I think moving to London really does change a person, no matter how much you don’t want to be changed. In fact, moving anywhere will change a person. I am now at the risk of sounding like a cringey bastard within the first two lines of this blog post so I won’t elaborate further but I assure you that this cringefest of an opening is necessary for the rest of the article to flow like one of Shakespeare’s sonnets (which, of course, they all do).
So anyway, I’ve written before about moving to London and the general musings I have about the place and the people and the mother fucking underground, and now it’s time to talk about myself (shock). I don’t think I’ve done this much talking about myself since I joined Girl Guides and they asked me to tell them three things that defined me, but so is the way of the blogging world that I must be selfish and act like everyone gives a shit about my experiences of shit. Continue reading “things i do now that i didn’t do before moving to london”
We need to talk about public transport in the UK. Whether it be overground, underground, sideways, airborne, on a road or on a track, all forms of public transport in Britain have one characteristic in common: they’re a shower of shite.
As a self-proclaimed angsty “bus wanker” – and someone who has to take a bus, underground tube and overground train to get to fucking work and back – I am pretty much a connoisseur of public transport. I must clarify here that I’m absolutely not admitting that proudly; it’s defo shameful and beyond to have to do battle with not one but three modes of UK transport on a daily basis. So I think what I’m getting at here is that I’m not a posh twat complaining about mixing with the peasantry on the bus, and that I do have a valid insight into just how shit transport in the UK really is. Continue reading “public transport is shit”
After getting stuck into The Durrells and beginning to feel all soppy for sandy Greece again I thought now may be the perfect time to pen a post about Corfu. Those more cringey people among us say that having lived in more than one place is hell or something because you leave a part of yourself there forever, regardless of how often you return. I unfortunately am not that cringey – and actually almost vomited writing that previous sentence – so I will say this: living abroad for a while is pretty fucking sweet, and in my (slightly biased) opinion Corfu is a perfect place to relocate. Continue reading “5 tips for anyone travelling to glorious Corfu”
Do you remember how hard you thought life was when you were at school? Do you remember when getting homework from four out of five lessons in a day was considered a crime against humanity, and after school detention really did feel like federal prison? I thought all of these things, and by the time I was 18 and the time came for me to escape 6th form and education, I decided I needed a well-earned break. By well-earned I of course mean unnecessary. Continue reading “why you should absolutely not take a gap year”
On my quest to digitally record anything remotely interesting that happened to me last year – bear in mind my memory is completely shit – I found myself reminiscing about May’s trip to Prague. As my first visit to the stag do capital of Europe I will forever look back on it not as the trip when I saw a legion of pissed up Brits abroad shaking their cocks around with a picturesque background – surprisingly we saw no genitalia – but as the very first time I went abroad and forgot my mother fucking hair straighteners. Continue reading “a guide to Prague”
It’s amazing what living in a new city will do to you, and London is more than likely going to turn anyone who moves there into a bit of a cynic. I’ve now lived in London for over a year – not counting the three months I spent commuting from Kent – and I finally feel like I sort of maybe know my way about (ish). Being born and bred in lovely Yorkshire and then branching out and going to uni – also in Yorkshire – I find I’m not the most cultured of people, or the most world savvy (this is a lie I am both cultured and savvy even though I’m not even sure what savvy means). Continue reading “lessons learned from a year in London”
January is such a wanky month, isn’t it. Winter in general for me is just not the one – all the extra layers add to the illusion that I may infact be the Michelin man, and having to toast my hands when I get home just so I can feel them again is just not ideal.
There are some (perhaps mentally instable) people among us, however, who love it. They can’t wait for the summer days of sticky tube rides and frivolous late-night sunset boozing to be over so they can get out their winter woolies and experience the joy of wrapping up against the harsh winds (weather bomb, anyone?). Continue reading “how to enjoy a skiing holiday if you’re shit at skiing”