Germany Part 1: Oktoberfest

13. Go to Oktoberfest

This one is a no-brainer. I don't need to write a lengthy discourse explaining my reasonings for wanting to attend Oktoberfest in Munich. 

Statistics time, kids! 

100% of people who had attended previously told me that it was the best weekend of their lives. 50% of those said they would go back every. single. year. The other 50% said they couldn't go back as their livers have never recovered. 

I fall into the 'would attend repeatedly' category. And so without further ado: Oktoberfest.

This is that story. That very drunken story.

Friday 25 September

I arrived at the BritBound Base a little early to wait for Dan and because I wasn't sure when we would be boarding the bus. Heading inside, the Base was already a hive of activity; a production line of crossing my name off the list, giving out a goodybag (complete with condoms and panadol), handing out a Britbound bracelet and, of course, being thrust an icy cold Fosters beer.

Never have I been given a beer on arrival of a tour before. Yes, yes I know it was Fosters (and turned out to be the second - and third - Fosters I've ever drunk) but it was a very nice touch for our entry into the world's biggest beer festival.

There was much excited babbling as those we already knew were welcomed and new friends were introduced. Finally, we gathered our things to board the bus. The bus attempted a 95 point turn in the small alley, eventually gave up, and so Dan and I ran to get the best seats we could onboard.

Some of us were one beer deep, others about 6 or 7, and so the poor onboard toilet got a pounding during those first two hours of our trip. Despite many protestations from the driver, too many had begun early and their bladders already weak: the toilet was filling up fast. In the mid-afternoon, we were able to get on the ferry and stretch our legs for a while. The White Cliffs of Dover, now the third time I've seen them, faded in the distance as we pulled away from England towards Calais, France.

Our path took us from England through France, across through Luxemburg (can I technically say I've been there? I did physically stand on Luxemburgian ground) before cutting into Germany and down through to Munich. The bus ride was as unpleasant as I anticipated, what with rowdy people being rowdy (excuse me while I go put on my old person diapers and find my zimmer frame), and unwanted movies being played. I didn't sleep, and by about 8am, 18 hours since we first departed, we arrived at the camp site that was to be our home for the next two nights.

Saturday 26 September
It's been Saturday 26 September for a while now, as I was awake for the majority of it, but by now it was time to begin the adventure. I was attempting not to be grumpy from my lack of sleep, slightly worried about how I was going to make it through the day but endeavoured to put on a happy face and I knew once I was all made up I'd be feeling sprightly as can be.

Most important part of the day happened first: breakfast. We headed into the breakfast tent and piled up our plates with scrambled eggs and sausages, lining our stomachs for the onslaught of beer it was about to endure.

We wanted to get to the Oktoberfest grounds as soon as possible, and so the majority of us forwent the 8-minutes-of-hot-water shower and opted for a man-shower tops-and-tails instead, deciding we were going to be covered in beer soon enough anyway! I gently unpacked my dirndl, my gorgeous petrol blue skirt and apron with busty blouse and wiggled into it. I plaited my hair "German" style, piled makeup on my face to remove the bags under my eyes and stepped back. I felt good. I felt beautiful. These Bavarian's really know how to make a lady look nice. My dirndl was the perfect mix of sexy and conservative, coming to my knee but showing off an amount of bust I didn't even know I was capable of achieving.

Enough about my exquisite bust. We haven't even made it to the Oktoberfest grounds yet. Dan looked fantastic in his lederhosen, bright red shirt and hat, and a quick look around showed just how beautiful all the ladies were and how dashing the boys. A first busload went - those who hadn't bought an outfit before-hand so we caught the next bus a few minutes later. Most of the Britbounders piled onto this bus, teeth chattering from equal parts cold and excitement.

We were ready to get our beer on!

Off the bus and we started the walk to the grounds. This walk would be replicated in reverse many hours and beers later. And there it loomed before us. Oktoberfest, Munich. The best way I can describe it from first glance is the Royal Adelaide Show, only free to enter and better in every single regard. But you kind of understand my drift. Followed our esteemed leader and aficionado Jake, we tried the Paulaner tent to no avail - no spare seats or tables at all, inside or out. We walked next to the Schottenhamel Spatenbrau tent. No room inside, but there were tables (quickly filling) outside in the beer garden. We grabbed three tables back to back and made ourselves comfortable.

BIER!

A waitress very soon approached us and asked us what we would like. A little obvious, don't you think?

BIER! FÜNF BIER!

Ok, we probably didn't shout it and we probably didn't say it in German, but the first round on our table was sorted in under a few minutes of sitting down. An even shorter time later, it seemed that the beers arrived, all heavy steins and foamy head. To begin with, on our table sat Jordan, Erika, Pat, myself and Dan, later to be joined by Jordan, Jeremy, Cynthia, Josie and Kim.

PROST! we shouted, and smashed our enormous steins together with a satisfying chink, taking special care to look directly into everyone's eyes deeply - there was no way I was going to risk seven years bad sex. I took my first sip. I was strangely impressed. Not too beery, I thought to myself, I could get used to this.

Here it all becomes very simple. For the next 9 or 10 hours, we sat at our tables and we drank. We drank litres of beer. We danced. We sang. Some of our party on adjoining tables were kicked out for being too rowdy (possibly the same ones as on the bus?) and they ended up with some Oktoberfest stories of their own. At one point, it was time to eat when Dan and I realised we had completely forgotten to.

Let me tell you a little bit about the pork knuckle. I'd been recommended it, and so it was my first choice off the menu. As Dan and I weren't overly hungry, we decided to get one to start with and share it. Let's just say that the Germans know how to do pork. This was a thing of beauty. A masterpiece, and it wasn't only beer-goggles saying this. The pork knuckle came with a potato dumpling and some fantastic gravy, and it was devoured in very short order.

Across the whole day, I managed to put away 4 whole litres of beer, a fact I am pretty damn proud of considering I don't drink beer. In other words, that was the equivalent of 8 beers. I'm not very big, so this had a reasonable effect on me. Every time we ordered a beer, there was a chorus of, "Sara! Can I please have the sharpie?" and Sara would throw her texta towards us so we could mark our tally on our arm.

Towards the end of the evening, Dan realised his wallet was missing. We searched everywhere for it, looking underneath all of the surrounding tables and asking those who had taken over our old tables. Extremely unfortunate, but it was completely gone. Dan took it well, but as it was getting late anyway we decided to head back to the camp ground on the shuttle. We had a short walk around the Oktoberfest grounds but I for one was pretty damn stumble-y. We somehow navigated back to the bus (one was in the process of leaving and kindly stopped in the middle of the road for us) and back to our tent amongst hundreds in the camp site.

