You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December 2008.
Well, Kiwi’s present to me was a complete surprise – I would never have guessed what he could possibly have bought me (he wasn’t supposed to get me anything, he acted all sneaky-like). I’d not dropped any hints – my Christmas list was short and sweet; a camera, a filofax and money. I was given the filofax I’ve been dreaming about by my work friends as a leaving gift, the camera is ridiculously expensive and I’d find it a bit odd to receive money as a gift from Kiwi, it wouldn’t feel right. He bought me the one thing I can never have too many of and I feel starved of at the moment as I’m having to get rid of the ones I own already to lighten my luggage… I’m talking about SHOES!!! I LOVE shoes. Handbags for feet – they make or break an outfit. More specifically, Kiwi sneaked me some sneakers – these sneakers. The man knows what the lady loves, and it ain’t a cheesy box of chocolates. Other than my new sneakers, Christmas brought a Scottish themed book and calendar, as souvenirs from my parents and a pretty little passport cover with a beach theme design. This Christmas has reinforced the feeling that I am one half of a whole now, as Kiwi and I received joint gifts and cards addressed to both of us. That was definitely the best bit – I like to think that it’s made Kiwi feel at home with my family too; they all think he’s the cat’s pyjamas, perhaps moreso because he’s taking me away from them and they can’t wait for the peace and quiet (I’m only half joking here). I’m really looking forward to meeting Kiwi’s family now, not least because they’ll been surrogate family members whilst mine are thousands of miles away. Let’s just hope they approve of Kiwi’s choice of girlfriend, because it’ll be pretty difficult to send me back…
For the past week I’ve been overindulging in food, wine, coffee and lazing around. I’ve been for a few walks with my mum into the woodlands surrounding my parent’s house, but I haven’t burned nearly enough energy to compensate for the past six days of pure greed. It’s the calm before the storm; although I feel over-relaxed and I’m bored of watching TV in the horizontal position (or any position), I know have a month of travelling around, meeting people and generally doing and seeing everything possible ahead so I need to take advantage of my home comforts and time to myself. I’m slipping into anti-social mode though so it’s just as well that we’re leaving on New Year’s Day or I think I’d turn into a hermit.
I do miss Newcastle though – I miss my friends, I miss the proximity to the city and everything that’s going on in it and I miss the idea of going to work. It sounds crazy but I love where I worked – every one has a good laugh together, we all love working with each other and to me it was like working with the people who I’d choose to spend my spare time with – they are true friends, not just colleagues. They felt like family and I miss them all already. If any of you is reading this, which I know you do, then you’re obviously not working so stop wasting your time on here and send me an email with the latest craic! Much love xx
And so it came about, we left Newcastle just yesterday and already it seems a distant memory. It was a really lovely goodbye as our friends came to see us off. There were tears, but they weren’t mine – I still don’t quite believe it’s all real and permanent, so although I know I should be sad, I’m not. I’m not anything – excited/happy/nervous. I think it’ll all sink in once I’m there, which is probably a good thing as by then it’ll be too late to change my mind from last minute jitters.
For now Kiwi and I are officially nomadic – homeless, jobless and travelling wherever the wind takes us (well, the wind and any tickets we have pre-booked to pre-planned destinations). Currently we’re staying in the lap of luxury in the Woodlands of Durris, also known as the back of beyond, in Scottishland, UK. My parents live in the middle of nowhere at the foot of the Cairngorm mountains. The ‘corner’ shop is six miles down the road, mobile phone signal is non existent and there are no street lights, or houses it seems anywhere near. This is where we’ll stay until New Year’s Day, enjoying a family Christmas, just me and Kiwi, Mum and Dad.
The cupboards here are lavishly stocked, which makes a nice change from our usual state of affairs; being on a food budget makes you really appreciate having a fridge and larder complete with selection on selection of tastilicious good stuff to pick at – not to mention a drinks cabinet and wine rack. It’s nice to be in a house in which we can sit around in a t-shirt and feel comfortable, not wrapped up in four layers of clothing able to see our breath even under the duvet, because the house has double glazing, climate control and underfloor heating. Plus, where we’ve been used to sharing one toilet between four of us, we now have one each so no more crossing my legs outside the bathroom waiting for someone to finish showering (at least for the next week).
The Christmas tree I’ve been waxing lyrical about is even better than I remember, with new ornaments to play with. Within five minutes of arriving, I’d already hunted down the tree and felt up the presents labelled to me. I’m none the wiser to what I’m getting on Christmas day, but I do know that I have a box of guilt wrapped up under it. Kiwi and I said we wouldn’t get each other presents and so I haven’t bought him anything, but lo and behold I found something from him to me, so there you have it, I’ll have my turkey served with the knowledge that I am a crappy girlfriend. Merry Guiltmas.
