Interrailing (Day 2)

Apart from being woken up at 5am when the two English girls came back steaming drunk fairly quietly, Em and I slept soundly until the morning. We said goodbye to the two Israeli guys who were moving along to their next destination but not before having a heated discussion about the best starter Pokemon. (bulbasaur obviously.) Then we went out to explore the area around our hostel and to find the nearest shop. The nearest shop turned out to be a Netto...

..After fleeing from the nearby Netto, it was time for sightseeing. Optimistically, we decided on walking to Berlin's city centre. Although strenuous, the walk turned out to be fruitful as we meandered through the Tiergarten and technology area whilst also seeing the Reichstag and Brandenberg Gate. At the Brandenberg Gate upon recommendation from Em's dad we bought a currywurst each and this powderful deliciousness definitely replenished our energy.

Currywursts devoured, we queued in an irritatingly short line for an irritatingly long time to book a free visit to the top of the Reichstag, only to found out that it was just the terrace open as the famous dome was being cleaned for A WHOLE WEEK. (Honestly, I could have done the job with some Dettol wipes in a day.) But anyway, we booked to go later that day so set off on our favourite method of transport across the city to see the last remains of the Berlin Wall.

The contrast between the two areas of Berlin was immediately noticeable as we left the gleaming office buildings and bustle behind. I'm not suggesting that the eastern bit was the slums or anything, it just felt different. We sat down on some grass next to the wall and river and enjoyed being serenaded by a horse-headed guitarist playing ACDC (yes this did happen, no we weren't stoned). But speaking of stoned, our neighbours on the patch of grass were a bunch of teenage boys who we watched try and roll a joint for a good half an hour. We then stumbled across a sign for a beach bar called Yaam and thought we'd have a look. Feeling sand under our feet, listening to some reggae and smelling A LOT of weed, we wandered through the open-air bar reflecting on the pleasantry of this drug-themed hour of our day.

We passed the time waiting for our Reichstag visit by getting utterly lost back at our hostel (an old nunnery) and marvelling at the stamina of German nuns. Realising we had no food for the next day, Em and I begrudgingly dragged our feet to Netto with the self-justification that carrying the shopping back in M&S bags meant that it didn't really count. For dinner that night, we somehow managed to find a kitchen we'd barged into earlier and microwaved our Uncle Ben's rice. Much to the confusion and disgust of two German girls who were cooking fresh pasta and sauce, we ate straight out of the bags. But their looks of pity soon turned to envy as we threw away our packets and left, leaving them to wash up their pans and plates.

We took a train (surprising I know) back to the Reichstag and since we were early, settled down on a bench in a square by the Brandenburg Gate and some fountains. It was early evening by then and much of the bustle of the day had ended as we soaked up the warm evening and mellow tunes of a nearby saxophonist. This probably doesn't sound special but for me it was pretty darn BOSS, just lying there people-watching. NB: when Em and I say people-watching, we mean people-judging.

The Reichstag itself had full on airport security and we made it through, chatting to a nice guy from Orlando. Up on the terrace, we looked at the beautiful panoramic views of Berlin and the horrible view of bad German male haircuts. The leafy Tiergarten looked out of place in the concrete landscape, much like the teenager's quiff looked out of place on his shaved head. (You can't even comprehend how proud I am of that simile.)

Back in our hostel room, we chatted to the two English girls and said hello to three new Asian girls. The Asians really didn't help the stereotype, keeping to themselves and packing and repacking their stuff numerous times in between checking their iPads. The last bed in our room was claimed by a quiet guy from Cape Cod who said about five words before we all went to bed. Understandably so, I think he must have been overwhelmed by the overpowering stench of feet and oestrogen in our room.

My Experience of Interrailing (Day 1)

I have a genuine excuse for my lack of posts over the past fortnight - My friend Em and I have been interrailing through Europe! (Check out interrailing here http://www.interrail.eu/)

Since this was a completely new experience for us, I thought that I would write down our adventures as we went along and now share them with you through posts for each day. Hopefully this saga might encourage you to try travelling too and even entertain you just a smidgen...

Our flight from Liverpool to Berlin was on the 8th of July and as we boarded the plane, Em and I were hit by the sudden realisation that we were totally unprepared. All we had with us were vague directions to our pre-booked hostel in Berlin and our booking for a Venice hostel on the 19th of July (plus essentials like knickers, ID and Berocca). The response from EVERY single person, including my hairdresser, who we told about our trip to "stay safe" and not "go off with strangers" still ringing in our ears, we buckled our seatbelts and wondered how we were going to survive the next fortnight by ourselves.

