Easter Weekend in Review

Friday - 6th April

I'd booked a ticket (£25) for Eugene Onegin, the ballet, ages ago after I watched the Nutcracker during Christmas. I'd enjoyed the Nutcracker so much, that I thought I might try another ballet - one that also appealed to my literary side. The Eifman ballet from St Petersburg was coming for a few nights, so I thought I'd give it a try. In the four or so months in between, I read Eugene Onegin, and enjoyed in (hello Pushkin!). But of course right before dashing out the door, I read the wiki page again to refresh my memory, ahaha.

Also before going to the ballet, I dropped by Seewoo and bought veg and two packs of tofu. So there I was, feeling all posh and shit, carrying Chinese groceries in my tote bag. I laughed inwardly at the thought multiple times. Meanwhile, after taking my seat, I discovered I was surrounded on all sides by Russians. I had a really good seat. Totally worth the £25.

I loved the ballet. Well, I hated Eugene Onegin's costume, but I loved the ballet. I cannot quantify why exactly. It was turns graceful, and at the same time rough. The fight scenes between Eugene and Vladimir were wonderfully choreographed, and I loved the opening and ending scenes when all the dancers came out and performed the ball at St Petersburg. The score too was interesting, a mix of classical music and rock music to illustrate the rural scenes.




My favourite of all however, was the General. HE. WAS. SEXY. Ahaha. Also the 3rd male lead. I loved his character, and I loved his dancing.




Afterwards I through briefly about trying to see the other Eifman ballet, Anna Karenina, but it had been earlier in the week. Still, buoyed by the ballet, I ended up walking back from the London Coliseum back home. The weather was a nice temperature, and lots of people were out enjoying the night. When I came back, I was utterly exhausted.

Sat - 7 April

On Sat I watched a play with Cielo, Moonlight on a Rainbow Shawl. It was at the Cottesloe theatre, which turned out to be a black box theatre. Cielo was late, and before the play started I ended up talking to a random old lady about plays in general. She spoke about all the shakespeare productions she watched, and bits here and there. Said she had a collection of plays at home, and a first edition copy of Moonlight on a Rainbow Shawl for 50p that she bought in the '60s or '70s. Later in the theatre, I saw her sitting in the first row, oho. The play itself was enjoyable, and definitely worth the £12 (Entry Pass!) I paid. The acting was good, the play solidly written and the set well done. Of course then again, I only got interested in it when I heard about how highly rated it was from The Week.

Afterwards Cielo and I walked about Southbank for a bit, before taking a bus to Russell Square. We went to Waitrose to buy groceries (she bought a jar of jam which is still sitting on my desk). Back at home, as I was doing last minute cleaning up, Gen came and I sent Cielo to pick him up. Then she managed to lock herself out of the house (with my keys), and when she finally got in she got herself stuck on the glue from the mouse trap. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA.

We hung out a bit at my flat first. I cut up a dodgy looking mango and the three of us (ZW, Gen and I) shared the slivers. Cielo refused to eat any bit of it. Then around 8:15-ish we met Mong and walked down to Convent Garden to eat at somewhere called Mishkin's (?), to meet Cheryl, which sells kosher food. I had a nice chicken, tarragon and leek knish there, and a good gimlet. After that we ended up at a Tapas bar near Cambridge Circus/Seven Dials. Then when the bar closed we ended up in Soho, looking for another place. Soho, was rocking. Also saw a topless guy with bunny ears and a bob tail brief dancing on tables inside a bar. Oho. We ended up at a real dive-y sort of place called Lupo, where we were the youngest people. It was entertaining. I kept stacking stools at the side cause I kept crashing into them.

After the music started to get all techno-ey, we left. Gen, Cielo and I walked back to Russell Square, and Cielo missed her bus by a bit, and after flipping a coin and getting a text from Cielo, Gen and I headed back to stay with her. Ended up having interesting encounters with the people at the bus stop, a group of Italians with two singing guys (who sang pretty damn well) and another groups of boys who came from the O2. I'm not sure if the latter group were performing there? But they were nicely underdressed and shivering in the cold. They complained that they stuff we were talking about was too morbid. Cielo's bus came, and we sent her off. Gen and I ended up sleeping around 5am cause of everything. Nyeh.

Sun - 8 April

Needless to say, I missed going to church. I woke up exactly at 11am, and then went back to sleep shortly after. When I finally did wake up around 1pm I think, Gen was already up. I got ready and wanted to take a walk about the area with him, but then it started to rain and we ended up ducking into Cafe 49, just metres away from my house. Then, I saw Skoob books was open and we went in. I walked out with John O'Farrell's Things Can Only Get Better and Gen walked out with Dominic Lieven's Russia Against Napoleon (which I recommended!), and joking that he ought to summarise the book for me. I ended up doing a bit of work, then marinating the chicken with Gen/preparing the food for dinner.

Around 7:30pm, ZW, Gen and I walked over to Flat 8 with all the food ready. We had the grand sounding Emperor Spices Chicken, sambal prawn and veg, plus tofu with minced pork. And a fruit tart Cielo bought earlier in the week that was clogging up freezer space. Dinner was a success. The chicken was nicely done (thank you A1 spices, aha) and everything was good. Except the fruit tart which was really bad. We picked out the fruits.

After getting back, I did a bit more work, and watched the old X-Men cartoons with Gen until we felt tired. I was still not quite able to sleep though, and ended up finishing Pigeon English by Stephen Kelman. It was enjoyable enough a read.

Mon - 9 April

Had a lazy morning with Gen. I cooked up the remaining prata and heated up the curry, made some oatmeal for myself. Then we ended up rushing out of the house cause I needed to meet Eugene at Chinatown. I bade goodbye to Gen at Holborn Station, and ended up reaching the dim sum place (next to Seewoo is all I remember) something like a minute before Eugene. We had a rushed lunch, cause I booked a ticket for the 2:30pm screening of Le Havre at the Barbican. Le Havre was enjoyable enough, but not quite something I'd watch again. After I got back, I ended up napping. I think ZW and I ate dinner around 9:30pm or something, oho.

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Today is Jean's birthday. We're going to go to TGI Friday's in the evening to celebrate. Never been to TGI Friday's before, so hmm.

Garlic Chili and Bacon Pasta

Haven't written down a favoured recipe in a while, so here goes:

Garlic Chili and Bacon Pasta
2 (or more!) cloves garlic, finely chopped
lots and lots of olive oil
cherry tomatoes, sliced into halves
bacon (or ham)
crushed chili flakes
pasta, but I use normal spaghetti

1. Start by frying up the garlic and the oil
2. Add the bacon (I like mine crispy)
3. Add the tomatoes
4. Add the ham (cause you want to simply heat it up more than anything else)
5. Turn off the heat and add the chili flakes
6. Mix with cooked pasta in a bowl

Mmm.

FB

Looking at FB, and seeing good looking (okok, the correct word is hot) guys in my friends' lives makes me feel a strange sort of emptiness... like WHO ARE THESE GORGEOUS MEN AND WHY DON'T I KNOW THEM/HAVE ONE?

It's all very weird. The more I think about it, the more ok I am with being alone. As in everyday life, and even (now) traveling. I enjoyed my solo trip to Majorca so much I booked another, to see South Spain for a week after my exams (so excited! I've had a crush on Andalucia since last year). Hell I booked a whole swathe of things to do alone here in London, since it's always so troublesome trying to get people to coordinate. Then there's the thought of sharing a bed, and how sleep quality drops like mad as a result. Sharing a bed with Ianthe for three days in our Scotland trip reminded me of that. And all sorts of pains with having to compromise with people when all I want to do is get my own damn way. You'd think this'd all mean that I ought to not want a man in my life, and in a way I kind of don't. I don't want to share my awesome time with anyone, hell the time I have is barely enough even for me. Yet in a way, I WANT A MAN. Want to fall in love and be swept off my feet.

Talk about being totally irrational. It's like a remnant of my more primal side, like when my ancestors were hanging about in trees. Like this female need to settle down with a male, nevermind that it makes no damn practical sense at all. BAH. I wish I was a robot, and able to think only rational thoughts.

Majorca II

It is precisely 3:14 pm, and I'm sitting cross legged on a random platform at the departure lounge of the Majorcan airport. The airport is tiny, and the shops are boring. Food is extremely expensive (€5.60 for a silly looking sad sandwich? No thanks.) and the light is dim. This is a sad, sad airport. But then again I've been to sadder - the airport in Luang Prabang, the airport in Puerto Princesa. I guess I am pretty well traveled. Boarding's in 45 minutes and I am already bored. I figured that I might as well start writing.

Day 2: 28 March 2012

I wake up at about 9:10 am, despite setting my alarm for earlier. I rush everything, and arrive to eat breakfast at about 9:40 am. Magali (as I've just learned her name is spelt) is already there. Luckily (or not?) breakfast is a small affair, with just a tea and a croissant. I quickly wolf it down and we manage to leave at 9:50 am, and arriving just in time to catch the 10:10 am tram to Soller. We had originally planned to catch the 10:50 am tram, and were happy to get the earlier one. Also Magali speaks excellent Spanish, for she lived in Barcelona some years before.

The tram ride itself was billed as a tourist attraction. An old school tram dating from about a hundred years ago, it was a very charming sight. And of course filled with tourists. During the ride, Magali and I step outside periodically to take photos of the beautiful countryside, and laugh when the train enters long tunnels. I also talk to some other passengers, and sadly mistake an Irishman for an Englishman. I feel bad (I imagine he'd be so offended!), but make it up (hopefully!) by offering to take a photo for him and his wife when we stop at a viewing platform above Soller. The tram stops at the platform for about less than 10 minutes, and everyone clambers out to take photos. As I talk to the Irishman and his wife for a wee bit, an Englishman comes by (pretty old grandfather looking this one), and exclaims "I didn't know Americans traveled!" and I try very hard to not crack up.