Everyone I talk to asks the inevitable question – are you excited/sad to be leaving? Right now, I just don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m walking through my life in a daze; I talk about moving, setting up as a freelancer, finding a place to live, looking at maybe moving on to Australia if New Zealand doesn’t feel quite right, but it all feels like make-believe. I feel like I did when I was 12, talking about big dreams and playing ‘let’s pretend’. Other times I feel really stressed out by the smallest things and my head feels like it’s going to explode, I have panick attacks, I feel like I’m going to burst into tears or scream at someone. Either way, dazed or distressed, I am my own worst nightmare. I’m indecisive, fickle, confused, sleepless, tired… I wouldn’t want to be around me if it wasn’t for the small problem that I am me.
But my mood swings don’t seem to stem from actually going to New Zealand – it’s the idea of getting there that’s looming on me. I’m anticipating the panic attacks that are seemingly inevitable whilst taking the tube from central London to Heathrow Airport. I’m actually more scared of a one hour train journey than I am of emigrating. That and the fact that I’m scared of flying, so for the lift off, touch down and any turbulence inbetween, I’ll be a blubbering mess – holding onto Brandon as though each moment is our last and sobbing into his sleeve. I feel like for the two day journey between London and Wellington, I’ll be holding my breath, squeezing my eyes tight shut and holding my shoulders up by my ears, just waiting until we get to our destination to let it all out in one big cry of relief.
I just want to get going and get settled in, so I can go back to being a not-so-crazy lady…
I’ve only got two weeks left in Newcastle and I’m having trouble trying to arrange seeing all the people I would like to say my goodbyes to. So far I have arranged a night out with my best friends this Friday, my official work leaving do (conveniently combined with the Christmas party) next Thursday, another evening out with work friends and clients next Friday, and then a coffee here and there with any stragglers who can’t make those nights out. Kiwi and I are spending just over a week with my parents, plenty of time to say our goodbyes there, then when we get to London in the New Year, I’ve got to say goodbye to even more people all over again. Family and old friends from home and school; I’ve arranged a night out in London where we can all meet up.
I’ll run home to bed before I turn into a turnip – much like a modern
day Cinderella (except she manages to stay out until midnight)
I feel under pressure to make all these occasions something to remember. I’m the reason everyone is coming together, so I have to be on top form, and if there aren’t wild and crazy antics and laugh-a-minute memories, then the onus is on me. I just want to enjoy myself, but I’ll be too worried everyone else isn’t enjoying themselves. I have to admit I’m the kind of girl that has about a 4 hour limit on nights out – I’ve got 4 hours at most then I’ll run home to bed before I turn into a turnip – much like a modern day Cinderella (except she manages to stay out until midnight). Take your typical Friday night out; starts with drinks in the pub, maybe move onto a bar, go somewhere for a bite to eat, go to another bar/s, then a club, a trip to a kebab-house then finally bed at around 3am… I can only manage a few drinks then food before I scuttle home for a 9pm cup of tea, tucked up under the duvet. Or I can go out a little later for drinks and again run home before 11:30pm. Or, finally, I can leave the house at 11:30pm, go to a club and hit the sack around 3am – but usually because I’ve managed to nap beforehand. I am a slave to sleep and as I don’t drink very much, I don’t have the warm happy drinking feeling which makes me forget time and just go with the flow.
So, this is something I need to sort out, NOW. I am aware that in Kiwiland, they are all crazy-drinking-party-going-late-night-ravers, and I have a boyfriend who is the same when he gets together with his friends, plus I have to admit I have always wanted to be a crazy-party-going-late-night-raver. Consider me a girl in training… I both can’t disappoint on my celebratory goodbye nights and I have to get over my inbuilt attachment to my bed. There is a time to sleep, and that’s when you’re dead. Live fast, die young… and other such sayings which make me feel like I’m old before my time. But then again, I do have my drinking problem to consider. I HATE being too drunk, I only drink up to a certain point – that ‘happy’ point, but not quite the point where you find yourself hovering over the toilet, holding onto the walls when you need to pee, trying to direct your bum toward the toilet seat whilst not falling forwards and whacking your forehead on the toilet door… Or the point where you can’t lie down when you get into bed because the room just won’t stop spinning, and your boyfriend has to feed you half a loaf of bread just to stop you seeing double… We’ve all been there, haven’t we?
get roaringly off my face, end up crying in a corner, stuffing my face
with doner meat and garlic sauce, before stumbling into the nearest
gutter and curling up til morn’
But when you stop drinking, you just plateau. You start to feel sleepy, very sleepy, and everyone else just seems more and more obnoxious; there’s only so many sad drunks, angry drunks, horny drunks and think-they’re-hilariously-funny drunks that one person can almost-soberly put up with. So; to drink, or not to drink? And just how much is enough? I need an intranvenous drip with which to slowly pump vodka and coke into my system, keeping me just tipsy enough, but not too much for my uptight conscience. Oh to be like most other 24 year olds and throw my tits to the wind every friday and just get roaringly off my face, end up crying in a corner, stuffing my face with doner meat and garlic sauce, before stumbling into the nearest gutter and curling up til morn’…
So – Jo came and saw and conquered what she calls ‘Geordieland’ and I relived some of my favourite places, appreciating them all anew through seeing them from someone else’s perspective.