The man sitting next to us on the flight only exacerbated our fears by telling us how "brave" we were to be travelling alone so we silenced him with the gift of some Bitsa Wispa and tried to calm our pulsing hearts. What were we letting ourselves in for?

We arrived in Germany at around 9:30pm and headed for our first train journey. Not wanting to use up one of our 10 days of unlimited train travel, we pressed random buttons on the ticket machine until we came up with the cheapest ticket and bought that, hoping for the best. If the ticket turned out to be invalid, we agreed it would be best to pull the old "me English sorry no comprendey" gaff until we were left alone. Luckily, no such trouble passed and we made it to the hostel 3 trains later at around 11:30pm.

Neither of us had stayed in a hostel before so we didn't know what to expect as we entered our 8 bed mixed dormitory. Two girls greeted us whilst we claimed our bunks and it turned out that they lived 40 minutes from where we come from - definitely a pleasant surprise with which to ease into hostel life. They inquired after our ages and immediately groaned, claiming that they were "the oldest people in Europe" at 24 and 25 years old.

More pleasant greetings soon followed as two Israeli 19 year old guys entered with pizza and shared it with us. The two girls from England got ready to go out as Em and I chatted to the two Israeli guys in the common room. After disclosing that we were from Liverpool, we were met with a thickly Hebrew-accented but touching rendition of You'll Never Walk Alone and the chatting continued in the same bizarre but friendly manner.

When an argument started on the subject of which guy's sister was hotter, Em and I made are excuses and went to bed, slightly more pacified than we had been a few hours earlier. 

Our interrailing trip had begun...

Toaster Problems

Sorry for lack of posting recently. I finished my exams a week ago and thought I would have more time to write but I was a very busy bee...

... until my toaster broke.

Anyone that knows me will understand what a massive catastrophe this was.

A couple of days ago my friends and I went out on the raz / lash / pull / graft etc. (i.e. we frequented Liverpool after dark) and there's nothing that I like better after a late night than some golden brown buttery goodness the next morning. So this is what I had.

After deciding that three pieces of toast was not nearly enough, I got out some more bread. (Granary for the win) I placed my plate carefully on the surface nearest to the toaster to reduce the wafting and therefore cooling of the toast. I readied my knife in the butter next to my plate in order to optimise melt capacity. I was all set. I got out the bread and slotted it into my beautiful four-slotted beast. I set the dial to 2/7 because burnt toast is for losers and people who don't understand the beauty of the world. I did one last check of my preparations and pushed the lever down...

... all the electricity in my house switched off.

No joke.

The trip switch had done its irritating job of ensuring everyone's safety because the fuse in my toaster had blown. My dad went to reset the trip switch and everything returned to relative normality.

I think this was when I began the experiencing The Five Stages of Grief because I was completely in denial of the fact that my beautiful appliance had broken. I pushed down the lever on the toaster again and...

... all the electricity in my house switched off... again.

By this point, my dad, brother and friend were understandably getting annoyed at me as dad lumbered off to do the trip switch again.

My friend remembered we could do toast on the grill in the oven but this is when the second stage of grief kicked in - anger. I was FUMING (angry) that I would have to subject my bread to the ugly burn lines of the oven grill and I became even more worked up when I realised I wouldn't be able to get my bagels to remain soft on the outside but toasted on the inside if I used my oven. Nope, I was not happy.

Then boom. Next came bargaining. I went back over to the toaster and used the extent of my scientific knowledge to unplug it and plug it again. I even fiddled with the wire at the back. It couldn't be broken, not after all the good times and the bad times I'd shared with it. Maybe we could swap the wires with the microwave. Surely something could save it. But alas, no.

This is when waves of depression washed over me like the Mersey on a stormy day. What was I going to do without my beloved and trusted appliance? What would we do with the breadcrumbs it had meticulously been collecting in the tray at the bottom for years? I couldn't imagine finding another toaster like it. This was the end of an era... a warm, toasted, buttery era.

It was only yesterday morning that I finally gained acceptance of what had happened. Mum and dad, realising that I couldn't cope for long in this limbo state with no proper toast, rushed out to Costco and I woke up to find a new chrome machine placed precisely where my old friend had been. It was a gut-wrenching moment but it was inevitable.

I know one day I'll look back at all the fond memories I've shared with my old toaster, but at the moment it's still too raw... like my bread. I haven't been able to bring myself to use the new toaster yet even though I understand this day will come soon.

