Tag Archives: spain

Happy New Year Ya Filthy Animals. 


So I survived 2016…we all survived 2016 (unless you are some weird ghost/corpse/zombie who has somehow obtained my URL, or you are from an alternate universe where silly things like time has no meaning, in which case: Welcome!) 

Welcome to 2017, people. All that has happened is the calendar has reset itself in a supposedly significant way, the 6 is now a 7 and the 12 is now a 1 and we can all continue living the debaucherous and immoral lives we’ve been cultivating this entire time. Go humanity!

I am pleased, however, that I have managed to survive yet another routine trip around the sun, especially since this year I started driving, which has significantly increased my sense of mortality. 

My sense of morality however is still, I admit, a little shoddy. 

I spent the last few seconds of 2016 outside in the cold, walking along the streets of the Spanish town Moraira, listening to the people inside scream “Happy New Year” at each other. It was nice to feel like I was watching everybody else get on with their new year whilst mine stood still for a bit. Then I had to watch a very loud and disorganised fireworks display because NYE is full of cliches.

My first few moments of 2017 were spent in a club I have actively avoided for about a year and a half, because the last excursion ended in me puking my guts out over the side of a Catamaran into the Mediterranean Sea (holiday life is soooo hard). This time I was smart enough not to puke, and therefore I spent the night dancing awkwardly with people who were a lot more inebriated than I was. Happy New Year. 

I got a taxi home before everyone else did (because I’m old and need time for my wrinkles to reset before the sun comes up), snuck back into my dad’s house and sat on his kitchen counter eating ham by myself. We’re off to a good start if my first meal of the year was ham. 

At this point I had enough clarity of mind to consider my resolutions, or “very relaxed guidelines for the year ahead” as I like to call them, because then I feel less ashamed if I don’t achieve them. 

My guidelines for last year were as follows: 

1. Stop getting drunk on my own emotions and sending psycho messages to unsuspecting victims. 

I like to think I achieved this. I no longer send messages, I just write blogposts of subversive intent, and maybe I subtweet a little. In terms of embarrassing texts, 2016 blessed me with a few incoherent voice notes to my friends and one failed attempt at a sort of booty call in July, although I don’t think he got what I was talking about because I just kept sending weird winky faces. (Note to self: try the eggplant emoji next time). 

This success may be due to the fact that I now have a Whatsapp group with 2 other emotional individuals, so all my angst has been channelled into them (sorry gals). 

2. Actually read all my English setworks. 

I am proud to say that I read 70% of the subscribed reading material this year. I no longer skim through study guides, I actually lugged around the tombs prescribed by the English department and became that nerd who did her homework at music festivals. 

3. Write more. 

I need to stop thinking I have the diligence or the time to churn out a blog post every week. It’s just not going to happen. 

4. Actually save my money because I need a car. 

I’m really freaking proud of myself for doing this. To be fair, the fact that I turned 21 and I have a really nice and generous grandmother paid off. But at least 26% of my car came from me carrying hot plates of food to fancy rich people and heavy beer steins to sloppy drunk people. A lot of carrying for a lot of people went into paying for 26% of my car, and his name is Slartibartfast because that’s what he sounds like when he starts up, plus Douggy A is my ultimate home boy. 

5. Get my license so I can drive the car I’m sacrificing so much disposable income for
3 failed tests, 2 driving instructors, 50 hours of lessons, thousands of rands, so many panic attacks and almost a year later, I finally have that stupid piece of paper that confirms that I can, in fact, drive by myself. 

Now I really hate driving. 

6. Focus on nothing but myself because I get a little distracted and forget to look out for number 1.

I’ve done a lot of weird shit this year. I jumped about 50 metres into an old mine that was filled with water, played pool volleyball with my friends in my underpants, declared war on the neighbourhood watch because they’re self-righteous dicks who do nothing, told someone I really cared about to buzz off, hosted some really good parties, passed out in a flower bed, climbed a few campus buildings, high fived a pope, and kissed a lot of people on the forehead. 

And I did all of it, pretty much, for myself. 

Which brings us to this year. The big one-seven. Here are my very relaxed guidelines for 2017:

1. Stay away from Dangerous White Men (DWMs)

Source: Disney


My best friend Su has figured out that pretty much all the angst in my life stems from my weird interest in Dangerous White Men. The ones who are clearly up to no good and will probably tear down your land in search of gold (it’s just a reference to Pocahontas, but take it as a euphemism if you will). 

2. Get better at driving. 

It’s self-explainatory.

3. Learn to walk in heels before my graduation. 

Despite my freakish height, I really want to be one of those girls with nice calves in nice heels in her nice graduation get up. I want to look fancy and tower over everyone when I take my cliched cap and gown photographs in front of a fountain. 

4. Figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. 

Like I said “relaxed guidelines”.

5. Probably go to the gym more. 

At least I can now drive myself 600 metres to gym instead of walking all that way. 

I should probably also do more things like stop procrastinating, eat less junk food and drink less gin and tonic. But I’ll take the year as it comes. 

I hope everyone reading this has a good year. I hope you fill it with mistakes and hugs and the people you love. I hope you dance a little in parking lots and that you learn to love yourselves a little more every time you do something shameful. May you call people out if they’re being ableist, sexist, racist, ageist, bigoted or insensitive. 

Just be decent, flawed, majestic human beings. 

I love you all, 

Stay interesting. 

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Lost in Transit…and then found.