He reminds me a bit of a good old fashioned Colonialist, and I am very amused. He is genuinely curious, and has no qualms sharing his interesting opinions. He talks about his grandchildren (or is it grandchild) learning cooking now, and how they're going to learn Chinese cooking and that makes him happy. Also says he prefers Hong Kong to Singapore. I imagine he must've been running around khakis and white knees socks around Asia when he was younger. The Irish man and wife to the side look a bit unhappy at him butting into the conversation, I think they wanted to speak to me too, but he drowned them out. Yet another example of the British dominating the Irish I suppose, ahaha.

When the tram arrives in Soller, we buy a bottle of water before catching the next local tram down to Port de Soller. Port de Soller is beautiful. It's set in a little bay, with a huge marina in the middle, and of course lots of docked ships (clippers? I don't know). The sun is high in the sky and the sea is a lovely deep blue. Magali and I settle down to eat Fidelus, which is a Catalan version of Paella, that is with pasta instead of rice. I pop into a mini-shop to buy more junk food, like biscuits and come across a pack of chocolate covered biscuits like Filipinos. Of course I bought it, heh. They're tasty btw. I also bought two wee oranges which are from Mallorca (according to the sign) for €0.19 for Magali and I. After lunch we eat them, and they are so lovely - juicy and sweet! Mmm.

We go about the town, exploring. We find the high points, take lots of pictures. Magali draws me, cause she says she's never drawn a Chinese person before and she wants to try. Says our eyes are interesting. Funny cause I never thought my eyes were that Chinese. We laugh a lot, at silly things like me feeding a hungry stray cat pistachios (she says they eat them), and the place smelling like cat shit. She disses the German mentality (and of course Majorca is teeming with Germans), makes fun of Americans (she had an ex-boyfriend) and says they only speak three words: "what the fuck?". Also thinks that Singapore is near China, confusing it with Taiwan.

We attempt to catch a bus to near Cala Deia, but according to the schedule we missed it by a whisker. Then we tried to look for the bus to Beinaraix, but we missed that too. So off we went, back to the tram station area and had an orange juice, and caught the next local tram back to Soller. At Soller, we found out that Beinaraix is within 30 minutes walking distance, so we decide to make a try for it. The walking route from Soller to Beinaraix is lovely, with orange and lemon groves on both sides of the road. Oddly enough, I also see a Malaysian restaurant in Soller, called Kopitiam. Magali jokes that I can move here next time. She keeps saying this is paradise. Beinaraix itself is a nice old town, with houses made of stone and cobble stone roads. On our way back we espy a trio of middle-aged Germans, with the women picking lemons from someone's grove. They saw us and sort of giggled to themselves, feeling naughty.

Back at Soller, my feet are really starting to hurt. I've worn a good pair of flats from Clarks, but they've never had to deal with uphill and downhill sort of heavy walking before, and my feet were swollen. We stop at a patisserie and I buy a local Catalan pastry, with I think a custard centre. To my amazement, some German tourists come in and they speak to the owner in German, and she understands! In fact, all over Soller I noticed signs in German. The Germans really invaded alright, but peacefully I suppose.

The tram ride back to Palma is far more sedate, as Magali and I are dead tired. Back at Palma, it starts to rain a bit, and I manage to tease Magali back. I'd been carrying an umbrella in my backpack, London style, and she said it was a waste of space. Ahaha. We wander about for a bit, then we part as I say I want to shop around and she wants to talk more photos. I end up shopping lots (oh dear), and decide to eat KFC for dinner.

At KFC I ended up waiting for ages for my food. The consolation was that they fried the chicken really well. The Spanish man next to me very nicely offers his two ketchup packets, when he sees I've used all of mine. He smiles and I smile back. When he leaves, we wave goodbye to each other. I love little things like that. On my way back I stop at a mini-mart to buy water, and end up having a short conversation in Mandarin with the shopkeepers, who are from PRC. Back at the hostel, I end up reading East of Eden for hours, before my roommate comes back past midnight, and we go to sleep.

Day 3: 29 March

I wake at 10:54 am and promptly freak out. I have no idea how the heck I managed to sleep till so late, but eventually calm down when I realise it's ok. I slept badly the night before the trip, and on the first night, so more sleep is acceptable. Plus! I'm on holiday. I ought to relax. I realise my feet are still swollen and painful, but put on my flat shoes anyway.

I end up dressing slowly, and making my way to Placa St. Eulalia, and order tea and a tuna salad from a cafe. The sun's out, and it's nice and warm. The tuna salad however, sucks. While there, I realised that I forgot to bring out a scarf, and after finishing I try to head back to the hostel, but take a wrong turn somewhere (left instead of right) and end up near Placa Major, the old town square. Giving up, and taking it as a sign from God, I walk into a shoe store that I browsed on my first day, and ended up buying a pair of brown leather sandals that I was admiring. Still however, I didn't switch shoes as I intended to head to the Cathedral next, and didn't think it was respectful.

The entry to the Cathedral costs €4, but it's worth every penny. Inside, I'm awed by how beautiful the place it. The sun is nice and strong in Mallorca, and shines through the many stained glass windows throughout. Plus there are modernist bits like the chapel by Barcelo (weird and trippy looking) and the main Gaudi altarpieces (also weird and trippy looking, but less nightmarish than Barcelo).

Again after leaving the Cathedral (exit's located somewhere else), I take a wrong turn. However I spot a sign for the Arab Baths, another prominent tourist attraction, and decide to head for that instead. The Arab Baths turns out to be a mini hammam, which I guess is kinda cool. However it's more of a significance sort of thing rather than anything remarkable, as it's the only remaining Arab building in Majorca. Still, there's a nice garden outside, and I end up sketching the exterior in my handy dandy notebook, which eating pistachios. It was then that I finally switched to my new sandals and OH GOD, IT WAS SO GOOD. Like walking on marshmallows.

After the Arab Baths, I attempted to head to Placa la Reina, where the bus to Bellver is located. Yet again however, I am waylaid. This time by the Almudaina Palace which is open. There's a student concession, which is awesome. Almudaina is really nice, and a lovely change from the usual North-Western sort of Castles (take me to another English castle and I'll scream), plus as a bonus it's still being used as a Spanish royal residence.

The next bit however, was annoying. I was under the impression that there was a public number 50 bus that went to the tourist spots, different from the usual open-top sort of overpriced rubbish. Talking to a policeman however (who seems to be very very excited to talk to me for some reason, in his 1/2 English), I learn this is not the case and am disappointed. He directs me to another bus stop, and feeling uncomfortable from his exuberance, I started walking towards it as soon as he let me off, nevermind that I hadn't actually decided what to do. However the 29th is also a strike day, and upon reaching the bus stop I learn the next number 3 bus is almost 30 minutes away. I ended up pulling out a map, and trekking 20 minutes to the next bus stop on the tourist bus route. I was really not happy at the whole situation. Plus when the bus ambled along about 10 minutes later, I had to pay €15 for the ticket. Knn.

The spot I was so intent on visiting was a fort on a hill, called Castle Bellver. As an aside, the policeman called it "bonito". Anyway I suppose it was quite worth it. The view from the top showed the whole of Palma, and you could walk around the top. Somehow I really liked the Castle, although there wasn't must substantively to see or do. There was an exhibition on Jovellanos, who was a prisoner there during the Napoleonic era. Might include him in my exam answers. As I left, I spotted the bus about to leave and ended up running after it, like a mad woman. I caught it though, oho.

I ended up exiting the bus around Jaume III, which is a shopping area. I popped into a departmental store, in hopes of finding an adaptor, which I finally do. I end up however, spending a heck of a long time (and money) in the clothing department. When I finally made it up to the cafeteria, hungry as hell, I had to stop for a moment and admire the scene. The department store, was the tallest building around and had a clear view of the Cathedral and Almudaina Palace. The sun was at a lovely, evening sort of angle, and everything was a nice warm glow. I ordered a strange bolognese crepe.

After exiting the department store, I ended up going into a Mango nearby. As I was paying however, I started to hear shouts and recalled the strike. Magali mentioned something about a march starting at 6pm. I checked my watch and it was around 7:30 pm. True enough, I start to see hordes of people pass by on the streets all chanting, holding signs. A shopgirl from upstairs runs down and quickly shuts all the doors.

Not surprisingly, after leaving Mango, I followed the march. I must've been the unlikeliest person ever, carrying lots of shopping bags and being clearly not-Spanish, yet there I was, following and taking many photos. At one point, I half wondered if I was going to be lynched, as I stood in the path of the marchers with the banner, and realised it said 'ANTI-CAPITALISM' on it at the side. Of course it was a non-violent sort of thing, and I never felt like I was in danger at any point. When I finally decided to leave them, I realised I was near the spot where I had dinner on the first night. I ended up at a place called St. Ambros or something, eating a not-too-tasty vegetable lasagne cause all the seafood was sold out. Still, I was too exhilarated and happy to care much. Also very exhausted.

On my way back to the hostel again, I stopped by the mini-mart. It's called Estrella. This time, I ended up having an extended conversation with the Chinese couple. Apparently the mini-mart is owned by their daughter, and they help out at night. They came over from Fujian 5 years ago with their entire family. We spoke a bit about me traveling alone, the strike and how they liked Spain. Funnily enough, they even mentioned the lack of manners in China, and how they much preferred it here as a result. They spoke pidgin Spanish (their daughter's the one that speaks it properly), and when I was there I ended up trying to help them translate a little for English speaking tourists. I felt kinda puffed up and proud of my heritage, just for that moment, aha. Then I went back to the hostel and watched more Adventure Time.

Palm Sunday

Today during one of my half-awake stages, I bit the left side of my tongue very hard. Now it's swelled up slightly, and as a result I keep biting on it more by accident, as it gets in the way more easily.

