There and Back Again

FRIENDS! AMICI! AMIGOS! I've returned to entertain you with tales of my life now I'm back in Bristol, but BOY, is there a lot to catch up on. I'll try and remember what made you guys like this when I was in Italy and Spain and now my Erasmus friends can catch up on my life while I'm here. 

SOOOOOO, since the year abroad, I had plenty of cash left over from Erasmus (this comes of not doing much but going to the beach in Barcelona) and so I had a full summer to amuse myself.

First though, was the most depressing game of chance ever, when our 6th family member, Miles the dog, died on the very day we got back from Spain. I'm talking, we drove home in the rain, saw the banner that Mum made for us, which was super adorable and then a few hours later the dog was dead and the whole family was crying. That sort of timing is a double edged sword because a single day later and we would have at least been able to play with him/have him recognise us again, but one day sooner and we would never have seen him alive again. So it sucked, A LOT, but it could have been worse. We'll move onto happier things now, promise.

And amuse myself I did. Trystan, Megs and I went to WOMAD for our first festival experience which was absolutely awesome, here we are representing the motherland with our little tent:

After that we all turned 21 and celebrated with a big old knees-up in Flushing (such a metropolis that it's the easiest thing in the world to organise international guests' transport etc. NOT.)

A few of my gorgeous and generous Erasmus friends came from Italy, Belgium, Germany and France, not to mention my fleet of friends from Bristol and the Cornish contingent who all combined to create one of the best days of my life. No exaggeration. I almost passed out from the excitement of seeing everyone in one place. Just because we looked pretty, here's my favourite one of the Trieste crew:

We had typical English weather, combined with Hobby Horse, Egg & Spoon and Spinning Plate races, which was hilarious and cutthroat at times. Dogs, babies, grandparents, drunkards and fools were all welcome. As you can tell by Luke in this photo.

The rest of the summer was spent by going to the beach, hanging out with Trystan, Amy, Oli and Megs and, after the appropriate mourning period, got a new rescue dog called Tikka. She's an idiot and we love her:

My lovely sister and I took a trip up to Cambridge to see my good friend Jack as I owed him a visit (Jack 3: Beth 2). We went for a jolly, punting on the Cam with a bottle of Verve Cliquot and all without paying a penny. (We didn't pirate a punt, although that would have been way more badass/the most unexciting chase sequence ever). We were also put through our paces by Jack and his amazing lack of memory when it comes to bicycles and large hills. 

Anyway, as is usual when it comes to Jack, we had a very drunken evening and spent the day after in recovery before driving back to Bristol with a hilarious sing-along.

I could stop writing here and catch up on Bristol times later, but this is prime getting-work-done time, but...

So then came the move to Bristol and with it Megs' almost certain homelessness. But more on that later.

I moved in to our spacious new house and saved Rowena from solitude, showed Dad around Bristol and settled in until Christmas. 

Now I know this shouldn't have been a surprise to me, but the workload of 4th year is akin to taking a punch from Mike Tyson and then having him sit menacingly on you poking you every now and then so you never relax. I have a feeling that after Christmas he's going to let me up to take him on again. 

So now I live with 4 new people and Jack, we do group meals, we deal with damp and Bruce the spider and Hugh the rat (who says you can't have pets at uni?) and that side of things is lovely. I think there are two things which have allowed such a happy atmosphere between 6 people: 1) we have a dishwasher and it has its own rare breed of magic and 2) we are all dog people. Unfortunately we can't act on being dog people, but still, there's some sort of sorcery that means we'll all get along because even if we had nothing else in common, we'll always have puppies.

So, back to Megs' housing crisis, basically she couldn't live with a bunch of her friends for different reasons, and London being what it is, finding affordable housing was nigh on impossible. I went over with her for some viewings and eventually a lovely couple agreed to take her on as a lodger. They live in the nicest house I've ever been in in Crystal Palace and have a little ginger baby who is a pure delight. So her home life and mine couldn't really be more different, but we both love where we are now. 

The only daily problem we have is winter. 5 of the 6 of us were on a year abroad and this seems an unduly cruel return to the cold. As we speak I have a dehumidifier trying to suck the water out of my wallpaper and I'm wearing 3 layers plus a blanket. I don't see my feet cause they're hibernating until spring. I'm contemplating putting gloves on to type the rest of this post. Ahh, Bristol.

Anyway, the parties have been absolutely top hole since we got back, we've had messy, classy, fancy dress, and outright incredibly decorated. 

OH and I went to Germany! I saw a whole bunch of Erasmus reprobates, some of whom I'd not seen since January. Il cuore di Coroneo, caro Götzfried was the one I'd not seen the longest and we had many big hugs to make up for it. Matthias kindly showed us around Aachen and let us crash at his house. I went to a frat house. Never thought I'd say that. And following the frat house I had the worst hangover of my life. 

Anyway, this has been a delightful procrastination. As it is 4th year after all, I can't promise weekly updates, but I'll get back to you at Christmas when I get to see my little puuuuppy, Tikkachops.

Friends! I have been doing lots of that travelling lark and neglecting you all while I did so. 

Terribly sorry, but now you get a bumper blog entry that includes VIDEOS. (Never done this before, everyone cross your fingers, do Seven Hail Marys and a quick shout out to Odin for luck.)

*Turns out I can't insert a video, so I'll put them on as two separate entries.

So before Ma and Pa got here a few weeks ago, I had already turned super sneaky and decided to go home and surprise them for Easter. In my opinion, if you can do something nice and you have the option to make it a surprise, you should. Even people who say they don't like surprises, usually only dislike knowing that something's coming but not knowing what it is. So go for it! Surprise someone! Make their faces do this:

I planned it all with Trystan, without whom it probably wouldn't have happened, and together we sorted out dates and travel contingency plans for the questionable (yet now miraculously repaired) Dawlish rail line. 

So all of the guarded conversations on Skype to the parents and awkwardly backing out of sentences that might have led to a reveal were worth it in the end because I well and truly shook up their Tuesday afternoon. I got home when I knew they were out, let myself in, made my bed and, not wanting to make any noise and ruin the surprise, tensely waited. 

Then Dad got home (see the short video) and had a brilliant reaction. Last time when we went home to surprise Mum for her birthday, he was in on it, so this time was worth it for him too.

Then we chatted, he filled me in on a few things, like a brand new car Mum was to get in a few days and then he filmed Mum's reaction for me (see longer and chattier video).

Having completely shaken up their day, they insisted on going out for dinner, but only after shocking Granny so much I thought I'd broken her. I also got to see my beloved hound after 3 and a half months of staring at other people's dogs on the street and wishing people in Europe liked to share the petting responsibilities with strangers. They're strangely selfish with their pets here and in Trieste. 