At this point, we realised that our shower tokens had been in Dan's wallet. To have hot water at this camp site, you had to pay for a shower token, which would give you exactly 8 minutes of hot water before becoming icy cold again. We went to the Topdeck tent and they kindly gave us another two shower tokens which we would use the next morning.

By now it was time to collapse onto our air-mattresses and await the impending hangover.

Sunday 27 September
HUUUUUUURUURRHRHRHRHHGHGHGHGHGGGGG.

In case you don't know what that is, that's the sound of someone vomiting violently. In the middle of the night I had heard someone being sick strangely close to my head, although it wasn't Dan or myself. I figured someone had thrown up on a tree nearby, but all was to be revealed in the morning.

We got up early because today we wanted to get a seat inside one of the beer halls. This meant getting there closer to 9.30am, instead of the 11am we were the previous day. It was damn bloody cold, and I had my first shower since Friday with my hot water token, applied a generous amount of makeup, and made my way to the breakfast tent to line my stomach again.

I soon learned that the painful hurling I had heard the night before was our tent neighbour Ryan, who had been unfortunately unwell inside his own tent which he was sharing with Jeremy. Jeremy, unable to do anything about it, managed to find himself a spare tent. Perhaps it was Ryan's plan all along to have a tent to himself? It explained why it sounded so close...because it was right next to my head.

I marvelled at how little hungover I felt, although I did not feel completely chipper. Another night with a significant lack of sleep, plus a significant amount of beer, plus the significantly early start and Sasha was a little worse for wear - although it could have been significantly worse. After stuffing as much food into myself as possible, the troupe who were capable of gathering early jumped on the bus (Thomas coming sprinting straight from sleeping in his tent to the bus) and we were off to do it all over again.

This morning, there was less singing and more groaning on the journey in. I for one was glad when it was over as the motion of the bus was not helping my belly. We made a beeline for the Paulaner tent and this morning we found ourselves a table pretty easily. The Britbounders in this group took up a table and a half and quietly ordered our first round of beer for the morning.

9.30am.

I Prost'ed as heartily as I could muster and took a tiny sip of my beer. I crinkled my nose, exclaiming this is a beerier beer than yesterday's beer! I wasn't sure how I was going to go. Looking around the table, some of the boys were tucking into their beer; most of the girls looked slightly pained.

Half a litre down though, and the vibe changed. Being inside the beer hall was completely different to outside and, while I'm glad to have experienced both, inside is definitely the place to be. It was not long before the room was filled to capacity, and capacity was approximately 8,500 people (sitting, and I'm quite sure more were crammed in). Soon we were singing rowdy songs, and shouting prost! and singing the cheers song (over..and over..and over again!):

Ein Prosit, ein Prosit

Der Gemütlichkeit

Ein Prosit, Ein Prosit

Der Gemütlichkeit.

OANS! ZWOA! DREI! G'SUFFA!

Every few minutes some brave (or stupid!) soul stood up on their bench, stein raised high, to the thunderous applause of the entire tent. This was the challenge: Finish the litre stein in one go. If you complete (and in good time), cheers and respect from your fellow drunkards. Fail, and you will be boo'ed and shamed for all eternity. Until the next person attempts it, anyway.

We had a couple of successful attempts on our table, which I am proud to say!

The afternoon proceeded in a similar - but crazier - manner than the previous days. Beer. Lots of beer. A pork knuckle of deliciousness. A pretzel. At one point, I chatted briefly with the Germans on the table behind us. "My name is Sasha," I said, to which the reply was always "Sasha? That's a boys name!" and laughter.

At some point of the evening, I discovered my handbag had been stolen. I looked everywhere for it. Inside was my purse (approximately €120), Shazza the meerkat, Little Joe, Dan's mascot, my brand new selfie stick that had been a gift, my phone power charger and some other little bits and pieces. I was extremely upset, but thanked small mercies that I had given Dan my phone, which housed my ID and bank card.

That will teach me for being a drunken idiot, dancing on the table and leaving my bag unattended in a room full of even more drunk and less pleasant strangers. I was upset, but decided I wasn't going to let it ruin my night, and so I ordered another stein and got right back up there on the table.

While we were dancing on the table, every now and then a beer waitress would tap us on the legs and angrily tell us to get back onto the benches. When she had passed, we were right back up on the table. Beer was spilled. Beer was drunk. Songs were sung. Dances were danced. Hugs were given. Smiles all around as the room buzzed with drunken electricity.

This day, I had again managed another 4 litre steins according to the sharpie markings I had drawn onto my arm. In actuality, I think it was closer to 5 as I may have purloined an odd stein that was unattended (perhaps the owner had been forcibly removed?). You snooze you lose, buddy.

At some point nearing the end of the evening, I went to the toilet and came back to find that everyone had called it a night. Probably rightly so! Dan and I started to wander off when we thought to check Lost Property on the off-chance someone had turned in his wallet. I don't remember how we found out where Lost Property was, or where it was, but we made our way there and it was not long before we were at the front of the queue.

To cut a long story short, the man behind the counter returned with Dan's wallet. "NO WAY." We both exclaimed very loudly. Dan detailed all of the things inside, including his McLovin' ID. The man asked how much money was inside, to which Dan replied About €100. Turns out it was €180 and we were left wondering if it ended up with more money inside than to start! He had to pay €34 to have it returned (an act of goodwill, I suppose) and we rejoiced.

On a whim, I asked if a red handbag had been turned in and I almost cried when I saw the man return with my (strangely limp) red Hedgren. Unlike Dan's good luck, my bag had been almost entirely stripped; money gone, Shazza and Joe gone, selfie stick gone, juice pack gone. The thief was kind enough to leave me my deodorant and lipstick and my handbag was a good AU$200 so I wasn't entirely unhappy. I still couldn't fathom why someone would steal a meerkat and a puppy dog and wondered what sick people there are in the world. Maybe Shazza and Little Joe staged their own disappearance, took the Euros and selfie stick and ran off into the world. Maybe I should look out for photos of the two of them!

It was almost time for the last shuttle and even though we wanted to ride the ferris wheel, it would be cutting it a little bit too fine. As we walked out of the Oktoberfest grounds, we bid it auf wiedersehen - hopefully not for the last time in our lives!

Monday 27 September
Gurgle. I did not feel well this morning. We had to be out of our tents and packed by 9am. This was a struggle. We had not eat enough over the course of the weekend. I had only eaten 2 breakfasts, 1 full pork knuckle (2x halves) and half a pretzel. That's not quite enough for 9ish litres of beer.

