It’s official Christmas is starting to arrive, decorations are beginning to go on sale and the nights are drawing in. Thank goodness for big thick socks and university hoodies.
Anyway, all this premature Christmas excitement got me thinking about a blog I wrote last Christmas. It was a few paragraphs about what future Christmas days might be like, lots of burnt Christmas dinners and tucking my children into bed on Christmas Eve and telling them if they don’t go to sleep instantly Father Christmas won’t be able to drop off their presents.
Obviously this year won’t be any different to last Christmas, or the Christmas before that, which is in ways good and bad. It’s good because it means I haven’t unintentionally created any offspring and bad because I want to buy a load of decorations and literally ‘deck the halls.’
I think that’s the worst part about still being at home, not being about to coat the house in Christmas the way you want to. Admittedly that is terribly selfish, but it’s not as bad as it sounds…
When you have your own place and an income it’s very easy to make things ‘yours’ and new traditions are made and you don’t have the fear of treading on any toes.
When you’re at home there’s always a way of doing things and certain ways things are done.
In our house we usually send someone up to the loft to drag out the box of decorations, lights, left over crackers from pervious years and spend Christmas Eve in a mad rush trying to put it all up. The tree normally stays tied up in its packaging for at least a week before it goes into the lounge and Mum hides all the chocolates around the back of the tree so that nobody can find them and eat them.
This is a far cry from the giant Christmas box, full of red and white decorations, Christmas bunting, the Snowman DVD, candles, mistletoe, giant felt calendar (complete with chocolates), children’s Christmas books and much much more than will coat my future house. ..Cuddled up on the sofa on Christmas Eve, being kept warm by a log fire, with ‘Daddy’ reading ‘The night before Christmas’ to our twins and I.
However, back in reality and off planet Zogg my box of decorations will have to wait. At the end of the day not all traditions live on, some disappear. So I vow to put aside the new traditions for the time being and focus on those worth keeping.
Besides the perfect Christmas would involve me having to cook gingerbread men and let’s face it, I need a good 30 years to perfect that one!
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Monday, 8 November 2010
How to chunder
I have an 18 year old brother and at times he can be the BIGGEST pain known to man. I guess this is pretty standard for any sibling, but I often wonder if he was born with powers to exceed any other pain in the neck and quite possibly take over the world with his general stupidity.
For the first time since my brother had passed his driving test (a whole year ago) he asked if I could run him and a friend into town, so they can get politely off their heads and wouldn’t have to pay for a taxi.
I guess this is fair enough and to be honest I did owe him at least one drop off, but with slippers, joggers and a ridiculously cosy hoody on, driving to town was the last thing on my mind. This does not include the cup of tea in my hand and Mock of the Week on the TV. In short I was not moving anywhere in a hurry.
So as fate goes 10 minutes later I was reluctantly driving the boys into town and discussing the beauty of student nights out and the best ways to handle drink.
It was around this time that the word ‘Chunder’ first made it’s way into the conversation. This word is slowly creeping its way up the list of genuinely horrible words, which if I ruled the world, or had any influence over the OED I would personally ban. (‘Moist’ is still the reining champion of words that should be removed from the English language.)
Anyway, the boys were trying to explain how deliberately throwing up before a night out will make you last longer and make your night better. Personally it sounds like child proof Viagra, but hey, who are we to judge if it works?
Minus the fact that this had been the stupidest comment I had heard all day, it was worrying that they thought this was ok to do. The youth of today are hopeless.
As students we were bad, but nothing along the lines of throwing up so we had a better night. It’s all about the pacing and fingers crossed this will be a habit that will soon be kicked out of the stadium.
Kids today…
For the first time since my brother had passed his driving test (a whole year ago) he asked if I could run him and a friend into town, so they can get politely off their heads and wouldn’t have to pay for a taxi.
I guess this is fair enough and to be honest I did owe him at least one drop off, but with slippers, joggers and a ridiculously cosy hoody on, driving to town was the last thing on my mind. This does not include the cup of tea in my hand and Mock of the Week on the TV. In short I was not moving anywhere in a hurry.
So as fate goes 10 minutes later I was reluctantly driving the boys into town and discussing the beauty of student nights out and the best ways to handle drink.