So yeah, back on track, we went for dinner and I had lobster for the first time ever. Results of this experiment all indicate YUMMINESS.

The next day everyone was at work and it felt a little bit anticlimactic just taking Miles for a walk and waiting for the evening so we could go and challenge Penryn Town to a pub quiz, with the formidable team "Havana Good Time". We won a ramekin of sweets for our efforts. ROCK ON!

Over the rest of my time in Cornwall I went to the beach, the woods, Casa Skews, Falmouth, the cinema for the off-puttingly symmetrical Grand Budapest Hotel and to top it all off, Oli's 21st birthday party. 

As disappointingly few people were dancing, Trystan, Amy, Bauke and I took it upon ourselves to make up for everyone else. We did this to a heady mix of S Club 7 classics, Apache (Jump On It), Jump Around (there was a lot of jumping) and to finish off the evening, Oli's rendition of the Spanish Christmas anthem, Feliz Navidad. This seemed to pique the room's attention and, however counter-intuitively, began to boogie just as things were winding down.

Here's me, Bauke and Trystan getting into it:

OH and Game of Thrones came back. Of this I can say practically nothing,  because having accidentally given a spoiler once, I will never be making that mistake again. (Still SO sorry Wigg). So I will try to express my feelings through non-spoiler Thronesy gifs:

Conflicted. That would be me. 

So after an all-too-fleeting stay in Cornwall, (now officially a minority, so anything said against the place will now be taken with even more offence) I went back to Bristol to see my other awesome buddies. After being in Trieste and Barcelona for so long, I'd forgotten what hills are like and how you get used to your mountaineer training when you live there for an extended period of time. I had my little suitcase and traversed every slope in the city in three days. (Except the time that James was a true gentleman and came to wheel it along for me.) Legs of steel, here I come.  I paid the gut-achingly large deposit for our fourth year house (which must be a castle to be so well financially protected) and had a lonely but absolutely lip-smacking lunch at Deco Lounge with a new Bill Bryson book. There are many worse ways to spend some solo time. 

Then a very exciting Aldi trip was proposed and with it the opportunity to see Neda, Mollie and Alex, followed by Gunny, Sherriff, Luke, Chunt, Gaby and Bethan at the lad pad. Boy do I love those guys. 

I stocked up on Jammie Dodgers, Mini Eggs and squash for Meggle and after some quality lounging with the arty crowd down in Hotwells, made my way to the airport for a thoroughly normal flight back to a damp Barcelona. Here was what ran through my mind on the way. 

Whelmed in Europe. That was me. 

Fortunately the sun has come out and there's a plan for camping being formulated for the weekend after some exam stuff that's gonna go down. 

Also, I have the prospect of my Long Lost Bestie, Jack Riordan coming to stay from the furthest reaches of Belgium, so I have a state of long-term anticipation building up. Then there's three lovely ladies coming right up to when we leave and then summer and Britain and Cornwall (eheheheh) and new houses and the prospect of fourth year. But that's where I stop looking into the future. There be monsters waiting ahead. 

So that's more or less what's been up with me in the vast expanse of time since I last wrote to y'all. 

I will update you again soon amores! 

Don't forget to check out the parents' reaction videos!

Ahoy there mateys! I actually got a request for this one, sorry for being so lazy, Babsi, I really must stay on top of things. 

But much has happened! Both my parents and my bestie of 10 years came to visit (the bestie is still here) and we have been out solidly for 2 weeks seeing the sights and going to Uni every now and then. 

So...

Let's see, what have we done with the Jenkins Sr? Well first and foremost, my Dad became a victim of Barcelona's reputation and became one wallet lighter. We don't know if it was a pickpocket or if it dropped out of his pocket, but either way, it put a bit of a cloud over that day. 

That was on the day we saw the Sagrada Família, which was hands down the best religious thing I have ever seen. I was expecting it to be so gloomy inside like almost every other cathedral I've been in, but it looks like a forest and the stained glass windows are phenomenal. 

Pretty impressive, eh?

Megs and Mum went for a swim and pretended like it wasn't absolutely freezing. But just because it isn't England in March, doesn't necessarily mean that it's tropically warm. This is something I am learning, but slowly. My brain still says JUMP IN, THE SUN'S SHINING!

But still, it's not quite what my pal Benji has to deal with up in Montana where your eyelashes freeze on your way to class. Not my idea of fun. 

Oh, before I go any further, I have something to bring up with the world of biscuit eaters. This might be the most British argument ever to be had, but I feel it is important to bring up. My sister and I realised that we have a difference in opinion over whether the chocolate on a McVities digestive is on the top or the bottom. I am in the "Writing on the Top, Chocolate on the Bottom" camp and when she said the opposite, this was the only thing running through my head...

So feel free to comment and please, some people have to think like me, I can't be the only one out there who's right. 

Getting back on track now. 

We went to a Natural Sciences museum in the back of nowhere by the beach and were pretty much the only people in the whole place. There was a poisonous animals exhibit, and unless there was an escaped Poison Dart Frog I didn't know about, there was no obvious reason for the lack of visitors and only 4 people working in the entire museum. We didn't think it was open to begin with, but once we got in, it was actually really cool. Apart from all the animals that were so venomous they could have killed us with a good withering stare, there was a giant globe that showed you everything that happened on Earth from the Big Bang and we stood there absolutely transfixed watching the continents moving around. 

Here's us being hypnotised:

After we'd made it through the whole museum in the dark with the most relaxing, mysterious music in the background, the only thing keeping us awake was out hunger, so we went to the nearest place that served big portions of anything and had an amazing lunch. 

Then Dad thought he'd really test Mum's stress limits by leaving the backpack with her iPad in at the table and running back to get it once we were on the way to the beach. Fortunately for his sake, it was there, and I still have two living parents. 

Mum and Dad went home, but Annie stayed and since then we've sunbathed, made cake, watched Aladdin, bought books, been to the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya, had a picnic in the Parc de la Ciutadella (AKA Hippie Heaven), done some fancy fancy hairdos and laughed SO MUCH. I forgot how great it is to make an utter tit out of yourself and not worry about it. 

We also got some great juggling practice in. Luke, Trystan, prepare yourselves. We'll be doing this in no time...

I did go to Uni a bit too, I finally have a Student Card and have started my Latin American Literature module. German is still impossible, but the class I enjoy the most by far.

Longest word encountered thus far: Frauenfußballmannschaft

Best word encountered thus far: gegangen. So much fun to say. 