I would not be returning to London with the rest of the crew on the coach, but staying on in Germany. It was a minor debacle finding a place to store my luggage, but it was achieved, before we were all packed onto the coach again for a very small tour of the city. Naturally, I ended up sitting infront of the person who was sick on the bus, and many others were not feeling well, and I was supremely glad when the bus journey was over and I could breathe fresh air again.

The walking tour was uneventful and unremarkable; we ended up in the town square underneath the massive clock tower on the new town hall, and here we were left to our own devices. Dan and I decided we would stick around for the glockenspiel display. While we waited for 11am, I realised I hadn't booked my train ticket to Dresden, and I didn't have any money left thanks to my stolen wallet. Dan kindly lent me some and we booked my tickets then and there for later that afternoon.

After the little characters whirled and the bells chimed to mark 11am, we wandered over to the Hofbräuhaus, the biggest beer hall outside of Oktoberfest. I for one could only muster a fizzy orange drink and had absolutely no inclination for a beer. We had some food and bid the Britbounders adieu; we wanted to check out the Oktoberfest grounds one last time for a look in Lost Property for Shazza and Little Joe and a go on the ferris wheel.

This was the first time we had seen the grounds in the light of day. It was a Monday so it was more subdued than the weekend but it was still a hive of activity. And much bigger than I realised. We somehow found our way back to Lost Property, but the line was ridiculous and so I made the call to abandon.

From up on the ferris wheel, you could see the whole of the grounds, the masses of rides and the enormity of the beer halls. On the right, you could see the Alps in the distance. It was a bittersweet way to end an incredible weekend.

From here, I made my way to the train station to continue on with my adventure, but that is a story for another day.

***
Oktoberfest, what can I tell you? You were exactly what I expected. My expectations were oh so high and you turned out to be precisely what everyone had said. I was sleep deprived, food deprived, dehydrated, hungover but so very happy.

I never knew I was a beer drinker until now.

Til next time, prost!
xx

Dismaland

On 27 August, I was lucky enough to nab tickets to Dismaland, an exclusively limited Banksy exhibition that would only be running for a number of weeks.

Each week, the tickets would go on sale for the following week and each week, these tickets sold out within 4 hours.

So I was quite surprised and ecstatic when, after pressing refresh furiously, I made it through. I grabbed two tickets for a grand total of £10 for Saturday 5 September and rejoiced.

Saturday 5 September
As I had managed to get through to purchase the tickets, Dan organised our transport there. Dismaland was held on an abandoned block in Weston-super-mare (or Weston-Super-Mario, as it was henceforth named) which is a good two hours out of London. Transport was significantly more expensive than the tickets themselves, which is mildly ironic, but everything about the day was well worth the cost.

There were three ticket times you could choose from, and for each wave the previous group had to leave. 11am, 2pm (closing at 6pm), reopening at 7pm. We chose the 2pm time slot as that afforded us the most time in the park.

After a number of excited hours on the train getting to Weston-Super-Mario, we alighted and paused outside the station. Many of the train passengers began walking in a certain direction and so we decided to follow. Very soon, however, we realised that Banksy was indeed showing us the way.

The pavement was graffitied with signage pointing us in the right direction (making sure to use safe walking crossing and pedestrian lights) for the about 15 minute walk to the fairground. We were running a bit early, so we made our way down to the beach. Yes, beach! At no point did it occur to me that I would be seeing beach, nor sandy beach, and so I had a small homesick moment as I realised I had seen very little (to almost no) sandy beach in over a year. Soon, this gave way to wonder as Dan pointed to the landscape across from us, commenting "That's Wales."

A little bit before 2pm we began wandering towards Dismaland, just in time. The queue formed long behind us and we waiting impatiently for the time to roll around.

Inside Dismaland
I saw people ahead of me being turned away from ticket and ID checking. What's going on? I thought. I finally got to the front and realised our ticket inspector was being a tool and forcing people to join the back of the other queue. I passed over my ticket, not sure what to expect. Bored, he looked at it, scrunched up his face, cocked his head in the direction of the entrance and said, "Piss off."

I did as I was told and entered the first building which was set up like airport security. Except everything was made out of cardboard. I approached the security station.

"Stop smiling." The attendant glared at me. I couldn't wipe the grin from my face.
"Look into that camera there," she said, pointing to a cardboard camera affixed to the wall. I attempted to still my face. "Look into it 5 seconds. We are watching you. Stop smiling."

Finally, I was allowed to enter and, as I waited for Dan's interrogation, two more security personnel surrounded me.
"What have you got in your bag?"
"My coat and tissues, mostly, I'm sick!"
"Urgh! Get out of here with your germs!" and Dan and I burst into the bemusement park.

We didn't quite know where to start. There was a huge line forming on our left and so, true to the human condition, we decided to join it. While in the line, I wandered to the programme stand.
"May I have a programme please?"
"I suppose so," was the bored and uninterested reply. He then asked me if I was Australian. "Bloody long way to come for wind and rain," he said and handed me the programme.

The queue was for a long hall along the left hand side of the bemusement park. Once inside, it was an incredible exhibition of sculpture, paintings and miscellaneous, including a few unassuming Banksy's.

Pretty certain this was art too.

After the hall, I was desperate to go on the Ferris Wheel and after a short line up we clambered aboard. My hands were shaking from my fear of heights, when the ferris wheel suddenly started up backwards and incredibly fast. I found it rather terrifying, but it also afforded an amazing view of the park, across the beach and all the way to Wales. A number of terrifying circulations later and I was back on solid ground, legs shaky.

We were ready for a sit down, and grabbed ourselves a couple of ciders and nestled down at the 'cinema' - a roughly-hour-long loop of short videos on every subject from diving giraffes to the wonders of ageing, to hard hitting international themes.

From here, we had a look in a circus tent which had a real live(dead) unicorn. Next to it was a pond with remote control boats. Cool! I thought, and we put our pound in and started whizzing the boats around. It was then I realised...the boats were filled with people. There was one boat that looked suspiciously liked a police boat. The boats were filled with refugees and there were a handful of dolls lying face down, drowned, in the water. This was only days after the poor small boy was found on the beach and I felt incredibly sad and uncomfortably and ceased to spin my boat around.

Powerful stuff. Thought provoking. To cheer up, we jumped on the carousel - another first for Dan! After the ticket girl begrudgingly gave us our tickets and told us not to fall off, the carousel set off - backwards. After a minute it ground to a half and then started off the right way around. Up and down and up and down - I felt like a kid again!

We also had a look inside the main Cinderella castle, one of the major Banksy works. Once inside, it was pitch black - the illumination coming from strobing flash lights. Cameras. Paparazzi. Cinderella's carriage was upturned, Cinderella hanging out the window. An allusion to Princess Diana, by any chance?