Had dinner at Jia's place with Cielo, Yihang and Alex. Jia made Mee Siam, which was delish. Except all it did was give me Mee Siam cravings, like the way the funny Malay uncle used to do it in the MG canteen. I can still remember it's nice, tart taste, and how the portions were always tiny D:

Apparently it's Palm Sunday tomorrow. I shall attempt to make extra effort to wake up in time for church.

Adventure Time II

At the ripe old age of 22 years and 1 day, I embarked on my first ever solo trip to Majorca, Spain.

Now on my 3rd and last night here, I am sitting in my dorm bed and watching more Adventure Time. The internet connection here is great, and I'm wholly exploiting this to my advantage.

These two weeks have been greatly fun, tiring and eventful. From the 17th to 25th March, I was in Scotland with Ianthe. 26th was my 22nd birthday, and probably the best birthday-day I've ever had (in the company of my varied and beloved friends). 27th was the day I flew out to Majorca on an easyjet flight. Tomorrow, on the 30th, I sadly fly home. These two fun weeks have been a massive departure from reality: exams and dissertations. Holy crap. Just thinking about it makes me feel overwhelmed. But I suppose I'm always like that, I think too much and things always turn out to be fine somehow in the end. Fingers crossed.

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Majorca, Spain
Day 1: 27 March

From my flat, departing at 9:20 am, I walked out to Euston Station. On the Victoria line, a young black guy who was leaning against the side of the carriage nicely offers - or rather directs - me to his spot, saying how I won't fall if I lean there. His gesture makes me glow all over inside with Happy Feelings. I thank him again as I get off at Victoria Station. At London Victoria however, I realised I forgot to take note of my Gatwick Express booking number and ended up rushing to the ticket counter to collect my tickets. Then I ended up running to buy a quick and crappy egg and bacon sandwich, and then running to catch the 10 am train to Gatwick. When I get on, alongside another running passenger (a really tall black man), we both give each other silly smiles of relief. I text ZW to let her know I made the train. At Gatwick I miss the shuttle to the North Terminal by 30 seconds, but no bigs. I notice two Chinese boys, from HK I think. They are very very badly dressed.

When the shuttle pulls in at the North Terminal, the two boys tear out of the train. When I approached the easyjet counter, I noticed they were a wee bit ahead of me in the queue. Behind me, a white middle-aged man appears. About 5 minutes later however, more people appear in the queue (next shuttle?) and I notice another middle-aged man edge his way in front of the first man. The first man gives me a 'EH?' shrugging sort of look, and I decided to intervene, gently mentioning that the other man was ahead of him in the queue. The queue cutter doesn't look at me, grunts, and shuffles backwards. As I get closer and closer to the front of the queue, I realise I can hear the conversation between the counter staff and the two Chinese boys, and he's telling them that the check-in to Barcelona is closed. True enough, a glance at the Departures screen shows that the Barcelona flight is the second flight scheduled to depart - that is within something like 15 minutes. They shuffle off to the Sales Desk.

As I'm about to pass through security, I noticed the boy ahead of me, a young teenager, repeatedly staring at me. Of course I look back, and I realise to my curiosity? amusement? that they are Irish Travellers! Like on the silly show I watch on 4oD. Of course I find this utterly thrilling. I listen to him and his Dad talk, look at the tattoos on his Dad's arm. It's like the show!

When I finally board my flight, I realise that: 1) I am the youngest person on the flight, save a baby, everyone else looks about 60 to 80 years old, 2) I am the only non-white on board the flight. On the plane, I notice the guy behind me in the easyjet queue sitting across the aisle from me. We very Britishly ignore each other's presence. Meanwhile, the woman in front of him kicks up a fuss about her seat and she's reseated. The women who sit around gossip about her after she's moved to the front of the plane.

The moment I step out of the restricted zone in the Majorcan airport, I look for the information desk. I came with no idea how to reach my damned hostel. They direct me to take the no. 1 public bus, and after I board it I realise the same guy from the easyjet queue/across the aisle is in the seat in front of me. Not knowing where to get off, and deciding this was all so silly, I tapped him on the shoulder. Just as he replies that he doesn't know, another bus passenger pipes in saying that he lives in Majorca, and can help. He directs me to get off at a pretty nearby bus stop, and off I set with my dinky google maps print out. I took a wrong turn somewhere, but ultimately I found the hostel pretty painlessly.

As I rested in the room, a roommate comes in. She is a French lady that looks a bit like Marion Cotillard (it's the eyes we conclude). Her name is a lovely Margery. She tells me that there's going to be a strike on Thursday, and hence public services like transport are affected. We end up making plans to visit a nearby town of Soller tomorrow, to avoid the strike.

I wander off from the hostel and find the Cathedral by accident. I walk about more, popping into shops here and there. I conclude that Majorca is an awesome place for reasonable shopping. Finally I settle down for dinner in a small spot, eating seafood paella, before wandering back to the hostel. I meet Margery in the room again, and she tells me she's changing rooms cause she wants privacy. As the hostel is empty cause it's off-season, I suppose the manager offers it. We arrange to meet at 10am tomorrow, downstairs at reception. I settle down and end up writing 9 postcards, until the ink in my pen starts to waver. I watch some adventure time. The other roommate comes back, a Spanish woman, and we talk very briefly before going to sleep.

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It's 12:32 am and the Spanish lady still isn't back. Anyway I ought to prepare to sleep, since I want to enjoy my last day tomorrow and see Can Marques. Woo hoo.

Adventure Time

I have class at 9am tomorrow, but don't feel like sleeping. Instead I'm watching episodes of Adventure Time with Finn and Jake online. Not that amused by it too, but somehow I just feel like watching more episodes.

After my Napoleon class today I stayed in the 4th floor to work on my dissertation till 9pm. Shu and Eduardo were there when I came, but all left halfway. Soon, the 4th floor restaurant emptied too and when I left I was the only one. I am completely frustrated at my inability to write out my thoughts for my dissertation smoothly. Instead everything sounds trite and annoying. Ahgahbarghhhh. Besides writing my dissertation, I was also waiting for Tomiko, to pass her some party tickets that Shu left for me. When Tomiko finally came, she brought a friend called James with her. His lips were blue in colour, and looked mighty odd, apparently because he'd been helping himself to loads of red wine during dinner. Which seems a bit counter-intuitive, come to think of it, because shouldn't red wine make your lips redder rather than a I-am-dead sort of shade of blue? I pointed that out, but they ignored me.

Ended up talking a bit about my dissertation to them as we walked down and out of LSE, since James is apparently a 'fanatic' of genocides. Sort of like me I suppose. He asked me what I was writing about, and I found it a bit hard to sum up. I will however, be eternally thankful to Tomiko who managed to sum it up in her usual deadpan manner: "It's about how Britain fucked up in dealing with Armenia". I feel like somehow now, my dissertation is easier to think about. Like it's less intimidating. Ahaha.

On my way back, I cut past Ye Olde White Horse. A man in a suit, out of a group of many men in many suits, shouted 'Girl!' at me as I walked past. Feeling sort of bold (and partly caught up thinking about my dissertation), I turned to them as I was walked and said 'Hi'. The lot of them then burst out cheering, and one shouted 'Ni Hao!' I didn't turn back to look at them though, and continued walking. Must say though, the experience makes me smile because it is oh-so-silly.

After I got back, I started to make a second dinner for myself (after watching some Adventure Time). No one was home and I had the flat to myself. I wanted to make a garlic, chili and olive oil base pasta. I ended up dumping in too much chili flakes, and my mouth went numb and my insides shuddered as I ate it. It was tasty though. After eating the pasta, I watched a bit of Criminal Minds before deciding to draw myself a bath. Then as I soaked in it, I started to read Bret Easton Ellis' Glamorama. For a while I suddenly thought to myself, 'hmm, is this what solitary grown-up life feels like? Get home late from work to an empty flat, cook dinner, watch a bit of tv, shower, sleep?' Oh well.

Last night I watched The Ring and Team America with Dex, Jou and Jade. The Ring wasn't as scary as I thought it'd be, because the pivotal scary scene had been parodied and referenced so much in pop culture. Team America was nice though, because I FINALLY WATCHED IT. It's one of those kept-meaning-to-but-never-did sort of things. Yesterday was Japanese day too, cause I had lunch at Koya with Jou and Dex, followed by Atariya with Evelyn, Cielo and Jia. Then of course I watched The Ring, the original Japanese version.

Going to Scotland on Sat to meet Ianthe.

More fruitseller stories

Today I woke up to a bright a chilly day, feeling much better. I finally set out to run long pressing errands, like sending postcards which I dated 12 Feb (the actual date I wrote them) off. And of course I walked by the fruitseller. Since about 1 and a half months ago, I noticed he obtained a new set of outwear, mainly some strange red tartan fleece thing. I guess it's a nice contrast to his other faded dark blue hoodie. But somehow, because I got so used to seeing him in that blue hoodie, the red fleece looks outright jarring on him.

Anyway since it was chilly, I asked him if I could get him anything, like perhaps tea? After all, no one drinks the mint tea we have in the house. Not to mention, no one really knows how it got into our cupboards in the first place, since no one recalls actually buying it. Anyway he said he didn't want tea, but wanted hot water, and handed me his flask instead. As I was about to walk away, he did the normal 'wait wait!' thing and started grabbing random fruits to give to me, and as usual I protested. Mainly because no one eats all the fruits he gives us anyway, and they often rot in some corner of our kitchen. This time however, he said 'nono, you are my sister!'. I was greatly amused. When I told my flatmates, they all went 'awwww'.

Ahaha.

Going to go swing dance later, can't wait!

Spirit of the age

I think no other image quite captures the spirit of our irreverent and absurdly hedonistic age so well (or makes me giggle so much) as this:


It's a gloomy, wet Sunday afternoon.