But until that day,

RIP my old faithful toaster, you've served me well. I hope you're having fun in that great kitchen in the sky.

Keep toasting.

x

That's all for now, folks.

Fast & Furious 6 (2013)

IMDB.com summary:

Hobbs has Dom and Brian reassemble their crew in order to take down a mastermind who commands an organization of mercenary drivers across 12 countries. Payment? Full pardons for them all.

Now let's be honest, plot really isn't the be all and end all in a Fast & Furious film. In fact, it's not really important at all. Any resemblance to narrative merely serves as an underfed milkmaid who is obliged to milk the bursting udder of the cow of bombast for all it's worth but who gets none of the rewards. (I don't know why I'm using a cow metaphor, I'm sorry about that.) So yes, just ignore that metaphor... and the whole plot.

The same can be said for the script. One perfect example goes something like this:
Person 1: "Be careful!" *dramatic pause* Person 2: "This is who we are."
Phwoar.
The dialogue is only really there because something has to fill the gaps between the action scenes. Usually this filler takes the form of a romantic scene.... again, it is perfectly acceptable to ignore these and I have to say that they do drag the film out time-wise more than is necessary.

Having already seen the rest of the franchise, I still couldn't remember the names of any most of the gang. Any characterisation is irrelevant although there is some enjoyable banter between Ludacris and Tyrese Gibson.

Now let's get onto the crucial stuff. Cars. More cars. Cars racing. Sweat. And enough baby oil to ensure that The Rock is suitably saturated for the duration of the film. Beautiful and ostentatious escapism at its finest, ladies and gentlemen. There is also the added bonus of seeing the gang racing through a different city - this time it's London and the spectacle is incredible. As ever, there is the obligatory underground racing scene... (because of course every major city in the world has one, right?) In true Fast & Furious fashion, these scenes are visually stunning, and make it worth the money. The film never fails to try something even more unbelievable than the previous action sequence. I'd love to contemplate a particular favourite part of mine but all I'll say is that the whole cast from now on must only be known as The Flying Squirrels.

So in summary: don't watch it with the expectation of being intellectually challenged.

Watch it with the expectation of getting more than your money's worth for a film with the title "Fast & Furious 6".

That's all for now, folks.

The Habitual Tea Drinkers Society

There still exists a stereotype of Britain in this day an age of people sitting down for "elevenses" or afternoon tea in top hats. I recently visited America and the amount of times a person thought it was amusing or just plain fantastic for us to be ordering a brew was phenomenal.

They probably also think we own tiny dogs called Tilly and Milly who we keep at our country home when in actual fact, this is what most of us see everyday.

2013 Tea Party

But then I got to thinking, what's wrong with this stereotype of Britain? Maybe we should embrace it! I used to hate tea, until I envied my mum and Granny for being able to sit down with a pot which is when I began to force myself to drink it...and now I love it! I'd never really considered myself as a "proper" tea-drinker until I contemplated my own daily tea-drinking schedule. After compiling the list, I feel a bit stupid...

Here is my daily tea schedule (open to change):

My Tea schedule

Morning:

Standard morning - Green Tea

In-need-of-a-pick-me-up morning - Apple and Cinnamon Tea

Lazy morning - Blackcurrant

Ill morning - Lemon and Ginger Tea

Elevenses:

Out-and-about elevenses - English Breakfast Tea (the run of the mill tea)

Already-tired elevenses - Another Green Tea

Lazy elevenses - Orange Tea

Still-throwing-up elevenses - Camomile Tea

Post-lunch:

Standard post-lunch - Red Bush Tea

Knackered-and-it's-only-just-been-lunch - Yet another Green Tea

Lazy post-lunch - Blackcurrant Tea

My-whole-body-is-now-on-fire - White Tea

Afternoon / returning home:

Standard afternoon - Red Bush Tea

I-still-have-work-to-do-at-home-this-evening- Apple and Cinnamon Tea

Celebratory-tea-for-my-lazy-day - Fruit Punch Tea

Urgh-I-want-to-curl-up-into-a-ball-and-watch-Pride-and-Prejudice-this-evening - Hot water with lemon

Settling down in front of post-watershed TV:

Standard evening tea - Camomile

Going-to-pull-an-all-nighter - Green Tea

Lazy evening tea - White Tea

If you're still trying to force down drinks after being ill all day.. stop. Just go to bed.

NB: If someone is offering to "fix a brew" for me, I find that it is common courtesy to accept/ask for a normal tea.. unless they SPECIFICALLY offer you something else.