It was around this time that the word ‘Chunder’ first made it’s way into the conversation. This word is slowly creeping its way up the list of genuinely horrible words, which if I ruled the world, or had any influence over the OED I would personally ban. (‘Moist’ is still the reining champion of words that should be removed from the English language.)
Anyway, the boys were trying to explain how deliberately throwing up before a night out will make you last longer and make your night better. Personally it sounds like child proof Viagra, but hey, who are we to judge if it works?
Minus the fact that this had been the stupidest comment I had heard all day, it was worrying that they thought this was ok to do. The youth of today are hopeless.
As students we were bad, but nothing along the lines of throwing up so we had a better night. It’s all about the pacing and fingers crossed this will be a habit that will soon be kicked out of the stadium.
Kids today…
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Fatal attraction
So last Thursday I packed the car, whacked Fleetwood Mac into the CD player, put my right foot to the floor and headed towards the M6. Just under three hours later I was back in Chester and began getting ready for what was guaranteed to be three crazy days.
Chester is one of those places that is, well, for want of a better word, lovely. Every time I come home the clogs turn and the words ‘I can’t wait to move back’ spill out of my mouth. The only fear is that after having three amazing years there, would moving back permanently ruin those memories? Would it be better in the long run to move to a new area code and continue life?
Becky and I stayed in the new travel lodge and armed with a gigantic box of chocolates, a bottle of champagne and some flowers we made the perfect couple. Shame about the small issues that we ate so many chocolates we (I) were close to regurgitating the entire box, the champagne lasted all of 10 minutes and it was 24 hours before the flower saw any water. The only things missing were our beautiful men and a few more pairs of shoes.
So we went out, met up with people we hadn’t seen for at least a week and were students for the last time. Minus the head banging, kebabs and Ikea trips it was just like old times.
The tears we all held back (apart from a small spell in Watergates during a bit of Ridin’ Solo- but it was our end of uni song so that’s acceptable) which was a surprise to us all. Obviously people may have been crying behind closed eyes, but it would be worrying if they weren’t. As you can see, deep and meaningful babbling is slowly creeping back in.
On Friday we hit the SU, which meant that a very passionate (note the sarcasm here) conversation with a guy who I had unnecessarily hated was finally aired. This left an odd sense of relief and admittedly he needed credit for letting a total stranger shout at him.
Then it was time for bed and after two nights of constant camera clicking, Becky and I plodded back to our hotel in the rain. I then kissed a stranger, fell asleep and dreamt I was somewhere else.
We checked out of our room at lunchtime, by which time Becky was 100% hangover free and I was missing my big comfy bed like never before.
And so this brings us back up to date on Sunday the 7th of November, in a cold house, still tired, with my cat pawing at my laptop and trying to read what I’m typing.
This rate I’m guaranteed to die a touch tying, cat-loving, spinster, whose best friend is her Blackberry and whose cooking skills can barely produce beans on toast. Ahhh, to be young, free and single. What a joy.
Chester is one of those places that is, well, for want of a better word, lovely. Every time I come home the clogs turn and the words ‘I can’t wait to move back’ spill out of my mouth. The only fear is that after having three amazing years there, would moving back permanently ruin those memories? Would it be better in the long run to move to a new area code and continue life?
Becky and I stayed in the new travel lodge and armed with a gigantic box of chocolates, a bottle of champagne and some flowers we made the perfect couple. Shame about the small issues that we ate so many chocolates we (I) were close to regurgitating the entire box, the champagne lasted all of 10 minutes and it was 24 hours before the flower saw any water. The only things missing were our beautiful men and a few more pairs of shoes.
So we went out, met up with people we hadn’t seen for at least a week and were students for the last time. Minus the head banging, kebabs and Ikea trips it was just like old times.
The tears we all held back (apart from a small spell in Watergates during a bit of Ridin’ Solo- but it was our end of uni song so that’s acceptable) which was a surprise to us all. Obviously people may have been crying behind closed eyes, but it would be worrying if they weren’t. As you can see, deep and meaningful babbling is slowly creeping back in.
On Friday we hit the SU, which meant that a very passionate (note the sarcasm here) conversation with a guy who I had unnecessarily hated was finally aired. This left an odd sense of relief and admittedly he needed credit for letting a total stranger shout at him.
Then it was time for bed and after two nights of constant camera clicking, Becky and I plodded back to our hotel in the rain. I then kissed a stranger, fell asleep and dreamt I was somewhere else.