Power Rangers

I grew up watching power rangers. My first backpack that I carried on my first day of school when I was 6, was a garish neon blue and pink power rangers backpack. I guess my parents bought it from some local pasar malam (night market). Anyway it was awesome in a way that only a kid could love, cause I also loved power rangers.

So anyway I had a dream last night. I was one of those really odd dreams that I've been getting everyday now (Perhaps because I have a lack of oxygen when I sleep?). Only thing significant however, was that I dreamt that Obama was the blue ranger, and before my eyes he started kicking ass, as monsters swopped down and attacked the people sitting in pews around him. Other bits of the dream were less interesting. I dreamt my parents wanted to relocate to Switzerland and I vehemently protested.

Anyway I'm still sick, and still have trouble breathing.

Baltic Cruise 2011

Long, long overdue, and oddly hidden in my GV265>Exams folder. Found it by accident when I wanted to show Cheam something. Still sick and moody.

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London-Harwich: 11th June 2011

I rushed to the airport, after rushing through showering and drinking a milo. The tube felt too slow, and my luggage rolled away at one point in time. Met my grandparents after 3 months, and was overjoyed, but also very very tired. Ate a tuna sandwich that my grandmother bought for me. On the bus I collapsed from sheer exhaustion, having not slept a wink the night before. Somehow, I forced myself to wake up and placed a very incoherent goodbye call to Rajan - the last time I heard his voice. As the call ended and I fell back to sleep, I caught myself thinking "why did I just bother to do that?".

On board the ship we were assigned to room 935. We ate lunch on board, and I ended up taking a nap on the couch. At dinner my grandmother kicked a fuss about the table we had been assigned to: it was too crowded. We were shifted to another table, with 2 old British couples and a 50-60 year old American woman travelling with her two nephews. The first dinner was awkward, with few people talking. We ate quickly and left. Slept.

At Sea: 12th June 2011

I don't remember very much about this day. I expect I read, then moped about. I watched Eat, Pray, Love in the afternoon in the ship's cinema. Dinner was formal, so I dressed up. The American lady and her nephews didn't turn up, because they had lost their luggage on the way to the cruise and thus had nothing formal to wear. They mentioned this yesterday and I eavesdropped. After dinner I wandered to the ship's library to read and write in my diary. Thus began my ritual of leaving every night after dinner to spend some alone time.

Copenhagen: 13th June 2011

The first city. We had signed up for a half day city tour which brought us to the main attractions of Copenhagen. They brought us to the statue of the Little Mermaid, then showed us the Danish Royal residences, and brought us to the riverside quay area which reminded me a bit of Clarke Quay in Singapore. Copenhagen was a very nice city, very quiet and clean. There were bicycles all over the town. We got back to the ship in time to eat lunch. And that's the extent of my memory for this day.

At Sea: 14th June 2011

Sea days are sleep in and bum days. Enough said. Plus again another day I don't remember much of at all.

Stockholm: 15th June 2011

The Stockholm tour was in the afternoon. I had lunch with my grandparents then we went out to gather for the tour. As the ship pulled into Stockholm, I noticed many seagulls gliding in with us. It was a nice sight.

It rained in Stockholm. It was kinda miserable as a result. We saw the outsides of the palaces, and did a small walk around the old town, through windy alleys. It was all quite quaint and all, save the rain. There were also many small interesting shops I'd have loved to venture in to, but oh well. I ended up taking a lot of pictures of lamps in windows, for some reason.

The highlight of the trip was supposed to be the Ice Bar. But due to the rain and road works, there was a horrific jam and we ended up having just 5 minutes at the ice bar. We shuffled in and shuffled out, taking the requisite number of touristy photos, before dashing out to the bus again.

Helsinki: 16th June 2011

We didn't really get to see Helsinki. The tour my grandmother chose was to see Porvoo, a smaller and older town about an hour's drive away from the capital city. As a result, I made a pact with myself to come back to Helsinki before I leave Europe, since C Rowley is there as a well. The drive through Helsinki was pretty, and the Senate house looked marvellous from afar.

Porvoo was a nice pleasant small town. I still can't decide if it's only touristy, or whether the locals actually go there. My grandparents and I went to a small cafe there when it drizzled for a little bit. We shared a meringue, the first time any of us had eaten one before. We bought postcards from the same cafe. Wandering around, I saw a small toy shop. Was tempted to buy lots of moomin stuff, but I refrained, hahaha. Instead bought moomin postcards for the Flat 8 girls. At the end, the entire tour met in a riverside cafe for coffee and carrot cake. It was one of the few carrot cakes I actually liked. Then, the bus brought us back to the ship.

St. Petersburg: 17th June 2011

The main highlight of the cruise was really St. Petersburg. Upon arriving, I severely regretted not brushing up on my 20th century Russian history. Luckily the tour guides were very useful, telling the entire tour bits of information about St. Petersburg as the tour went along. The first sight that greeted us however, as the bus drove out of the port, was not promising. State built apartments that overlooked the port looks depressingly Soviet.

The morning of the tour was spent in the Hermitage. The Hermitage, one of those lovely Wonders in the Civ4 game, gave me good geeky goosebumps (lol). It also reminded me sadly, of Christoph. We were the first group to step into the Hermitage today, before it opened up for the general crowd. The Hermitage was also linked to the Winter Palace, where the Bolsheviks first overthrew the Provisional Government in 1917. I got even more good history geeky goosebumps as I studied the dining room where the Bolsheviks supposedly stormed into, which had turned into a quasi-art galley as part of the Hermitage. The Hermitage itself was very stuffy, and after a while as the day drew on, I started to feel extremely tired and faint. When we finally left the Hermitage, I was very relieved.

For lunch, they brought us to some half performance half dining hall. It got called up to shake some damned musical instrument for a while. I ended up talking to a Mexican guy there, who was apparently travelling alone on the cruise. He seemed kinda lonely. Somewhere around this time, we saw policemen randomly stopping people along the road to check their papers. Apparently, the tour guide said, illegal immigration from the former Soviet bloc to Russia was rampant.

The second leg of the tour was to see St. Isaac's Cathedral, a lovely gold domed church right in the heart of St. Petersburg. Bullet holes from WW2 still remained in the large marbled pillars outside. Then we went to the Church of Spilled Blood, but couldn't go inside for some reason that I've now forgotten. We ended up returning to the ship around 5:30pm, a good full day out in Russia.

For dinner, it was open seating. This meant we changed table from the usual companions to whoever entered at the time. We ended up sitting next to a retired Filipino-American woman, who was entertaining to talk to.

St. Petersburg: 18th June 2011

Woke up feeling really tired. Still, I was extra excited today because it was the tour that I was looking to the most: The Last Romanovs. Our tour guide it transpired, was also a part time History teacher in a university in St. Petersburg, so she peppered us with loads of information.

It started to drizzle on the way to the town of Pushkin, on the outskirts of St Petersburg, where all the palaces were located. Pushkin of course, was named after the Russian author. Later, when we got back to London, I went to Foyle's and bought a book of his complete (and incomplete!) prose tales to read. Right outside Catherine Palace, there was a statue of Pushkin.

Catherine Palace was the first stop. It was named Catherine after Peter the Great's mistress. Afterwards it fell into the hands of Catherine the Great, and she transformed the interiors. As a result the palace is a mishmash of different interior styles, lol. This also is the palace which has the world famous Amber Room, which the Nazis looted during WW2.

The next palace we went too was the most sobering: Alexander Palace. This palace wasn't really restored, because it touched too close to present history - it was the palace where the last Romanov family stayed before they were transported to Siberia and killed. I guess the Russian Communist Party is still testy about the whole thing. There were items of the family there, along with photos of the family. It was kinda depressing :/

Then, we had lunch and visited the last palace: Peter III's palace. Given to him by his mother, Catherine the Great, because she didn't want to stay with him (LOL), his palace was yet another fine thing. You sort of understand after a while why the Russian Revolution happened really, the Romanovs really knew how to live it up in style. Nothing is more evident of that than all the palaces. Anyway I digress. I was kind of palace-ed out by the time we got to this one, and felt a bit bored. To entertain myself, I camwhored in the toilette set given to Paul I and his wife by Napoleon. Even my camwhoring is *intellectual*. Pfft.

After seeing Pauls palace (Pavlovsk Palace), we went on a walk around the palace grounds. It supposedly is the largest enclosed park in Russia/Europe/the World/I don't really remember. There, I watched an elderly couple with the group mysteriously walk at the speed of light and disappear from the rest of the group through hedges. As mentioned earlier, the park is actually pretty damn large. When they didn't appear a few minutes later, I told the tour guide. This set the whole group in a bit of a panic. They started checking to see if everyone they recognised was there, save that couple (the old lady was the only one with a walking stick). The tour guide called the driver and park people over, and after a while herded us into the bus. People made nervous jokes about being left behind for the KGB to find. Finally after a while, the driver appeared with the lost couple.

Apparently they'd followed the wrong tour group, which had been right ahead of us. Random people in the tour were thanking me, saying stuff like "it's good to know someone had an eye on us!" I didn't really want to say that I'd noticed them because I had been stalking them through my camera lens: I thought they'd make a good photo as they were walking hand in hand. I guess at the end of the day, everyone likes to think there's someone out there looking out for them. I just happened to be an accidental one.

Another memory: the palaces in Pushkin were all special because they were especially protected. In order to go in, everyone had to cover their shoes with booties to avoid damaging the wood floors. Just imagine, 300 year old wooden floors destroyed by rampaging masses of tourists! So anyway we all had to wear booties, but as mentioned earlier I was on a tour from a cruise. Well the median age of a cruise attendee is about mid-60s, and mid-60 year old people don't cope with bending down very well. I ended up noticing two men in particular, who struggled to put the booties on. I helped them, and ended up talking to them a bit. I guess nothing breaks the ice like bending down to help put booties on someone. They were school teachers from North England, and knew quite a bit about Singapore. Nice chaps. Later saw them on the cruise days later and they very merrily greeted me.

