Tag Archives: dancing

Europe Travelling Vibes: Croatia

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Croatia. Oh you beauty you. The last stop on our interrail trip, we had a week to explore the islands and the amazingly blue seas. And boy were we ready for some chill time, most certainly. We emerged from our 15 hour train shells of our former selves, only to have the heavens open on us. Seriously Croatia what are you doing. But it was fine, because we ran to our ferry only to watch it leave the port with one minute to spare. Continuation of the bad luck and all that… So we took our sorry selves to a rainy gazebo where our bags and selves got soaked as we awaited the next ferry. Once we finally arrived on the island of Brac we discovered we were too early to get into our apartment so we had to sit on the terrace for 2 hours watching a lady clean it. All the funs. Grace had meanwhile contracted the fat-foot-cankle-erupted-blister disease and couldn’t move so Laura and I went on the hunt for medicines and foods.

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A couple of hours later and we were on route to the beach, taking a walk past some pretty spectacular views to get there. Let me tell you, you will never have a better sunbathe than after a night of no sleep on a train and that palava of a journey. We had this feeling like WE DESERVE THIS, WE HAVE WORKED FOR THIS. I have never so much craved a salty sea to wash away all my sins and dirt and wounds. As you can imagine, we fell so fast asleep in the sun that ain’t no one in the world had a hope of waking us. Every so often one of us would awake with a jolt and a fear of sunburn, realise the others were still zonko, and succumb to sleep once again. However there did come a time where the sea decided to ruin our fun and start lapping at our feet. What about this tide thing, eh? Can’t the sea just stay the same distance always? (Geographer over here). We took the opportunity to explore the rest of the harbour, and found The. Best. Ice cream. Of life. Raspberry yoghurt, snickers, chocolate fudge, you name it they had it in glorious ice cream quality. So much lushness in a dairy product stuck on a wafer cone. We scoffed our ice creams with our fantas sat in a beautiful bar area called Yolo. Yes that’s right, we had discovered a yolo bar. It was too perfect. That evening we were in much need of a good nights sleep in our air conditioned apartment (double bed to myself, just saying. Snoring works in your favour sometimes), so after a lovely seafood dinner in a romantic beachside restaurant we bought chocolate and juice and retired for the night.

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We got into a bit of a morning routine whilst Bol was our home, Laura would wake early and sunbathe outside for a bit before walking down to the bakery to pick us up some pain au chocolat. What a babe, what would we do without her mothering tendencies. Grace would emerge at the smell of pastries, and I would crawl out of bed at the latest possible socially acceptable time. The only exception to the beauty of this routine was our extremely hungover morning where Laura ended up vomming on the road into town. If you think that stopped her mission for croissants, you are wrong. She is a trouper.

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After our first beach day, we realised we could actually get a choo choo tourist train to the larger famous Zlatni Rat beach (all the hilarious slutty jokes), which was where it was all at. The beach is shaped kind of like a horn, which means you can watch people and their wet hair walking up and down the beach from both sides. People watch what?! We don’t do that… We had a few glorious days of sunbathing on that wonder of a horn beach. It felt amazing to have the time to chill and read a book and listen to music for the first time this holiday. And work on that all important tan of course. If I went back I would definitely trial out some of the water activity obstacle courses they had, cos it looked basically like being on total wipeout. Sadly I was too much of a poor lady at the time. And also, yknow, laziness.

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The nightlife of Bol was an interesting one. We had no expectations as this was our chilled part of the holiday, but of course we had to explore the options. Aforementioned pauper status led us to purchase cartons of wine for pre-drinking on our terrace. Who are we? It got us suitably merry for the dangerous cobbled cliff walk down to town, good choices. Our best discovery was what we called the Tiki Tiki bar, because it was basically a terrace covered with Palm trees and Tiki themed things (no idea of it’s actual name). They served a multitude of fabulous cocktails, and played some banging tunes from their outdoor DJ deck. It seemed that everyone who was anyone in Bol chose to spend their evening in the Tiki bar, we met many many travellers (all the floppy hair Australians and cheeky Irish), and also a rather creepy stalker man who was the epitome of dad dancing and who decided to take grace on a whirl. The only sad thing about Tiki was the closing time – 1am! Whoever is finished with their night at 1am I just don’t know. Luckily, our previous discovery yolo bar had a late night party going on. Tequilas galore and inadvisable drink mixing, Laura and I had an extremely fun drunken time (grace was lost again obvs). We were offered some vodka from the ‘daddy bought me a boat so I flew all my rah friends to Croatia’ crew, so that was just great.