Things on the Bristol end remain stressful, I have an Essay Proposal deadline on the 31st March and once again I have absolutely no clue what I'm going to write about. I'm all about exams, essays are not my thing at all. I also managed to screw up the Start of Placement forms so I won't get the Erasmus money until the end of April. I've found this makes paying rent and buying food a fun, tense game, whereas before it was a mere banality in my month. 

Ha. HAhaHAHHAhhAHHahhHHAhha. I love finance. 

One of the many great things about having parents come and visit is the English loot they bring with them. I can now eat Mini Eggs and wash them down with one of the sorely under-exported Robinson's squash. Seriously, I tried to explain it to Michela and Luca and they just threw that in with "Weird Stuff that the British do" like eating eggs for breakfast instead of an IV of espresso and something covered in syrup and filled with chocolate. 

We also replenished the tea stores, as I only just ran out of the load I took to Trieste. However, not having a kettle is not easy to get used to. I cannot wait to be back in England, where you can make a cup of tea in 5 or 6 minutes and don't just end up avoiding it because you have to boil a saucepanful of water. 

AND where you don't have to wait for a waiter to bring you the bill at the end of every drink you go out for. What's so wrong with paying at the beginning and just wandering off not worrying about remembering to pay/getting change etc. 

Anyway, we three cool cats have the difficult choice between Bridget Jones' Diary and Matilda for the night's entertainment because Megs has literally read all of the former in about 3 hours and we just heard Send Me on My Way, so we've got a mean yearning for both. 

OR

CHEERS COLIN.

So I will leave you to deliberate and if I forgot anything that you desperately need to hear about, I promise I'll write it into the next one. 

BESOS,

I have been distracted, busy, lazy, and any other thing that can stop a person from updating a blog and for that we both suffer, dear reader, because I have to remember almost 3 weeks of my life and write it and you have to read it all in one mammoth sitting. For this reason, I will put in strategic pauses and hopefully you'll all learn to forgive me. 

So where to start. 

Ooh, I know, the South of France. That's as good a place as any, and I don't just mean for starting a blog. I mean in the world. 

Even though I don't speak French (at all, it's embarrassing how little I know) there are few places that make you feel so immediately welcome as Aix-en-Provence. I suppose it helps that Megs used to live there and it is full of places and people and FOOD (which will get a massive shout out in this 'ere paragraph) that she knows and loves. We got into town after the nicest train journey of my life and I was immediately bundled into a taxi with no phone or knowledge of French and sent to Rowena's current house/Megs' old house. Fortunately Rowena was standing at the end of the drive, because between us, the taxi driver and I couldn't even make ourselves understood enough to say which number the house was. 

Lots of this happening: 

We had the greatest day (at least top three) following that night. After a walk into town, we met Blandine (one quarter of Team Loser from Trieste) and she drove Megs, Rowena and I to another quarter of the team, Cécilia, who was hosting us with a hot tub, homemade tartiflette a gigantic ginger cat and all the sunshine we could stand. I think about 70% of what the conversation entailed was "It's FEBRUARY. We're SUNBATHING!"

Smug. 

Then we went back to Aix together to eat some more, party on down and otherwise soak up the reunion vibe we had going on. We had dinner at a great Italian restaurant with a not-so-great Italian wanker of an owner and gorged ourselves on amazing food. While finding a bar afterwards, a man in some sort of impressive uniform got down on one knee in front of me (after Blandine pushed me under the bus by explaining that I don't speak French) and proceeded to recite what I was later told was some old poetry. Then he asked a question and a group of guys around us started chanting something. Once again Blandine interpreted and told me that I either had to kiss him or slap him. *INSERT SOCIAL MORTIFICATION HERE*

Thankfully, he offered a cheek and I politely pecked it while his friends seemed disappointed to see him avoid a walloping. 

After drinks we went to Skat and danced a little, including a song I haven't heard since our dear friend Nigel's band played it years ago: Mustang Sally. I approximate 3% of you will know what song that is, but hey, I have to throw out some niche references sometimes. 

There was another man who thought he deserved a bit of the ladies that evening: a very specific bit - the derriere to be specific. And he wasn't dedicated enough to his endeavour to actually face the girls he painstakingly selected, merely back into them with his hands ready to cup some butt. He got his comeuppance when Shane went for a grope himself and that was deemed unacceptable by the discerning gentleman.

To him I say, you are a creepy, creepy specimen and no women will likely find you attractive for the rest of your miserable existence. If that seems strong to anyone, let me just say that I've had enough of catcallers and gropers and weird guys who think shouting "WOW!" in your face is likely to elicit anything but an eye roll and a "Vaffanculo/Jodete/Piss-off-you-creep" accompanied by my best withering stare. 

Ok, now you've had some of my wrath and most of the France chapter, I suggest a cup of tea or a juggle-session or whatever tickles your pickle. Then commences the chapter dedicated to the wonderful creature we know as Luke.

Refreshed? Smashing.

After a horrible night on a coach trying to sleep on the chairs that go from vertical to nigh-on-vertical, we got back to Barcelona for an uneventful day and a pretty uneventful week of lectures. The main upside of lectures was finding Lucy and Amy from my Spanish class in Bristol in one of my lectures. None of us had any idea that the other was there, so it was a lovely surprise. 

Then Friday came and with it, the arrival of Mr Mitchell Mitchell. 

We went out for tapas, then home for a long old catch up. The next day  we went on our merry way to the beach and happened upon the single greatest play area I have ever seen. A lovely Spanish man realised how much we would love it, so he explained how to use the game selector thingy and how it lights up buttons all over this climbing frame. You choose a colour and have to race your friends to hit all your colour buttons quickest. We played for probably an hour and I swear it's a free, extremely fun alternative to the gym. 

Then we paddled in the sea and got absolutely soaked. Childish glee. 

For dinner we ventured out to a part of the city we hadn't seen before and got a little squiffy on very few drinks. I took a humiliating tumble down some steps in the Metro which I now have to see every day on my way to and from Uni. Wonderful. 

Sunday was time for an authentic Catalan barbecue, which we got up for and even found some veggie friendly food on a Sunday lunchtime for Luke. What we didn't realise was that they had approximately 5000 spring onions to cremate and ali-oli to hand make, so we once again got a little squiffy in the sunshine on empty stomachs. Then we commenced eating the calçots, which involved stripping the burnt layers from the outside of the spring onion, then dipping the middles in the tomato/nut sauce and eating them by dangling them into your mouth. Filthy but fun. 