Talinn: 19th June 2011

Talinn was by far the most beautiful place we visited. It had earlier been recommended to me by Borko, the waiter in charge of the night Snack Bar where I'd go to drink and read every night. The tour group brought us to the Old Town in the morning, and the guide brought us through the streets, pointing out little bits of failed infrastructure maintenance as a reminder of Estonia's past Soviet heritage. She talked about how they really hated the Russians.

The Old Town looked like it came out of a fairytale. I don't quite know how to describe it in a way that it deserves but, if I could have just gone to one destination of the entire cruise it'd have to be Talinn. Domed tiled roofs and cobbled streets. We went into two churches, one Orthodox, one Protestant. In the Orthodox church, I used my scarf to cover my hair as a sign of respect. Inside, it being a Sunday, there was a service in progress. As I stayed to watch for a while, I was mesmerised by the service. It felt somehow at that right moment, I could literally feel God all around me. I stood and watched until I realised more than 10 minutes had passed, and I had to dash out to join the rest of the tour group outside.

The tour guide left at a viewpoint overlooking the rest of the Old Town, and my grandparents who wanted to use the bathroom, walked back themselves. For about 15 minutes, I wandered around the empty lanes by myself, fancying myself a lone traveller. Everything felt magical. A man coming out of a house said "hello beautiful" to me before walking by briskly. Estonians and their strange sense of humour I suppose. I found another lookout point, and took more photos. I bought Soviet souvenirs from a street peddler. Then I went to look for my grandparents.

The next part of the tour was to see Rakvere Castle. The tour guide pronounced it with much rolling of the tongue, like RRRRRRRRAKVERE. It was a most unexpected place. It turned out to have been turned into partially restored model of a Medieval village, complete with people dressed in kitschy costumes. There was a replica of a torture chamber, and 'hell'. There were also replica swords, which were heavy as hell. It was all great, silly, fun. Lunch was held on the castle grounds, and was terrible. Much of the discussion during lunch revolved around whether it was Medieval food or actual current modern Estonian food. An example: barley with hazelnuts (imitating rice?). It was most unpalatable. I only remember liking the bread, which was also quite queer, but was at least familiar in taste to German bread. I had a horseshoe made for fun, with my birthdate on it.

Last bit of the tour was a silly Vodka tasting, which all the silly 18 year old American idiots flocked to, acting like they were BIG SHITS for being able to drink alcohol (it being European laws and all). It was quite annoying. My grandparents and I took the opportunity to use the bathroom. On board the coach, I saw a small dog repeatedly trying to crash it's way back into the house after someone shut it out in the backyard. It failed.

I liked Estonia a lot.

At Sea: 20th June 2011

I remember nothing significant.

Gothenburg (Summer Solstice): 21st June 2011

Gotenburg was rubbish. Out of all the stops, I enjoyed it the least. We took a tour around town in a bus, but there wasn't much to see to begin with. We did however, see the canals and were introduced to the 'hair cutter' bridge and the 'cheese slicer' bride.

At night, our ship went under a massive bridge in Finland, and everyone scurried to the top to watch it. Apparently at the highest point of the ship, you could almost touch the underside of the bridge. I didn't stand that high up though. Also to celebrate, the ship held a chocolate buffet around 10pm. The chocolate covered strawberries were excellent.

At Sea: 22nd June 2011

I remember nothing significant.

Harwich-London: 23rd June 2011

We caught the train from Harwich to London Liverpool Street, and from there took a taxi back to my flat. And tah dah, we were done with the trip.

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In total I read quite a few books: Meg Rosoff's, Phillip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Jonathan Franzen's Strong Motion and something else that I've forgotten about.

People at the Dining Table:
Valerie
Raymond
Brian
Sheila
Nancy
Forest
Ian
My grandparents
Me

Shit Monday

I woke up feeling sick, I can't go to Swing because I feel so sick, meanwhile I'm stressed and overworked, and Tiff's audibly arguing with her ex over the phone while chopping vegetables. This feels like hell. I want to die *$@NV$U@*$ U(

Afghan Hounds & Czech

There's a girl that used to go for Swing Dance, on and off, and I never knew her name. She's stopped going for at least months though. However I could damn well memorise her fact because it unmistakably reminded me of an Afghan Hound's. Anyway I just saw her again at the 4th floor, and pulled up a picture of the Afghan hound to compare and DAMN she really does look like one. I feel all goosebumpy now. Reminds me of how I give people nicknames if I don't know their names/as a tool to remember them.

On another note, a few days ago I found this on my hard drive:-



I was going to write about it (still remembering the details in my mind because it was THAT GOOD), but I realised I already did, years ago when the incident happened. Incidentally it's the only time I've ever written about the Czech Republic in this blog, but then again I'm not sure why I'd write about the Czech Republic, seeing as I've never actually been there.

Meanwhile I'm sitting in the 4th floor, dithering because I don't know how to even start writing my social police essay.

Today I met Shu, Jean, HM, Sye and ZW for breakfast at Holborn McDonald's for breakfast, because it's Shrove Tuesday! So we had McDonald's pancakes to celebrate (they call them hotcakes at home!) and I don't think I've eaten so much so early before in the day in a long time, considering how late I usually wake up. Kept my hashbrown though (69p) because I was too full after. Also bought some apples from the Holborn grocer on my way to school, to undo all the unhealthy shit I've been eating recently.

Mid-Term

As usual when it hits around mid-term (I think it's week 6 now, horrors), I get the mid-term blues. It's the feeling that one gets when one hasn't been able to rest for a while, and yet knowing that the end isn't quite here. As a result you sort of sink into a mode of general meh-ness, where you know you've got lots of work to do, but don't have it in your too feel too bothered until the deadline is absolutely pressing.

So anyway this weekend, in a I-will-fight-this-meh-feeling mood, I went to Oxford with Jia. Met up with Gen and Daryl for lunch, then had dinner with Cheam. Went to of course, to my favourite book place on earth, The Last (opposite Christchurch, as I finally learned). Bought 5 books, all for £10!

Peter Carey - Illywhacker (feel excited and want to start on it!)
Jane Harris - The Observations
Amitav Ghosh - The Shadow Lines
Yoko Ogawa - Hotel Iris
Luke Rhinehart - The Dice Man

And as an aside, today I finished reading the Wordsworth edition of Maupassant's Short Stories.

We had lunch at Brown's, where Daryl told us he saw Emma Watson before. Then we had cream tea at The Rose, which was absolutely delightful. Also never knew that English Breakfast/Everyday tea was a blend of different sorts of tea leaves. Not sure why it never occurred to me to question it before. For dinner Cheam brought us to a Spanish tapas place, which was packed (luckily he made reservations). By the time I had gotten back home (at 10:30pm), I was throughly exhausted. Still it was nice actually being out the whole day, and not studying once! Yesterday though, I made up for it by studying in school the entire afternoon with Shu and Sye, after going to church.

Not sure why I didn't mention this in the previous post, but on Wednesday I went with Dexter to the Science Museum, to see the Hidden Heroes exhibition. It was alright, I did enjoy it, but I was surprised at how sparse everything was. The upside was that inside the exhibition though, there were no kids. It must've been half-term or something, because the entire Science Museum was filled with kids. We also went to see the timekeeping bit of the museum, and the Wellcome History of Medicine exhibit. I love how they have bits of an actual old shop inside. But of course reality returned, and I ended up studying at Dexter's house afterwards before going home for dinner.

I will make the effort to go to the gym today, then head to school and study for a bit before Swing Dance.

A quick list of pressing things on my mind:-
1) Ex-landlord issues
2) Dissertation & all related issues
3) Government project (25% of grade!)
4) Columbia application
5) Social policy essay due this week
6) Mini presentation of Napoleonic art/culture

Cawston Apple and Rhubarb

A few weeks ago (in fact I might have blogged about this and forgotten), I was at Waitrose looking at UHT juices when a man who was studying the juice selection next to me suddenly turned and said 'this is very good! You ought to try it!' It was Cawston Apple and Rhubarb. I said that perhaps I would, and after that he walked off to the cereal end of the aisle. I decided there and then to be adventurous. I picked up the juice I had been studying for a while (something with guava and pineapple in it), and the Cawston Apple and Rhubarb. The Cawston juice was good, though I'm a bit mystified as to where the bit about Rhubarb came it. I expected the juice to look pinky too, but it looked like normal cloudy apple juice. Hmm.

Celebrated Tiff's birthday on Tuesday (coincidentally also Valentine's Day). She booked a room at Grange St Paul's for the night. We went to a real shit pub for dinner (we all thought it was a restaurant, that's what you get when you don't research a place I guess) and ate kevlar-grade chicken breast. What saved the night however was us walking to Tinseltown after, and HM and I shared a yummy ferrero rocher shake. We also got the birthday surprise of Tiff, and she was really embarrassed. How lovely. The MTVs were played a mix of retro songs (Spandau Ballet's True anyone?) and we sang along. Lots of Whitney Houston too. Then on the way back to the hotel Tiff booked for the night, HM and I sang the Elephant Love Medley from Moulin Rouge. Come to think of it, I think Moulin Rouge's my most favourite romance movie. ZW, Tiff and I ended up sleeping around 2:15am, after we watched Burlesque, which was exceptionally inane. We stuffed ZW in the middle of the king size bed and slept on either side.

Amazingly I managed to wake up on time for my 9am workshop, and spent all of 12 minutes walking to LSE, stopping by at Wright's Bar to get a tea, and I was still early for my workshop. It was a nice walk, on a nice cheery morning, in the city of London. Sometimes I'm too caught up in day-to-day life to stop and remember where I really am.

