Life’s a Peach

Life as I know it ends tomorrow. I’m saying goodbye to my two oldest friends, sugar and caffeine. It’s been a tough decision to make but my dependency on these two things has gotten out of hand. It’s also lead to the unwanted hassle of endless hours at the gym trying to get rid of my dreaded (ever growing) love handles – that now look more like a giant love dingy circling the lower half of my torso – it’s terrible and I blame Asia.

Travelling was bloody fantastic (speaking of, there’s a new travel post below this one) and the food was delightful but the Asians put sugar in EVERYTHING. Noodles, soups, salads. Everything. Their coffee is incredible too. It’s strong, sweet and usually comes with a thick layer of condensed milk lacing the bottom of the glass. It’s deliciously decadent, especially over ice, and what could be more satisfying than a sweet, iced coffee on a blazing hot day in Cambodia?

I’d become reliant on an least one iced coffee a day (at 30 pence a cup, who wouldn’t?) but was well aware of how much condensed milk (and calories) I was guzzling down, so I decided to be smart and switch to black. I showed off a bit and ordered a black iced coffee in Khmer (ga-fey kmao toek gok) from a street cart on my way to work one day.

I waited for the lady to prepare my drink all whilst feeling pretty smug I said my first word in Khmer that wasn’t sous-dey or aw-khun. The smugness soon stopped when to my horror, I watched the lady tip three heaped spoonfulls of sugar into my cup. I thought, ‘I’ve fucking said it wrong haven’t I’.. and in my most polite foreigner voice said – ‘black coffee?’ The lady simply smiled and said ‘Jaah!’ (yes) and handed me over my cup of  type 2 diabetes. Combine the coffee with the copious amounts of beer and other disguised sugar bombs and it’s a – very sweet – recipe for disaster.

I’ve become a filthy addict and I didn’t even see it happening. Okay so it’s not crack, but it may as well be. If I’m not eating heavily based sugar products, I’m craving them. And when I’m craving them, I’m cranky and tired. Every day at about 3:30pm, I become overwhelmed with a sudden rush of exhaustion and the desperate need for a nap. I don’t nap because I refuse to be branded as idle as well as unemployed, but I do put the kettle on and head straight to the biscuit tin. I’ve usually worked my way through 3 biscuits before the water is boiled. Then it’s another 2 with my tea. At first I blamed the jet lag, but it’s been about a month now and I’m still tired (and did I mention my love handles?)

My addiction to sugar is worsened by the fact that I’m also using it as my emotional security blanket. As I said earlier, I’m unemployed. Every day I stay in doors, scrolling through endless pages of possible job vacancies to no avail. Tell me again, why did study journalism at uni? I don’t have to describe how much of a soul destroying process it is – we’ve all been there – but to be frank, it does my fucking head in. I get frustrated, stressed, down and above all, bored. Then I turn to sugar.

Whenever I’m feeling vulnerable to one of the emotions mentioned above, I mindlessly binge out on sugary things thinking it’s going to give me that feeling of satisfaction I’m craving. Instead though, it leaves me feeling guilty, usually anxious, and defeated. Sugar has turned into one of those ex boyfriends you know is toxic but you go back there anyway – always ending in regret.

So I’m getting rid! Anything with refined sugar content will not be passing through my lips. I suppose this is more of a warning to you all. I’m grouchy when I haven’t had my caffeine hit, but I’ve cut that out before with little bother. Sugar, though, is a completely different ball game. Like I said, I may as well have started taking crack in Asia. I’m a sugar junkie and I’m going to be a nightmare. Stay away. I suspect the next month will involve many dreams featuring the witch from Snow White, luring me to my death with a packet of ginger nuts. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of posts documenting the pain and torture I’m going through on my journey to the sugar free me. For now, I’ll savour my last cup of coffee and the last eight couple of biscuits.
]]> me fill you in…, 27 Mar 2014 09:55:18 +0000]]>It’s been a while. Okay, it’s been months. Blogging without a laptop proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated, so you’ll just have to let me off. If you’re interested, here’s a brief summary of our remaining time in Vietnam along with a little snippet of our time in Laos and Cambodia together. The Rest of Vietnam:

