she'll think the same thing. Confusing, eh?

• Well it doesn't stop there. When you DO talk in real life, there are a few things a girl might say that you need to be on the look out for. "I'm fine" means "everything sucks and I am worryingly close to spending any money I can find, possibly even yours if I can get my hands on it". "Have fun" could actually mean "have fun", but depending on the mood of the girl, it could also mean "have a shit time without me". Observe wisely.

• When a girl likes you, that doesn't mean she is just willing to hang out with you for slightly longer than average before she gets bored, and goes back to painting her nails. If a girl genuinely believes that you are some hot shit, I'll give you a visual: she could be using one hand to paint her toenails and the other to brush her teeth, but if you text her, she still will find a way to read your text, and reply to it. She really will drop everything. If you can't appreciate that and have the courtesy to reciprocate, to be perfectly frank, you don't deserve her at all.

• Girls are just as perverted as you are. Girls are sex pests. It's not just guys. But unlike guys, we're a little more subtle. Keep that in mind.

• Menstrual cramps are genuinely that bad. It is not a myth conjured up by some lazy Victorian nannies to get a few days off running around after the kids - monthly pains hurt just as much as we claim they do. When girls know other girls are experiencing "that" kind of pain, we automatically sympathise and will offer a hot water bottle, cuddles or aspirin. Guys only tut in a 'pah! Women! So dramatic! So weak!' sort of way, usually accompanied by a smug "getting a kick in the balls is SO much worse". I wouldn't say that if I were you - that is tempting fate, which strikes me as particularly brave if 'fate' comes in the form of a hormonal woman.

• If you're trying to "woo" a girl - in my opinion, anyway - there are very few of us who won't find going on a date to a posh restaurant well, a bit awkward. You don't need to be fancy! And if it's a girl that actively demands 'fancy', then bro, she probably isn't the kind of person you want to be dating anyway. Date the girl who would spend time with you in the freezing cold, or in the roughest pub you could find in town. The superficial stuff isn't that important if you're genuinely a nice guy, so don't worry about the contents of your wallet.

• It might be sickeningly cliché, but the little gestures do matter. Really, they do. I think you should work that out for yourselves.

That sums up my hints to the male population, and I hope you put them to good use! But if it all seems a bit much, and women are just too much hassle, then the chances are you're still quite young, and there's time left for you to realise you could be gay.

So You Think Too Much

Considering the topic of this blog, I realise my long suffering boyfriend Alex could probably write it for me. Overthinking is one of the most prominent speed bumps I face during the day, and he's often on the receiving end of it.

For example, if he doesn't text back after a few hours, any trace of rationality just...disappears. It's not long before I'm sat on my friend's bed, discussing what I'm going to do about this new MAJOR rift in our relationship that could potentially spell 'the end' - "he might be with someone else. God, what if it's a girl? What would SHE have that I don't have? I bet she's well skanky anyway. You're all I need. I LOVE YOU. Alex is a dick."

You get the idea. Sometimes the most level headed can lose their marbles, especially when it involves people they like.

Overanalysing is the enemy to my good day, the nemesis of my good night's sleep. Once I've dissected a situation down to its origins, my thoughts are brimming over with all these ideas that are often unnecessary, with absurd conclusions. The whole practice of over analysis is exhausting and demands all of your attention, which is less than ideal. But hey, what makes me feel less of a craaaaazy biatch is knowing that I'm not the only girl in the world with this habit...

In fact, there are statistics to prove that I'm not. This may conform to a world of stereotypes, but 54% of women confess to worry-warting compared to only 43% of men. The difference could be put down to a number of reasons; pressures placed on young women by the media, their parents, guys around them and society in general. Plus - and I don't want to be too hasty with the generalisations here, but bare with me - guys just seem to have a more...simple perspective on life.

However, none of that really clicks with me. I know exactly where my chronic case of over analysing comes from. I do it because I don't like rocking the boat. Hell no, I prefer the boat to stay afloat and miles away from the shore if possible, at all times. The boat has to stay floating at all costs because I'm afraid of what a tempestuous ocean might have to throw at me. Conflict must be avoided like the plague, and Rita Ora.

So maybe this trait is more a flaw than a virtue, because more bad than good rarely happens as a result of it. It's a real detriment to my focus and general firm hold of sanity - but I'm working on it, like I'll have to work on anything else that I suck at (except maths and not hitting people when I dance). I may be 18 and clueless, but what I've realised is that striving to keep everybody happy just isn't realistic; if you can accept that, you don't have to consider every reaction to your action, thus keeping your ever-flowing steam of afterthoughts to a minimum. That, and channelling your thoughts into something else; a good book or film. Above all, this - blogging - is one of the best ways of creating a positive outlet for negative feelings, by allowing me to express my thoughts in a way that is healthy, and hopefully making other people feel less like freaky bunny boilers, too.

You reading this, bunny boilers?

This Is Why We Don't Hang Out

You might not tell my friends that they are "complete munters", stretch the shit out of my shoes or try to score my boyfriend. These things are somewhat forgivable, and universally recognized for being a bit of a pain in the arse. But if you do any of these things, do not expect a frantic "Come and chill with me!! PLEASE!! I will PAY YOU!" text from me any time soon.

I Am Not A Fan Of Your Personality NitPicking

Okay, you don't like my music taste, my film taste, my book taste, my taste in the opposite sex, my taste in dresses or local takeaways. I may not necessarily like yours. These factors should still not lessen the chances of a potential friendship. What will destruct them entirely is when you feel the need to point out these differences all. the. bloody. time, and criticize every view and preference of mine. Variety is the colour of life; differences create conversation. You don't like, say, Muse? Great, they're not for everybody. Nothing is for everybody.

I Want You To Stop Documenting Your Drinking/Smoking Habits In Such Grisly Detail

PIPE DOWN ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU DRINK AND SMOKE. Everything about doing so implies that you're trying to prove something.

I Will Always Resent "Chapherone Duties"

Years of Beyonce worshipping and Jane Austen reading has really taught me to value my independence (sounds like a break up line...), so I naturally expect others to do the same. My expectations are sometimes not met, and it exasparates me. Here's the thing; on the Peter Symonds campus, you are very unlikely to run into a compromising scenario that requires you to have at least one other person on hand for moral support. But if you were, a slightly underweight white girl with a specific fear of anything trivial is NOT your finest ally.

I Will Not Impressed By How Much Money You Have

Whilst I'm hardly a snotty nosed chimney sweep with rickets, my living standards do not match the likes of say, the brats on My Super Sweet 16. But I am fairly comfortable, and my parents work hard. As far as finances go, this is as much detail about my own situation as I am willing enough to go into - anything else is frankly, pitiful. I am genuinely embarassed for those who would go further. If you didn't earn that all of that money through your own personal hard graft, I will remain more interested in "happy goat" videos on YouTube.

I Stopped Advocating Labels At The Age Of 13

Part of me understands why people still do this, I suppose; identifying yourself as part of a certain subgroup provides a sense of belonging. Apart from that, why would you wish to identify yourself as anything except yourself? If you introduce yourself as part of some group, you've immediately attached to yourself a whole load of connotations, and there doesn't seem to be much else to explore. You've made yourself seem...not that interesting.

I Do Not Care About How All Of Your Male Friends Fancy You

And I never will.



(If you are willing to accept these terms & conditions of hanging out with me, I will sing the chorus of this song to you until the cows come home: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IiXLavFXfcs)