So it's about 1 in the morning, on a Tuesday (well, it's technically a Wednesday, but who cares?) outing, and I'm in a local bar...singing Wonderwall by Oasis with another Australian and three Spanish girls. And I'm sober.
Those of you who know me probably would not think this is something I would ever do. But I did it. And in a weird way, really enjoyed it.
See, the thing I'm learning while living in another country is that just the simple act of being there is something you've never done before, so why waste the experience sitting in your room (I do that a lot, but that's the constant tug of warmth, homesickness and Facebook)? And what kind of stories will I have to compete with my Irish workmate's stories if I never do anything crazy? And more importantly, I'll probably never see any of these people in the bar again. I can't see myself living in Manchester permanently, as cool as it is. Especially as Morrissey lives in LA now.
My night started fairly normal. A lecture on art cinema that was interesting in that it made me, firstly; angry because art cinema assumes that the spectator is passive in the experience of viewing narrative cinema. Wrong on so many levels, but who has the time to argue that here? Secondly; the urge to laugh, because almost all of it reminded me of Spaced ("abstract expressionism is so mid to late 80s"), Ghostworld ("Nearer, Father, Nearer") and The Mighty Boosh (Jurgen Habermaster) and thirdly; it made me think that I want to make fun of art cinema, not make it. But still I find it fascinating.
I assumed I was going with my new Australian friends for a drink after this. Um, no. One of the girls' cousins was in a play on Canal Street, which is a fashionably gay street in the city (it's pretty cool. And canal-adjacent. Yep). Somehow, the cousin had told her this club was in Canal Street, Droylsden. Droylsden.
Droylsden has many interesting features. One, it's past the Manchester City stadium (good to know - massive, by the way). Two, it's deep in suburbia. Three, it looks to me a little like Cardiff or Blackbutt or New Lambton. Four, I couldn't get the Coronation Street theme out of my head the whole time I was there.
After a seemingly very long bus ride, and one that was confusing because none of us have any idea where we're going (being Australian, German and Spanish. A mean townie's dream - they could have told us anything), we ask a local grocer. They tell us we have to keep walking. We see no cafe anywhere. We see no Canal Street. We walk around and pass a canal, and ask a group of kids (out pretty late, I must say) where it is. Canal Street isn't even a full street. At some point, a Podiatry Clinic divides the rest of the street into Craven Road.
It soon dawns on us that we should have listened to the three people who told us Canal Street was back in the city and get the bus back. Not only have we missed the play, but we realise we could have walked there in no time.
Feeling defeated, we make plans to go back out to the bar down the road. Of course it's karaoke night. I will not sing. I will watch others sing. This is what I tell myself. The place is packed. There are huge screens projecting the words so the whole bar is essentially participating in karaoke. Someone sings Plug-In Baby and we sing our hearts out. Another sings a song from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Another sings...Hallelujah. Some guy singing Billy Joel. Oh! And a guy who sings I'm Not Crying, by Flight of the Conchords. He is my new hero.
At some point, one of the girls decide that we're going to sing. All of us. I relent. Well, I surrender the way people subjected to Chinese Water Torture finally relent. We sign up and it takes ages. We're all sober by this point, and tired. But then it's our turn. Five of us are singing, there are two microphones between us, and my countryman feels the music to the point where he's in his own private Australian Idol audition, leaving the rest of us to share one microphone. Which I find hilarious.
It is always a good idea to sing a song in a bar in Manchester that people can sing along to. Which is why we chose Wonderwall. It's Noel and Liam fookin Gallagher, int it? I think it's pretty safe to assume that no one could hear us, busy as they were singing their hearts out as well.
The whole experience was so much fun. Even being lost in Droylsden was fun because as I said, these are the kinds of things you'll remember when you go home. Droylsden at night is pretty exciting. Well, I say exciting...
I've officially been here two weeks and so far the urge to come home is still really strong. But at the same time I'm getting to know my flatmates, who are all really nice and more than likely experiencing the same feelings, and I'm meeting people I never would if I'd stayed at home. And I get to make films in a new place, in a course that, just quietly, already seems way better than at home.
As Lemony Snicket says, "One's home is like a delicious piece of pie you order in a restaurant on a country road one cozy evening - the best piece of pie you have ever eaten in your life - and can never find again." I could really go for some pie right now, but I'll still eat chips.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
London
No, not the city, although I can't wait to visit and see a crack fox or two in Shoreditch or Camden, but the song by the Smiths. I hope I don't get in trouble, but here are the lyrics:
Smoke
Lingers 'round your fingers
Train
Heave on to Euston
Do you think you've made
The right decision this time ?
