Tuesday, 16 August 2016

Why we should never cook together

A little video I edited last night from the time we tried to make lunch and it all went tits up.

Thursday, 14 July 2016

Letter J, Alphabet Dating | Jubilee High School

In hindsight, maybe having a date night at a school is a bit bloody weird. It's the sort of thing that gets you put on a list and restricts you from going within 500 yards of a school ever again. 

But I guess that's not my problem as this was Callum's date night, not mine.

First of all, I would just like to say, this isn't just any old school, this is the school that we both went to from Years 7 - 11 (well, technically Years 8 - 11 for me), and this year marks 5 years since we left.


But had I known five years ago that one day I would be coming back to that very school for a date night with Callum Whitcombe to play badminton in the very sports hall I had bled, sweat and cried in (mostly cried), I probably would have shot myself in the face.

The thing is, me and Callum never really spoke at school. At all. 

I am not exaggerating when I say that when I look back at the person I was at school, every cell in my body cringes and gags. I was THE geek. I had glasses, braces, the fugliest hair cut, I got straight As in every subject and worst of all, I was socially inept in every possible meaning of the word. All in all, it's not a period of my life that I miss. As for Callum, he was popular, into sports and dundundun going out drinking at the weekend, a past time that past-me was happy to scoff and roll her eyes at as I spent my Friday and Saturday nights face-deep in a physics revision guide. I AM LITERALLY CRINGING RIGHT NOW JUST THINKING ABOUT WHAT A WEIRDO I WAS OMG ASDFGHJKL


My life certainly got a lot better when I left school, had my first shot of J├Ągermeister, got my first U in an exam, dropped out of college, travelled a bit and ultimately realised that a set of grades on a piece of paper doesn't mean everything. 

SO, back to this date night! Callum booked the school's sports hall for an hour so that we could have a mini PE lesson, as such. I would just like to take this moment to point out that this sports hall has horrifying memories for me. I was not athletic. I was not interested in sports. I literally dreaded PE lessons. 

Yet here I was, back for more.

Callum booked the badminton nets for the sole reason that I told him I was part of the badminton club back in the day (I literally went once) and he wanted to see my mad skills. Bastard. He even admitted the whole reason he organised this was to avenge me for the Insanity workout I made us do for Letter I.

Stepping back in the hall for the first time in so long felt... wrong. It had that universal school hall smell to it that instantly evoked memories of fear and loathing. A discarded tie was tossed in the corner and I had instant flashbacks about how much I BLOODY HATED WEARING A TIE EVERY DAY FOR FIVE YEARS, urgh, and the whole time we were there, I half expected one of our old PE teachers to walk in and give some unsolicited badminton advice or to tell us that we weren't meeting uniform standards. Fuck off, Miss Scott.

I guess it can be summarised best as a trippy experience.

A brief summary of the hour goes as follows: I hit myself with the racket more times than I think I hit the shuttlecock, I made Callum play with his left hand to make it 'fair', we ignored every rule ever associated with badminton so I could focus all my attention on hitting the shuttlecock, I asked why we couldn't have just gone to the Clubbercise class next door, Callum won 5 games, I won 2 (take that ya bitch). 

Bearing in mind it was at Jubilee High - bleugh - it was actually a really good date. Turns out I don't hate playing sport anywhere near as much as I once thought, and it was like a little walk down memory lane, except this time without the glasses and braces.

Alphabet Dating Blogs

Letter A - AirHop
Letter B - Blind Dining
Letter C - Climbing
Letter D - Drinks 

Monday, 11 July 2016

My First Camping Experience

I am 21 years old and up until a few days ago I had never been camping. I had never slept in a tent. I had never put up a tent. Nothing. 

I was a complete and utter campsite virgin.

And you know what? I was happy.

I guess my disdain for camping stems from the fact that neither of my parents ever took us as kids and looking back now, it doesn't surprise me. I cannot imagine a man less suited to putting up a tent and living in it for a week than my Dad, who enjoys the finer things in life, like four walls, a front door and a couple of hundred Sky channels.

Seeing as I'd made it this far in my life without ever having to sleep in a tent, I honestly thought I was set for life; that was until Callum came along. 

For as long as we've been together, I cannot remember a time where we haven't had the same argument about camping. Me, saying I don't want to go and that I would rather spend a few days in a jail cell; and him, saying it's the best thing on Earth and that you don't even know what fun is until you've slept in a tent. 

The term 'diva' gets thrown around a lot with this subject, but let me just lay down a few of the many reasons I didn't want to go camping:

1) Leaving my house, all my creature comforts and at the very least, a functional bed, is not a holiday. It is not a break. It is not relaxing. 

2) Setting up a tent on a campsite full of hundreds of other people setting up tents is not getting to grips with nature. Getting to grips with nature would be doing a Bear Grylls by getting airlifted into a remote location and being forced to survive on nothing but your human instincts for a couple of days: hiding from bears, trying not to eat the wrong sort of mushroom and gathering firewood so that you don't freeze to death at night. And THAT, I can understand.

3) Everyone I've ever spoken to about camping says it is shit when it rains, and maybe if you went camping in the Nevada desert, you'd have pretty good odds of not getting any rain, HOWEVER, we live in England where it rains 90% of the time Spring, Summer, Winter or Autumn. Why bother? You can't beat the system.

In the end - on a flight to Iceland when I was under the heavy influence of gin - Callum wore me down, convinced me to go and not only that, but made me put it in writing.

I regretted it immediately.

As I'm in a bit of a rush putting this blog together, I won't go into too much depth about the experience; instead I will attach the vlog we made, but be warned it contains bad language and scenes of a distressing nature.

My final review of camping would be a 7/10: a bit of a ballache, not helped by forgetting the tent poles, but a good laugh and experience I'll never forget.