In my last post, you read about our journey from Hoi Ann to Hue, crossing the Hai Van Pass on our motorbikes. After this we endured the smelliest coach journey you could ever imagine – think of stale cow piss and times it by twenty – to Hanoi, our penultimate stop in Vietnam. I can’t say we did much here, other than take full advantage of the 10p beer and tasty street baguettes. We did walk for many hours in search of the infamous French quarter with no luck.

From here we went on a trip to the beautiful Halong Bay, a natural wonder of the world. Our two day trip included one night stay on a delightful boat and another on Cat Ba Island. Night one was great. We were given a hearty dinner, plenty of alcohol and access to a karaoke machine. Of course, I was loving it and graced the crowd with my exquisite singing abilities several times; including a duet with George to 2 Become 1. The Vietnamese were thrilled.

Night two however, was not so great. We arrived on Cat Ba Island and were taken to the worst hotel I’ve ever seen in my life. It was like a real life Tower of Terror. The walls were infested with mold, the whole place was covered in dust, and we were greeted by a huge, dead cockroach when entering our room. Literally, Hell on Earth. The island was empty, something out of the Twilight Zone. I couldn’t help but think it was all a big set up and this would be my last night on earth before entering a realm of doom. We tried to be light hearted about the situation and get drunk, but I went off that idea after a huge rat scurried up a wall my head happened to be resting against.

It wasn’t all doom and gloom though, George gave me another sleep talking anecdote. This time it was, “YOU have got two GORGEOUS feet. I just want to eat them!” Holding back my laughter I asked, “George are you asleep?” To which she quickly replied, rather defensively, “No! I was talking to Sam!” Then, from out of nowhere, Sam goes, “yeah…” Honestly, it was the weirdest situation I’ve ever been in. Two people asleep, having a conversation? Morning came soon enough and after a not-so surprising breakfast of bread and eggs – with another useless pot of jam – we got ourselves away from that island as fast as we could. I fell in love with a beautiful Scandinavian boy en route back to Hanoi, what a shame I looked (and probably smelt) like and old boot.

Our trip to Laos was short but sweet. Heading there purely for the tubing experience, we hopped on a bus for 24 hours to Vientiane. It was definitely not a smooth sailing journey. We arrived at the boarder at around 7am, freezing and exhausted. Like any boarder crossing, we were made to get off and walk through to Laos and pay for our visas, which we were told were $5. Of course, we were ill-informed. Our visas were to cost us $35 dollars, which is fine, except I only had $5 and there was no ATM in sight. Anybody who knows me will know how this is the exact thing that will send me into a state of panic. Thirty minutes, a panic attack and a severe telling off from a Lao and the girls, we rallied up enough money between us to get me into the country. Thank god for that.

After a brief stop-over in the capital, we arrived in Vang Vieng, a chilled out backpacker town known best for tubing. We started drinking around 10:30am and I’ll be honest when I say I don’t remember much at all. Upon arrival, we were made to sign a disclaimer in Lao and were then branded with a number in red pen like cattle. This was obviously in case something bad happened to us, how promising. The beer flowed just as much as the river did, I can see why so many people have died tubing over the years and why they’ve closed most of the bars down. During our stay here, we also tried mushroom shakes which had no effect on us whatsoever. What an anticlimax.

Cambodia was amazing, one of the reasons why I went back here. A country so devastated by it’s history and yet their kindness and courtesy overwhelms you. After the worst journey I’ve ever encountered – 37 hours, 7 buses and 2 hours stranded at the boarder – we arrived in Phnom Penh.