A video posted by flossycomet (@flossycomet) on Sep 25, 2015 at 12:32am PDT

By now, it was almost time for our Dismaland experience to be over and, a quick picture through the Selfie Hole and we shuffled our way out of the door.

***
I feel very lucky to have been able to experience Dismaland and for it to live up to expectations. The staff were perfectly in character, I could imagine them going home each evening, excitedly telling their friends So I was a total arsehole to this family today... The art was beautiful, interesting, thought provoking, hard-hitting and exceptionally well done. And, a little fact - once Dismaland was over, it was dismantled and all the materials used to built shelters for refugees at Calais. Cool, huh?

Dan and I finished the day with fish and chips on the beach (which made me feel strangely homesick!) before settling down for the long train journey home.

xx

Unfuck the system.

Edinburgh Fringe Festival

14. Go to the Edinburgh Fringe

I had given up on it. I was broke and I had left it far too late to get accommodation in Edinburgh. I was recovering (emotionally and financially) from my Summer of Fun when Britbound suddenly posted a registration of interest - would anyone be interested in a weekend trip to Edinburgh on the last week of the Fringe.

I was slightly beside myself. Yes, I did want to go. No, I couldn't afford the deposit. Yes, could you please save me a space?

For those one or two people I didn't speak to at length about this (and for those who have heard it all already, just skip down a couple of paragraphs), I will explain why I was so desperate to attend the Edinburgh Fringe. My little home, little Adelaide, hosts the second biggest Fringe festival in the world. Second to Edinburgh. It is the only time of year that Adelaide can proudly puff out its chest and feel good about itself (before it promptly goes back to sleep for the remaining 11 months of the year). The Adelaide Fringe is a magical time of year, with fairy lights and hidden alley ways, art and artists, plays, theatre and comedy, comedy, comedy.

Being a Fringe aficionado, I wanted to see how Adelaide's big brother did things, and so I was off to the Edinburgh Fringe.

Friday 28 September
The mode of transport for the Britbound trip was via coach. Coach is easily my least favourite form of transport, but beggars can't be choosers and coach was by far the cheapest option at this time of year. I met the rest of the troupe at Victoria Station and we boarded the near-empty bus. Twelve had registered but only 5 joined the tour, with the sixth never showing up (Does she exist? Who is she?). With our intrepid leader Jordan at the helm, we spread ourselves across the bus, a double seat to each of us, and settled in for the 10 hour bus journey ahead.

We passed the time with some hilarious personality tests (I like my men enormous, grey and wrinkly, in case any one was wondering), dozing, complaining about the length of the journey and testing our knowledge at pub quizzes (note to self: enter pub quizzes). As we crossed the Scottish border, passing gorgeous rolling hills and the greenest of green grass, we started having a look at what shows were on that evening. Why not try to grab a show the moment we arrive?

There are two noticeable differences between Adelaide's Fringe and Edinburgh's, both due to demand and sheer volume of people.

1. The daily show cycle begins at 5pm ends at 4.59pm the following day. That's a 24 hour period, every day. Adelaide's Fringe is closed during the day of most week days, and tends to end around 2-3am each night.
2. Free shows. In Adelaide, we only get free shows (really) if performers are handing out free tickets. In Edinburgh, there is an entire programme dedicated to free shows, with shows running constantly throughout the day and night. These free shows then ask a small donation which you are at liberty to pay or not (I usually threw some coins in). I was overwhelmed by the free shows, and decided that I would spend most of my time trying these out.

We walked through the streets of Edinburgh to our hostel, The Hostel, got settled, then jumped back out onto the streets to make our way to Cowgate, where the majority of the free shows were being held.

The Free Sisters (renamed for the duration of the Fringe from The Three Sisters) was a multi-level pub with a rabbit warren of rooms, all of different sizes and capacities. This is where I would spend the majority of my time.

BattleActs!

Comedy just got nasty.

This was one of my highlights of the Fringe and the first show to be seen, too! BattleActs! consisted of 3 improv actors on stage who took audience suggests for scenes to act out. But to make things more complicated, there were certain rules. For instance, in this scene, no one is allowed to use the letter 'e'. Or every sentence has to begin with the next sequential letter of the alphabet. And who ever does the best, is the funniest or just down-right does an excellent job collects the points. Highly recommend.

As we were all completely exhausted from a long day of doing nothing, we turned in after the show ready for an early start in the morning.

Saturday 29 August
First thing this morning we made our way to Edinburgh Castle to do a spot of sightseeing. On the way, Ann mentioned that she was going to do a whiskey tasting after the tour and I wholeheartedly agreed to join. I don't even like whiskey, but when in Rome, eh? Er..Edinburgh..

We arrived at the castle early, meaning we managed to bypass most of the queue. There was an incredible view from up here, and we all split up so we could peruse at our various paces. Anna and I made our way through the prisoners latrines, and rooms dedicated to medals, war and bagpipes.

We all returned to the entrance at roughly the same time and, as we were to be waiting for Sally to rejoin us for the whiskey tour, we wandered down the hill to check out the markets. They were a little small but it filled in the time. There was an armoury shop nearby, and I was excited to see Eddard Stark's sword, Thor's hammer and Legolas's blades.

Back up, up, up to the castle, collecting multiple free vodka shots along the way, it was time for the whiskey tasting at The Scotch Whisky Experience.

Quiz time, kids! What's the difference between scotch and whisky?
Absolutely nothing. Scotch is simply Scottish whisky, and has been called thus so it can be differentiated from other kinds of whisky. Scottish whisky is unique because, similar to Belgium with their chocolate, it is highly regulated and must maintain a certain quality level.

Sally, Ann and I jumped into our barrel ready for our Whisky Experience. The barrel ride (aside from letting us sit down for a while!) explained the process of making single malt whisky. After the ride, we were escorted into a room where it was explained how the different flavours come about.

As we entered, we were given a sheet of paper with four distinct colours. We soon learnt that these were scratch and sniff panels, and each referred to a district in Scotland and the exaggerated aromas and flavours that that district creates. At the end, we put our glass on the corresponding colour to receive a nip of that region's whisky.

I chose, possibly ill-advisedly, red for the Islay region. The strongest, and the peatiest smell. Lowland region was vanilla, Highland was strangely banana and fruit flavoured, Speyside was quite floral and Islay blew ones face off with smoke. We all went Islay.

Next, we were herded into a room with thousands of bottles adorning the walls. They had been collected here and many were so old, the scotch had evaporated to almost nothing. Here, we learnt how to taste the whisky properly. First, stick your nose in the glas and breathe as deeply as you can.