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This crew inspired us to create some alter egos for ourselves, and dance moves to go with them. Grace became the spoiled Daddy’s girl, on her tenth gap yah spending all her moneys on yachts. Her dance move looked a bit like a slut thrust with a ‘show me the money’ hand gesture. Laura became event planner extraordinaire, she single-handedly organised Glastonbury didn’t you know. Of course she employed the Laura two-step one-step dance with a festival air punch. And Joy was the hippie travel yoga retreat ladida who set up Oxfam. Y’know, that person. My move was inspired by the tree dance, combined with some interpretive inspiration. Every time we were out dancing from then on it was a case of, “Alteregos. Go.” And then commenced the spectacle that was us. People love it.

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One of these moments occurred at the beach party on Zlatni Rat. This wasn’t your average beach party, oh no. After getting the pina coladas in at 4pm (standard holiday behaviour), the music stopped and out came a man with an electro violin accompanied by dancers wearing fishnet thongs. I mean, fabulous and all, but it was slightly strange that the beach bar was still full of families who then decided to take photos of their children with the dancers whilst they had some shisha. Each to their own. Electro violin man turned out to be one of the greatest things we had observed so far this holiday. It was just wow. He leaped across the palm trees and bar seats with his crazy smiley face and performed beautiful intense Swedish House Mafia inspired vibrato tunes. Electro violin, a great night out, who knew. DJs then came out with every hit European song you’ve heard of or haven’t heard of and the crowd became rather ‘Ibiza bumbag lads on drugs’ styley. We escaped to watch the b-e-a-utiful sunset and run into the sea and scream at massive bugs and laze around on bean bags.

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Our time in Bol had to come to an end at some point, and sad as we were to leave, we were very excited to venture across the sea to the famous Hvar. We had a 2 hour boat journey which consisted of sunbathing on the roof and a spontaneous jump into the sea, the most refreshing way to start the day. With only one full day in Hvar we wanted to make the most of it, so on hostel mans advice we took a taxiboat over to the small island of Jeromin and spent the day on a beautifully secluded rocky beach. You had to walk through a foresty area which had a hippie bar with bucket flush toilets and hammocks that we just cannot. Falling through holes like beached whales. We lay on our rocks eating our ham and cheese sandwiches (the girls wouldn’t allow me to bring gherkins to the beach. Like, what.) and took a swim over to the pontoon which was the pinnacle of sunbathing glory. Our people watching tendencies led us to discover that we were alongside a nudist beach, with people very much in the nude showing off for all to see. Lovely sights. And then the people watching took a new level…

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Joy: “That looks like Curtis.” Laura: “Oh yes, from that angle it does.” Grace: “He is actually in Croatia you know. OMG ITS CURTIS.” Joy: “I’m going to shout his name so we can see if it’s him.” Grace: “NONONONONONONONO. I am not stalker.” Laura: “Lets go swim over to him for lols.” Grace: “NONONONONONONO. I am not stalker. Well okay.” So much laughings, what is life, we are life, the world is a small small place. Hi Curtis, bum slaps, “That MUST be Grace Shellard.” Wowsa.

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Our night out in Croatia had been planned meticulously from the very beginning of our holiday, but fate and the weather decided to get in our way so sadly we did not experience the Carpe Diem club island. We did however go to ‘frat bar’ Hula Hula and danced on tables and chairs whilst drinking cocktails. Stereotype it may be, but it was genuinely full of Americans who genuinely swam over to the bar from their yachts. And who then genuinely bought prosecco and sprayed it all over everyone, many times. All the frat vibes. We did a little bar crawl to Nautica and Aloha, got some free shots and did some dancing. Then the heavens opened so the one sheltered bar became a very sweaty and claustrophobe affair. Sacked that off, dancing in the rain is much more preferable. I decided I was a hippie and demanded everyone must take off their shoes and feel grounded to the earth through their feet. Who am I? We got very wet. Attempts at other bars were made, but postcodes were lost down throats and the rain just would not let us have more funs so afterparties and gins were the only options. Being us and having no shame, we got Curtis’ friend with a fabulous narrative voice to read out his claim to fame through my blog, How Not to Date in 10 Steps. It was an overall embarrassing and cringeworthy experience for all involved, but obviously hilarious.