Time Warps and Pear, Pork and White Fungus Soup

I don't know if this has ever happened to me before (for I find I am quickly losing my ability to recall things at a snap of a finger), but I find that I am often astounded to find that things that I thought happened ages ago happened mere days ago. It is all very queer. For instance I thought the Taylor Wessing ticket stub's been in my wallet for a quite some time, then I recalled that I went there with Shu just last Friday, on the same day that I was at Victoria Tower doing work. Similarly I find it almost hard to believe that yesterday morning, I had dim sum lunch with my friends. And meeting Mong, Cheryl and Cielo at Liverpool Street to munch at Breakfast Club for the whole of last Sunday's afternoon. And seeing Jia and Yihang just on Thursday when Jia came over to cook. Sometimes I don't know if it's me, or the medicine anymore. That and getting confused at the strangest of things, like misplacing passports and all. Hmm.

Yesterday I made Pear, Pork and White Fungus Soup. I left it to sort of boil overnight, mainly because there's no place to put it in the fridge. Today the soup tastes almost completely different, and the white fungus seems to have totally disappeared. It is all very, very strange.

Watched My Idiot Brother and Waitress this week. They both proved to be highly enjoyable.

Victoria Tower

That feeling when you open up a book of archived documents, and the document has been typed out rather than hand written!

Lord Curzon's handwriting stumped both me and the archivist at the help desk. Shall pretend those documents are irrelevant. Meanwhile I do note that everyone here, except the policemen/security personnel here at the Parliamentary Archives, suffers from a dismal lack of social skills, i.e. able to make small, pleasant talk.

Dye or Dirt?

Today I finally washed a pouch that I bought from Sapa, Vietnam. I had previously been using it to carry around my diary and a pen, and other small things. Today as I hand washed it, copious amounts of blue dye came out (come to think of it, maybe it's the local natural dye they use for colouring their own clothes dark blue), colouring the soapy water blue. Now hours later, after it's dried, I realised the fecking thing has actually changed colour: it's now several shades lighter, sort of like a turquoise kind of colour from dark blue. Amazing. Of course now I'm left to wonder whether it was dirt that made the pouch so dark coloured, or whether it was simply layers and layers of caked dirt because those villagers weren't exactly known for their high state of cleanliness.

I'm back to being super frustrated and dissatisfied with everything that my life entails again. Nothing new really, it's sort of like my 2nd default setting (1st being satisfied at merely coasting along life). But I'm more frustrated this time because of this one person I know, who's been depressed for quite sometime, is still depressed and in my view, refusing to help herself. She refuses to go for counselling, refuses to take medication, flat out refuses to do anything that might alleviate the problem. And it's affecting my friends, her flatmates. Am I being harsh on her? Yes, totally. Considering that I fight with depression all the time, it might seem rich coming from me, but on the other hand if I'm not hard on myself to fight my depression I'd just let it win all the time - and spend my whole life looking on from my bed. Depression can only be solved within oneself, and if you're refusing to address it even after such a prolonged period (anything more than 6 months), then well you're just letting it win, so in a way I think it is kind of fair to say that you're just wallowing in yourself and not doing anything.

Of course being the coward I am, I'd never say it to her.

I'm sick of all of this.

Brie My Baby

Before I left home today, one of the first things I did was to drink a cup of tea. Tea where I'd left the teabag inside the cup to stew for what seemed like ages (I'm more of a 3-4 minute tea bag person) as I guilty washed up all the dirty dishes I'd used yesterday. Now I don't know how long I took to wash those dishes up, but I'm sure it was more than 4 minutes. So by my definition, I had a pretty damn strong cup of tea. Except during class just now, I only heard about 50% of the words everyone said, and the rest was background noise. The only word that really stood out was when someone said 'middle eastern' and 'conspiracy theory' pretty near to each other, like in a sentence or something. And only because it was a class on economic policy, so words like 'middle eastern' and 'conspiracy theory' stood out. What, a conspiracy economic theory? To get them to buy up the whole of the UK, like they already are? Anyway so needless to say, 9am class was an utter washout. I also noted today that Murray Mint, has dandruff in his hair, but that somehow doesn't make him any less hot.

So anyway I washed up the dishes this morning. Now for some time, we've been having quite a mouse problem. The fucker has been in my room, eating my honey almonds, scattering the crumbs all over my high heels, and shitting all over my luggage and floor. Recently however, after the fucker appeared in Tiff's room on Sunday night, she went ballistic and bought a bunch of glue traps (with express delivery, she is most proud to add). So anyway Tuesday night, after I came back from Wild Times, I heard a bunch of scraping sounds. True enough as I came up the flight of stairs, I actually saw the fucker. EXCEPT: I saw really only half of it. The back bit. And it was half under Flat 3's door, and it seemed to be stuck.

So i screamed. And screamed. And Tiff and ZW came out and screamed more. And the mouse panicked and started forcing itself more through the little door gap, until it's bum disappeared and all we saw was it's tail. And then that made us scream more, and that then made the mouse struggle more, and blablabla ad infinitum. But of course some of the screaming made some sense. For example, some of it was: "JOSHUAAAAAAA! BENJAMIN!!!!!!!!!!!! OEIJ! OIEJ! WHATEVER YOUR NAME IS!!!!!!" (said by me, the names of the guys in Flat 3 upstairs), but most of it was "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" (said by everyone) and "OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!" (I think said by Tiff and me). And as we stood there screaming our heads off, we wondered why NO ONE SEEMED TO REACT. It's like if you scream in London, no one can hear you.

ZW managed to call someone, who then got in contact with the guys upstairs, and FINALLY they came down. And as they opened the door to 'rescue' us, we screamed more as we finally saw the full mouse, stuck to the glue trap. The first thing O said as he lifted the glue trap to look at the mouse was, "HAHAHA IT'S SO SCARED IT SHAT ITSELF". No shit, there were 3 girls screaming non-stop at it. If I was the mouse I'd be scared too. And then that's when they told us the bad news: it wasn't just A mouse we were reckoning with, it was multiple mice. Like a mice family. 'Cause they'd just killed one last week. Anyway we left the guys to dispose of the mouse. They said they'd leave it on the ledge and let it freeze to death, just like they did to the mouse they caught and killed last week. At night as I lay in bed, about to sleep, I heard the loudest singular SQUEAK I heard on Earth. I had just been contemplating at the moment whether to go use the bathroom. I decided against it and somehow went to sleep.

The next day, O and B came, and set up a bunch of glue traps in a row under their door. True enough yesterday morning, we woke up to a yet another mouse stuck. Except this time they didn't remove it straight away, electing to leave it stuck there till night time, when they got back to school. As I cleaned up the mess the mice left outside our flat last night with the vacuum cleaner, I could see it struggling and freaking out with the wail of the vacuum cleaning approaching. I wonder if you can suck a mouse up a vacuum cleaning, come to think of it. But I didn't.

Which brings me to this morning. So I was cleaning up the dishes, with my usual token Yellow Rubber Gloves. And those gloves + water + clean dishes = SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK. So I spent my entire time washing up in utter terror. I started singing to myself a made up song which was Christian gospel-ly. I thought of the mouse suddenly running out from under the sink and eating my toes, to take revenge for it's fallen comrades. I was freaked out beyond comparison, all the while conscious of the fact that DAMNIT IT WAS THE GLOVES.

So that's been my life thus far: swing dance and mice.

I also read Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild in less than 8 hours, from midnight Thursday to evening Thursday. It's a fascinating, fascinating book on the nature of youth.

"So what do you usually do?"

I always get asked this question often, along with "so where do you usually go?". And everytime, my brain sort of dies because honestly I don't have the foggiest idea what exactly it is I do or where I go. I mean I go to the gym, I go Waitrose. I exercise and I grocery shop. But I'm pretty bloody sure that's not the answer the asker usually wants. So on review of my life I've compiled a few facts:-

FACT ONE: I am a very boring person. All I do is spend time sleeping and slothing at home. I don't even study. I sort of just hack away at bits of the iceberg that is SCHOOL and spend the rest of my time in a totally inefficient manner, that makes me get frustrated at the end of the day.

FACT TWO: I like my comfort zones. Shopping? I go to Oxford Circus. Sometimes if I feel adventurous/am near school, I actually go to Covent Garden! Shocking innit? You'll never catch me near South Kensington. This also means I spend at least what must be 70% of my life at home, in my small 5m by 3.5m room. I've been to Portobello market 3 times, and at the same time never been to Spitalfields, that's because Portobello is Familiar and Comfortable (relatively). I also totally form going-out routines and patterns.

FACT THREE: The only thing I go out really is because I have a reason. Like I want to go to the V&A, or something. But even that I must plan about a week in advance. Which reminds me, I do want to see the Taylor Wessing prize at the National Portrait Gallery pretty soon. Often, studying is not a good enough reason. I need a pull factor to get me out of the house first, then only I can linger and stay and study. Often this reason is school or having to meet friends.

FACT FOUR: The currently most exciting part of my life is Swing Dance.

FACT FIVE: I do go out alone, for shopping, films, seeing exhibits. I don't mind being alone, and often enjoy it, but it also means I do it seldom because my inertia is just so massive.

Anyway I totally had a brain fart today. After spending hours bumming around at home, I finally left to run some small errands (post office, get prescriptions, look for an eyebrow pencil), just as the sun was setting. So anyway I bought hydrocortisone cream from Boots and the cashier asked me "when are you going to use it?". I sort of went "uh nuh-ooooooooowwwwww?" and gave her a really blank look. She then gave me a really confused glance and said, "I asked, WHERE are you going to use it?". Cue whale face
(-_________________________-")

I just booked a ticket to watch Confucius at the BFI by myself in Feb. Can't wait to feel Asian and go OH YEAH at a movie, unlike the pretentious shitfest that was Shame, which I saw last week.