We checked out of our room at lunchtime, by which time Becky was 100% hangover free and I was missing my big comfy bed like never before.
And so this brings us back up to date on Sunday the 7th of November, in a cold house, still tired, with my cat pawing at my laptop and trying to read what I’m typing.
This rate I’m guaranteed to die a touch tying, cat-loving, spinster, whose best friend is her Blackberry and whose cooking skills can barely produce beans on toast. Ahhh, to be young, free and single. What a joy.
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Scary thoughts
This is the first time since I’ve started blogging that my blog has been the same as what I’ve written in my diary.
I love writing diaries, they’re great to read back when you’re bored or having doubts about certain things and it’s the little secret part of you that no one else has access to. A blog can be read by anyone and it can be written about anything, where as a diary is for your eyes only, it’s 100% personal and no one needs to know about the content.
My diary is titled ‘A note to my husband’ and is full of everything that this blog doesn’t contain: the little bits, the in between bits and the bits that will one day make a lot more sense. One day my husband will have full access to them, but until then they are going to line my bookshelf and make memorable reading for a rainy day.
Anyway… this is what I wrote:
“The weirdest thing happened last night. We (Becky, Nic, Gin, Brad, Tom, Will and I) went out, had a fantastic time, got back, were joined by two of my guy friends from here and then it hit me. I no longer wanted to drink.
They were knocking back bottles of wine- four in total and a bottle of Bucks Fizz- and I just didn’t want any more.
The thought of waking up today with a stinking headache, losing all dignity and being proud of it just felt stupid.
Maybe I’m getting old and sensible (some what doubt it, but it’s a possibility) but I just wanted to boot the guys out of the house, tidy up and go to bed.
Falling over and hitting my head really knocked some sense in to me. Ironic or what!”
As you can see this is a tad depressing having been a student for the past three years and living by the rules as every tax-dodger does and making the most of life. No matter how much my body was starting to love this ‘new me’ my head was still a bit confused.
Could this be the start of something beautiful or will the next blog start with ‘As if that were possible.’
I love writing diaries, they’re great to read back when you’re bored or having doubts about certain things and it’s the little secret part of you that no one else has access to. A blog can be read by anyone and it can be written about anything, where as a diary is for your eyes only, it’s 100% personal and no one needs to know about the content.
My diary is titled ‘A note to my husband’ and is full of everything that this blog doesn’t contain: the little bits, the in between bits and the bits that will one day make a lot more sense. One day my husband will have full access to them, but until then they are going to line my bookshelf and make memorable reading for a rainy day.
Anyway… this is what I wrote:
“The weirdest thing happened last night. We (Becky, Nic, Gin, Brad, Tom, Will and I) went out, had a fantastic time, got back, were joined by two of my guy friends from here and then it hit me. I no longer wanted to drink.
They were knocking back bottles of wine- four in total and a bottle of Bucks Fizz- and I just didn’t want any more.
The thought of waking up today with a stinking headache, losing all dignity and being proud of it just felt stupid.
Maybe I’m getting old and sensible (some what doubt it, but it’s a possibility) but I just wanted to boot the guys out of the house, tidy up and go to bed.
Falling over and hitting my head really knocked some sense in to me. Ironic or what!”
As you can see this is a tad depressing having been a student for the past three years and living by the rules as every tax-dodger does and making the most of life. No matter how much my body was starting to love this ‘new me’ my head was still a bit confused.
Could this be the start of something beautiful or will the next blog start with ‘As if that were possible.’
Monday, 25 October 2010
Secret squirrel
Everyone has their secrets and nine times out of ten there’s a genuinely good reason for them. I guess you could say it’s what makes an individual individual and that can never be a bad thing.
However, this week my secret took its toll on what could potentially be the most amazing job ever.
Since I first discovered writing and men I have wanted to write for Cosmo magazine. I don’t know what it is about the male species, but for some reason when they are the topic I can write essays. So imagine the excitement, jumping up and down and general astonishment when I received a phone call from Cosmo offering me a month’s work experience with them starting this week…and then imagine the heart-break and anguish when I had to refuse the offer.
My general lack of intelligence had just blown a pretty huge opportunity and no amount of male experiences or ability to write was going to change that.
I had always thought honesty was easy, in male terms good guys are honest and bad ones get caught cheating. But when it comes to being honest with yourself it’s a whole other ball game. Your self esteem will instantly plummet; you’ll get sick of ‘encouraging’ comments and really wish you could re-write the past.