This is where we became zombies due to alcohol, sunshine and ridiculous amounts of food. But as it was Luke's last day, we forced ourselves out to Parc de la Ciutadella and witnessed some world-class hippie activity. 

We got our second wind when we got home and watched the Dark Knight to drag Luke into this decade in terms of Batman. 

The next day Luke left and I had an extremely normal week at Uni, so here we can insert another break. Have fun, relax, get ready for the last part, I swear I'll finish soon. Have a little boogie, it'll make you feel good.

Right. Since my old buddy old pal left, what have I done?  LOTS OF GERMAN HOMEWORK.

So I know starting a new language is always hard, but I have made this particularly difficult for myself, with the aid (or lack therein) of the University of Barcelona. As I have to compile my own timetable and they put most of the courses on at the same time on Mondays and Wednesdays and make every Friday a day off, it got pretty difficult to find other courses not in Catalan that I could do. So I started German and bloomin' 'eck it's hard. There are words that are almost identical to English and parts of the grammar are similar, but when it's being taught in Spanish, that doesn't really have time to register. It was a nice way to see how much better I have become at Spanish though, when the teacher stops speaking German it's like the dense fog is lifted and the language is crystal clear. 

Fortunately I have all my German speaking lovelies from Trieste to help me. Sorry for the constant messages guys. 

Last weekend we went to Parc Güell, waaaaaaay up on the hill with a beautiful view of the whole city. 

I ate churros for the first time (a milestone) and the next night Megs and I went out with my lovely housemates Julia and Bruno. I drank beer properly for the first time ever (another milestone there) and settled on shandy as a compromise. Don't laugh. 

Since then, Bruno has two new nieces (within like 3 days of each other, as he said "people are reproducing like crazy") and Megs had some sort of flu for ages. Fortunately *TOUCH WOOD* I haven't got it and she seems to be slowly recovering before the big parental visit of Sunday the 16th. WOOOOP.

Now, I must go and sleep, or do some more German, there's a whole language full of bizarre words to learn. 

Yes, yes I should. 

Bye now chums and thank you for sticking to the end, it was a long journey. I hope your tea and dance breaks kept you sufficiently invigorated. 

Love to all my wee deck-swabbers,

Captain Beth.

P.S.

I sent a package to Trieste for Luca and Michela and one to Philipp, but Luca is winning the award for happiest present-receiver. 

HI FRIENDS

Well. This isn't even really resembling a weekly blog now, is it?

I do apologise. 

So from whenever I last deigned to keep you informed of my goings-on, a few things have happened. For example, I met some lovely Erasmus people. I don't know what reason is behind the large quantity of German people in my life now, but I am thankful for it. Haven't met one who wasn't lovely yet. 

After the picnic in the park where we initially met some Erasmus people, we then went out to the horribly planned tour of Montjuïc and the Olympic stadium. We ended up standing outside a few places rather than visiting them and being herded along my the most intrusive of electronic noises emitted from a megaphone. Add that to the fact that the ESN girls didn't remember that if they turn their heads with the megaphone, we couldn't hear what they were saying and we essentially got nothing out of the afternoon. So we abandoned the sinking ship and with our new acquaintance, Matthias, went to have a drink in preparation for the €1,50 sangria (we're talking pints here) and a very merry evening we had too. 

Another fairly important thing that happened was starting University here for real. Although it wasn't all plain sailing, as per the typical Erasmus experience. Instead of dealing with a couple of people like we did in Trieste to get started on our placement and settled in our city, Barcelona and UB have teamed up to make the Italian experience pretty damn hard to follow. 

Their website is 398,456 times worse than any other I've used to actually find necessary information. This means that the courses I signed up for in June (ish) and subsequently changed for more interesting ones (while trying to dodge being taught in Catalan) were now impossible to do and I had to rethink the lot of them.

Then comes Monday. I turn up for Spanish Poetry, brimming with enthusiasm and the will to make new friends. There's a note pinned to the door "Illness. Class will start next Monday." Well thanks, I just love getting up early, walking for twenty minutes and paying for two metro journeys for your 6 word message. 

This plus the ridiculously Dark Age-esque technique of a particularly irritating man who sells gas to people who need canisters of it by HITTING GAS CANISTERS WITH A BIG STICK so everyone hears him coming. My room is on the ground floor by the road. This is me every blasted time:

So my classes should be German (woop), Catalan, Spanish Poetry, The History of the Spanish Language and Linguistics. 4 of those 5 classes are on Monday between 08.30 and 16.00. KILL ME NOW. 

So. Other than trying and failing to attend Uni properly, Megs and I have been making a habit of going up to my sun terrace for lunch. The other day it was too hot for our English brains to cope (IN FEBRUARY!!!) and we had to go inside again. If I get sunburn before April just by being outside, I may collapse from TMBC (Too Much British Confusion).

Last night we thought we'd make a reappearance to the social world and go to the ESN event. On Valentine's day. With nobody but each other. This would be fine if I weren't talking about my twin sister, but a hot mediterranean man. Alas, they were all around, but dancing like this:

And generally looking like they would rather have been defusing unexploded bombs than socialising in this huge empty club. We took the approach of chatting with a couple of guys we met in the smoking area, because the music was eardrum-implodingly loud inside. 

Today we devoted to pancakes, hitting a film off our 20-year Oscar Winner List (Unforgiven, the REAAALLLY long Clint Eastwood one), going to buy books and subsequently reading them. It was great. 

Now I have to go and Skype my gorgeous friends in Trieste, among them the only person that this gif is relevant for:

Sorry if that confuses 97% of my readers. 

Speak to you soon, lovers!

I apologise too much, some would say, so in rebellion from my over sensitive British ways, I am not sorry that I'm late with my blog. I do not feel bad and lazy at having slept 12ish hours a night instead of updating people on my life. So there. (It's all lies - the guilt, it gnaws.)

I LIVE IN SPAIN NOOOOOOOOWWWWW! I'm still getting used to living in such a massive city as Barcelona, Bristol and Trieste are strictly walk/bus cities, but this is tram/metro/bus/walk/any-other-form-of-transport-you-can-think-of size. 

I know I make out as if everything's easy peasy lemon squeezy, and now I'm settled, it pretty much is, but for some reason lugging my worldly possessions across various countries on several different vehicles with security hurdles and weight restrictions and time constraints makes me darn anxious these days. Here's me the night before making the journey:

Due to Trieste being more than a little bit out of the way it means that there's a small and wonderful group of people there who you get to know super easily because everyone knows everyone else and you don't have thousands of people who are too intimidating to make friends with. This also makes it hard to leave. Last Wednesday night a whole group of Erasmus darlings came to our new favourite bar (€1 shots, what's not to love?) and we tried to fight for conversation over the ridiculously loud club tunes that they force upon you from 10pm onwards. It was lovely and Maike and I were sort of holding ourselves together and not crying for most of the evening. Unfortunately alcohol and time got the better of me and when Blandine left the tears couldn't be stopped. Team Loser disbanded for real! 