Our short stay here was a somber one. We of course paid a visit to the Khmer Rouge killing fields and S-21. Such a heart breaking story so impossible to comprehend, even though it only happened around 40 years ago. S-21, the high school turned prison during the Khmer Rouge regime was an extremely uncomfortable experience. There were so many photographs of the victims and their starving, hollowed out faces staring right at you. You could almost feel a different presence lurking through the air as we walked around the once place of torture. On a happier note, I discovered porridge on a breakfast menu one morning exploring the city. I’d just hopped off a nice man’s motorbike, who insisted he would show me around the city, and then I saw it. Porridge with bananas and honey. Needless to say, I almost cried with glee and ordered myself a portion immediately. I think I was full up for two whole days afterwards.

Ready to leave Phnom Penh, we took a 6 hour bus journey south to Shinoukville, a backpacker party town we needed to pass through in order to reach our Koh Rong. We’d planned on having a quiet one because we had a ferry to catch at 8am the following morning, but sometimes things just don’t go to plan. We discovered the girl behind the bar was from the Wirral, so she provided us with free drinks and vodka shots throughout the night. As you could imagine, we were smashed. George unfortunately had to leave early because she had a bad case of hiccups, but not before meeting somebody who’s nan lives in Rainhill. Sam and I stayed out until the early morning, rolling in at 7am, giving us an hour to sober up and catch the boat.

Koh Rong. How do I describe the beautiful Koh Rong? It’s paradise. A small island off southern Cambodia, yet to fall victim to the curse of the boozy brit. Of course, the island is full of tourists, but the type of level headed tourists you wish you had met instead of the ‘lads on tour’ from Hull. There wasn’t much to do here apart from completely relax, with the exception of a 45 minute trek to the other side of the island. It was spectacular. We met an amazing group of people and – with the risk of sounding like a boozy brit – spent the majority of our time here drunk. It was my favourite destination by far, but that’s not to say there weren’t a few hiccups during our stay. Several things were lost, including phones and dignitity, George broke a toe for the second time and was forced to endure a snorkelling trip with a group of Chinese who couldn’t swim, and I got called fat by a French man called Gus. The latter resulted in me weeping alone in my bunkbed and my friendship with Gus was cut short. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like the French.
]]> to Hue, 05 Feb 2014 02:06:00 +0000]]>The 15th January was one of those days I’m going to cherish for the rest of my life. We got up bright and early, rented mopeds and embarked on an eight hour journey north from Hoi An to Hue, crossing the Hai Van Pass. It was the best, yet petrifying experience of my life so far and I’m extremely glad I lived to tell the tale (more on that later).As we were an uneven number, I volunteered to drive my own bike rather than share one with the boys. I’m still unsure as to why I was so keen on this idea but thought how hard could it be? Everything seemed to be going smoothly until about three minutes into the journey, when the traffic lights switched to red. I quickly discovered I had no idea how to bring my moped to a halt and by the looks on the boy’s faces, it was going to cause some problems.Still feeling positive, I insisted I’d be fine on my own bike and we continued to drive for a further 30 minutes or so until we arrived at our first pit stop, Marble Mountains. It seemed to be going great, until we reached a large number of water lodged pot holes. I panicked, causing me to accelerate and zoom towards several marble statues that were obviously expensive. The Vietnamese looked terrified as I managed to stop the bike just in the nick of time. I then had to practice my stop/start technique several times before Ryan would let me back on the road, for everyone’s sake.Soon it was time for lunch, so we began to look for some road side pho and juice. We were being pretty picky and somehow ended up taking a wrong turn into a tiny village by the sea. By the looks on the children’s faces, it was obvious not many Western looking folk ventured into their home. They greeted us singing “Hello, hello, hello!” dancing and waving away and were eager to join us for some photos on the beach.Just as we were about to leave, I realised my phone was no longer in my trusty bum bag. Horrified, I instantly accused one of “the crafty little bugger’s” of taking it and protested against leaving until it was returned to me. After asking in my slowest form of English, it was obvious these children didn’t know the language, forcing me to take further action. Then, like the biggest wanker in South East Asia, I started demonstrating my best phone hand-signal (with a smile) whilst saying “give it back please”. The whole village had was looking over at this point, staring at me with faces of pure confusion. Still signing to the children, I was beginning to lose hope and had that ‘lost phone’ lump in the back of my throat.