Sadly re-writing the past is a slight impossibility and no amount of chocolate will make it better. Besides you will just end up fat and let’s face it, no one wants to be a fat ugly journalist.
So it seems the dream job will have to hang on for a few months, while something a bit more important takes priority.
At this rate I will be paying somebody to write this essay for me, the real reason for having to turn Cosmo down, before anyone gets ideas about my unnamed love child…which by the way will either be called Hitler or Chardonnay.
However, this week my secret took its toll on what could potentially be the most amazing job ever.
Since I first discovered writing and men I have wanted to write for Cosmo magazine. I don’t know what it is about the male species, but for some reason when they are the topic I can write essays. So imagine the excitement, jumping up and down and general astonishment when I received a phone call from Cosmo offering me a month’s work experience with them starting this week…and then imagine the heart-break and anguish when I had to refuse the offer.
My general lack of intelligence had just blown a pretty huge opportunity and no amount of male experiences or ability to write was going to change that.
I had always thought honesty was easy, in male terms good guys are honest and bad ones get caught cheating. But when it comes to being honest with yourself it’s a whole other ball game. Your self esteem will instantly plummet; you’ll get sick of ‘encouraging’ comments and really wish you could re-write the past.
Sadly re-writing the past is a slight impossibility and no amount of chocolate will make it better. Besides you will just end up fat and let’s face it, no one wants to be a fat ugly journalist.
So it seems the dream job will have to hang on for a few months, while something a bit more important takes priority.
At this rate I will be paying somebody to write this essay for me, the real reason for having to turn Cosmo down, before anyone gets ideas about my unnamed love child…which by the way will either be called Hitler or Chardonnay.
Love rules
I never thought of myself as old fashioned, but in light of recent events I’m beginning to think my views on relationships are not only unrealistic, they’re also about as modern as bed pans.
Imagine this situation; you meet a guy 8 months ago, the pair of you go away for your birthday (which your parents pay for) and on this vacation he proposes and you say yes.
Now, is this romantic or is this sheer madness?
Perhaps if you had been living with your ‘now titled fiancé’ this may be easier to justify, similarly if you had been dating him for over 18 months that may be ok too. But if you were both living at your parents’ home, your parents had never met and your history of men and relationships wasn’t 100% faithful, would you think this was a tad daft?
This is where captain sensible comes in. I think this is nuts.
I have two friends who did get married early this year and they are the most loved up goons you’ll ever meet. They met at uni three years ago, the pair were inseparable-and if their sex noises were anything to go by-they will be happy for a long time to come.
If you love someone and want to spend the rest of your life with them, then do it. If you’re not 100% sure then don’t. It’s as simple as ABC.
Besides, you don’t want the guilt of increasing the population of children that were created due to the reply, ‘well I guess we should sleep together this year.’
Find a guy, date him, meet his parents, move in together, get married, have babies, spend the rest of your lives together and die happy.
Why should a girl have to settle for less?
Imagine this situation; you meet a guy 8 months ago, the pair of you go away for your birthday (which your parents pay for) and on this vacation he proposes and you say yes.
Now, is this romantic or is this sheer madness?
Perhaps if you had been living with your ‘now titled fiancé’ this may be easier to justify, similarly if you had been dating him for over 18 months that may be ok too. But if you were both living at your parents’ home, your parents had never met and your history of men and relationships wasn’t 100% faithful, would you think this was a tad daft?
This is where captain sensible comes in. I think this is nuts.
I have two friends who did get married early this year and they are the most loved up goons you’ll ever meet. They met at uni three years ago, the pair were inseparable-and if their sex noises were anything to go by-they will be happy for a long time to come.
If you love someone and want to spend the rest of your life with them, then do it. If you’re not 100% sure then don’t. It’s as simple as ABC.
Besides, you don’t want the guilt of increasing the population of children that were created due to the reply, ‘well I guess we should sleep together this year.’
Find a guy, date him, meet his parents, move in together, get married, have babies, spend the rest of your lives together and die happy.
Why should a girl have to settle for less?
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
A little trip north
They say that home is where the heart is and well if that is the case, I should have two hearts.
I’ve always lived in Surrey and apart from three amazing years at Chester University the south has always been my home. This forms the basis of my little adventure down memory lane and with a few new experiences thrown in, will be one holiday I won’t forget in a hurry.