Then Josie, Jana, Dany, Elena...everyone started to leave and when I finally had to go home to stay sane for the next day's journey, Philipp, Luca and Barbara came back to Coroneo and I went to bed and tried not to be sad. 

Didn't work.

Just like the great group of people, Trieste is so far away from the rest of Italy that it's a wonderful place to live in and explore, but it's hard to leave. Literally. I had to get a train to Venice in the morning to even have a hope of finding a flight to Barcelona and even then there was only a choice of two. So my beautiful flatmates woke up and said goodbye, Luca didn't even blast out Khan remix or hit me, I got hugs all round (not from Kang or Tong, but I'll live) and Philipp "Official Babe" Götzfried carried my suitcase down the stairs for me and I got another hug for luck. Then he sent me a nice text on the train to Venice and I lost it again.

So when I finally got onto my flight and realised there was no longer any important connection I could miss or any way I could mess up I relaxed so much I fell asleep. When the stewardess woke me up, we were about to land and I looked out the window to the beautiful blue sea and sky of a Barcelona January. Incidentally, not like a January anywhere else on Earth, especially not like Cornwall right now:

SO glad I'm not there right now. And with part of the only train line connecting the rest of the world with Cornwall washed into the sea, I'm not likely to get there any time soon. 

So I arrived in Barcelona, met my wonderful sister who presented me with socks, Cathedral City Cheddar, Crunchy Nut, milk and many many hugs and went back to her flat to meet the Italian housemate. Handy, as my Italian has never been better and I can't remember a word of Spanish.

Since then I have: been to the zoo, walked along the beach, met one of Megs' classmates, registered at Uni and of course, moved into my new house. It has a garden, a rooftop terrace, a barbecue, 2 sheds, 2 sitting rooms and 2 lovely housemates. The only thing I need to improve on is social skills, because I feel to shy and too stupid in Spanish. It's ridiculous - even the very first things I learnt in Spanish and should be firmly stuck in my brain come out in Italian now. Add that to the fact that Welcome Week hasn't started yet, Uni isn't on until Monday and I have no other Spanish people to talk to and I'm not really improving. 

One thing we have done is go to the cinema. Two nights in a row actually, first to see The Book Thief. Oh lord, I'm not doing another gif about crying, but it was the main theme other than I LOVE GEOFFREY RUSH and THAT LITTLE KID IS SO SO SO CUTE! The next night The Wolf of Wall Street was up and way harder to understand, given all the jokes and colloquialisms and swearing. Leo dancing however, is a language we can all speak. 

One of the best things about Barcelona so far (other than it being unfailingly sunny) is Asso.

Asso is a dog and he's pretty much canine perfection. 

He loves nothing more than to cuddle and that's perfect because ME TOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Add to that the fact that Valentine's Day is coming up and we can shower him with affection while ignoring all the couples who will undoubtedly be unbearable come the 14th. The Spanish are already pretty big on public affection. So I can abandon my habitual February attitude:

  Yippee!

So Welcome Week kicks off tonight with the classic Flag Party. We somehow have to find red, white and blue stuff and paint a Union Jack on our face (damn you British flag for being so difficult) and on top of that wear clothes of the same colours so nobody could possibly miss that we're English. I'm told that's impossible anyway. 

So that's it, I'm NOT sorry it's late and here's Beyoncé to help with the goodbye this week.

¡Hasta luego!

Capitán Beth

SO I hate to start things off with a negative start, but my landlady has just been and WATCH OUT for the ones who muddle their words when you get to a new country and have to read and sign and agree to things in a different language when large-ish amounts of money are in the balance.

Also watch out for when they put on big puppy eyes and pretend to be shocked when you get a bit pissed off when they don't give you all your money back to pay for a new key to replace one that as far as I know never existed.

Then beware the moment when you realised that because you have a stupid bank that charges you 2% on everything you take out and you have to pay rent in cash, all this is totally impossible to prove and is her word (and superior vocabulary) against mine.

Long story not so short, I'm down €130 thanks to her and I was forced into a verbal confrontation, which anyone who knows me will understand is pretty traumatic. 

MOVING ON.

And once again, the blog was interrupted by breaking news. 

I don't mean I'm writing this over a few hours and things are happening at a normal pace, this has been a few minutes of craziness. 

My oldest friend has just announced that she's expecting her second baby and judging by Keeley, the next one's going to be ridiculously adorable with actual bushbaby-sized eyes. Congratulations Jo!

Oh the twists and turns of life. 

So now, I've gone through anger, frustration, surprise, celebration and we arrive at the gates of sadness, because I have to leave Trieste tomorrow. 

You know when you do that thing and say to yourself "Oh, January is AGES away, it's September now, so I might as well not think about it, it's so far in the future"? Well I did and here we are, the last day of my first half of Erasmus and WOAH. It's an intense ride. It's the best ride so far and I don't want to get off.

We had C O R O N E O Mk. 2 the other day and although smaller, the consensus seemed to be that it was better and easier to talk, move, breathe and do all the other things that 50 fewer people will allow. Before the party kicked off, we ate the SCHWARZWALDERKIRSCHTORTE that Luca had spent a couple of days crafting. His ambition know no bounds.

This time though, the party was tinged with sadness and one particular French girl's tears, as Anastasia and Cécilia left the day after. (Team Loser Forever.) I got pretty mashed (sorry Granny), so I can't tell you much else about it, other than that there were no police, nobody threw up and I spent a long time with Abdurrahman on Google maps planning a route to visit everyone on Erasmus. Oh, and at some point I dived onto all the jackets on Luca's bed and had a 5 minute power nap with Nina. 

Coooooomfy.

Here comes the poignant bit that I thought up while walking back from saying goodbye to everyone at work this morning. So we can go full circle on emotions and then you'll leave with a total catharsis. 

Everyone tells you that the Year Abroad will be the best time ever, and as much as I appreciate that any time of your life is what you and the people around you make it, it has to be said that the opportunity this year gives you is second to none.  For me, friends have been easy to find, difficult to leave and impossible to forget. 

(Don't gag, I know I'm getting soppy, but it's true!)