Joel and I took to the beach for one last look and there, buried beneath the sand was my iPhone and my motorbike key. Needless to say I was completely mortified at my actions and impure thoughts towards the children of Vietnam. I left the village as fast as I could, in case anybody’s Mother realised my accusations and lynched me.After a bowl of pho style ‘humble pie’ we took back to the road to continue on our journey of a lifetime. The next few hours were unforgettable and looked a little bit like this: (see 3.20)


The views were absolutely incredible. The five of us were looking over what seemed to be the whole of Vietnam and it was breathtakingly beautiful. Shortly after this however, a large lorry drove past us carrying over one hundred dogs in tiny cages, clearly on their way to the slaughter house. I was traumatised and couldn’t stop thinking about all the different unidentified meat on sticks I’ve eaten.After the dog thing, things just seemed to go from bad to worse. The second mountain we had to climb was a lot more dangerous than the other due to the traffic and severe road works, causing the road to be much more slippy. Amongst the traffic was a tractor and a large coach, making it difficult to manouvre around the huge bends. I’d also fallen to the back of the group and started to panic in case I couldn’t keep up with Ryan’s erratic driving, so I increased my speed considerably – a big mistake. A push bike pulled out in the middle of the road, causing me to swerve out of his way. The next thing I knew, I was in the air and my bike was sliding from underneath me. I was fine, just a few cuts and bruises, but George came running as if I’d broken my neck.“ARE YOU OKAY?! MEGAN! JOEL, SHE’S OFF!!” I heard her saying as I clambered to my feet, shaking like a leaf. As she reached me, she grabbed my arms. “IS ANYTHING BROKEN?! IT’S BROKEN ISN’T IT, OH GOD- I’M DRIVING THE REST OF THE WAY”. In all honestly, I think she was more shaken up than I was!So for the last leg of our journey I was George’s passenger. I’d say she maxed her speed at around 30mph, (on the linkway). Slow and steady. We did make a pit stop shortly after my accident but we aren’t entirely sure if it was a bar or somebody’s house. They looked pretty shocked when we rolled up and demanded beer, and then presented us with two large raw fish. I still don’t understand why…

Finally arriving in Hue, we of course got lost in traffic and had to ask for directions. I hopped off the bike and went into the nearest chemist thinking they’d speak pretty good English. I was wrong. I approached a little middle aged lady and asked her if she knew the address of our hostel. She stared at me blankly and replied “no understand”. She then started making the strangest hand signals trying to communicate with me, pointing at her vagina. Confused, I asked her again where our hostel was and wrote down the name. When she took the piece of paper from me I thought I was finally getting somewhere. When she handed it back, there was nothing on the paper except what seemed to be a pair of ovaries. That explains why she was pointing at her vagina. She either thinks I’m fat or in need of tampons. I thanked her and left the chemist leaving slightly violated. Shortly after we found our hostel just in time for our ten hour night bus to Hanoi, but that’s another story.

More to come, peaches. We leave for Thailand today, however I can’t wait to tell you all about our time in Laos and Cambodia – my favourite place so far. In the meantime, I’ll be uploading plenty of instagrams you can feast your eyes on! Bye for now x
]]> Ho Chi Minh to Hoi An, 25 Jan 2014 02:58:00 +0000]]>From Ho Chi Minh we endured our first dreadful ten hour bus journey to the beach resort of Nha Trang. We enjoyed it here, mainly because it was the first place we were able to sit and enjoy some sunshine, but felt more than ready to leave after two nights. Although Nha Trang had a reputation as backpacker hotspot, its typical expensive beach resorts and posh bars made it hard to distingiush whether we were even in Vietnam at all. This said, we did make some good friends and had a bit of a mad night causing me to throw up neon orange liquid for the majoity of the next morning.