Oh ...
You left
Your tired family grieving
And you think they're sad because you're leaving
But did you see Jealousy in the eyes
Of the ones who had to stay behind ?
And do you think you've made
The right decision this time ?
You leftYour girlfriend on the platform
With this really ragged notion that you'll return
But she knows
That when he goes
He really goes
And do you think you've made
The right decision this time ?
Thank you again Morrissey, for writing my life twenty-three years before I live it. I was actually reading this amazing Smiths resource called The Smiths: Songs That Saved Your Life, by Simon Goddard, which has information about all of the songs the Smiths ever recorded and their story. I've always liked London and for some reason I kept getting it mixed up with Half A Person (beautiful song, by the way).
It's little surprise then to learn that I may have been getting them mixed up for a reason. They share similar thematic concerns (moving south and feeling alienated) and they were both B-Sides to the Shoplifters of the World single.
I was reading up on Half A Person beause it was all I could think of when I was given the task of making a personal film. It evolved from a romance between two Smiths fans, to a person seeing someone wearing a Smiths badge and stalking them across Manchester, to be lead to the Salford Lads Club. I wanted this to be a music video, set to 'Exit' by Fictions (dependent upon permission, of course. Ahem.). Unfortunately, it seems music videos are a no-no. What's with the music video snobbery? They can be really demanding! You have to edit to a very precise rhythm, and you have to tell a story primarily through images. Even harder, you have to make a spectator see the music. Very hard task. I didn't want there to be any dialogue, or if there were, to have voice-over from Smiths lyrics, but of course that would be a copyright nightmare.
But I digress. I have a blog for my film gripes, after all (Cinephile Paradiso: http://cinephileparadiso.blogspot.com/ ). But I was reading about London and I realised that it's a little bit of how I feel here. The song has parallels with Billy Liar and is also inspired by Elizabeth Smart's By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept. Essentially it's about a person moving south but having regrets at the last minute.
I'm sorry to say that I'm feeling like this right now. Not all the time, and I know that this feeling will pass, because I'm making some lovely friends, both in my class and also my flatmates here on-campus. But this morning I was feeling terrible. And people at home were saying, 'oh, I'm so jealous you're going away,' and things like that, but right now I'm jealous of everyone at home.
I'm jealous of everyone who can hug a loved one. I'm jealous of everyone who can call their friends whenever they like. I'm jealous of everyone who can go home, make a cup of tea and watch the telly. I'm jealous of all my friends who can go out together. Yep, you all suck balls right now.
Because I miss the familiar. I miss my easy life (not that easy, but it seems glorious when I'm away from it) and I miss my home. I miss my cat, Margot, and I miss my sister. I miss home so much I missed my dad's birthday. My response was to cry all morning in my room and moan to my one friend who was awake on MSN and text my sister telling her how much I hate it here and how I can't wait for January.
I feel better now after meeting some friends and sharing times with my flatmates, but if I'm really honest with myself, I battle the urge to change my flight and go home right now. I think it's a natural thing. And I have to keep reminding myself that classes haven't started yet and I haven't even been here two weeks. This too shall pass, so the quote goes. Well, right now I wish the student exchange should hurry up and pass quickly.
I wasn't going to use this blog to pour my heart and soul out, but it's quite easy to do once you get started. I guess this is why radio seems such a safe place to spill your guts - it's the unseen audience. Everybody could be listening, or no one could be listening, and not knowing is liberating. Not knowing whether anybody reads this thing is refreshing, because I can just go a little crazy and get over it. Hey, if a prostitute can blog about her occupation, I can blog about my feelings.
There are definite positives. I'm in another country, I'm making new friends both from the UK and other places, and I'm in the home of the Smiths, Joy Division and..er, the Ting Tings. And TopShop is but a walk away. I'll get there, I know I will. Right now it's just hard to tell.
But I have Morrissey. Literally. Well, in November anyway.
Smoke
Lingers 'round your fingers
Train
Heave on to Euston
Do you think you've made
The right decision this time ?
Oh ...
You left
Your tired family grieving
And you think they're sad because you're leaving
But did you see Jealousy in the eyes
Of the ones who had to stay behind ?