Fresher’s week at uni is every students dream and every graduate’s nightmare, so if you are neither student nor graduate this week is a free pass to party and re-live those university years. This is precisely what two of my ex-housemates and I did last Wednesday.
After packing bags, shoes and student friendly outfits I headed to Oxford, the first destination and homeland of the designated driver Becky. As tales of woe go this one was a good start to what was guaranteed to be four days of politely put hell. My car had broken down so I had to take the train to Oxford, been sent in totally the wrong direction by a bearded member of national rail, scuffed my new boots, engrossed myself in a copy of ‘Reveal’ and three hours later I was standing outside Oxford station in the pouring rain. A journey that was meant to take just under an hour had in fact tripled.
However, the sight of Becky in her BMW (and who said money was an object) was enough to lift my spirits and put us back on the road in the direction of the M6 and off to Chester.
We had decided to make a slight de-tour once we got north and headed to Shrewsbury to pick up Amy. Not only did this allow us quality girly time, but it also meant we could get ready in a clean and safe environment. This was something we knew that Simon (our beloved friend and now master student aka our hotel manager for the next few days) was less likely to give us.
Once we were scrubbed, straightened and on the way to CH1 we started to debate on just how cool we really were. Were we too old to be having our forth freshers week or should we be making the most of it, kissing every child in sight and having lots of unprotected sex?
The first night out (Wednesday) was to the new student destination D and E. To the students it’s called Destiny and Elite and to the locals it’s called Desperate and Easy, glad to see that the folk of Chester haven’t lost their classiness. This was great, hours queuing to get served, sweaty children and more VK’s than water. It wasn’t Brannies by a long shot, but it wasn’t far off.
We then bundled on a vomit coated bus and headed to back to Simons and bed. Now it is important to remember that we were not the only friends crashing at Simons, we were the only girls, but with a ratio of two men to women how bad could it really be? This is the point where I hold me head up high and smile at the thought of the other five squished into a bed and myself on the floor and slumming it as any student should. Bed sharing is something I’ve never enjoyed doing and this is no secret.
So our first night had been completed, we were feeling a little worse for wear, but our hearts and minds were strong and our urge for Pizza Hut buffet was to unite us all.
There is something magical about Pizza Hut buffet, every time I think of it I instantly think of Thursday mornings, scrolling through the previous nights photos, embarrassing stories and hiding from your previous conquests on the table opposite you. In short Pizza Hut hadn’t change, but we definitely had.
With our bellies full we headed back to Castle de Clague for hangover catch ups and to start making plans for another fun-filled night. Either way, the plans must have been slightly tainted because by 12:30 am on Friday morning we were back in our beds and snoring. Turns out all this ‘trying’ to be students is harder than it looks, thankfully this time us girlies had found a empty room complete with bed to sleep in. This meant the added bonus of no more floor to sleep on and the disadvantage of spooning with Becky and Amy.
Now, I hate moaning and really can’t stand people who do. But as with many contradictory things here goes nothing. Feminism should be made illegal, bed sharing should be made illegal and last but not least duvet hogging should be made illegal.
Allegedly I hog the duvet, kick in my sleep, continuously move and am probably not far off talking/ singing/ reciting Chaucer too. Yes, I am hell to share a bed with and it was due to this reason that I spent Thursday/ Friday night sleeping on the floor.
So after another interesting night sleep we waved Amy off and set about making plans for our final day in Chester. Top of the list was to have lunch with Kate, who had been my accomplice since we met on our English and Journalism course back September 2007.
Once Becky and I had dragged ourselves out of bed (see what I mean about contradictory) we ventured down to the Bouv. The Bouv is the shrine for second and third years. First years don’t really know about it and by third year you have memorized the menu, well maybe not everyone but certainly the members of 6 West Lorne 2009. After the worlds largest Toad in the Hole we decided to do the first of two things we had never done at uni before. Go to Ikea.
Ikea, it’s Swedish, it’s cheap and it can instantly lift any mood. More effective than alcohol and you get a free pencil, what more could you want? So the four of us Becky, Kate, Matt (poor innocent victim and friend of ours and Simons) and I pilled into Beckys black-mobile and headed west.
I am still unsure why this vast blue and yellow shop has so much mood control, but what I can say is that Matt bought an entire new room and Kate and I bought two matching cuddly rabbits.