Boozy night in Nha Trang!
From here we took another bus, 11 hours this time, north to Hoi An. Not before an unpleasant run-in with a snooty family of Russains who decided for an unknown reason I was scum of the earth. Needless to say, I was less than impressed and the duration of our journey north consisted of many dirty looks as they passed persumably cruel Russain comments in my direction.

After a horrific bus journey that left me feeling as though I had pnuemonia, we arrived in Hoi An. Instead of the usual herd of taxi men fighting amongst themselves for our fare, we were greeted by a group of moped drivers who took us to our hostel, charing 200VND each. We then walked into reception to be told that the bike service is free and we’d been severely ripped off.

Fruit sellers in Hoi Ann
Hoi An was absolutely amazing. Such a beautiful city with so much culture and some of the nicest people I’ve ever met. On top of this, Hoi An is home to some of the best tailors in the world. With over a thousand different tailors scattered across the city, you can literally get anything you have in mind made for buttons. I got myself a bespoke playsuit made for the equivalent of just £30. I loved it so much I cheekily asked our tailor, Su if she would have time to make me a floor length dress for the races before leaving the following morning. She agreed and presented me with the most perfect dress just five hours later for about £60. Amazing.

Hoi Ann drinking

Of course we didn’t spend all our time being measured for bespoke garments. On our first night, due to the torrential downpour of rain, there wasn’t much else to do expect head to the bar and make some friends. Pretty quickly conversation amongst the travellers was flowing and the bar area was filling up quite quickly so we popped next door for a bowl of Pho before we missed anything. Here, we were thrilled to discover that beer cost just 8 pence! Of course by the time we returned to the hostel I was beyond smashed and feeling fabulous, despite the bad weather and my ever-growing beer belly.

All of Volcano Club..

After the hostel bar closed, our newly formed travelling group hopped on the free mopeds and embarked on a wild goose chase for a decent after hours place. We arrived at ‘Volcano Club’ soaking wet after riding in the rain to discover the club was completely empty with scaffolding inside. A strange experience. Three mopeds and two empty bars later, we finally arrived at Backpacker’ Bar. The rest is pretty blurry, I can just about remember requesting copious amounts of Solomun with my new friend, Twan, and salsa dancing with George’s crazy friend, Marvin.

Beautiful Hoi An old town

We were up early the next day – not knowing if we were still drunk or just severly hungover – for a day out with our newly formed travelling family. We met Aussies, Joel and Ryan, the night before in the hostel after I was told I wasn’t allowed to play any more pool because I was making my team look bad. Despite a rather difficult language barrier between myself and Joel, we got on really well with the boys, who shared our sense of humour and a travelling outlook on life. Over the world’s tiniest burgers, we agreed we would spend the next seven days together.

Doing as the locals do!

The sun was shining so we rented pedal bikes and drove them around the gorgeous city of Hoi An. The old town was beautiful and we spent a few hours there stopping for juices and bartering with the market women. We each got ourselves a bargain and Joel one of his legs threaded (which lead to a shocking confession that he shaves them regularly). After a perfect day, we enjoyed a gorgeous Indian meal before heading back into the old town for the Full Moon Lantern Festival. The town looked extremely handsome, romantically lit by water lanterns down the river. During my time in Hoi An, I couldn’t stop thinking about how content I felt there. Hands down, it’s my favourite place in Vietnam and I would have stayed for much longer if I could have. However, with just five weeks left, it’s onwards and upwards to Hanoi!