And do you think you've made
The right decision this time ?
You leftYour girlfriend on the platform
With this really ragged notion that you'll return
But she knows
That when he goes
He really goes
And do you think you've made
The right decision this time ?
Thank you again Morrissey, for writing my life twenty-three years before I live it. I was actually reading this amazing Smiths resource called The Smiths: Songs That Saved Your Life, by Simon Goddard, which has information about all of the songs the Smiths ever recorded and their story. I've always liked London and for some reason I kept getting it mixed up with Half A Person (beautiful song, by the way).
It's little surprise then to learn that I may have been getting them mixed up for a reason. They share similar thematic concerns (moving south and feeling alienated) and they were both B-Sides to the Shoplifters of the World single.
I was reading up on Half A Person beause it was all I could think of when I was given the task of making a personal film. It evolved from a romance between two Smiths fans, to a person seeing someone wearing a Smiths badge and stalking them across Manchester, to be lead to the Salford Lads Club. I wanted this to be a music video, set to 'Exit' by Fictions (dependent upon permission, of course. Ahem.). Unfortunately, it seems music videos are a no-no. What's with the music video snobbery? They can be really demanding! You have to edit to a very precise rhythm, and you have to tell a story primarily through images. Even harder, you have to make a spectator see the music. Very hard task. I didn't want there to be any dialogue, or if there were, to have voice-over from Smiths lyrics, but of course that would be a copyright nightmare.
But I digress. I have a blog for my film gripes, after all (Cinephile Paradiso: http://cinephileparadiso.blogspot.com/ ). But I was reading about London and I realised that it's a little bit of how I feel here. The song has parallels with Billy Liar and is also inspired by Elizabeth Smart's By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept. Essentially it's about a person moving south but having regrets at the last minute.
I'm sorry to say that I'm feeling like this right now. Not all the time, and I know that this feeling will pass, because I'm making some lovely friends, both in my class and also my flatmates here on-campus. But this morning I was feeling terrible. And people at home were saying, 'oh, I'm so jealous you're going away,' and things like that, but right now I'm jealous of everyone at home.
I'm jealous of everyone who can hug a loved one. I'm jealous of everyone who can call their friends whenever they like. I'm jealous of everyone who can go home, make a cup of tea and watch the telly. I'm jealous of all my friends who can go out together. Yep, you all suck balls right now.
Because I miss the familiar. I miss my easy life (not that easy, but it seems glorious when I'm away from it) and I miss my home. I miss my cat, Margot, and I miss my sister. I miss home so much I missed my dad's birthday. My response was to cry all morning in my room and moan to my one friend who was awake on MSN and text my sister telling her how much I hate it here and how I can't wait for January.
I feel better now after meeting some friends and sharing times with my flatmates, but if I'm really honest with myself, I battle the urge to change my flight and go home right now. I think it's a natural thing. And I have to keep reminding myself that classes haven't started yet and I haven't even been here two weeks. This too shall pass, so the quote goes. Well, right now I wish the student exchange should hurry up and pass quickly.
I wasn't going to use this blog to pour my heart and soul out, but it's quite easy to do once you get started. I guess this is why radio seems such a safe place to spill your guts - it's the unseen audience. Everybody could be listening, or no one could be listening, and not knowing is liberating. Not knowing whether anybody reads this thing is refreshing, because I can just go a little crazy and get over it. Hey, if a prostitute can blog about her occupation, I can blog about my feelings.
There are definite positives. I'm in another country, I'm making new friends both from the UK and other places, and I'm in the home of the Smiths, Joy Division and..er, the Ting Tings. And TopShop is but a walk away. I'll get there, I know I will. Right now it's just hard to tell.
But I have Morrissey. Literally. Well, in November anyway.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Glamorous Glue
The shopping here is fantastic. I am in heaven and hell because while I want to go absolutely nuts I simply cannot afford it - especially if I want to travel further than Salford and Macclesfield.
Walking into TopShop was like walking into the Vatican. I was just sooooo excited to be there. I have fallen in love with a shirt that they have there: it's sort of shorter, button-up, with small sleeves. It's white, with black buttons, and a print of the Eiffel Tower on it. But it is 35 pounds, or roughly 70 clams for you Aussies. I'm trying out not eating very much so it won't be such a massive blow to my weekly budget. There's always spicy wedges for a pound at Dixy Chicken.