Yes, Ikea is Toy R Us for adults. A few hours later Becky, Matt, Kate, myself and our two aptly named bunnies Rodger and Henry set sail back to Chester and our final night out.
As with any few days away/ holiday/ well earned time out, it would be rude not to end things with a bang. So for our last night we trekked it down to Chester SU, our own little SU and the one place where you could do pretty much anything and get away with it.
Due to it being the last night of freshers we (Simon, Becky and I) were prepared to queue and had accepted that we were not going to be getting inside in any hurry. This only added to the moment and surrounded by people from our year who had also come back to taste the glory, we laughed, talked and caught up on the four months that had past by. We were like celebrities in our own world, we knew where we were, we knew everyone and nothing could ruin our night.
Not even the moaning freshers demanding that our queue-pushing friends get to the back of the line could wipe the smiles off our faces. We were home.
The SU may have had a new lick of paint and may have bought up half of Ikea, but the same cheeky bar staff still strutted the counter, the floor still stick to our shoes and the DJ still sucked. It had finally paid off to know the men in high places and it left me itching to text and say thanks, followed by one seriously over due kiss.
I guess the fact that I fell/was pushed down the concrete stairs outside the SU, cracked my head open and woke up in hospital was probably a good thing. It certainly saved me a lot of phone credit that night.
All in all that last day we had managed the two things we had never done throughout our university experience, go to Ikea and go to A and E. Neither are really things to shout about, but both add to the beauty of our first trip back to Chester.
The drive back was so painful there are no words to sum it up and no matter how many ‘head banger’ nicknames get revealed I will always owe a huge amount to Becky. So here you go Becs, your own mention in my crazy little blog of wonder…thank you. It’s not easy to stick by someone when the are an uber pain in the arse or when they hog the duvet, but Miss Connell out did herself that night. She is a star in our tiny little world and a true friend.
So that brings me to the end of our little adventure back to Chester and I have probably missed loads out. The next step is to upload all the photos and see how much of a state we all really were. I had a fantastic time and will definitely move back to Chester one day.
I’ve always lived in Surrey and apart from three amazing years at Chester University the south has always been my home. This forms the basis of my little adventure down memory lane and with a few new experiences thrown in, will be one holiday I won’t forget in a hurry.
Fresher’s week at uni is every students dream and every graduate’s nightmare, so if you are neither student nor graduate this week is a free pass to party and re-live those university years. This is precisely what two of my ex-housemates and I did last Wednesday.
After packing bags, shoes and student friendly outfits I headed to Oxford, the first destination and homeland of the designated driver Becky. As tales of woe go this one was a good start to what was guaranteed to be four days of politely put hell. My car had broken down so I had to take the train to Oxford, been sent in totally the wrong direction by a bearded member of national rail, scuffed my new boots, engrossed myself in a copy of ‘Reveal’ and three hours later I was standing outside Oxford station in the pouring rain. A journey that was meant to take just under an hour had in fact tripled.
However, the sight of Becky in her BMW (and who said money was an object) was enough to lift my spirits and put us back on the road in the direction of the M6 and off to Chester.
We had decided to make a slight de-tour once we got north and headed to Shrewsbury to pick up Amy. Not only did this allow us quality girly time, but it also meant we could get ready in a clean and safe environment. This was something we knew that Simon (our beloved friend and now master student aka our hotel manager for the next few days) was less likely to give us.
Once we were scrubbed, straightened and on the way to CH1 we started to debate on just how cool we really were. Were we too old to be having our forth freshers week or should we be making the most of it, kissing every child in sight and having lots of unprotected sex?
The first night out (Wednesday) was to the new student destination D and E. To the students it’s called Destiny and Elite and to the locals it’s called Desperate and Easy, glad to see that the folk of Chester haven’t lost their classiness. This was great, hours queuing to get served, sweaty children and more VK’s than water. It wasn’t Brannies by a long shot, but it wasn’t far off.
We then bundled on a vomit coated bus and headed to back to Simons and bed. Now it is important to remember that we were not the only friends crashing at Simons, we were the only girls, but with a ratio of two men to women how bad could it really be? This is the point where I hold me head up high and smile at the thought of the other five squished into a bed and myself on the floor and slumming it as any student should. Bed sharing is something I’ve never enjoyed doing and this is no secret.