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Johannesburg: Sitting in OR Tambo International Airport by myself and I’m terrified. I have a 10 hour flight to Frankfurt ahead of me plus a connection to Valencia. I’m on my way to see my dad and the last time I did this I was 12 years old with a broken arm, a sibling on either side of me and an air hostess escort leading the way. Now I’m 20, with only my rainbow shoelaces, wooden tiki pendant and this push further into adulthood to keep me going. I’m scared of losing my passport, I’m scared of getting lost in-transit and when I hugged my mom goodbye, I swear I almost didn’t let go. 20 years old, cooking my own meals, buying my own toothpaste and doing my own laundry, and I don’t want to let go of my mommy?

That’s the strange thing about growing up; you’re so keen for it to happen, yet the minute you’re on the cusp of adultish oblivion you suddenly feel so desperately homesick.

The nicest thing about this is there was this cute little french man whom I kept passing in the queue. He had the kind of soft blue eyes that constantly look wet and a moustache that made his face look permanently whimsical. If this were a fairy tale, I am certain he would have appeared before me with a baguette and announced himself as my fairy french-man. He was just that sweet-looking.

So, here I am, boarding gate A09 to independence, about to prove my ability to navigate international airports sans a fairy french-man.

The words of Walt Whitman are on repeat in my head:

“I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.”

I am traveller, hear me yawp.

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Frankfurt: I survived. 10 hours later and I’ve come to realise that things come in threes. I watched 3 movies, read 3 chapters of “A Passage To India”, got 3 hours sleep and am currently sitting in a German restaurant on Cappuccino number 3. My mother would be proud of my growing caffeine addiction.

If anyone reading this is ever worried about grabbing connection flights, trust me on this: if you know how to read and how to move in a forward motion, it is easy. I didn’t know this when I stepped off the plane, I found out my gate number to Valencia and could hear my feet tapping along to the rhythm of the phrase I was trying so desperately to commit to memory: “Ay-twenty-two, Ay-twenty-two, Ay-twenty-two.” A22 has been added to my list of lifelines next to my passports and boarding pass.

I’m also desperate to commit to memory the way Germany looked peeking over the wing from my plane window. I’ve never seen so much green and so many trees. It’s almost like the forests sucked in the little pockets of civilisation and then the universe declared it to be art.

One day I am going to live in a log cabin in the middle of a forest in Germany. I will become a tree connoisseur and then probably go crazy from the lack of human contact.

For now I’ll have to stick with collecting German Airport cappuccinos. I am about to vibrate into two people.

Despite this, I managed to dunk my earphones into cappuccino number 3. This is either from confusing exhaustion, or because I’m a born spaz who regularly pulls stunts like this because I just can’t function like a human-being.

I may be an over-tired spaz, but I’m still yawping!

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Saying Goodbye To A Truly Crappy Year

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I have half an hour left to say goodbye to the worst year of my life.

What a statement. The fact that I’ve taken into consideration the year my parents got divorced, the year I was bullied and ostracised to the point where I didn’t want to go to school and last year when I was so broken by the end it felt like my heart was about to fall out of my chest, the fact that I can still say this has been the worst year is significant. I hated 2014.

I don’t want to make this post a reflection on everything that has been thrown at me these past 12 months. Damages have been done and friendships have been destroyed, I’ve been stupid and humanity has lost my faith a little, but at least I have come out of this year kicking like crazy trying to break the surface.

It’s stupid to think that at midnight I’ll magically punch through the crappy year barrier into the slightly-less crappy one, but at least for now I can write about how much better I hope 2015 might be.

We’re already off to a nice start in terms of how I’m spending New Years: sitting in my aunt and uncle’s warm kitchen in Cambridgeshire, writing this post. Last year I spent my night third wheeling for my best friend at my ex boyfriend’s best friend’s house.

“Happy 2014 Harriet, here, have a dose of loneliness and inadequacy, the universe loves you!”

In comparison, I welcome 2015’s sober kitchen table.

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I’m spending New Years Morning on a plane to Spain, seeing my Dad is another positive change 2015 has to offer. It’s also a lot more comfortable than a raging hangover.

That should probably be one of my resolutions: a lot less hangovers and a lot less junk food to go with the hangovers, especially hot wings- that’s a good example of a bad decision to be left behind with last year.

Resolution number 2 is to post more onto this here website. Even if I think it’s crap, someone might love what I’ve written-probably my mom. I have too many drafts clogging up my dashboard because I’ve written the post halfway and hated where it was going. I also want to write more about what makes me feel uncomfortable, or more about scenarios where I’m not the hero of my own story, where I make mistakes and judgements and act foolishly- I have a problem with portraying my side of the story as unfavourable.

I also have to stay single until July this year. I made a pact.

I want to learn to play the guitar and sing, I want to be the guitar douchebag at parties, plus if I write about it I’ll complete my “not being the hero” resolution because no one likes a guitar douche.

This year I also want to learn to say “no” and how to yell and be angry. I think most of 2014’s mistakes were made because I wasn’t angry enough.

Lastly I want to keep all of my friends, only the worthwhile ones who won’t judge me once I’ve tried out my whole “being angry” thing.

In a nutshell I hope 2015 has a lot less headaches, more music, less drama, solid friendships and happiness.

My New Years resolution is to be happy.

Happy 2015 to you, readers of this little blog in the corner of the Internet, I hope this next year is psycho-free and filled with endorphins.

I hate this post, so I’m putting it out to the world.

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