A New Year

Just came back not too long ago from Flat 8, where ZW and I went to celebrate Chinese New Year's Eve, the day of the traditional family gathering. I made my awesome chicken wings, after marinating them for almost 24 hours, and I'm pleased to say they were wiped out by everyone. I grin inside as I think about it.

Flat 8 (esp Jean!) cooked up a veritable feast. They made siu yok (roast pork) and char siu (bbq pork), and there were traditional favourites like dried shiitake mushrooms. Made me think of him, where they usually have shiitake mushrooms with hair moss. Hair moss is a strange thing, because it looks literally like a pile of hair. When I was younger I think my uncle used to scare me by saying it was the hair of naughty girls. It tasty mainly because it's very good at absorbing and holding onto the thickened oyster sauce it's often cooked in. Mmmm.

There were 8 of us in attendance, mainly because Tiff was too tired and decided not to turn up. The table was nicely cramped full of food and people. For dessert, Hui Min and Jean made tang yuan (glutinous rice dumplings), which was really tasty and a nice surprise, and we ended up having a debate about WHY it was traditional to eat it. We ended up resorting to wiki. We really are half-assed Asian people.

After ZW and I came back, I started cleaning my room. I basically didn't clean it since coming back from Morocco, even though the mess was bugging me. Now for once in weeks, there is nothing on my floor that isn't actually supposed to be there - well except the two packets of Special Tea I have under my desk, because there's no space to leave it in the kitchen. I feel very pleased with myself, especially since I beat cleaning it up BEFORE midnight, because it's bad luck to clean the floors on the 1st day of Chinese New Year. (Not that I seriously care about such things, but it seems rather twee to adhere to them now) It's something about sweeping away the good luck that a new year brings.

So anyway, hopefully this means I'll get good luck for this new lunar year. Been feeling blah the past few days, and hopefully that rights itself after today, oho.

Dry Cleaning: £4.99

On my way back home today, I finally picked up my dry cleaning. The dry cleaner's shop is in reality, 30 seconds from my house, but on the other side from school. So I never really walk by it on my day-to-day path. This meant I manage to leave my sweater there for 2 weeks, despite them actually taking just a day to clean the damn thing. The more I think about it, the more I feel intrigued by my own behaviour, because I managed to deem a 30 second walk as "too far". That and I suppose I had no urgent need to pick up the sweater, what with it being so warm nowadays. Also for some reason I remember them telling me it would cost £6, not the £4.99 I paid.

Anyway today I went to the UCL Chinese New Year fair. It turned out to be something of a misnomer, for it was more of a Singaporean fair. I swear of the lot there were no Malaysians, no China Chinese, and no random other Chinese people, it was just Singaporeans. As a consequence I ran into loads of people I hadn't seen at all. I even ran into Gen from school, which was really nice. We ended up going out for coffee at the super hipster No. 114 coffee place along Tottenham Court Road. I initially went to the fair with Shu and Hui Min, and Jeff's family (their ex-JC teacher). I swear their daughter, Sophie, was such a heartbreaker. She's 2. Everywhere we went, people were cooing over her and taking photos. Even the girl doing the Wushu performance from Imperial (which was excellent and extremely enjoyable to watch), noticed her as she was doing her routine, and gave Sophie a smile. Also Jeff's mum was highly entertaining. She dragged me to go to the bathroom with here, and there she spoke about things like doing makeup and her red skinny jeans (all in Mandarin of course). Nice lady, nice family.

After I left Gen, I got slightly lost in UCL as I tried to find my way back out to Byng Place, because I wanted to go to Waterstones. I'm just thankful that LSE seems to be better planned out than UCL, with it's random appearing courtyards. At Waterstones I walked about a bit, enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by so many books. I just bought the BBC History magazine though, because I've got a massive backlog of books here at home. Aiming to read Into the Wild after I finish Parting Shots. I wandered into the FOPP bit and found the second hand DVD section. Picked up This is England for £2 and at the counter I impulsively bought A Town Called Panic for £3 (£5 w/o any other purchase). Remembered how last year I was trying to find a cinema near enough to Jeygrove Court that showed A Town Called Panic, but it only showed in all sorts of odd places.

Going out tonight to celebrate Hui Min's birthday at a dinner place. Need to remember to wrap her gift.

Love me or leave me

I have come to the conclusion that every single awful day I have in existence is primarily of my own doing. That and I seem to always be my own worst enemy, etc. etc.

Today as I walked back from school/Sainsbury's, I walked by the fruit seller (I just learned his name is Adel Shah) and said hi as usual. He stopped me and started talking in pidgin English about how he was sick today and had to close his fruit stand for 3 hours. Then he took out his wallet and pulled out an appointment card, telling me he next had an appointment on 30th Jan. I flipped the card around and then I very awkwardly realised that it was for a NHS specialist sexual health clinic in Archway. Then he took out his medicine and showed it to me. I took note of the name, because I'm curious like that, and when I came back and googled it, wiki said it was sometimes used to cure STDs.

I don't think he realised exactly what kind of information he was revealing when he showed all those things to me, because he barely speaks English.

In other news, I've been pigging out on Lindt Mild 70% Cocoa.

Skypeskypeskype

Got off skype with my parents a while ago, and something my mum kept saying is bugging me. She said she didn't think I was well enough to do a masters degree, because I'm already so stressed out over doing my bachelor's. Which I have to admit is a pretty good point. And as I dithered about my room half thinking about my GV227 project proposal, I couldn't actually think of a reason why I wanted to do a masters other than the fact that I WANT TO DO A MASTERS.

In other news I'm going out for social dancing again tonight at Wild Times. Looking forward to it.

NATWEST AND WRIGHT'S

So it's been 2 and a half years since I've been living here in this (apparently) Emerald Isle. I just finished my cup of Wright's Bar tea and DAMNIT I WANT MORE, except I'm sure my weak system will die from lactose intolerance and caffeine overload. What the hell do they put in their tea anyway? It's SO GOOD and for just 45p. Seriously. It's way better than all the teas I've had in the world, Moroccan mint tea included. Though I do remember having some sort of caffeine OD-sort of shivers before.

So anyway NATWEST, is a PAIN IN THE ARSE. Because I'm on a basic account I now can't withdraw ANY money from a cashpoint that is not Natwest, RBS or Tesco Cash. WTF. There was one day, I was feeling sick and hungry, and it was raining, and I had to frantically call Dex to come and give me cash because my card wasn't working at ANY cashpoint and I started panicking. As a result I've now taken to using Waitrose's cashback scheme, and drawing more money than usual at cashpoints that I can actually use. Fucking buggers, the lot of them. On another note, for the first time today, the Natwest cashpoint in school gave me two £5 notes. When I first came there were talks to put £5 notes in cashpoints, and how they were planning to do pilots in special machines located at places like Waterloo station. Once when I was taking 1 down to tutor in Bermondsey way back in 2009, I remember seeing one of those machines with a special '£5 NOTES DISPENSED HERE!!!' sign. Now it's London-wide it seems. Meh I feel weird to think of all the time that's passed.

I woke up at 11.11 am today

Some time ago (perhaps last year) my Dad told me that as you get older, time accelerates. Not quite saying I'm that old now, but it sure as hell feels that way as I marvel at the fact that I've been in uni for 2 and a half years. That and I'm still not sure what I've been doing when I think back on the previous term of school. Perhaps that's why I keep a blog, because my memory is like a sieve - attempting to keep some sort of record [any juicy, darker bits are written down in diaries].

Also I just lied, a big proper lie, for the first time in ages to my flatmate. She asked me to help her annoying friend do something. I refused. Haven't I told her enough times that I utterly detest that girl? PFFFFT. I am now playing my music very softly to pretend I'm not home.

A picture of the henna tattoo I had done for 60 dirhams (€6) in Marrakech:


I freak out a little everytime I see it, because I forget it's there.

Maroc + New Year 2012

So as mentioned in my last post, I was away in Morocco 'celebrating' the new year. More like the new year just happened to fall during our holiday. So New Year's was spent in Fes, where everyone (Paul, Cheam, Jia and Yihang) sort of said NO SHOWERING before 0000 hours and I had to shower at 0015 hours instead. I don't know why I remember that fact the most. That and the riad we were staying in, riad verus, very nicely served this super sweet cake to mark the new year. And then the next day, on new year's eve, I fell dog sick for the next few days and said "I want to depart from my body" at least once an hour. SO summary:

Morocco - 29th Dec to 8th Jan
Fes, Meknes, Casablanca, Marrakech
£700 max spent
5.5/10

+ Medinas
+ Food (initially), loved the well cooked tajines at the first restaurant - Sekaya - in Fes
+ Souks: always charming no matter which bit of the world you're in
+ Amusing language barrier (French, Arabic, Berber anyone?)
+ Traveling company
+ The hotel staff were very very friendly
+ Mid-day heat and lovely dark blue skies
+ Hammam: never felt so clean in my life
+ Camel ride: brief, but I liked it
+ Volubilis
+ Seeing cats everywhere, except when they startled me

- FALLING SICK, with flu then stomach flu: at least I think I saved loads of money and lost weight (minus at least 3 points)
- Casablanca: shithole city of the highest order
- Food: lack of variety, even if it was tasty; that and maybe it made me get stomach flu?
- Cold COLD showers at night, Morocco is not built for cold weather
- Taxi drivers always out to scam tourists
- Didn't get to see the desert, but this warrants a 2nd trip
- Getting harassed in Marrakech: first by some really black dude who shoves me right into a store, and then laughs at me when I get upset, getting almost pickpocketed in a souk near the plaza and finally some teenage boys touching/pulling my hair in a crowd for amusement
- Smokers, everywhere
- Feeling crazily dirty and dusty all the time

I bought 2 seasons worth of Curb Your Enthusiasm on DVD, and they greeted me when I came back. Mmmm. Had a slow day today with a 1 and 1/2 hour nap in the middle, really hope I can get back to my normal working schedule tomorrow.