Shudders, coughs, splutters, exclaimations of "Shit, I think I'm drunk off the fumes."

Ok, let's try that again. The second breath was much easier. Next, take a small sip and let it roll around the mouth for a few seconds. We were being herded to the next room where we were promised more and interesting bottles, and so I downed the remainder of my whisky (with a shudder) and with my very, very warm belly, proceeded to the next room.

Here we were greeted by some fantastical bottles. A miniature grandfather clock. A Scotsman, complete with kilt. A chess set, each individual piece a shot of whisky.

Our tour guide explained, "The bar here boasts the second largest collection of different whiskys with over 400 to choose from. The first largest..well, that's in our basement bar. We have to be both number 1 and 2!"

We finished the tour with a few more free shots (oh wait, that was mostly me...) and, with our bellies grumbling, it was time for lunch. I can't recommend the Scotch Whisky Experience enough - it was excellent fun and the guide was knowledgeable and hilarious.

Next stop: Lunch. This would prove exceptionally difficult as we were a troupe of 5 and it was dead on lunch time - every where was filled. We returned past the free shots of vodka, and after the whisky, we weren't sure if it was alcoholic or not. We tried about 5 or 6 places before finding one that had space outside. Oddly enough, it was a gorgeous day and not what I had ever expected of Scotland, notorious for being grey and rainy (even more so than London).

Lunch was an obvious choice: on the menu was a "Wee haggis" with a side of neets and taters. This was to be my first taste of haggis, and I was quite excited. In case I didn't like it, I ordered the wee haggis as entree, with a pie for mains.

The verdict? I thought it was rather delicious. It wasn't encased in the stomach lining, and was more of a mushy smush on top of the potatoes and turnips. The texture was a fraction offputting; it felt like it stuck to the top of ones mouth. But all in all, I enjoyed it and finished the whole dish. I was completely and utterly full, and lamenting the pie I had also ordered.

After lunch, we split up to go our separate ways. I was painfully full (quite literally in pain), but decided to join Larissa to see a show. We saw two shows back to back, while I became progressively drunker to try to quell the pain in my belly.

The Coin-Operated Girl - A Sex Worker's Real Life Revelations of Frivolous Fornication
Here's the truth about sex workers, their clients, and the hilarious, heart-warming and often bizarre moments in a unique career.Not my favourite show of the Fringe, but refreshingly different with a couple of laugh-out-loud moments. More than anything, I enjoyed her passionate and educated opinion on sex work, women's rights, freedom of body and that women should be allowed to do as they wish safely and without judgement. It was eye opening and gently amusing.

Paul Savage: Tired and Emotional
Paul Savage can't sleep. It's been 20 years and insomnia is turning him into a lunatic. Share in the ludicrous, pointless, insane ramblings his sleep-deprived mind subjects him to.Struggling with sleep myself, I felt I could relate to this show. Some of his rambles made utter sense to me, as one lies there staring at the back of ones eyeballs trying not to think, and trying desperately to sleep. Some of his jokes were quite geeky, which appealed to me, and I giggled my way through his hour. I gave him £5 as I very much enjoyed his show and in return he gave me a comic book. 

After this show, we decided to meet up with the rest and try to get them to another show that evening which was compared by the lady who hosted The Coin-Operated Girl. It was a disaster.

Single Comedians Trying to Impress You
[Can't find it in the booklet...which may explain a lot...]
In a nutshell, it was supposed to be a variety act with comedians talking about their sex lives. None of the comedians turned up, and the host was left by herself. She told us the show had been cancelled but, upon seeing us all standing outside, decided to try to wing it none-the-less. Let's just say it should have been cancelled. Awkward conversations ending with a girl taking the stage to discuss how she managed to leave a cult. The end didn't come soon enough. Crash and burn.

After the failure of the last show, we weren't sure what to do. Some were keen to head back to the hostel, but Jordan, Gabriel and I decided to stay on.

A variety show - the name escapes me.
I can't remember the name of this show but it was one of the best ones I saw in the Fringe. We sat in the front row and consequently were picked on. I was picked on for working in the field of social media, for which I "probably get paid really well for not having a real job". One of the comedians had spent quite a bit of time in Australia and enjoyed having us in his front row. The show ended with a comedian who played the guitar who was hosting a show later that evening, and so we decided to stick around for that one.

At this point Dan arrived in Edinburgh and joined us for the last show. It was sadly not a good a show, which we should have picked up on by the time it was on - but that isn't always an indicator of a bad show.

Another variety one - the name also escapes me
This was hosted by the comedian from the last show and was clearly a gathering of the much smaller comedians trying to break into the scene. Up first was a Japanese girl who was constantly heckled by a drunk man up the back. This flustered her so much she ended her set very quickly, and thankfully the man also left. The other two comedians were marginally funnier but still not amazing. It ended soon enough and it was time to make our way back to The Hostel.

Sunday 30 August
Most of the Britbounders left early this morning to go to Loch Ness to try to spot Nessy. I was in Edinburgh for the Fringe, knowing full well I would be returning to Scotland one day, and so I opted not to join. As Dan and his friend Dion had arrived in Edinburgh the night before, I decided to head with the up to Arthur's Seat, a hill on the outskirts of the city with 360 degree views of the landscape.

After a quick breakfast, we started the trek towards the hill. Upon arrival, we couldn't decide which way to go, and so I said "Let's take the stairs!" not realising that I may have chosen the most difficult route to the top. It was steep, the first section took us about 20 minutes to reach the first set of stairs. From there, another 20 minutes to the top. The stairs were jagged rocks and the final flight was simply a leg-wide gap between high rocks.

Puffing, we made it to the top, and the view was indeed spectacular. Suddenly, we heard a guitar strumming, and realised a quartet had brought their instruments to the top and were serenading those who had completed the climb. The day was simply stunning; glorious blue sky, little puffy white clouds, bright green rolling hills, the city spread out on our left and the ocean to our right. We claimed victory and Arthur's Seat in our name!

Down the steep hill and it was time to bid Dan and Dion adieu. I grabbed a pie from Auld Jock's Pie shop while I tried to figure out what to do next. On my walk to the pie shop, I had wandered through the main strip where I was given what felt like hundreds of fliers for shows happening in the next couple of hours. While I ate my pie, I perused the fliers, and settled on a musical. The actors had excitedly approached me along the strip, babbling "We have just found out we won an award!" (the name of which escapes me) and so, after some to-ing and fro-ing, I decided to see Departures: A song cycle.