Voila. So there is my average tea schedule. Just so you know, I'm neither massively rich nor have a tea compulsion, it's just that people often give me tea for my birthday and Christmas so I have compiled in my cupboard what I like to call the "Now" Album of all the best teas. (Excluding Earl Grey... I hate Earl Grey.)

So it's clear that I love tea. But I think that it's not the consumption of tea itself which has made the drink so iconic. It's the fact that everyone can bond over a cuppa - the event of drinking tea. It's the metaphorical bunting and Battenberg that accompanied the tea. You could offer your posh old Aunt a brew, or your builder, or your mum. And each time you do, there's a tiny invisible thread of tea leaves that connects you to another person, another tea drinker. And let's not forget the magical healing elements of tea. If someone is wins the lottery/loses a leg... it's only a matter of time before someone goes to put the kettle on. Drinking tea is a social event - whether it be celebratory or consolatory. And let's be honest, a mug is possibly THE easiest present in the world to buy someone.

So... what's your view of the whole tea thing? All hype or can't live without it? Favourite kind? (If you say Earl Grey I will hunt you down and make you eat all of the Earl Grey tea bags in your home.)

That's all for now, folks.

Why I Love A Cappella

A cappella - from an Italian phrase meaning "in a Church style" because historically in Church, music was provided by either an unaccompanied chant or choir.

And thus the style of music without instruments was born, and vocal chords became the instrument of choice.

Being in an a cappella group myself hasn't made me any more knowledgeable or any more qualified to talk about it, but it has inspired my love of a cappella so I would like to share that.

A cappella is not a modern term, nor does it only cover the unaccompanied pop we associate it with today although there does seem to be a revival of a cappella music in the past few years (think Pitch Perfect and Pentatonix).

And now I think it would be a good time to tell you why I believe a cappella music is the BUSINESS:

1. Breadth

So so so so so so so much stuff can be defined as a cappella, and that's what I love about it: it's not a genre of music - it's a style.

For example, this can be classified as a cappella music:

(Swingle Singers performing an a cappella version of Ave Verum Corpus by Mozart )


But this can also be classified as a cappella:

Both are incredible, and both are a cappella!

2. Technical skill

Don't get me wrong, I am in NO WAY saying that singing a cappella is more technically challenging than playing an instrument. I just think there's something especially commendable with singing 10 part harmony (for example) perfectly in tune, without going flat or sharp, and without the aid of pre-tuned instruments. And when you consider that a lot of a cappella songs nowadays are covers of regular songs, that means people are basically singing a guitar part anyway! Pretty darn cool eh? 

And again, I don't want to offend anyone but this post is about a cappella music in its true form - not those covers on youtube in which one person records and layers their voice for every instrument. There is definitely a LOT of skill involved in that process, but I just believe it's a different kind of skill to my idea of a cappella singing which is a bunch of people performing on-the-spot with no chance of re-recording or auto-tuning.

3. It's so fun

When else can you get away with singing incoherent noises that sound a lot like the "maaaooaaam" or "eeeeeeyooooore" to replicate guitar riffs or sound effects in songs? WITH THE ADDED BONUS THAT IT SOUNDS AMAZING.

(NB: For a simple beat box rhythm, repeat the phrase "boots and cats and boots and cats and..." over and over again without saying the vowel sounds)

Plus, no need to find an extension cable or wall socket or instruments or a tech guy or a room or electricity or space... you can just go and sing!

So

From the choral masterpieces of Thomas Tallis (check out If Ye Love Me), to Barbershop quartets, to modern pop covers, you're sure to find something you love. And I would definitely urge you to to find something! Or sing something... all it takes is one person!

Here are a few of my favourites to inspire you:

Pentatonix

Straight No Chaser

Swingle Singers

I might have accidentally on purpose dropped into the conversation that I'm in an a cappella group. We are an amateur Liverpool-based 5 part a cappella group called F#TM and we sing for fun. Sorry, I couldn't do this post without a tiny bit of self-promotion.

Here is a video of us performing:

Here is our channel:

F#TM Channel

And here is our Facebook page:

F#TM Facebook Page

Hope you enjoy it!

That's all for now, folks.

Why it's OK to Fancy Older People

My desktop

As you can see from the screenshot of my laptop desktop above, I am a proud fancier of older men and I feel it is now time to voice my opinions on this wonderful subject. (I'm going to try to relate this to either gender)

Just so you know, I am most definitely NOT a relationship guru. Most of the examples I'll give are from my own limited experience as an 18 year old girl. These are just my ponderings and the advice I'd give to a friend.