The best part is probably the vintage clothing stores on Oldham Road, because while telling people in Australia you got your clothes from TopShop in Manchester is slightly cool, telling them you got your clothes from a vintage store in Manchester is even cooler. It says, 'you will never be able to copy this look' like nothing else can. After all, my TopShop love affair is probably available online, and if you're willing to pay the shipping as well as the pounds, it's yours back home. But not if I bought it from Pop or Affleck's Palace.
The odd thing is that vintage clothing is relatively expensive here. I saw this awesome jumper and when I looked at the price it was 15 pounds. Which in my head is 30 dollars. I will not pay that for vintage stuff! That's the only drawback, I guess. Perhaps some other places are cheaper. I'm looking forward to markets and such. I should investigate if the city has some and if they are coming up.
The best place by far, for me, has been Primark. I got the most comfortable pair of jeans I've had for months there for 8 pounds. Like, I spent 43 pounds there and got the following:
1 black military-style jacket
1 cropped navy jacket
2 pairs ballet flats
1 pair skinny jeans
86 dollars for not one but two jackets would be amazing. Barring a shirt (I have brought plenty of these with me), I have gotten hundreds of outfits out of these items. And it was dirt cheap. Needless to say, you all need Primark. The only problem we have encountered with Primark, however, are their skirts and tops. They don't seem to fit right. So perhaps elsewhere for those items? The city has H&M, Urban Outfitters and River Island as well, which are expensive (H&M is probably the cheapest of this bunch) but very nice. Avoid Internacionale and Peacocks unless you shop exclusively at Supre back home.
For a JB Hi-Fi equivalent, look no further than Fopp. They're like, if JB and Borders met and had a dirty weekend and then a few months later JB realised it was pregnant and Borders was supportive, but not ready to be a father.
The price of DVDs is cheap even when you do the conversion in your head. For example, the complete series of Spaced is 12 pounds and the box set of the IT Crowd (series 1-3) is 15 pounds. Super cheap, right? And they had the DVD I have been searching for back home for ages; Garth Marenghi's Darkplace. Which is what I'm going to watch right now.
Laters.
Walking into TopShop was like walking into the Vatican. I was just sooooo excited to be there. I have fallen in love with a shirt that they have there: it's sort of shorter, button-up, with small sleeves. It's white, with black buttons, and a print of the Eiffel Tower on it. But it is 35 pounds, or roughly 70 clams for you Aussies. I'm trying out not eating very much so it won't be such a massive blow to my weekly budget. There's always spicy wedges for a pound at Dixy Chicken.
The best part is probably the vintage clothing stores on Oldham Road, because while telling people in Australia you got your clothes from TopShop in Manchester is slightly cool, telling them you got your clothes from a vintage store in Manchester is even cooler. It says, 'you will never be able to copy this look' like nothing else can. After all, my TopShop love affair is probably available online, and if you're willing to pay the shipping as well as the pounds, it's yours back home. But not if I bought it from Pop or Affleck's Palace.
The odd thing is that vintage clothing is relatively expensive here. I saw this awesome jumper and when I looked at the price it was 15 pounds. Which in my head is 30 dollars. I will not pay that for vintage stuff! That's the only drawback, I guess. Perhaps some other places are cheaper. I'm looking forward to markets and such. I should investigate if the city has some and if they are coming up.
The best place by far, for me, has been Primark. I got the most comfortable pair of jeans I've had for months there for 8 pounds. Like, I spent 43 pounds there and got the following:
1 black military-style jacket
1 cropped navy jacket
2 pairs ballet flats
1 pair skinny jeans
86 dollars for not one but two jackets would be amazing. Barring a shirt (I have brought plenty of these with me), I have gotten hundreds of outfits out of these items. And it was dirt cheap. Needless to say, you all need Primark. The only problem we have encountered with Primark, however, are their skirts and tops. They don't seem to fit right. So perhaps elsewhere for those items? The city has H&M, Urban Outfitters and River Island as well, which are expensive (H&M is probably the cheapest of this bunch) but very nice. Avoid Internacionale and Peacocks unless you shop exclusively at Supre back home.
For a JB Hi-Fi equivalent, look no further than Fopp. They're like, if JB and Borders met and had a dirty weekend and then a few months later JB realised it was pregnant and Borders was supportive, but not ready to be a father.