First stop was a trip to Tynemouth on the Me’Ro, (Newcastle’s answer to the London underground – although it is both underground and overground – and as Jo pointed out, ‘wombling free…’) We strolled along Tynemouth Longsands beach, marvelling at just how many insane people there were in the sea when the temperature was -4C outside… There was ice on the sand. ICE on SAND, and still there were tens of people bobbing around in the North Sea with their surfboards, wearing rubber suits. They looked like gimps – which is fitting considering they were effectively putting themselves through the pain of ice cold sea water, for pleasure kicks. Once our faces were completely numb with the biting wind, we headed to Marshall’s, Tynemouth’s so-called ‘Fryery by the Priory’ – a fish and chip cafe – to thaw out with some hot food. Marshall’s is known for its popularity and consequential long queues for both the sit-down cafe and their adjacent takeaway corridor, so even though it was only 11:30am and it had just opened, we only just managed to grab the last vacant table. Half an hour and a substantial amount of chips, fish, batter and mushy peas later, we staggered out feeling both great and greasy, ready for some shopping.
We headed for what I think of as the jewel of Tynemouth, and a place I knew that Jo (or any girl with an eye for sparkles and trinkets) would love – Razzberry Bazaar. A little shop in which you can’t see the ceiling, walls, floor or in front of your nose for stuff, Jewellery, dream catchers, wind chimes, ornaments, ceramics, clothing, bags, scarves, hats, faux flowers, soft toys, more jewellery, mirrors, candles, incense, shiny things, sparkly things; the shop is colour coded so that you find all red things together, all yellow things and pink things together, like a veritable shop rainbow. Unfortunately for Razzberry Bazaar, I get too excited by too many things all in one go and my head just implodes so I come out having bought nothing. Our second shopping stop was The Land of Green Ginger. I am not making this up. The Land of Green Ginger is a church which has been turned into a shopping mall – it houses some wholesome shoe and bag shops, handmade craft stalls, a coffee shop, and a surprising and not so Godly tattoo parlour. Lastly, on our way out of Tynemouth and back into the Toon, we had a peruse of Tynemouth Market, a market which takes place all weekend, every weekend, full of antique stalls, jewellery stalls, bric-a-brac, books and general crap stalls. I bought myself a bracelet. I’m intent on buying a piece of jewellery for every place I’ve been from this point onwards – in fact it started in Barcelona where I bought an amber, Gaudi-inspired ring; I also bought two shell bracelets from Ibiza which I haven’t removed from my wrist since purchasing them; I have a ring from Newcastle Quayside market and now a bracelet from Tynemouth. I’d like to find something when I’m in the Cairngorms over Christmas, and London over New Year. Then it’s time for something from every place on my travels… I’m going to need a bigger jewellery box.
I digress. Back to Jo’s Geordieland adventures! Back in the Toon, I showed her Fenwick’s window; took her for coffee in my new favourite place, Coffee Trader; we went shopping in Primarni where I picked up a top, jumper dress, two cardigans, slipper socks and a pair of jeans – all of which I just don’t need but when they collectively cost the same as one item from any high street store, it would be rude not to.
The night time plans to go out for dinner were scuppered by the gigantic Marshall’s lunch still weighing on our stomachs, so we went for a light bite at the Salsa Club (where, misleadingly, no salsa takes place). We all had nachos. I recommend their nachos, I just couldn’t get enough of them and was miffed to be sharing my plate with Kiwi. I don’t enjoy sharing food, I’m just too selfish and food-obsessed for it to be enjoyable for anyone involved. The rest of the night involved tipples in Long Bar, Buffalo Joes and Quilted Camel, before Kiwi retired and Jo and I carried on alone to Blu Bambu. As always, Blu Bambu didn’t disappoint. The experience was almost holy for me – I do feel spiritual at times when the anthems are playing, and I even requested Daft Punk, One More Time and the DJ obliged me – I can’t express the love I feel for that it and I know it’s not somewhere that I’ll find replicated in New Zealand. There’s only one place for the climatic cheese that is Blu Bambu, and that’s Bigg Market. I’ll miss it.
Sadly, the weekend had to come to an end. Even more sadly, Jo visiting me in Geordieland is not an event that will likely happen again… but never say never.
He said, then she said...