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We definitely did not have enough time to experience Hvar fully, so leaving on the morning ferry was a sad moment. However we had one more day of Croatian loving on the coastal town of Split. With optimum tans being of the highest priority, we spent the entire day on a little local beach, reminiscing and sleeping and swimming in the gloriously blue shiny salty sea. We had been recommended a quaint little restaurant called ‘Buffet Fife’, where the waiter decided to set us up on a blind date with two nerdy Oxford boys, thanks. The menu consisted of many many fishes, as well as “Beans” and “Boiled Meat”. Croatian delicacies? The fish came looking very much whole and alive, but was scrummily delicious, so well done Buffet Fife. I would recommend you to all Croatian travellers. With a 5am wakeup for our flight home we weren’t after a mental night, but we had to see what Split could offer in the way of drinkies. After 3 hour showers (“I have to moisturise”) and beers on the balcony, we walked through the pretty Palace walls to a cheap and cheerful alleyway bar called Charlies. The vibes weren’t quite right so we ate some pizza on the harbour and then chased after the bright lights and fabulous music we could see in the distance. Turned out to be an amazing outdoor Ibiza style DJ bar, good finds. We kept trying to leave because sleep was calling but then another great song would play and we ran back because MORE DANCING PLEASE. Don’t ever let it end. We are so not ready to go home.

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But the time had come, after two wonderfully adventurous and yolo weeks of Europe vibes, to catch our flight back to the UK. The adventures weren’t quite over yet, we had a stop over in Cologne and although we didn’t get to leave the airport we ate German sausages and pretzels in the airport so I’d like to say we can add that to our list of country experiences. Interrailing, you are the one. You ruined my liver and voice, and of course bad luck came calling at many moments because this is us, but you gave us hands down one of the best experiences of life. As great as it is to venture halfway across the world, Europe has so much to offer any traveller and every country has its own little thang that makes it exciting or crazy or just plain great. We squeezed so many experiences and adventures into two weeks, and I could do it all again tomorrow. Next stop….?

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A Month Of Sevens

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1560551_10153322577214804_291400234273021532_n I’ve never been a particularly sporty person. In fact, I’m probably what you would call distinctly bad at sport. Worst hand-eye coordination in the school, I would be the most failing person even in simple throw-and-catch. Don’t get me started on actual sports. Myself and my equally unsporty friend would pair off so we didn’t have to cripple others with our pitiful serves and flailing attempts at hitting anything. A low point came when we played Quaser laser. Not a sport, right? Still defeated us. We came like a thousand points behind everyone else. But hey, everyone else had fun destroying us so great birthday obvs. Despite this aversion to all things sport, I decided to devote two of my weekends this month to sporting events. What’s the attraction if I don’t like sport? Fancy dress and alcohol mainly. But also the great festival atmosphere – sports teams are a crazy bunch in general and to be honest I just love joining in with the antics. That’s not to say we completely ignored the actual watching of sport involved in these events, we spectated many a rugby game and many a dodgeball match. But cheer as we may have done, I still have virtually no clue what the rules are. Here’s how it went… 11181923_10153305396154804_5740782064364700179_n Our first sporting event was the Twickenham 7s. Having never attended before, I had heard a few stories but for the most part had no idea what to expect. We put on our ‘out of this world’ get-up involving galaxy leggings, far too much silver spray (old lady hair) and armbands, arriving around 1pm (only 4 hours after the games had started). I was still drunk from the night before so of course the only way was onwards and upwards with the beers. Ladsladslads. I have to say I was slightly disappointed with a few of the outfits we observed. As soon as we arrived we noticed many groups of lifeguards. I’m sorry, but how are lifeguards out of this world?! I know you might want to look like a sexy baywatch character but you don’t, you’re just a twat who didn’t understand the theme. Well done you. Rant over – besides the offending lifeguards the fancy dress effort was pretty strong, although loads of people had copied our leggings. Way to be original guys. 10408568_10153305396474804_772150164610592041_n   11236428_10153305396904804_6977475632897524385_n

