A Snippet of Life

'How long will it take us to get to York from Liverpool' 'ah only 2 hours you'll have ages before your connection' was the conversation that I had with my friend before boarding the train in Liverpool lime street. Little did we know how disastrous one journey could be... Upon entering the station, I recieved a text from my friend who was leaving York to go home for the weekend, warning me that there are issues at Huddersfield so I may want to check that my train is running as it takes that route. I walked in and didn't even dare to look up at the screen, but my friend had and informed me of the first bad news, our train had been cancelled. After our initial sigh and thoughts of 'just our bloody luck' we seeked out a helpful train worker who informed us that the best thing to do would be to head to Manchester and get a train from there. Perfect, no problem at all, so we headed to platform 1, eagerly awaiting our replacement journey.  As more and m

  So I have tried something different in this post and I came up with the idea when struggling to focus on some Uni work and listening to loud music – a true procrastination invention. I often dance, I love to dance and especially when I have had some form of alcoholic beverage in my system but also when completely sober. I mean who doesn't have a little jig whilst getting ready in the morning?! Or any time of day really, whilst hoovering, washing up... in fact there is never a time when it is not acceptable. So the following piece has been inspired by me blasting Mark Morrison 'Return Of The Mack' into my eardrums and simply just writing. While writing I am imaging me dancing both drunk and sober, how it looks in my eyes and how it most probably looks to everybody else. I have morphed these thoughts into a drunken scenario in a club, just so that it had some kind of structure.   Hips flowing I strut into the club, body roll to the bar and shimmy in to get served firs

  Having absolutely nailed the three hour journey up the A1 towards THE NORTH, myself and my amazing driver and lovely friend, Kerrie, arrived in York. Obviously, it being a Saturday night, we got glammed up and straight to the bottle. Being (semi) responsible, we ensured that our stomachs were sufficiently lined and headed to Pizza Express. The meal I chose was (from memory) my usual, remembering that it contained a bit of spice, but nowhere near to the extent that I experienced on this occasion. After about ten minutes of trying, the waitress noticed my streaming eyes and the fact that I really couldn't handle the heat (!) so she came back laughing and armed with a large glass of milk. As the evening proceeded and the wine consumption increased, my singing got louder and I found myself, my friend and after a little while the whole restaurant practically, singing Beach Boys 'Good Vibrations'! We then went on to a cocktail bar whereby you are given a book to choose from, so

   After a long, beautiful yet mountainous and scary journey from one end of the island to the other, passing many a goat and crazy local driver along the way, we arrived in our perfect villa and dived straight into the infinity pool. Not a man-made thing in sight and the nearest big town was a twenty minute drive and even that was more the size of a village in England. It was called Fiscardo, to which I mistook when retelling Mum about the annoyance of my sister's lavender obsession, whereby she covered the pillow with the stuff, a right Fiscardo (of course I meant Fiasco).    As the week proceeded, we intended on doing something each day which included swimming in the see-through ocean and laughing at my sister's fear of seaweed; driving over (and I really do mean OVER) a mountain in order to get to some beautiful caves and stunning Myrtos Bay- taking each hairpin bend with great care and total terror, a sheer drop either side; attempting a BBQ, failing and then not realisi

  I must admit, I did have to scroll through my posts to make sure I had not written on this topic before, or at least for a while because it is a big bug bear of mine. I recently travelled to Scarborough from Ely (a good 3 hour trip) and during the journey I really felt somebody up there was not on my side. I was, and always am, placed near or next to the most irritating human beings to roam this planet, I mean they give you the option to choose the positioning of your seat, but I would much prefer the choice of type of people that you will be sitting near.   The first encounter of stupid people that I came across was from a woman who defined 'mutton dressed as lamb' with the shortest mini skirt on, tattoos up her legs, knickers on show and greasy hair, shouting at the top of her lungs whilst on the phone to her husband, how cramped the train was and bragging about the fight that she almost go in earlier that day - lovely!   My attention then turned to a blonde lady, this

  Technology, something in this day and age which quite frankly you cannot escape! I was urged to write about this just this morning when it came to my attention that I was checking the weather forecast in order to decipher my outfit for the day... on my phone. There I was getting more and more frustrated at my iPhone 5 because it was being sluggishly slow, when it occurred to me - I live in a house, which is right next door to the outdoors, which is where weather happens, therefore it tells me that very instant whether it is raining or dry. With the flick of a curtain I found out, despite the fact that my phone was still stuck on Sunday's forecast, that it was a drizzly morning but warm, so cropped trousers would be sufficient!   With all elaboration aside, technology really has made us act in a stupid manner. We hold our phones as if they are the equivalent to a life support machine needed to keep us alive and if we dropped them we would instantly die. This is extremely appar

  It seems kind of strange topic to choose to write a post about... writing, too much of the same word. However, I have always promised the readers of my blog that I shall write about whatever pops into my head, and this promise I shall keep. Over the past week it really has struck me how much I love what I do. First week back at university and yes, doing a course which is eighty percent about writing, it seems pretty appropriate to be partaking in a lot of it, but each day I have spent mostly doing the above...   Not only for my course is this, I have written letters, blogs, a review for my Granddad (reviewing the adorable book he wrote about his entire life; and by this I mean, start to finish dates and all), part of a website page for a charity which I volunteer for and various other things. It has made me think that you really can get so much pleasure out of writing a good piece, it is relaxing and takes you into a different zone, aside from the hustle and bustle of every day lif

  This post is largely inspired by a scenario I found myself in on the way back from Uni the other day. I was walking along on a sunny day, jolly as I had finished for a few days- this is university we are talking about...one days work is enough! I found myself walking behind an extremely angry woman, grown 'mature' woman I would like to emphasize, pacing along behind her son/ boyfriend/ father- I could not tell. She was literally screaming at him at the top of her voice, shouting about him having no gratitude, and she was absolutely fed up of him taking her for granted- myself along with the entire population of York are now probably accustomed to this knowledge, it was that LOUD. There was me, trying my utmost not to as much as 'smerk' in fear of getting a swing of her hand bag around the back of my head, I could picture it, so I simply let her get on with her pointless shouting and got on with my day. I found it quite amusing once I had gotten out of the way of her

So, the festive time of year has been and gone and it doesn't take an observational person to state what a ridiculously crazy period it is, needlessly mad. People rush until they fall over, stressing over who is coming, how many people they are feeding, who they are buying for and what to get, food, how much veg, how big a Turkey, get into town after hours of waiting to find no parking, and streets filled with stress heads, crashing into one another. Then the day has gone. All that stress for one day. Boxing day is here before you know it, a day filled with more drink without the stress, because dinner consists of left overs bundled together on a plate and somehow tastes more delicious than the hard preparation that went into day before. The following four days are considered the ultimate LUL period, where everyone is pooped, either sleeping or eating, prepping for the next burst of alcohol inflicted foolishness- NEW YEARS EVE!!    The drinks are replenished in fridges, unwante