The price of DVDs is cheap even when you do the conversion in your head. For example, the complete series of Spaced is 12 pounds and the box set of the IT Crowd (series 1-3) is 15 pounds. Super cheap, right? And they had the DVD I have been searching for back home for ages; Garth Marenghi's Darkplace. Which is what I'm going to watch right now.
Laters.
The National Front Disco
As promised, the next exciting instalment.
One thing I should note that even with the exchange rate, some things are really cheap. Like, cheap as. Apart from coke, depending on the supermarket you go to, food is really cheap. Bread, butter, milk, etc - less than a dollar.
I went to Tesco my first day and I must say, not impressed. They don't pack your groceries, which is ok I guess, but they're not even nice to you. Barely a hiya, or an alright? Marks & Spencer (or Marks and Sparks for the people in on the lingo) offer you bags. And are nice. But their food is expensive. Sainsburys will pack your bags. And you get a hiya and maybe an alright? It seems Sainsburys is winner. I must quell the urge to call it Shamansburys.
So before jetlag set in I was happy. The city seemed lovely and exciting, I'm pretty much on-trend fashion-wise and my room on-campus is actually comfortable! I was looking forward to dinner at my friend's house and a night out.
Dinner was lovely (ranchos huevos!) but by around 8pm I was feeling tired. Like, so bone tired that the gutter looks like a comfy place for a lie-down. We went to this free comedy night at a club in the Northern Quarter (trendy?), and I was nodding off while I was there. And the comedy was not what you would call comedy (especially if you define comedy as something humorous). Eventually, after the night was over, my friends put me in a black cab (I was so tired I couldn't appreciate that I was in a black cab), and I was feeling vulnerable and emotional. I had no idea where the cabbie was going for ages, and when I thankfully made it to my room I locked the door and went to bed.
And so much for feeling secure in my room, I thought! A cleaner unlocked my door the next morning and scared the shit out of me. But luckily this hasn't happened since.
One thing I should note that even with the exchange rate, some things are really cheap. Like, cheap as. Apart from coke, depending on the supermarket you go to, food is really cheap. Bread, butter, milk, etc - less than a dollar.
I went to Tesco my first day and I must say, not impressed. They don't pack your groceries, which is ok I guess, but they're not even nice to you. Barely a hiya, or an alright? Marks & Spencer (or Marks and Sparks for the people in on the lingo) offer you bags. And are nice. But their food is expensive. Sainsburys will pack your bags. And you get a hiya and maybe an alright? It seems Sainsburys is winner. I must quell the urge to call it Shamansburys.
So before jetlag set in I was happy. The city seemed lovely and exciting, I'm pretty much on-trend fashion-wise and my room on-campus is actually comfortable! I was looking forward to dinner at my friend's house and a night out.
Dinner was lovely (ranchos huevos!) but by around 8pm I was feeling tired. Like, so bone tired that the gutter looks like a comfy place for a lie-down. We went to this free comedy night at a club in the Northern Quarter (trendy?), and I was nodding off while I was there. And the comedy was not what you would call comedy (especially if you define comedy as something humorous). Eventually, after the night was over, my friends put me in a black cab (I was so tired I couldn't appreciate that I was in a black cab), and I was feeling vulnerable and emotional. I had no idea where the cabbie was going for ages, and when I thankfully made it to my room I locked the door and went to bed.
And so much for feeling secure in my room, I thought! A cleaner unlocked my door the next morning and scared the shit out of me. But luckily this hasn't happened since.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Call me morbid, call me pale.
So, greetings from Manchester!
I flew in on Wednesday, which means I have been here four days (five if you include the fact that officially it is Sunday morning). And so far I feel, well, I don't know how I feel! It's simply odd how quickly you forget that you're in another country.
Before the flight I was, quite frankly, shitting myself. Not literally, fortunately. Being socially awkward and hating feeling silly, I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do at the airport, where to do it, or when. Several friends tried to allay my fears, but a lot of them just told me I'd be fine and didn't elaborate. One friend actually began to go into a step-by-step tutorial, but she was distracted by the wonders of duty-free shopping. Still handy.
So come the day I was due to fly out (having gotten roughly four hours sleep the night before -- don't EVER think it's a good idea to pack at 10pm if you're leaving at 8am the following day. And your ipod charger is always somewhere in your room), I was a mess. Once I knew where to check in, I was ok, but then the thought of checking in was terrifying. It was not a terrifying process at all. It was actually really useful!