The fact that it was a beautifully sunny day definitely contributed to my enjoyment of the rugby, plus the fact that games are only 14 minutes – why can’t all sport be that short? My favourite part of the games was the tuneage everytime a try was scored, we cracked out many a dance move. Having missed the England game we took it upon ourselves to support a variety of nationalities, most of whom lost. Underdog what you saying. After we got bored of sitting in the stands (and considerably drunker) we ventured outside to discover a festival-like DJ stage which was definitely one of the high points, all the tunes. 11150468_10153305396809804_9039014153943563027_n Speaking of high points, this day had many. It also had many low points. Mainly to do with travel. Trying to get that many people onto a train at Twickenham at the same time is just never going to work. The poor people who just wanted to get an innocent train to clapham would have had an explosion of space people forced on them. Luckily I wasn’t too aware of these struggles as I had reached my drunkest and was a slightly half asleep walking zombie. The one saving grace of this journey was our transformation into the song-starters. Oh yes that’s right. We got the entire train singing Whitney and R. Kelly. There’s not anyone who can’t join in when they hear ‘my minds telling me nooooo…’ After a cheeky KFC in clapham, travel disaster followed travel disaster – I directed my friends to a bus going in the wrong direction (standard joy behaviour) and by the time we realised, no ubers would come and get us so we had to trek it to another bus. Suffice it to say my friend was less than pleased with me and sat at the front of the bus ignoring me for the entire ride. Stubborn drunks that we are. 11010504_10153286689434030_4538813055353027617_n You could say that once we arrived at clapham high street we had been defeated by the highs and lows of the day and should have gone home. We certainly felt like it. But instead we decided to check out the queue for infernos. We made the right choice, obviously. We had the best night three ridiculous dancers dressed like space mermaids can have. There was interpretive, there were routines, there were fistpumps out of respect for our bumbags, there were random props being found on the floor and presented to us, there was the cheesiest music in the land, and there was the fact that we were all perfect drunk. Always. We ended a beautiful day of beautiful rugby and fabulous outfits with a second takeaway. You can’t go to infernos without getting maccies, right?! So that was Twickenham. Bournemouth was a slightly different experience given that we attended a whole weekend of sport and camping amongst sporty sportspeople. You could say we were immersed into sports culture and that’s why we have this new found love for all kinds of sevens. I’m ashamed to say that we reused fancy dress outfits for this occasion. This was not out of laziness, but simply because our fancy dress efforts have been so great we wanted to experience them again. We slightly changed our space costumes to become ‘tight and bright’, and for ‘superheroes’ we chose our old New Years Eve favourite. That’s right, I was Ron Weasley. Don’t even think about suggesting that Ron is not a superhero. Did you not see his chess game? So much sass. 11261582_10152912877273457_3396595336378410903_n The weather was beautiful again (the sun has been loving all of the sevens this month) so we pretty much just loved life for the whole of the first day watching rugby men and drinking beer. One of the most entertaining parts of the rugby game (in my opinion) is watching their warm ups on the side beforehand. It’s like they try to emit as much manliness as possible to macho themselves up but in actual fact they are just doing yoga. I’m not complaining, in fact the yoga-rugby collaboration gave me a higher appreciation for the game. Being camped near a Scotland rugby team and having embraced Scottish rugby on our trip to Edinburgh, we ended up taking it upon ourselves to support them through the cup. We may have unwittingly become Scotland groupies. I promise we’re not stalkers we just love Scotland and rugby. And they did win the cup so our choice of stalkering was rightly made. Of course the sport watching was fabulous and the main reason for the festival, but after the games had finished was when the fun really started. The alcohols we sneaked past security came out and the campsite became a place of dancing, banterous conversations, rope skipping, cartwheels, selfie sticks, and colouring in. That’s right, a man came up to me with a drawing and some crayolas and asked me to help him colour it in. Not gonna lie, my colouring was on point and we made ourselves a great giraffe picture (which I was allowed to keep as a token, thank you strange man). Once we were suitably liquored up we ventured off to discover the tents where our dance moves would be most appreciated (after some mash and the best ride of our lives, obvs). Turns out many. The music was so great that we found ourselves hopping between the 80s tent and German tent in equal measures. The 80s brought us great opportunities for wand dancing, getting low, congaing, and being all round ridiculous. The German tent brought us dancing on tables which let’s face it can’t often be beaten. If that wasn’t great enough we had the music man, the superman song, the Macarena, and at the end of the night especially for us ‘I will always love you’ to which we performed the best interpretive dance you could ever have seen. You wish you were there.