So our first night had been completed, we were feeling a little worse for wear, but our hearts and minds were strong and our urge for Pizza Hut buffet was to unite us all.
There is something magical about Pizza Hut buffet, every time I think of it I instantly think of Thursday mornings, scrolling through the previous nights photos, embarrassing stories and hiding from your previous conquests on the table opposite you. In short Pizza Hut hadn’t change, but we definitely had.
With our bellies full we headed back to Castle de Clague for hangover catch ups and to start making plans for another fun-filled night. Either way, the plans must have been slightly tainted because by 12:30 am on Friday morning we were back in our beds and snoring. Turns out all this ‘trying’ to be students is harder than it looks, thankfully this time us girlies had found a empty room complete with bed to sleep in. This meant the added bonus of no more floor to sleep on and the disadvantage of spooning with Becky and Amy.
Now, I hate moaning and really can’t stand people who do. But as with many contradictory things here goes nothing. Feminism should be made illegal, bed sharing should be made illegal and last but not least duvet hogging should be made illegal.
Allegedly I hog the duvet, kick in my sleep, continuously move and am probably not far off talking/ singing/ reciting Chaucer too. Yes, I am hell to share a bed with and it was due to this reason that I spent Thursday/ Friday night sleeping on the floor.
So after another interesting night sleep we waved Amy off and set about making plans for our final day in Chester. Top of the list was to have lunch with Kate, who had been my accomplice since we met on our English and Journalism course back September 2007.
Once Becky and I had dragged ourselves out of bed (see what I mean about contradictory) we ventured down to the Bouv. The Bouv is the shrine for second and third years. First years don’t really know about it and by third year you have memorized the menu, well maybe not everyone but certainly the members of 6 West Lorne 2009. After the worlds largest Toad in the Hole we decided to do the first of two things we had never done at uni before. Go to Ikea.
Ikea, it’s Swedish, it’s cheap and it can instantly lift any mood. More effective than alcohol and you get a free pencil, what more could you want? So the four of us Becky, Kate, Matt (poor innocent victim and friend of ours and Simons) and I pilled into Beckys black-mobile and headed west.
I am still unsure why this vast blue and yellow shop has so much mood control, but what I can say is that Matt bought an entire new room and Kate and I bought two matching cuddly rabbits.
Yes, Ikea is Toy R Us for adults. A few hours later Becky, Matt, Kate, myself and our two aptly named bunnies Rodger and Henry set sail back to Chester and our final night out.
As with any few days away/ holiday/ well earned time out, it would be rude not to end things with a bang. So for our last night we trekked it down to Chester SU, our own little SU and the one place where you could do pretty much anything and get away with it.
Due to it being the last night of freshers we (Simon, Becky and I) were prepared to queue and had accepted that we were not going to be getting inside in any hurry. This only added to the moment and surrounded by people from our year who had also come back to taste the glory, we laughed, talked and caught up on the four months that had past by. We were like celebrities in our own world, we knew where we were, we knew everyone and nothing could ruin our night.
Not even the moaning freshers demanding that our queue-pushing friends get to the back of the line could wipe the smiles off our faces. We were home.
The SU may have had a new lick of paint and may have bought up half of Ikea, but the same cheeky bar staff still strutted the counter, the floor still stick to our shoes and the DJ still sucked. It had finally paid off to know the men in high places and it left me itching to text and say thanks, followed by one seriously over due kiss.
I guess the fact that I fell/was pushed down the concrete stairs outside the SU, cracked my head open and woke up in hospital was probably a good thing. It certainly saved me a lot of phone credit that night.
All in all that last day we had managed the two things we had never done throughout our university experience, go to Ikea and go to A and E. Neither are really things to shout about, but both add to the beauty of our first trip back to Chester.
The drive back was so painful there are no words to sum it up and no matter how many ‘head banger’ nicknames get revealed I will always owe a huge amount to Becky. So here you go Becs, your own mention in my crazy little blog of wonder…thank you. It’s not easy to stick by someone when the are an uber pain in the arse or when they hog the duvet, but Miss Connell out did herself that night. She is a star in our tiny little world and a true friend.
So that brings me to the end of our little adventure back to Chester and I have probably missed loads out. The next step is to upload all the photos and see how much of a state we all really were. I had a fantastic time and will definitely move back to Chester one day.
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