I don't often surprise myself, and I know that I by no means did this alone, but I managed to achieve something I didn't think I could do. Living in a different country and constantly speaking a foreign language was the single most daunting thing I've faced and yet, now I've done it, everything else seems more achievable in light of it. 

As for Trieste, in a sort of first-face-this-face-saw way, it's always going to be the first place I went and conquered for myself. And that's why I'm sad to leave. When I got here it was blank, unknown and terrifying. Now it's got my last four months written all over it and I can't wait to come back. 

So anyway, I will be in a new country with a new language and an old twin tomorrow. Seriously, she's getting on a bit, I'm thinking of trading her in. YAAAAAAAAAY for seeing Meggle.

But the vomiting might be from nerves too...

Capitano out.

So, after a week of total and mind-numbing inactivity, this week the main highlights have been:

police

the festival

Andrea Zhok

househunt results

Not all together, that would indeed be a bumper event. 

So now I'll get to explaining that lot.

The festival got started on Friday and after a few days of solidly attaching posters to walls without the genius of double-sided sellotape, I was more than pleased to see a film and the audience we'd all been working to attract for the last few months. It was quite the inauguration - according to the ladies in the office, the room holds 1000 people and there were people standing round the edges too. I can see your reactions now:

We watched a cute film (documentary-ish) about a little girl from Slovenia and being at a film festival like this, we immediately got to see the stars of the film on stage afterwards. 

Then I bumped into my long lost Italian teacher Andrea, who is friends with Nico from the office and the sole reason I'm in Trieste, outside the theatre. He, Anastasia and I then went for a hot chocolate and caught up on Bristol/Trieste life. It was lovely to see him outside Uni and talking entirely in Italian (something I genuinely don't think I could do with him before now.)

The police. For those of you who can see my updates on Facebook, you'll have already seen my reactions towards the unnecessary involvement of four armed policemen to my Friday evening. 

So there we were, immediately after my nice hot chocolate with Andrea and a rainy walk up via Fabio Severo. There were 12 of us. Just talking, drinking and chatting each other up using German and Spanish read from phrase books in dodgy accents.

Nothing that required police intervention. But alas, Miriam opened the window and two police cars were there, with 4 police officers wanting to get in. Once inside, they looked confused at our not-even-really-a-party and just sort of suggested we be quiet. Then Lukas got out about 20 raw carrots, which we all inexplicably just took and ate. No question.

Now to the househunt results, which are that I have a house both in Barcelona (a STREET away from Meggybear) and in Bristol for 4th year, (my third with Jack EvilPuppy Riordan, what fun!) so I'm feeling altogether more relaxed about life. I also bought my plane ticket outta here and straight to Barcelona. No stops in between.

Sooooooooo, what else has happened? We watched Hugo and had pizza that took OVER AN HOUUUUURRR to turn up. 

I'm also working at When East Meets West, instead of actually being able to go and see ANYTHING at the festival, so I've spent the weekend and the beginning of this week in a big posh room in Trieste's most expensive hotel. And not watching films. 

So that's my week! 

I hope this sufficed for you, my sweets.

There's only one Italian blog post left. SHOCKING.

Ciao for now, 

Capitano.

Well what a week. I say that in a sort of exasperated, sniffly, ironic sort of way. I was ill from Monday until Sunday and only left the house a handful of times, for Sinecod industrial strength super drowsy cough syrup. It made pretty much no difference. Sleeping didn't really happen, other than after my alarm went off for work and I realised I couldn't go in again. This meant I did a Jack Riordan and became more or less nocturnal this week. I say more or less, because coughing like an injured seal (see title) isn't conducive to slumber. With only about a week until the start of the Trieste Film Festival (the entire reason I'm here) my boss was more than happy for me to stay at home and get better, rather than coughing all over them and making their lives hell for the whole event. 

Anyway, enough of all this being sorry for myself, aren't I supposed to have a British stiff upper lip? Also...

SO! While spending all that time in bed doing nothing but coughing, I had time to get started on the big Barcelona househunt. This turned out to be disturbingly easy - everywhere is apparently free to rent, places incredibly close to Uni, the beach, anywhere I want to go. Meanwhile the insecurity of the Bristol househunt is making me question everything - how far am I prepared to live from Uni, how much money do I want for food, is it possible to find a house close to Uni without two kinds of vermin and mould? Also, having to trust that the people you're agreeing to live with in both places are in fact sane, safe individuals. Inside I'm like this:

I'm not looking forward to leaving Trieste, for several reasons. 

FRIENDS. I have them. I didn't think I would. Makes them hard to leave. 

The first two weeks in a new country = stress. Sorry to any prospective Year Abroad students, but that is pretty much inevitable.

I have too much to think about with the festival knocking on all our doors to be bothered with a new flat, a new language, flights, trains and packing. 

But mainly friends. We're having a leaving party of sorts, as we'll all be drifting across Europe from this previously unknown corner of Italy over the next few weeks, we have to get there before anyone leaves. My current state is denial. Whenever anyone mentions the fact we may never see each other after January is over, my brain gives me a prod and says:

So between being ill, not going to work much, trying to get my life together a little and denying everything, it's surprising that there has been time for an addition to the list of life-changing and sometimes life-threatening games here in Coroneo. 

Here's the rundown thus far:

Scaldarsi Catch. This involves Philipp (and only Philipp) standing just outside his room with two juggling balls, catching them in alternate hands over and over, in order to warm up when he gets cold. You don't move other than to catch the balls, so it remains a mystery how this actually warms you up. I'm told it does the trick.

Aggressive Catch. This is just regular catch, with the slight twist that we're standing at opposite ends of the (sizeable) flat lobbing these balls as hard as physically possible at each other. Can you guess who turned catch into Aggressive Catch? (Have you been paying attention?)

Aggressive Bottiglia. This is essentially Aggressive Catch, but instead of a juggling ball, we use a half full bottle of water. There's a very specific way to throw and catch it (always with one hand) which leads to a fast-paced, actually-quite-exciting game. First person to drop it 5 times loses.

Laying Balls. The new kid on the block. Philipp invented this when he was ill and we were the only ones at home on a Friday night. You lay down on a sofa, and with 3 juggling balls, you have to throw each ball, so it hits the ceiling, then catch it with one hand. Twist: THE FLOOR IS LAVA! So if the ball falls, you have to get it without stepping on or in any way touching the floor. Once the three balls are too far away to get back, the game is over. Then you roll dramatically into the lava, as much like this as you can:

           Laying Balls is so much fun to watch. 