Lantern Fesitval
]]> a note to say, hello from Vietnam…, 11 Jan 2014 13:57:00 +0000]]>I finally write this post to you from Vietnam, under my new Vietnamese name ‘Megan Wah’, which isn’t so bad. I could be walking around with a name like Sam Bagetti. Georgina luckily dodged this little Vietnamese bullet, so perhaps that’s why she gets hassled by every looky looky person who passes by, every hour of the day. There’s nowhere she can hide. They wait for her on every corner, waving and waiting to greet her with sunglasses, pirate copied books, cigarettes, the lot. Maybe it’s the ginger hair…Firstly let me apologise for the lack of photographs on this post. The laptop we have decided to break but this problem will hopefully soon be rectified!“I like women. I like Vietnamese women”We’ve been here for a week now and we’re finally getting used to George’s sleep talking, the fatal dodge of motorbikes when we cross the road and of course, the dirty old pervs looming the streets. On our first night we met Australian John and stupidly asked him why he decided to move to Vietnam. He simply replied in his slimy Aussie accent; “I like women. I like Vietnamese women” grinning like a chesire cat with his pearly white dentures.We’re living like lords out here, as you can imagine. Meals cost sometimes as little as three pound and beers a mere 20 pence. Of course, when alcohol is that cheap and easily accessible, I can’t be held responsible for my actions (or my expanding waistline). On our third night I somehow ended up on a date with a married Korean boy named, Som. I had a wonderful time and it’s been arranged for the girls and I to go to his house for dinner when we reach Hanoi. I hope his wife doesn’t mind…Som and I with new friends & GeorgeBefriending the locals seems to be my specialty out here. After living with a handful of Chinese in my first year of uni, I’ve become quite accustomed to the broken dialect of Asian/English, and can de-code what they’re saying pretty well. This quality of mine came in pretty useful upon meeting Sami, our Vietnamese tour guide who we spent three full days with. To my dismay, I somehow found myself elected as voice and ear of the group with Sami directing all of her stories and questions at me. Needless to say, I’m not a miracle worker and there were plenty of ‘mm’s, really’s and oh wow’s’ used.Cost just £2.80!

There have been no dull moments and it’s hard to sum up our first week in this post. My most moving experience so far is our trip to the War Remnants museum. It was both shocking and heartbreaking to see what the Americans did to the Vietnamese people. We spent a good while here on our second day but as Sam wasn’t feeling too well, we jumped in a cab towards home. Of course the motion of the car made things much worse causing her to want to vomit. She ran into a lovely little bakery and asked to use the toilets to avoid any embarrassment throwing up on the street. A waste of time, as happened next was much worse. Of course, the toilet was occupied and Sam was running out of time. The next thing I know, my name is being shouted, so I run upstairs to find Bagetti in the kitchen of the bakery with her head above a bin, projectile vomiting all over the place. A horrifying experience. We quickly left and vowed never to return.