Last Post of 2011

Tomorrow, I'm headed to Morocco with Cheam, Jia, Paul and Yihang. Specifically Fes, Meknes, Casablanca, then Marrakesh.

In the shower I was thinking about the whole of 2011, and realised it was probably my most travelled year. New Year's itself was spent in Wurzburg, then I embarked on two epic trips during Summer: one a Scandinavian cruise and the other a trek/backpacking across most of South East Asia. Then recently I went with my mum to Austria-Germany, and we covered Vienna, Linz, Salzburg, Innsbruck, then Munich. Other smaller trips include two beach holidays, one to Malaysia and the other to Bintan. Then there was the trekking trip to Snowdonia. Lots of travelling indeed!

Spent today at the National Archives, being grumpy from a lack of sleep and low blood sugar. Had the world's worst possible cup of tea (what tea brand is worse than P&G tips?!) for £1.15 too. Only bright spot was that I got to do some of the work I wanted, and one of the security guards was really nice to me.

Two random images to round off this very short post:


This is the bike I cycled on all the way from Russell Square to Earl's Court on Christmas day, because there was no public transport. Almost got killed a few times, and crashed into a parked vehicle en route. Didn't cycle all the way alone though, met Jia at her place along Baker Street and cycled the rest of the way with her. Spent Christmas with Yihang's friends, watched Home Alone 2 and Contagion, along with 2 eps of Game of Thrones. Mmm.



And this was just a bit of the archival work I was looking at today.

AND another note: I just saw a mouse run by my room door. NOT COOL. This, I blame directly on my flatmate: see previous post. I flipped out yesterday when they told me, and only because I'd seen it run past me in the kitchen.

Merry New Year, I think.

Peace on earth and goodwill to all men: EXCEPT IF YOU'RE DAFT

Facebook now is filled with all sorts of happy musings on loving the world and loving mankind. I however, feel quite the contrary but shall restrict my grinch like mood to this space. After all I seek to rant, not attract unwarranted attention from even more daft people.

Today is Christmas day. I came back from Munich on the 20th Dec at night. I spent the 21st being utterly depressed that I'd come to to find the house in such an utterly filthy and messy state - that and cleaning for half a day. Now I am by nature a messy person, but I restrict it to my own cave. Furthermore I am not a dirty person, I am instead totally OCD about dirt. So coming back from a very nice holiday, it was possibly the worst thing to greet me, although I did already mentally prepare myself for it. So point is: I cleaned up on the 21st to an acceptable level (Tiff'd have made it way cleaner though).

Last night however, I spent the first hour of Christmas cleaning up the kitchen. It was filthy again. I was very very frustrated, as I'd really cleaned only just days ago and the kitchen had fallen into such a state so rapidly. Then this morning I took all the rags out of the machine and discovered to my great displeasure that there were 10 rags. Now I don't know about you lot, but in my world when rags get dirty, my instinct is to clean them. And if you're not going to clean them, throw them away. But neither of this happened. So instead my kitchen is full of rags drying now. It's really too ridiculous for words and damn if this hasn't turned me into a grinch.

Snowdonia

This post is ages overdue. It was almost written many many times, but then I always never got around to doing it. So for some reason now, something like 2 weeks later and when I'm sitting in a hotel room in Linz, Austria, I am determined to actually write this damn thing. Perhaps it's because I'm agitated over my mum pressurising me about tenancy issue from my old flat (yes, I admit I went into self-denial and she's right to do it, but that doesn't make me respond in a more reasonable manner), and just like how some people go running, I angrily pound out words on the keyboard.

That and I've been crazily busy since that time period.

So anyway flashback to the last post(s): I didn't get the part in the performning group, and was absolutely gutted. Developed something close to an associated-panic attack to swing that was thankfully adverted. Went back for swing class on the day we (WR, JK, Tiff) left for Snowdown to find that Tom had learned my name. Sue says (very nicely) that's because he and Cici were debating about whether to let me into the performing group. Sue also said that the reason why I didn't get in was probably because they needed someone to pair a short guy and I was too tall. Sue is really too nice. ANYWAY SNOWDON.

So afterwards, Tiff and I left to meet JK and WR at Euston station around 10:30pm. Tiff bought some really nice fries from Burger King. We arrived at Birmingham New Street around 1am and we settled into the 24h Mcdonald's next to the station to be like hobos. We encountered an interesting mix of people there, I must say.

First was security man, who I couldn't decide whether he was creepy or not. He was inside Mcdonald's and was standing near the door when I popped out for a bit to feel the cold outdoor air. On my way in, he smiled and said that I looked very pretty. Which was alright, but then afterwards he kept looking at me and watching me through the class, perhaps hoping to catch my eye and garner a smile for me or something. I don't know. Then was outright creepy dude, also of a vague central Asian origin, who sat in the adjorning booth and kept half staring at us, prompting Tiff to put her coat on even though it was warm inside. The last was outright WTF, a legit high hobo with shoulder length ratty orange (?!?!?!) hair who came right up to our table and kept saying something that sounded like "an-ya-se-yo" (hello in Korean?) for a good 2 minutes while we attempted to ignore him.

Around 5am we left the Mcdonald's to catch our next train towards Holyhead, getting off at Llandudno Junction. Essentially once we got on the next train, we all crashed and slept, getting up only near our stop. While we're sitting still, half waking up and waiting for our stop, Tiff got the idea to go wash up. As she walked by, the pessimistic thought occured to me, "Hmm, what if...?"

Well let's just say true enough, it happened. Tiffany was still in the bathroom as the train pulled into the station, JK shoved WR and I off the train, with all our stuff, while Tiff was still nowhere to be found. And while JK was walking inside the train, WR and I followed him on the outside. Then just as the train made a funny sound, I sprang forward to try and press the train door open as JK was becoming frantic on the other side. The door did not open. According to WR and JK, my first reaction was to raise up my right hand and wave to him as the train pulled away. Funnily enough, I don't remember doing that although it does sound like something I'd have done. Instead what I remembered the most was JK's face as it slowly dawned on him the that the train was about to move off with him and Tiff in it:- a mix of disbelif, horror and dawning anxiety, as he kept pressing the button to open the train door. It was at the point that I wished I had the presence of mind to take out my camera. Anyway his eyes were a bit like Munch's The Scream, if one can imagine that IRL. JK's mouth was a bit more of the open-in-disbelief sort.

WR and I walked off the platform, and I immeditately went to the train station attendant and explained our predicament to him, framing it more along the 'so, when's the next train from Bangor due?' line. Somehow, I found the whole thing insanely funny. Which I guess it was. Even though I was very tired and usually extremely irritable. WR and I ended up stoning in silence in the small waiting room, listening to the local yobs waiting for their train. Was amusing. When Tiff and JK finally came, we ended up walking to the local Aldi and Iceland, before ending up at another Mcdonald's when we found the KFC closed. The next train was 4 hours later. Tiff bought breakfast for all of us, as penance.

By the time we got to Betws-y-Coed, it started raining a bit. Deciding we couldn't ditch our bags at the tourism centre, which closed at 5pm, we ended up carrying the whole lot of it to our trek in Snowdon. Anyway it was pouring like fuck when we got to Snowdown. It was Singapore-monsoon rain style. But we were there, and had endured so much to be there, so we started climbing anyway - against all common sense. We were quickly drenched to the bone. When I climbled, my jeans actually turned shiny for a moment as all the water got simply wrung out by the action of my leg pulling my body up.

On our way up, we passed 3 groups of men coming down. They all looked like the real deal too: proper gear, mid 20s to 30s, all fit men (in the literal and not British sense). They all said they tried going up, couldn't, almost got blown off, and decided to turn back. To this we went "ok! We'll try anyway", and then they gave us the most amazed looks ever, a combination of 'wow, you've got guts/you're nuts/what's the number of the welsh moutain rescue team?'. After a while Tiff and WR called it quits, but JK and I wanted to push on. After leaving Tiff and WR for about 20 minutes, we finally turned back after having to stop multiple times because we almost got blown off the mountain. There is nothing quite like carrying 15kg on your back, weighing almost 55kg, and feeling yourself get blown off a mountain because of gale force winds (which we were warned off before, in case our foolhardiness needs more highlighting).

Somehow, JK and I made it off the mountain in one piece. We spent the rest of the time in the poor cafe at the base, sopping off water everywhere we went. I discovered everything in my bag was wet, but my worn clothes were somehow the driest since my hair and torso were spared (thanks Karrimor 3-in-1 jacket!) We somehow made it to the town area, and found a lovely discount store (Rock Botton, by Cotswalds I think) where the staff were really nice. They allowed us to hide there till our dorm opened, while hogging the heater. At the same thing, they even nicely lent WR a jacket that was defective because hers was all wet. I managed to buy a 5 pound pair of pants to replace my sopping wet ones. WR later bought a box of cabury celebrations for the staff from a local food and wine store.

The rest of the time was considerably more normal. Dinner we had to drag our asses out, and we had it in a small restaurant bar while being served by a spritely old man. There was a jukebox and WR was very thrilled. WR and Tiff were telling ghost stories, and Tiff died because she was super scared, changing beds with me. The next day I felt like dying, and went to rest after breakfast. We took a bus to Swallow Falls, then walked to the Ugly House and took a nature ramble through fields on the way back to town, some 6km away. Lunch was at a local chip shop where all the locals stared at us, and JK accidentally dumped a whole large shaker of salt on his food because he knocked the cap off.

Back in London, after more Monopoly Deal, WR went home and JK, Tiff and I went to Euston Chinese to grab dinner. Then, Tiff went home to run and I went home to die.

The end.