The other super important thing that happened this week is the return of the entire Sherlock fandom to the hiatus cave. That is, after 3 episodes that raised more questions than they answered, we now have to wait for Bilbo and Smaug to finish their business on/around/under the Lonely Mountain so they can be human again and get back to being Sherlock and John. 

No honestly, we LOVE the hiatus... 

So. What else? 

What can I say, a long time in bed doesn't leave much to write. 

A family friend's dad died this week, and he was such a lovely, funny man. So I'm thinking of Tina and Karen and John and everyone else at home who has lost him, and I send them all my love. 

Sorry to end on a sad note, amici! Not everything's plain sailing and happiness, after all. 

Well, I'll have SO much more to write next week, the festival will be in full swing, I'll have met my tutor who's over from Bristol, I'll be on the verge of finishing the first half of the third year of my degree. 

Ciao for now,

First off. I apologise. I mean, it IS Tuesday, but two Tuesdays too late. And there was no Christmas Eve edition for you, my lovelies. I didn't even do anything that meant I couldn't write it. I just need Philipp to remind me, and he was pretty far away. 

SO!

Christmas was essentially a stomach-stretching exercise. I wasn't peckish (let alone full-blown hungry) even once for 2 weeks. That's not to say I didn't keep eating anyway. You should have seen the feasts that Mama Jenkin and her friends whipped up. It was impossible to resist. 

I spent a fortnight rapidly and happily visiting friends and family, after the initial night of wonder (the Strictly final, Rattler cider, stew and dumplings, a roaring fire, the Christmas tree and my fuzzy excuse for a dog). I met little tiny 3 week old Hector Braithwaite (a stronger name you will not find), I attended a housewarming party with some crazy adorable children, a wonderful festive supper at my bezzie's house with some crazy adorable kittens, among other parties and meals. 

(WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAMME with an important announcement: Luca just got back to Coroneo and he is strangely happy and chirpy and he brought us sweets. The fear of impending doom and the unknown is palpable. I shall keep you updated.)

Back to Chrimbo. I got some cracking Doctor Who gifts which will all be lost on my non-British friends, and a diary which I will actually write this year. I will I will I will. I had a competition online with my flatmates for the best Christmas tree, which Philipp won with this beauty:

Festive indeed.

So onto New Year, where I maintained the Skews house tradition of 5 years hence, although this year it was a small, quiet affair. My tolerance for drinking has decreased a lot over my Erasmus term (not what I expected, not remotely...) and I think by the time I get back for my final year, I'll be up to nothing more than a half pint of shandy of an evening before an early night with a hot water bottle. Anyway, we played games, watched people on the BBC not know how to sing Auld Lang Syne and then a retina-destroying fireworks show that could be used to illuminate the furthest reaches of space. 

Then we snuggled up and watched Kevin and Perry Go Large (if you want to learn teenage slang, Luca, look no further than this fine piece of filmmaking) and Trystan and I were demoted to a cushion nest on the floor for the night by my lovely sister. 

I then spent the first day of 2014 feeling like reheated pigswill (genuine illness and not lightweightliness, thank you very much.) This gif illustrates my feelings exactly: 

Go Maggie.

THEN I went to Bristol. I saw almost all of my friends with the notably absent Jack Riordan. We drank tea, played scrabble, ate biscuits, went and sang karaoke (until I lost my voice - starting with Bon Jovi was a mistake, in hindsight), we watched American Hustle and Frozen, we drank cider. We did all the things I won't get to do in Italy or Spain. And there were SO MANY HUGS. I got 3 from James when he left. They'll last me a while, I thank you. 

Then came an ill and a little melancholy trip to London (and a £4.50 ticket to go 2 tube stops) and a night at Anastasia's house before coming back to a rainy Trieste on the 5th. 

Immediately I paid my rent for the last month and went out for pizza. MMMMMMMMMMM pizza. Nothing like it.

Last night we saw the fantastic new bar that Philipp discovered with a 112 year old owner and wine for a euro. Never mind that you might contract hepatitis from the glasses or get cut by his sharp tongue, there's a "1 hour hotel" upstairs which we fear might just be his bedroom. You can even pay for 15 minutes. CLASSSSSSYYYY.

And that, chums, is the story thus far.

A presto,

Two things about the title. One: We have heard this song (Say a Little Prayer for You) a lot in the last few days. Two: I had to say a little prayer for myself because we just went ice skating. This seemed like an unnecessary risk three days before going home for Christmas. It was like poking fate with a big sharp dirty stick saying "Please let me fall and slip a disc! PLEASE!" We all survived, although I did fall three times and Luca, Lukas, Philipp, Thomas and most of the others looked like actual ice skating angels. 

I looked like this to begin with (given that my left leg turns to wood and won't part with the ice):

  And then of course you get the people who are seriously into ice skating and the kids who haven't before experienced pain and therefore have no fear of barrelling into you and/or getting scalped by a flying blade. These people like to cut right in front of you in the most extreme of angles, eliciting this response from my much concentrating brain: 

 However, it was cold, there was ice skating, Christmas decorations and cioccolata calda afterwards to warm us up. So I feel the most marginal bit more festive now. It's hard to believe that the next blog day will be CHRISTMAS EVE. People, see how dedicated I am (read: how little I have to do on Christmas Eve, let's be serious, I'm going to eat, read, sing, drink and cuddle my dog. I can fit a blog entry in and you will have time to read it unless you all go for a hike or work on the 24th, freaks.)

And as if this wasn't enough activity and fun for the first two days of the last week in Trieste, last night was the party for the end of the salsa course and Ahmet and I took our chance to salsa hard. We even joined in with la rueda, which consists of a ring of the professional-looking dancers (think Cuban heels and a waistcoat) all calling out random moves which were executed perfectly. Then insert me, Ahmet and Flavia with no clue of the moves, but buckets of enthusiasm. It was so so so much fun. Also, thank you to whomever put Usher's timeless classic "Yeah" to a salsa track, because the opportunity to rap semi-offensive sexual lyrics from 2004 while improvising a salsa routine really doesn't come often enough.  It took no less than 4 girls and a guy to get Luca to dance, but eventually, as predicted by Gloria Estefan, the rhythm got him and then there was no stopping us. 

We also attempted to get into the Christmas spirit (and support our friend Franziska) by going to a carol concert. It was in the big scary church that we used to walk through the gloomy shadow of to get to gelato every day after work. I was told it was in German, but hey, we had Philipp, Matthias, Maike and Lukas, and I thought I'd recognise some of the tunes at least. Ah. Well, it turned out to be more of a classical choral thing, which was still beautiful, but less of a carol concert than I was expecting. 