There’s so much to tell, and now that I have my feet firmly on the ground here I plan to post as much as I can. I’m two posts behind, so watch this space over the next couple of days to be updated properly on our first week in Vietnam. Until then, tam-biet!
]]> trip to the nurse.., 18 Dec 2013 16:59:00 +0000]]>Seven days until Christmas means 17 days until I leave for Asia. Of course, I’m completely unprepared and overwhelmed with the amount of things I have to do despite remaining calm about the whole trip. This calmness concerns me, as usually by this point I’m running around like a maniac, crying my eyes out with the sheer stress of it all.This morning I headed to the doctors to get my travelling vaccinations. I’d been meaning to book an appointment for months but my fear of needles caused me to leave it until last minute. Of course, the nurse was very cross with my tardiness and questioned my reasons as to why I was waltzing in so close to my departure date. Too scared to admit my cowardliness, I explained how I’ve been so busy at my imaginary job and didn’t want to mess my imaginary boss around after him being so kind giving me a career break.After a bit of a telling off which left me feeling like I’d shamed myself, she went on to explain how the doctor’s surgery don’t supply Rabies or Hepatitis B vaccinations, but that wouldn’t matter because I’ve not got time for them anyway.She then jabbed me with a needle in each arm, told me in so many words I was going to contract Rabies and die, then sent me on my way with a bag of condoms (meaning if I don’t get Rabies, it’ll be Hepatitis.) As a severe hypochondriac, similar to Melman the Giraffe from Madagascar, I don’t have to say how less than encouraging this trip to the nurse was. I left feeling anxious and distressed, with an image of myself frothing from the mouth on a Cambodian death bed.On another, less medical note, my backpack arrived last week (EEK), bringing me face to face with my biggest issue of packing lightly – a skill I’ve never been able to master. It was bad enough cramming clothes into a huge suitcase for Ibiza. A backpack just wont suffice, especially since I now need to include a suit of armour in my luggage after being told I’m at risk of death through human saliva. Packing will of course be left to last minute because I’m too scared to face it. If any experienced traveller would like to lend their expertise, then please do.
]]>’m back, if you’ll have me!, 26 Nov 2013 21:07:00 +0000]]>Every Sunday for two months, I’ve been telling myself ‘I’ll start blogging again this week’, but to be honest, I went to Ibiza for the summer and misplaced 95% of my brain cells somewhere on the dance floor in Sankeys. My plan was to re-start immediately after touching down in Manchester (after missing my flight to Liverpool and irrationally booking another, due to the fact that I’d been evicted from my flat and was homeless). Of course though, that plan went to pot when I realised my brain could no longer cope in academic situations and my mental state had become similar to that of a fragile glass jar. I then spent my first month back at home in bed, longing for Bora Sundays and Solomun Tuesdays, crying into a plate of leafy greens to stimulate brain growth.Stolen Pineaple #1I planned to tell you all about my summer in Ibiza and how brilliant it was. I wanted to entertain you all with an array of Ibiza anecdotes; how we lived like squatters, thrived of stealing pineapples from all inclusive hotels and worked eight hour shifts for sometimes 5 euro a day. I’d love to go on and tell you all of these things but I’m going to assume that the ship has sailed. I’m sure you’re all more than tired of my constant ‘I miss Ibiza’ tweets and statuses, so I’ll keep summer tales to a minimum. Having said that, I can’t say I won’t share a few golden moments with you all as time goes on. That explains my absence anyway, I hope you’ll excuse me.A few things have changed since I last posted; I got my nose pierced, I finished uni and I stopped drinking rum, can you believe it? Above all of these though, is how I currently sit here and write this post from my bedroom in Liverpool rather than London.  It has been completely blissful spending time at home with no deadlines stalking me and it’s been great having my home comforts that I missed so much living away. Lovely, but I can’t help but feel that all of a sudden I’ve been removed from a life I was in no way ready to leave and dropped back into my past.It’s been a very hard transitional period settling back into Liverpool life after three years away from it. There is so much happening around you in both London and Ibiza but you take it for granted until you’re pulled away from it.  Liverpool is great but your options for fresh ideas and unexplored places can be limited.I won’t be outstaying my Liverpool welcome for too long though, in 38 days, I’m getting off. I’m packing my backpack and I’m going to Asia! Three of us are off to Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos & Thailand and I couldn’t be more excited or eager to get there. Despite my failed attempt at Ibiza blogging, I have a cast iron promise with myself to keep a travel log for you all, keeping you updated on our Asian adventure. Be prepared for excited, giddy posts on the run up to the 4th Jan.Enough of that for now though. I think I’ll call it a day here too, this is a very long post and it’s lacking body. I am completely aware that my writing skills have severely dwindled over the summer, (I google spell checked at least seven words in this post) however I assure you they will improve. Baby steps.
]]> Hollywood Affair., 25 Feb 2013 09:47:00 +0000]]>Although I promised myself to stay up and watch the Oscars last night, of course I fell asleep. Anyway let’s cut to the chase-  Valentino. Everybody knows about my obsession for that little Italian couture genius and Jennifer Aniston’s breath-takingly beautiful gown reminded me why.Like I always say- nothing beats a red dress, especially when it’s Valentino red. Simple yet show stopping, Jennifer Anniston kept her makeup and signature hair ‘do’ to a minimum, letting the gown bask in all it’s glory. Also wearing Valentino was, Sally Field. Her dress was slightly more conservative with it’s long sleeves and high neck line, but equally as beautiful. Can we just take a moment to admire her beauty? Who else do you know that looks this fabulous at 66?I wasn’t keen on Catherine Zeta-Jones’ Zuhair Murad dress, I thought it was all a bit ‘My Big Fat Gypsy Oscars’, but that could be just me.  Another thing, Anne Hathaway really needed to put a cardigan on to disguise her pointy tits. Prada or no Prada, you can’t go out when your boobs look like cones.And finally, let’s all take a moment to marvel over Jessica Chastain. I’m a sucker for old school Hollywood Glamour and Jesicca’s nude floor length gown by Armarni Prive ticked all the boxes. Looking like a walking Oscar herself, Chastain looked as though she’d walked onto the red carpet straight out of the 50s. An effortlessly timeless look with a vintage blow and simple red lips, a close second to Anniston’s Valentino number.Sources:
]]>, Babies & Brit Awards, 21 Feb 2013 10:50:00 +0000]]>I’m not even going to bore you with apologies for the lack of communication this time. I’m very busy at the moment so I’ll blog when I can. Deal? The daily blog will be back in full force once I’ve finished uni. Saying that I’ll be in Ibiza by then, so we’ll just cross that bridge when we come to it.So I went to bikram yoga (posh for yoga in a very hot room) on Tuesday night, an exhilarating experience! Despite feeling like a bit of a sweaty wanker at the beginning, I got into it at the end and embraced my inner hippy. There were a few people who, lets just say, got a little bit too into it- their exhaling noises were off putting to say the least.