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We trialled the other hipster tents but other than a brief moshing session to Sandstorm surrounded by mental people we returned to our faves. When you’ve got all the cheesy music on offer why would you ever leave. I’ll admit the whole experience may have made us a bit too excited and crazy and one of us may have become a bit of a naughty girl. You know who you are. All the guys and all the arms. Even a few cuddles. And a rather scary experience of being lifted up and over the railings of the stage.. Smart decisions are always made in the 80s tent. If I have one complaint it’s that the music stopped at 1am. Like seriously what is this, we just found our grooves. No one seemed willing to let the night end so a chant of ‘Yaya Kolo Toure’ was started and went on for half an hour. We loved it. Didn’t you know we’re football louts now too.

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Eating all the foods is a standard part of any festival, but this time we really excelled in our food traditions. Burgers, chips and then hog roasts were all had in an ashamedly short time period. We were so committed to our food moment that we decided to take our foods into the tent to allow ourselves the freedom of ugly eating. Always a necessity to full enjoyment of foods. One of us took it upon herself to become wingman for the night, and apparently the way to wingman is to parade around saying to everyone ‘I. Am. A wingman. Guys. I’m a wingman. HELLO I’VE SET IT UP I’VE WINGMANNED YOU COME ON NOW’. If nothing else at least she wingmanned herself. All the cuddles. IMG_3370 If there is one thing to be said of spending an entire weekend surrounded by rugby lads, it’s that they like to get naked a lot. We saw far too many willies and sights that should not be repeated ever. Let’s just say there was a lot of pissing, some group stage performances, and some initiation activities involving licking. I’m not sure if they were traditions or just lads being lads, and actually I’m not sure which would be more worrying. One rugby team near us who had recently been getting naked and making twats of themselves sent someone over to pick me up and carry me into the middle of their circle. I’ll be honest, I was scared for my life. However I ended up having a beautiful moment whereby the whole team got on their knees and serenaded me. And then drew a scar on my head. Seriously such a lack of appreciation for Ron. HARRY HAS A SCAR NOT RON OKAY. 11262991_10153326131554804_1661886916005252984_n Reminiscing on the best of our sports related fun makes me feel that we need to seek out another sevens activity soon. We may be the least coordinated and clumsiest people ever but this shouldn’t mean sporting events are off limits for us. So what if we end up making fools of ourselves in various ways (when do we not), we get to unashamedly act like lads for the day or the weekend and always end up the drunkest. No regrets.

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…. who knows. Vlog to come, be ready.

Why It’s Always Better To Dance Like Nobody’s Watching

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735967_10151730904118262_1823412258_o Dancing is one of the best things you can do. I’m not even going to say ‘in my opinion’ because it’s basically a fact. And when I say dancing, I don’t mean edgy head bobbing or two-stepping. I mean full on, going for it, not caring what anyone thinks of you dancing. Imagine phoebe running in friends and apply that to a music situation.

We all have our standard go-to moves that come out after a beverage or two, and I’m not judging that. Those moves are a good starting point for a night of dancing. For example my move would be the hand-waves, and everyone knows it. A friend and I once compiled a dance routine of everyone’s go-to moves and realised we must look like a bunch of twats when we all start dancing together.

But that’s entirely the point. Dancing can’t be properly fun unless you forget about everyone besides your immediate circle and just get low and jiggy with it. My absolute favourite nights are those where the music goes from high to high and the dancing gets more and more hilarious. The nights where randomers join your dance circle just because you are the most fun dancers in that club, and don’t you know it. 1275403_10151730959333262_718236710_o For example, this weekend we attended two 80s nights. Of course 80s music demands ridiculous dancing and so we brought together the greased lightning routine, the Whitney Houston power ballad, and the mustang Sally air guitar floor slide to create an all-encompassing dancing extravaganza. If the music turned to hip hop then you might see us slut dropping and twerking to flo rida, crumping and hip thrusting to Beyoncé, and generally being the most gangsta dancers you have ever seen. Alternatively a slow emotional song could come on and we would end up interpretive dancing across the dance floor, running and flailing and probably throwing ourselves at people. 10431682_10204967412927488_5591170099969414282_n 1238075_10151808865941609_138532339_n