Anastasia went home on Friday, leaving me at work when things were just getting busy. At first I was a little like this: 

but then it turned out that there is once again NOTHING TO DO. I mean, I turn up at 9.30, there might be a few things to do, forms to archive, something to print etc. But then the productivity reaaally drops. It's nearly Christmas, it's fine. I'm slowly bedecking the office plants with paper snowflakes and hoping that it will slowly improve the dreariness of the place, even a little. 

Tomorrow we're going to do a Christmas meal of sorts. Due to the fact we eat pasta most every day and don't fancy hacking off limbs for the price of meat on a daily basis, we've decided to splash out and make crostini, followed by steak and chips, then a mystery dessert made by our very own in-house chef, La Bestia. I will update you with that next week, when I'm preparing myself for an altogether more magnificent feast made by my miracle-working mother. I took a leaf out of her book and made crackers especially for those who have never experienced that most niche of pleasures. 

Here they are, and apparently there's a glaring German typo, but it shall be rectified before the big event. 

Also I don't speak German. Forgive me, do. 

I HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.  I forgot to mention the amazing Drinking Monopoly that Barbara slaved over for the Feuerzangenbowle. It was specially made with our group of friends on it, full of pictures of us and surprise cards with dares and rewards all centred around our Erasmus group. It was awesome. Other than having to keep our feet off the floor for a whole round. It was an ab workout in the middle of a drinking game - unexpected and unwelcome. 

So the last thing I will regale you with is the evening of stuffing our faces that took place on Friday. 6 or 7 of us gathered together when everyone else went to Milan, and made crepes, brownies, cupcakes, a peach and chocolate chip cake and a pastry/panettone/peach jam creation that Luca makes sometimes which was all pretty damn good. We couldn't really move by the end and there was a mountain of crap in the kitchen when we were done, but it was more than worth it. Everyone in the flat woke up to this spread the next day, and in true, incomprehensible Italian style, ate it for breakfast. I'm telling you, that brownie was nigh-on impossible to eat at all, let alone first thing in the morning. Alas, here people seem to face the morning as if they were about to die of low blood sugar and get on to fixing that as quickly as possible. 

So, I have to go. We're having a post ice-skating gathering with candles, Christmas songs in Catalan, German, English, French and I'm sure Italian will rear its head soon enough. 

Baci a tutti!

...when Luca and Beth went for a swim. After days of people telling me I would DIE in the water, I was CRAZY to even suggest it, HONESTLY THE BRITISHNESS IS TOO MUCH! Well, we finally just got on with it, and honestly, it wasn't bad. Here's the proof for anyone who hasn't seen it and in this picture, you can see me laughing as Luca stuggles for breath thanks to his minimal body fat and altogether too Italian mindset.

We didn't die. In fact, afterwards we had a nice walk with our spectators up and down the Christmas market on Viale XX Settembre and got one of the super sausage wraps, which was about all I needed to feel warm and festive again. 

Then a couple of days later, we decided to get even more Christmas feelings going with Philipp's famed Feuerzangenbowle. If you're still wondering what this ridiculously long word means, here's a photo. (By the way, these are both Blandine's photos: I was otherwise occupied in the water and my camera was out of battery for the Feuerzangenbowle. Thanks, Langlet!)

IT WAS SO COOL! Thanks to Caro Göttzfried and Cara Türlich for putting it together. We did three of these bad boys and they were strong, delicious and utterly festive. Coupled with Stille Nacht and a plethora of other Christmas tunes, only Father Christmas and a bucket of bread sauce could have made me feel any more warm and fuzzy.

Unfortunately it left Anastasia and I a little worse for the wear in the morning and waking up to the smell of mulled wine permeating everything within a mile of the event was not welcome. 

But really, if you know a German person or can find a satisfactory recipe and you don't have too enclosed a space for a pile of FLAMING SUGAR, then I highly recommend you get yourself on the Feuerzangenbowle train. Welcome aboard. We're all here and it tastes like Christmas. 

(If I'm using a lot of photos and gifs, I'm not sorry. I won't apologise for Bernard ^)

At work, the lovely ladies made us go all gooey inside when they gave us a chocolate Santa each for San Niccolò. According to Nico, he's the saint of the sea and people only celebrate it in Trieste and Bari, so we felt surprised in a lovely way to get a little present for it. 

The Coroneo Arena has had a festive do-over too. We got an artificial tree from our landlady, but she didn't give us any decorations. So, we had to improvise. For a few days, there were just things that we could hang up on the thing. It looked like the saddest excuse for a Christmas tree the world has ever seen. So Michela and I bought some lights, tinsel and baubles, and although it's still pretty butt ugly, it does at least resemble a normal tree. 

Wow. Scuzzy quality there, but you get the idea. Keyrings, earrings, clips, paper snowflakes and cranes. Anything we could attach within reason. 

Salsa of course, was a feature of the week, although this time it was less carnival spirit and more swearing through my teeth. This new move where you have to turn 2 and a half times while moving forwards with both your hands holding onto the man's and all in time (quickly) proved to be a smidge more difficult. And Luca La Bestia Rosolen isn't a patient man. So it was a bit more stressful than it should have been. But we got it in the end, by George. 

And the most exciting news of the week was the arrival of my cousin's little baby, Hector. He is super SUPER cute and I can't wait to meet him. It's the weirdest when people your age who you've known for your entire life have babies, but at least we won't have to do what we did when we were kids and had a new cousin. The process went something like this : "Sit right back on the sofa and someone will hand you the baby when they're sure you aren't going to drop it on its head and stunt its cognitive development." I think I have the baby holding more or less down now. 

I also got to Skype my wonderful friends in Bristol - almost all of them in fact. Luke, Chris, Wigg, Sam, Sherriff, Liv, Becky and Gablar. The internet was a cruel mistress, so our conversations were less than perfect, but boy was it nice to see them, however grainy.  My mum sent me cracker supplies in the post, so soon my uneducated flatmates will see the joy of crappy gifts raining from homemade toilet roll n' wrapping paper contraptions. 

Only the British, eh?

The last thing to report is that last night we had a 21st birthday party for Daniel our Spanish amigo because his birthday is actually on Christmas Eve and this was an event that didn't deserve to be overshadowed by Chrimbo. We got a little tiddled on fruit punch in our 80s garb, played Pasapalabra and went home relatively early, but very merry indeed. I hope he enjoyed his birthday extravaganza!

However, we three from Coroneo are required to do our best "Bitch Please" faces at every party we attend. No matter how good it is.

I know Megs will say this was too short, LIKE ALWAYS, but it's already a day late and I don't want to keep you kittens waiting another second.

Hasta luego!