Baby Walsh is FINALY here after 12 long days of being stubborn! Jenny gave birth to a perfect little boy weighing 8.6oz. He is without a name for the time being, but there’s a few cute ones in the pipeline! He is just perfect, absolutely perfect. I can’t wait to get home tomorrow night to give him a cuddle. Baby Walsh, the new man in my life!

Perfect baby Walsh.

As you will know, probably thanks to your Twitter feed, it was the BRITs last night. Truth be told I fell asleep at half nine so missed the end, which i was pretty annoyed about.

What about, Taylor Swift, the little minx? First she wowed us all at the Grammy’s in that gorgeous white number- then she shows up at the BRIT’s looking amazing in that black dress by Elie Saab. It just goes to show, when it’s an ex you need to impress (Harry Styles), you can’t go wrong with a LBD.

Source: Del Ray on the other hand, what was going on there? When did she start working as a dental nurse? It genuinely looked like she had forgotten all about the awards and ran straight down after a 9-5 shift. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bit of dry shampoo lurking about in that scruffy side plait.Compared to last years show stopping red carpet appearance, there was nothing glamorous about that uniform. Very disappointing to say say the least considering she has big fashion deals with H&M and Mulberry. Tut tut, girl.

Well done to Emeli Sande for the Album of the Year Award! And a bigger well done to Ben Howard on winning Best British Male, I like it when the underdog comes through.

Lastly, well done to all you lucky buggers going to see Beyonce in May! To the rest of us, fingers crossed for Saturday. I would like to take this time to say a big FUCK OFF to the o2 priority website! Ticket Master would have never put us through that shit.Sources:
]]> this space. Look at this dress., 24 Jan 2013 09:36:00 +0000]]>Hello to all. Is it too late to wish you all a happy new year?

To let you all know, I’ll be gracing you all with daily blog posts as of tonight. Or perhaps tomorrow, depending on how my day goes. I apologise sincerely for abandoning you all, it won’t happen again. Or at least it wont happen for a few weeks.

Now I command you all to feast your eyes over Tess Daly’s AMAZING dress from last night’s NTA awards.