Departures: A song cycleEight strangers stand at a nondescript railway platform on an unremarkable weekday afternoon. As their train is delayed further, they put down their crumpled Metros, pocket their bleeping smartphones – and begin to share their secrets, hopes and fears.This was the first and only show I paid for, and it only came in at £10. It was based on stories by real people interviewed waiting for the London Underground. The songs had a very Sondheim-esque feel to them and with 9 distinct themes it was fascinatingly woven together. The characters were the disgruntled train employee, watching the passengers, a young businessman who is dreaming that there must be more to life, a young girl who looked after her cancer-stricken mother, a Polish migrant looking for work to support his wife and small child, a brash mother, a hipster, a feminist looking for love on Tinder, a depressed teenager and an elderly gentleman who feels he is invisible in today's society. In all, it was deep, amusing, well sung and well written.

After the show, I wasn't sure what to do next, but found my way back to The Free Sisters, grabbed a leaflet and decided to see another free show. Jordan had said this guy was funny, and you just start laughing "the moment you look at him". So I gave it a go.

James Dowdeswell's Perfect PubGeorge Orwell wrote an essay on the perfect pub. A fictitious pub called the Moon Under Water. With the help of the audience, James designs the perfect pub. James has a lazy eye, which explains Jordan's comments. He referred to his eye on a few occasions when he was picking on members of the audience - "No, I'm looking at YOU OVER THERE", pointing dramatically off into the distance. The show consisted of taking audience suggestions for what we want in a pub, interspersed with quick witted comments and other pub-related stories by the comedian. Unfortunately with my fear of public speaking, I spent much of the first part panicking he would pick on me and so I didn't pay a lot of attention to what was being said. The audience were very conservative at first, wanting "more chairs" and "well priced alcohol", but we eventually made it to "water slides" and "breasts dispensing different types of ale depending on the colour, size and type of breast". 

After this I met up with Natalie my housemate and we saw one final show.

ShaggersThe worldwide hit show returns with a line-up of superb and varied comedians from all around the Fringe doing material based around the hilarious, cheeky subject of shagging. I had seen Shaggers advertised at the Adelaide Fringe but hadn't been to see it. As it was a free show here in Edinburgh, we thought, why not? It turned out to be a goodie. Compared by one of the comedians from the great show the night before, with 3 additional comedians, they all regaled us with stories from the bedroom. One of my favourites was a question posed of a man in the audience. "Who would you rather have sex with: Scarlett Johansson with a penis, or Alf Stewart from Home & Away with a vagina?" It took a bit of working through, but the audience member finally relented that it would have to ScarJo with tackle. It was a rather hilarious show and I do recommend it.

And that's all, kids! My final show. Nat, Gabriel and I met up with the rest of the troupe for dinner. To finish, we decided to partake in a ghost tour of the underground tunnels of Edinburgh. We finished our dinner and raced to the office, to find it dark and locked. We almost gave up, but decided to try the starting point. We made it there just in time and, scrounging together all of our cash, had just enough and were raced around to join the back of the group.

Our guide was a hilarious and theatrical gentleman and the tour was enlightening, amusing, and in many parts chilling. We climbed down the stairs to the underground cellars where Burke and Hare, the famous body snatchers, were said to have kept the bodies. Each of the rooms we entered we found out a bit about the beings that haunted it. I kept my cool rather well, but my fear of the dark did leave me particularly jumpy. There was a group of girls who kept squealing and this allayed my fears somewhat, more serving to irritate me instead.

We finished the night on a frightening note, and made our way back to The Hostel for one last snooze before jumping back on the bus to return to London on the morrow. And what a journey it was going to be.

Monday 31 August
There's not a lot to say about the bus journey aside from it being absolutely awful. The driver was rude and aggressive. We should have had 12 seats between the 6 of us - it is what had been paid for - but he had overpacked the bus to the point of us having to argue to get a seat at all. There was a spare seat in the middle and I asked if I could please sit down.

My rage swelling, I was in a talkative mood and proceeded to natter away with the gentleman sitting beside me. What was supposed to be an 8 hour drive took 12 due to traffic, our driver stopping for unknown reasons and just generally driving slowly. I talked to Chris for approximately 8 of these 12 hours and so that helped pass the time. Probably a good 2-3 of those hours was dedicated to complaining about how bad this bus ride was. We were convinced we had entered purgatory - limbo, and that we had always been on that bus and we were forever more going to be on that bus.

We finally made it back to Victoria Station (after passing my house 45 minutes previously), I jumped on a tube and arrived at my home at around 10.30pm.

***
It was an excellent weekend with a variety of shows of varying success rates. I was deeply impressed by the free shows on offer at Edinburgh Fringe. With over 3000 shows on the books, Edinburgh is definitely Adelaide's big brother (although Adelaide will always hold a very special place in my heart).

Til next time.
xx

1984

Big Brother is watching you.

Not all that long ago, I read the famed book by George Orwell: a bleak, depressing tale that resonates all too well in today's society. This stage production, I can safely say, is one of the best plays I have seen to date.

Tickets cost a mere £19.84 (see what they did there?) and, with no interval, it was 101 minutes of edge-of-your seat sensory overload.

Let's start with the book. The only deviation from the story was the beginning and end designed to bring the play into today's age to keep us ever thinking, "Are we truly free?" These new characters discovered the 'diary' of Winston, and decided that yes, indeed it was based on horrific true events but that they are now free from that past.

Or were they?

The small cast who played multiple roles led by the every-man Winston Smith, protagonist, thought-crime offender, lover and hypocrite and the upright and uptight Julia was impressive and utterly engaging. As I did with the book, I held out a little bit of fruitless hope for them. Silly me.

The set was incredible: it was a layered design, with the safe bedroom scenes acted off the stage and ironically displayed to the audience via a giant screen. Room 101 was an enormous, plain white set, which became progressively splattered with blood. It is better to describe it as a horror play, with the torture looking (and feeling and sounding) all too real. Strobe lighting was used to distract and confuse, with high pitched feedback designed to make us uncomfortable as we were unable to escape the squealing in our heads.

1 hour and 40 minutes later, we walked out of the theatre, hushed and contemplative.

War is peace.
Freedom is slavery.
Ignorance is strength.

 Big Brother is watching you.

Hamlet with Benedict Cumberbatch

A year ago, I checked my emails. I tend to do this quite regularly, but this morning was different. In my inbox was an email from Timeout (I highly suggest you join their mailing list, by the way) advertising that tickets would go on sale this morning at 10am.

Tickets to what? A stage production of Hamlet starring Benedict Cumberbatch.

Curious, I clicked the link and instantly joined an online queue. In my great wisdom, I hit refresh, and was suddenly thrust back to number 5000 in the queue. I decided to sit tight, and promptly forgot about it.