Why it's OK to fancy older people:

1. The maturity thing

Because let's be honest, immature people are not attractive. I don't mean the Dougie-from-McFly sort of immaturity - that's more endearing than pretty much ANYTHING in the world. What I mean is someone who is on the verge of a breakdown if they don't get their own way. Someone who gets incredibly needy if you don't communicate with them at least 5 times a day. Someone who still "lols" at the mention of genitalia. We all know that person, and we all know we wouldn't go out with that person. Maturity has to be one of the main reasons a person is attracted to older people. Imagine going on a date, and the person you're sitting with knows that the posh French dish on the menu actually just means breaded chicken. And just imagine being with someone who knows a little bit more about alcohol than the difference between Echo Falls and Gallo. Someone with genuine (but not in your face) self-confidence and self-assurance is attractive. Emotional and intellectual maturity is sexy.

2. Looks are looks

Why hello, Miles.

It shouldn't matter if someone is your age or 10 years older than you, if they make your knees wobbly, then what's the problem. You're in a bar. In your left-side peripheral vision, you spy an 18 year old with acne, badly-cut bangs, trousers halfway down his thighs, laughing at the word "penis" approaching you. To your right, you spy Miles from the Apprentice making a bee-line for you. Should you in some way be obligated to lunge at the 18 year old? Don't lie to yourself, we all know which way you'd turn. If you find someone attractive, and they find you attractive, then why not lunge at them go and introduce yourself!? Which brings me to my third point.

3. Age is just a number

What a lad.

Right, I KNOW that this is the excuse used by many a pervert, but there is some truth in it. However, I still maintain my point that the whole fancying older people malarkey is more about personality (and looks) than age. You might be an incredibly mature 20 year old who gels incredibly with a 30 year old. *hippy American accent* YOU CANNOT DENY THE CHEMISTRY MAAAAAN. I have some proof of this whole idea. I have a friend who is my age (18), and she was recently dating a 29 year old. Everything was going great. She'd cook dinner with him and they'd go out with his friends, and she felt totally at ease. He seemed really nice, then one day.. poof.. she never heard from him again. Nothing. So you tell me - who was the adult in their relationship? It works either way. There could be an incredibly grown-up 18 year old and and a ridiculously young-at-heart 87 year old. (Think Hugh Hefner) Alternatively, there could be a totally childlike 20 year old and a wizened 30 year old. It all just depends on who meshes well. So there's another reason why it's OK to fancy older people - because it just so happens that you connect more with them than your own age group.

4. Self-esteem

Because I couldn't do this post without a picture of him.

NB: I AM NOT SUGGESTING THAT YOU SHOULD GO OUT WITH SOMEONE JUST TO MAKE YOURSELF FEEL BETTER.

All I'm saying is that there must be a kind of confidence boost to be gained from being with an older person. Whether it be "wow I can't believe this person likes me" or "wow look who I've pulled", there's definitely some sort of happy feeling that you're doing something right.

This guy isn't just any run-of-the-mill guy, this is an older, wiser and more confident M&S guy.

Things to think about:

So as well as the glory of bagging/fancying an older person, there are some things I'd consider.

1. Older men v. older women

One thing I really don't understand is why it is a lot more acceptable for an older guy to be dating a younger woman than an older woman to be dating a younger man. Think of the whole idea of the term "cougar" which has now become an insult. And think of the whole Harry Styles and Caroline Flack thing.. the media pounced on it and Flack has been "terrored" for it ever since. And now think of Peter Andre (40) and Emily MacDonagh (23). There's not been much on the subject... or perhaps that's just because it's Peter Andre...

2. Number games

Here are two things which I've heard frequently used:
"The Two Year Rule" - Never go out with someone above or below this age bracket in relation to your own age.

"Men mature three years slower than women" - what it says on the tin.

(I'm not going to bang on much longer so I'll leave you to ponder those.)

3. So you're thinking about dating an older person

The one thing I would beg you to honestly ask yourself:

"Why does he/she want to go out with me?"

If you don't have an answer to that question which you could tell your nan, then scrap the whole thing off.

So there you have it. YES it's OK to fancy older people... in fact, it's completely normal. Probably more normal in fact than being attracted to a dirty 18 year old who is still at the end of this post laughing at the word "penis". Basically, all I'm saying is that it's fine either way. Just remember that with whoever you end up getting wobbly knees over, make sure you're both comfortable and in it for the same, right reasons and you can't go wrong.

That's all for now, folks.