Faux-ed tea, skinned knees, and a heck of a lot of freedom

Today was a super duper day because today was my LAST DAY OF EXAMS! I’m just so relieved that first year is over, as long as I don’t fail any modules (aaaaah), but for now I am free. Until September. And then er, basically not free in any reasonable sort of sense until I’m about 70. So not free at all, I guess. I’ll just have to hope for an early retirement lol.

Aaanyway, the point is, I’ve had a bit of free time today. And with that free time, we’ve been spending a fair amount of time on… you guessed it, youtube!

1. Jurassic Park

If you’ve ever seen Jurassic Park, this will be a lot funnier for you. I hope you laugh as much as I did. and watch it about five times in a row, because that’s what I did too.

2. Cat meets door

You might have to watch it more than once to spot it, but yes, that cat did just do that, and yes, they did leave it in the video which they broadcast on tv. French tv programmes seem more directed towards accidental comedy, or maybe this isn’t typical. Who knows. Who the flip knows.

3. Revision aid

I don’t even like 1D, and yet this just gave me the get-up-and-go I needed to stop lying on my bed doing sod all and get back to doing sod-all on my laptop instead. Improvement? Maybe, maybe not.

While we weren’t pissing around on youtube, I was buying disappointing iced tea, tricking people into tripping themselves over, and panicking about what I’m going to do with all this free time.


It was fine at first, but now it’s just getting awkward

It’s weird, how self-awareness changes so many things. well, maybe it isn’t weird if you’ve had it for a while, but I’m fairly new to the whole knowledge-of-own-identity thing, so it’s odd. Odd in a good way, usually, but also a bit odd in a bad way.

Anyway. All my flatmates now have tinder, which on it’s website describes itself as “like real life, but better”. Basically, you use tinder to find hot guys/girls/squid and then you like them, and if they like you back you’re a match and then you can find out if they’re just in it for the sex or if they want to go out or whatever. A bit like seeing someone in the street and running up to them all like “hi! Wanna go out with me?” Obviously this method does leave you open to a lot of … erm, sadness? Especially if a ‘hot guy’ turns out to be a total dick-head.

That’s not the awkward thing. The awkward thing is when they turn to me and ask ‘is this person hot?’ Yes, generally the person is a bloke, I’m not gonna lie. It’d be fairly surprising if Josh or Chi went on tinder, but hey, I wouldn’t judge them if they did.

But that’s not what’s important right now. The really important thing is that my female flatmates will occasionally turn to me and ask “what about this one?” That’s the key thing. And I’m beginning to see that when I say “oh, that person looks ok” I geenerally mean they look fairly clean and somewhat symmetrical. I don’t think those are the key features of hotness. Sometimes I even think, “that person’s eyes are pretty” but I don’t know if that’s why you’re even on tinder.

I don’t really want to make the whole of this about being aroace, but I am and in this case (haha rhyme) it happens to be relevant. And I have no idea if I should maybe mention it to them. It does seem a bit odd just to tell people so they’ll stop talking to me about tinder. I dunno, what do you think?

Tea Chronicles

If you’ve been following me on instagram you’ll know that recently I have been going through something of a tea marathon. If you haven’t been following me on instagram, now’s your chance to guess my username! …

Anyway. Tea marathon. So far I have tried: yerba mate, chai tea, lemongrass, tung ting oolong tea, and peppermint. So I thought I’d do some reviews.

Tung Ting Oolong

This tea was odd. I dunno, it was pretty fragrant, but you don’t really drink tea for the fragrance do you? It tasted alright, I guess. Not really anything to write home about. The best bit was watching the leaves expand in the water.


Peppermint Tea

This tea is amazing. It’s like being punched in the face with mint. In a refreshing sort of way. If you like peppermint tea, this is totally for you.


Yerba Mate

This is significantly less like being punched in the face, but it’s still pretty damn good. It doesn’t do the leaves expanding thing, but it’s still a nice cup of tea.



This just sort of tasted like lemon, really. I could have seen it coming, I guess. I didn’t really like it very much. If you like lemony tea, maybe you’ll like this more than I did. It smelt nice, I suppose.


Chai Tea

I think I like this. It’s a bit like my normal tea but with more flavours in, so I like that. I like being able to put milk in it. It’s not that I want milky peppermint tea, but I’d like the option, you know?


Thus ends my tea marathon, thus far. I’ll report back to you when I’ve drunk some more tea. Later, dudettes.

Wicked by name, rather good by nature

See that? That’s a pune, or a play on words.