At 3pm that afternoon, my browser changed windows and I realised I had finally gotten through to purchase tickets. I spent some time finding two tickets next to each other (as by this stage, most tickets were single seat only), not knowing where I would be on 21 August one year later.

***
A few weeks before, I vetted Daniel as I wanted to make sure my spare ticket went to the most deserving person.
"Are you free on 21st of August?" I asked.
"Do you like Shakespeare?" I pointedly enquired.
"What is your opinion of Benedict Cumberbatch?"

Suitably impressed with his level of enthusiasm, the extra ticket was his. The tickets had sold out in that one day, and were now as valuable like gold.

Friday 21 August
After a delicious dinner at Gin Joint at the Barbican and a sneaky beverage outside, we made our way into the hall. I had, of course, misread the time and we were bustled to our seat about 1 minute before it was due to begin. We had a restricted view in the stalls on the right hand side of the stage (but what can you expect, being number 5000?) but the seats were still very good. In this position, we were unable to see the back of the stage but had a perfect view of the staircase, centre and left-side action.

Signs were posted everywhere and staff held bilboards stating that mobile phones were to be switched off. It is normal behaviour for it to be mentioned once, but it is my belief that a lot of the people in the audience were not regular theatre goers and were there simply for Benedict Cumberbatch, and therefore were not aware of theatre etiquette (even though you would think it would be common sense). Reminders not to use phones during the play (the light is distracting), not to film and not to take photos were repeated.

Hamlet was on the stage when the curtain rose, playing with a record player (another confusing item that threw out the time period), and everyone craned their neck to see Benedict Cumberbatch as well as they could. Our seats lend itself to a perfect view of this portion of the stage, and so I drank my fill.

The main curtain rose and the first thing I noticed was the set. Despite the tickets only being £30 each, a lot of time and effort had been spent designing intricate and elaborate sets and props. It was all set in one room, with a staircase to the left allowing for further stage areas. I struggled to decide what time period it was set in - some characters wore jeans and t-shirts, others wore what looked like period costumes with flowing dresses or tuxedos and the set design lent itself to a more old fashioned era.

Confession time: I studied Hamlet at university. And to be completely honest with you, I never finished reading it. I enjoyed the booked we paired with it more, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, and that has become my favourite play. However, the opportunity to see Benedict Cumberbatch in the flesh and a mild interest in Hamlet was enough for me. I am not a Shakespeare afficiando, and I know that there were mixed reviews written about both the play and Cumberbatch's performance.

All I can say is: I enjoyed it. I thought he did a marvelous job, and was unexpectedly laugh-out-loud funny in places. I didn't feel he was overacting as some of the reviews claimed; to me it felt almost natural, the Shakespearean iambic pentameter.

In addition, I was pleasantly surprised to find another actors face that I recognised. In the intermission, I ran to buy a programme and, flicking through, realised that the uncle was portrayed by Ciaran Hinds, who plays Mance Rayder in Game of Thrones.

The second act saw exactly the same set: open space, set of stairs on the left, but now the entire space was filled with dirt, gravel, stones, rocks and wood and left me thinking, Thank god I don't have to clean up after this.

All in all, an enjoyable performance with great casting and sets, great use of lighting and slow motion to portray Hamlet's internalised conversations. The audience were well behaved (for once!) and many crowded around the outside gate for a glimpse of the man at the end of the show.

xx

Monty Python, the Holy Grail and the Magna Carta

I finally broke the dry spell.

It had been a really long time. A really long time. Since all the way back in February.

I was starting to get a bit agitated. A bit restless.

But I got lucky.

I spotted the tickets to the 40th Anniversary screening of Month Python and the Holy Grail on Twitter, being shown to commemorate the 800th anniversary of the Magna Carta at the British Library with Michael Palin himself guest speaking.

After months and months of no action, I finally saw a show.

***
I just happened to be filling in time in the morning, scrolling mindlessly through my Twitter feed when I spotted an ad for the Monty Python screening. Without further ado, I purchased two tickets that included the Michael Palin session, and then asked Daniel if he would like to join me. I figured there was no way I could miss out on seeing a Pythoner in the flesh - and we all know how much impulse control I have.

Tuesday 18 August
We made our way to the British Library and joined the queue in a comfortable embrace. As we shuffled forward, minding our own business, we suddenly heard a gruff voice beside us proclaiming loudly, "No Canoodling!" We jumped and moved apart to see a man in horns, a long coat and a staff glaring at us as he moved on past.

Spotting the ruckus, a Knight of the Round Table approached us with his clapping coconuts, motioning for me to take them. Brandishing said coconuts, he instructed me to move them at the pace at which Daniel, who was now acting as a horse, was to travel. I started clopping to coconuts quite slowly, and sped to an impossible pace.

I returned the coconuts with a giggle, and we continued forward in the line, where Tim the Enchanter awaited us, with nasty big pointy teeth. It was all a very silly start and already set us laughing.

We entered the almost full hall, not realising that people had been entering for some time. Luckily, we found two seats next to each other near the centre aisle with a great view of the stage. The seats were so comfy and made me wish that lecture theatres of my youth were this comfortable.

Michael Palin Q&A
The Q&A lasted almost an hour and was not only hilarious but informative. I felt the interviewer liked the sound of his own voice a lot, and many times I wished he would get to the point because I wasn't there to listen to him - I was there to hear Michael Palin. The interview truly came into its own when the interviewer threw questions to the audience (and ultimately shutted up).

With ease, Palin slipped into old and familiar accents used through out the movie, recreating scenes and giving us insight into how Monty Python and the Holy Grail was written, filmed, funded and promoted.

"My friends are getting married," one questioner asked, "You've been happily married for decades - do you have any advice for my friends?"

To which Palin responded, "Marry my wife!" 

All too soon it was over and time for us to wind our way out into the courtyard to settle down to watch the film.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)
While I ducked to the bathroom, Daniel found us a great spot in the middle and near a food stall, allowing us to lean against it. I had expected us to be sitting on grass, but the screening was held in the concrete open aired piazza, a first for the library. We commended ourselves for bringing a picnic rug, a couple of cushions and a blanket and settled down for the film to start.

I discovered that I had never really watched the movie with anyone who was a fan. Here, surrounded by Pythoners, I discovered a whole new level of hilarity in the film. I, and everyone else, sang along while Brave Sir Robin ran away, said Ni!, and we all counted to three (not four, and five is right out) when the Holy Hand Grenade was launched.

It was a fun, well run evening by the British Library - even if the link between the Magna Carta and the Holy Grail was rather thin. 