Personally I’ve always employed the ‘dance like nobody’s watching’ attitude, but this year we actually made it a New Years resolution. And with that, we took it one step further. We started choreographing dance routines to our favourite songs which we would then crack out on the dance floor. And the funny thing is, dancing like nobody’s watching actually means that everybody watches. Who would’ve thought? Our attempt to dance without caring what anyone thinks has now become ‘making everyone aware of what dorky dancers we are’. And I’m pretty happy with that. Watch, appreciate, and start dancing like nobody’s watching.

Best Night of my Life

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There is always a massive hype around New Years Eve, one that I generally try to avoid as it always turns out disappointing. I’ve never even attempted to plan a trip into London on NYE, I can’t bear the crowds and the thought of spending £60 on club entry – sorry what?! This year we decided we should take ourselves away from the hype and do something different so we booked a trip away to that place oh so dear to our heart, Newquay. Having only ever experienced Newquay’s delights in summer we had no idea what to expect, all we knew was that fancy dress was obligatory which is a promising start if ever there was one. Knowing the ridiculous shenanigans Newquay has brought to us in past years we knew that a NYE spent there could never be disappointing!

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We decided to make a 2-dayer of it, so after a 6-and-a-half hour journey involving “the best pork pies in the world”, scotch eggs dipped in houmous (“a whole egg?! Mental”) and our very own fabulous New(years)Quay playlist we checked into our Surf hostel in flip flops and sunglasses (can’t accept it’s not summer). Sadly we didn’t anticipate quite how dead the town would be, and so our big pre-new-years night out plans had to be slightly adjusted. Meaning, we definitely couldn’t wear glittery dresses or we would look like complete London twats. So instead we embraced the Newquay vibe and took ourselves down to Walkabout, where we have never known a night to be bad. Generally visits to walkabout involve cover bands and lots of stag dos; this was slightly different in that there was only a DJ and about 10 people but we had a fantabulous night none the less. Not much of it was remembered. All we know is we were found eating burgers with no buns and lots of onions (how?!), wandering down the street attempting to sing.

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New Years Eve arrived with the hangover to rival all hangovers and lots of phone calls to people asking “what happened to my life? I lost my life”. We finally forced ourselves into the outside world to cure our malady with burritos, mash and fizzy orange followed by lots of leaning on lampposts and then a trip to the beach. It was a beautiful winters day which I could actually appreciate, and we enjoyed a lovely sit down amongst picturesque beachside surroundings. We opened a bottle of bubbly which we had every intention of drinking but unfortunately our bodies had other ideas. So instead we got the selfie stick out and videoed ourselves dancing to uptown funk (the first of many), which made the dog walkers’ days out much more eventful I’m sure.

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Nap time accompanied by Enya came and went and then it was time for dress up preparations. Of course we were going as Harry, Ron and Hermione. Who else, please. So the hair dying and scar making commenced and one hour (and a very messy bathroom) later I was a fully blown gingerite. After a brief hostel-socialising-interlude we headed on out early to start our NYE bar hop and observe some of the craziest fancy dress costumes, including far too many boys dressed as girls. We arrived at Walkabout early where the tunes were on point so we had no choice but to take over the dancefloor, ending up with the whole bar watching our uptown funk dance. Yes, we were those people.

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Newquay is most famous for the new year celebration in Central Square where they blast out music from the courtyard outside the pub and everyone gathers to watch the fireworks. The atmosphere was perfect – it was busy but not heaving, the company was fabulous and as the countdown began the heavens opened which suited me wonderfully because as we all know I love to dance in the rain. The selfie stick was constantly out and everyone was well and truly loving it. As soon as midnight hit and brought in 2015 we were on a massive high from life, dancing and skipping between bars and bumping into people who didn’t even care but just stated how jealous they were of our costumes. Wands became dancing tools as we took to the stage in every bar, and boy did we own those stages. The phrase “worry less about what people think” was taken to a whole new level where the dance moves got more and more outrageous and we got more and more sweaty in our Hogwarts uniform getup, and didn’t give a donkeys. Oh life. Life was fab.