Anyway. Last month on the 16th of April, Lewis dragged me into London to go and see the Book of Mormon. They were doing a raffle for about half a dozen tickets for £20. The rest of them were something more like £75, so naturally we weren’t too keen on paying full price.

The day started well; I managed to get the train from Marlow with no problems, and even though the train I wanted was delayed for reasons I didn’t panic! no sir, I did not. In fact, it wasn’t until I arrived at Oxford Circus that things started Going Wrong. Lewis had, for reasons best known to himself, left the station and hidden himself around the corner. We spent 5 or so minutes trying to work out where he was in relation to me, before eventually to his great surprise I stumbled upon him.

Of course, then it turned out we had about an hour before we had to be at the raffle. So, naturally, we went to Hamleys.

The problem with going to Hamleys when one of you is about a billion feet tall is that most of the other people there are about 3′ tall. Thankfully, nobody was seriously hurt, but there were a lot of near misses. Despite the danger we managed to kill 45 minutes examining high-priced lego and unexpected film memorabilia. Who’d have thought that replica One Rings would’ve been so popular? Although it’s a bit jarring to see them sitting merrily next to replica Firebolts, but I’m sure the people who sort out the layouts know what they’re doing.

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Once we’d fled the building, we made our slow way along Regent Street (pedestrians these days. No drive) towardsthe theatre, pausing briefly along the way to make ourselves very hungry in some whole food’s market.

We entered the raffle, hearts filled with hope, and hands filled with air. Would we win? Would we not win? Statistically speaking the odds were very much against us, but I believe.

Anyway, Chinatown beckoned, and we learnt a few things:

  1. Eating in front of a mirror is weird
  2. Eating next to random strangers is even weirder
  3. People who balance footballs on their heads rarely do anything exciting
  4. Lewis doesn’t like flapjack

On our return to the theatre we learnt that we had, in fact, not won the raffle. But, never fear, we found something else instead!

Us looking sad because we did not win the raffle

Us looking sad because we did not win the raffle


Look what it is, saving the day

We both agreed that Wicked was a much better choice than the Book of Mormon, hands down. Anyway, without too much difficulty we managed to find the Apollo Victoria theatre (it’s right opposite the station. If you’re not us, it’s probably the first thing you see. If you are us, you’ll need to turn left, turn around, and then you’ll spot it)

Apart from the really weird theatre layout (toilets right next to the stage? ok…) and the slightly irritating seat layout (a wall in front of the seats that’s impossible to see over? Good job) the musical was so amazing I don’t even have the words to describe it. So I won’t. I’ll simply leave you with the news that it took me about 45 minutes longer to get home because the damn underground line I needed was closed. well played, London Underground. well played.

Swan Lake

Last week, as part of my sister’s continuing efforts to make the family more classy (?), we went to the ultimate in classiness: the ballet. Ok, so it may or may not have been at the wycombe swan, which sort of cancels out any possible classiness you might have seen. But then again, I had a blazer on, so maybe it cancels out the cancelled out. But then there was the man roaming the Eden centre wearing a shirt and trousers made out of the same plaid, so I don’t know if anything could cancel that out.

I digress.

Anyway, as ballet novices we went to the most accessible of ballets. Swan Lake. With a twist! It’s the Matthew Bourne version, so the swans are all blokes. Yep. That’s the twist. Male swans, eh? There I was, thinking that swans were a one-gender species, and then Mr. Bourne comes along and says, no, that’s not true, some swans are male and I can prove it. Hats off to him, I never thought I’d pay money to see a load of shirtless men wearing hairy trousers prance around a stage, sprinkling sweat everywhere. (No seriously, I didn’t realise that was an issue with ballet. do they have to mop the stage afterwards?) Well, I technically didn’t have to pay any money at all, but it’s the spirit of the thing, you know? I mean, if you’re going to pay however much for your ticket, and then have to queue for about a year just to get into the bathroom, you want to know that there isn’t a danger of sweat-rain for the front row. Or maybe you don’t.

And then the next major disappointment of the evening – the mint-choc-chip ice-cream was basically mint ice cream with two choc-chips on the top. Seriously, I’ve never been so sad in all my life. And it’s really awkward eating ice-cream at the ballet, because the woman next to me seemed oddly interested in my eating ice-cream. She just kept staring. Although, I think that might have been during the scene with the semi-naked swans, so maybe she was just trying to shake droplets of sweat out of her eyes.

No but seriously, are they trying to say that male swans pluck themselves every time they leave the nest? Come on, Mr. Bourne, think it through! And apparently it was a troupe of angry gay swans because there were no female swans. So swans only travel in groups of the same gender…? I honestly don’t know.

In summary: maybe ballet isn’t for me.