Poor impulse control triumphs again!

***

NB: I realise I've made a lot of references in here that most sane people will not understand. Watch the movie, if you dare, although I don't think it will make much more sense!

xx

The year that flies

Can someone please tell me how it came to be August of the year 2015 already?

No, I mean it. It was Christmas about 15 minutes ago, and I was just coming up to my 6 month anniversary in London. All of a sudden it’s August and we are powering our way to my second Christmas abroad, and I am panicking over where the time is going.

This post is serving as a bit of a catch up of all the little things I either forgot, never finished, or ran out of time to write about going all the way back to the end of March.

Sunday, 27 March: Oxbridge Boat Race
Held between old rivals Oxford and Cambridge, the boat race is a rowing event along more than 4 miles of the Thames, starting in Putney and ending in Mortlake. The race is a big deal around London, and is broadcast live. This year, for the first time, the women’s race was held not only on the same day, but directly before the men’s finals. We’re getting there, ladies.

Many of the pubs along the river hosted an event for spectators, and myself and a group of friends set ourselves up at The Old Ship, perched on the concrete baricade to watch the rowers go by. The weather held up: cold but beautifully clear and the ciders (and sneaky vodka in a water bottle) helped to keep us warm. This year, Oxford won, bringing the total tally to 79 Oxford - 81 Cambridge.

Easter Long weekend, April: Cambridge, dinner parties and Windsor
Cory, Nicole and I had attempted organising a weekend away through the countryside but ended up leaving it too late. Instead, we decided to have make several day trips, which afforded us days out exploring the greater UK with the added bonus of coming home to the the comfort of our own beds.

Saturday: Cambridge. It was quite a grey day, but I was able to debut my new coat and finally put away the marshmallow. On arrival, we joined a free walking tour of the same variety I did in Oxford, which gave us a broad overview of the layout of Cambridge.

It was, dare I say, rather similar to “that other place” Oxford but very beautiful in its own right. We stood for a while atop a bridge watching the punters crash effortlessly into the walls and into each other as they floated down the river. I think I remain Team Oxford, partly because it was bright and sunshiney that day, where as Cambridge was quite a grey, inside-a-cozy-pub kind of day.

Sunday: Easter dinner party at Cory’s. As the adultier adult of the group (despite me being the oldest), Chef Cory cooked us a delicious roast dinner and we felt extremely grown up and sophisticated. It was a lovely evening with friends and a chance to reflect on our time in the UK, how far we’ve come and where we would be going to next. As the red wine started to settle, we played Drunken Future Predictions which we have sealed into a bottle and will open in 10 years time.

Easter Monday: Windsor. We gathered again, this time at a different train station for a day out to Windsor, Queen Lizzie’s other home. I remember vividly that today was 17C, beautiful and sunny, and I was wearing a tshirt.

Message from my mum that day: It’s 17C here in Adelaide! I’m wearing two jumpers and have the heater on! I’m freezing!
My reply: It’s 17C here in Windsor! The sun is shining and I’m wearing a tshirt!

It’s funny how one acclimatises.

We stood in the queue for over an hour (which wasn’t so bad actually because it gave us a chance to soak up some much needed vitamin D). Inside, we marvelled at the gorgeous gardens, took photos in areas we weren’t supposed to, felt poor and made fun of the guards in their funny costumes. Because Windsor is largely a a homage to Lizzie’s wealth which she lets the peasants have a peek at for a few months of the year. Never-the-less, it was very pretty and a glorious day to be outside.

Saturday, 26 April: Anzac Day 
Shamefully, I had never been to an Anzac service before. I never fully understood the significance of the day and was admittedly happier for having a day off than anything else. This year, being away from home and the 100 year centenary of the Anzacs landing at Gallipoli, I was filled with national pride and started digging around my family history.  I learnt many people in my extended family fought or were affected by both the first and second world wars. This put the day far more into context for me and meant that I would be getting up at 2am (yes, getting up) so I could go to the memorial in Hyde Park for the dawn service.

We were told to get there early as the line would become very long, and this proved to be true. Not long after we easily sauntered in and took up position, the line folded back on itself and around the corner and we were thankful for our early morning start.

The service itself was moving (despite the terrible rendition of the New Zealand national anthem) and I was most affected by the 2 minutes silence: how they managed to create two minutes total silence, with a few thousand attendees, in the middle of London (and no traffic noises what-so-ever), was remarkable and a sign of true respect. Not a sneeze, not a shuffle, not a cough, not a mutter.

At the end of the service, my friends and I went to an Aussie bar for breakfast and breakfast drinks. I made it to midday…just. I think. I don't really remember.

Saturday, 21 June: Ascot Races 
I had landed in London just a couple of days after Ascot Races in 2014, and was adamant I was going to attend the British institution this year as it would be my only opportunity. I had spent months looking for a new dress, but ended up settling on something I already owned and the day before purchased the cheapest possible fascinator I could find.

Akin to the Adelaide Cup, the Ascot Races, more than anything else, is an opportunity to get ridiculously inebriated whilst looking as posh as possible and hoping you see a horse at least once during the day. I joined 3 busloads of Britbounders on the day trip up to Ascot and, while the day was pretty dreary and rained considerably, it was still a fantastically fun day.

I don't know how much champagne I imbibed, seeing as my glass was constantly refilled while I wasn't looking, I certainly did not win any money on the bets I placed, and I definitely did see the Queen as she rode past in a horse and carriage at the start of the day, wearing a delicious apricot flavoured outfit.

July update
My home situation has been interesting to say the least - we recently battled bed bugs in two of the three bedrooms. I highly recommend that no one EVER GETS BED BUGS because it is a nightmare to get rid of them. It involves washing absolutely everything you own at over 90C, stripping all of your furniture and bagging it up, fumigating your house and then leaving everything bagged for two weeks while the chemicals kill the little fuckers. Just…try not to get bedbugs. It seems to have worked however, and we are now rid of them. Fingers crossed there's no creepy crawlies in our future!

Apparently, the most common place to pick up the little buggers is the tube. So basically, we're all screwed.

As of the second of July, I started a new job with a not-for-profit called The Elders. I tossed up between this one and one at a finance firm and, while this one pays a bit less, my soul felt happier working for a charity and I had for a while wanted to break into the not-for-profit sector. As of the time of this post, I've been there approximately 6 weeks and while it certainly is challenging, I am largely enjoying myself.


***
So, there you go! My next few months are incredibly crazy, with a number of theatre productions booked in (I haven't seen anything since February and I'm champing at the bit!), and trips to the Edinburgh Fringe and Oktoberfest organised. Stay tuned for more updates!
xx