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Of course it wouldn’t be us without some end of night palavas to note. We tried and failed to have one last dance in Walkabout so ended up begging the bouncers to let us in by claiming “the manager is our best friend he loves us”. They totally believed us. Kevin and Perry sent “I love you” texts, lost their wallets and had hissy fits including smashing phones, and then proceeded to take over our shower (altogether) and pile into a small bunk bed cave. We ate pizza on the stairs and videoed the hostel worker doing vodka shots and shouting ‘twat’.

New Years Day we said goodbye to the glorious Newquay, departing with ‘the best pasty in the world’ as self-proclaimed on their shop door (I was very tempted to run in shouting “congratulations! you made it!” elf-style). After checking out we then received a phone message from the hostel saying “the dinosaur from last night wants you to call him so he can see your selfie stick videos”… amazing. We therefore had a meet up with said Dinosaur and other miscellaneous characters on the beach, which culminated in the penguin running in for a chilly January swim. Refreshing. The highlight of our day however was walking around the town in what you might call a daze and having a group of boys shouting at us ‘Yer a wizard Harry!’. It was at that point we knew life was good, because we can still be known as Harry Potter in 2015 wearing harem pants and bumbags.

25 Things About 18-year-old Me

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Anyone remember facebook notes? I forgot they existed until recently when I discovered I actually had some, written in 2009. Apparently it was one of those ‘share 25 things about yourself and get all your friends to do the same’. I doubt any of my friends wanted to partake in this tradition after reading my ridiculously cringe attempt to describe my weird self. I could say that these only apply to 18-year-old me, I’ve changed, matured; but that would most certainly be a lie. As we all know, I just am slightly strange and I apologise in advance for this insight into the brain of me.

1. When I was younger, I used to sing Happy Birthday to the clean floor.

2. I was nearly killed by a psycho man with my TV.

3. I wish I was Harry Potter.

4. I like to think I can cook. I probably can’t.

5. I have a tendency to lose things.

6. I love my sister so much and am going to miss her unbelievably when I leave.

7. I believe in fate, everything is a sign or everything happens for a reason.

8. I am extremely scared to go to Australia by myself but amazingly excited.

9. I secretly love really nerdy songs/artists. Such as Aqua. And the Vengaboys.

10. I miss the days when we used to dress up and run around London taking pictures of ourselves and didn’t care what people thought.

11. My aim in life is to go to every country in the world.

12. I am amazed I haven’t crashed yet.

13. Sometimes I prefer being with my family (plus Maya and Valerie). They are one of the only times I feel like I can completely be myself. And I love them lots.

14. I think I have a little bit of OCD.

15. I have a phobia of drowning and when I think about it I kind of choke.

16. Jazz is my favourite kind of music because it makes me happy.

17. I love laughing so much you can’t breathe and you don’t even know what you’re laughing about anymore.

18. I find really weird things funny (the beautiful gay boy who dances to Hairspray on youtube; Michael Taplin’s laugh; many times with my sister and Maya…Italy…Girls on Time)

19. The best feeling ever is dancing in the rain when completely drunk.

20. I love Grace Shellard, Alex Sessions and Harry Kalavazides. I want Julian to dance for me. Harry I love you really no matter how much I make fun of your coat. Alex buy me lunch please.

21. I should be fat.

22. I miss having sleepovers and sitting around the campfire which is really a torch.

23. I wish I could have more parties but I really don’t have enough money to pay for any more broken doors.

24. I tend to tell people to get over it a lot.

25. I want to stay this age forever.

So I obviously didn’t stay 18 forever (this thing called time happened), but I still wholeheartedly agree with every one of these points (minus the going to Australia thing). One of the most hilarious things about discovering this old gem was the comments underneath, and I quote:

‘DANCING IN THE RAIN IN GREENBELT DURNK AND HALF NAKED WITH HOT PEOPLE IS BETTER. AND NO POUR ALMOND INTO HOLEY EGG CUP! LUSM XXXXXXXXXX’

The scary thing about that is it makes total and complete sense to me. In the New Year I might try and compose a 25 things about 24-year-old me and see how they differ. Likelihood is they will actually be even more bizarre. By my experience ridiculousness only increases with age as we care less about what people think of us and more about enjoying every moment, laughing so much you can’t breathe. 18-year-old me got it right.