Leaving my family was weird; when I started to cry they calmed me down and told me it was only four months. Well, sure, but you don't have to go through customs and security by yourself, do you! Everything was fine until I got to security. I forgot that the vegemite in my carry-on was more than 100g (goodbye present from bestie. Sniff.), and also forgot to take it out of my carry-on. Two fails for two bags. But they didn't abuse me or anything. My shaking leaf impression probably made them see I was a first-time international flyer. And not a drug dealer.
On the plane I sat next to a German girl who couldn't believe I had never flown before, and we sort of became instant friends without having to talk to each other much. Though it was a 14 hour flight (to my stopover), it all seems like a blur of movies (State of Play - not as good as the BBC miniseries, like watching a catch-up episode of a season, He's Just Not That Into You - rubbish message to women everywhere, The Boat That Rocked - the kid who plays Carl is a fox, Watchmen - amazing superhero movie I knew would be good because I'd seen it before), television (only individual eps! What a gyp) and food (weird small portions, but a million things). And sleep!
Yes, friends and neighbours, I am that person you all hate. The one who can sleep on a plane. And deeply, according to my German friend. I slept for most of the flight after the stopover. I barely made it through the safety demonstration and thought I didn't get my headphones.
And then, the thing I'd been freaking out about the most; Immigration. Convinced they would interrogate me and decide not to let me in, I was trying not to panic. But they asked me why I was here, which university I was studying at, and my offer letter. Then I was through. Spent the whole time at baggage claim convinced they'd lost my luggage because everything had been too easy up to now, then walked through the 'nothing to declare' part of customs, unworthy of mr Sniffy the sniffer dog's attention, to meet my friend in Arrivals.
Let me tell you something fabulous; diet coke is about 1 pound. Though it's 500ml and not 600ml, it's only $2. I have enjoyed more now than I care to mention (the water's fine here, too. Water pressure for showers are AMAZING).
Stay tuned for adventures of jet lag, clubs, international student gatherings and TopShop. Too tired now.
I flew in on Wednesday, which means I have been here four days (five if you include the fact that officially it is Sunday morning). And so far I feel, well, I don't know how I feel! It's simply odd how quickly you forget that you're in another country.
Before the flight I was, quite frankly, shitting myself. Not literally, fortunately. Being socially awkward and hating feeling silly, I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do at the airport, where to do it, or when. Several friends tried to allay my fears, but a lot of them just told me I'd be fine and didn't elaborate. One friend actually began to go into a step-by-step tutorial, but she was distracted by the wonders of duty-free shopping. Still handy.
So come the day I was due to fly out (having gotten roughly four hours sleep the night before -- don't EVER think it's a good idea to pack at 10pm if you're leaving at 8am the following day. And your ipod charger is always somewhere in your room), I was a mess. Once I knew where to check in, I was ok, but then the thought of checking in was terrifying. It was not a terrifying process at all. It was actually really useful!
Leaving my family was weird; when I started to cry they calmed me down and told me it was only four months. Well, sure, but you don't have to go through customs and security by yourself, do you! Everything was fine until I got to security. I forgot that the vegemite in my carry-on was more than 100g (goodbye present from bestie. Sniff.), and also forgot to take it out of my carry-on. Two fails for two bags. But they didn't abuse me or anything. My shaking leaf impression probably made them see I was a first-time international flyer. And not a drug dealer.
On the plane I sat next to a German girl who couldn't believe I had never flown before, and we sort of became instant friends without having to talk to each other much. Though it was a 14 hour flight (to my stopover), it all seems like a blur of movies (State of Play - not as good as the BBC miniseries, like watching a catch-up episode of a season, He's Just Not That Into You - rubbish message to women everywhere, The Boat That Rocked - the kid who plays Carl is a fox, Watchmen - amazing superhero movie I knew would be good because I'd seen it before), television (only individual eps! What a gyp) and food (weird small portions, but a million things). And sleep!
Yes, friends and neighbours, I am that person you all hate. The one who can sleep on a plane. And deeply, according to my German friend. I slept for most of the flight after the stopover. I barely made it through the safety demonstration and thought I didn't get my headphones.
And then, the thing I'd been freaking out about the most; Immigration. Convinced they would interrogate me and decide not to let me in, I was trying not to panic. But they asked me why I was here, which university I was studying at, and my offer letter. Then I was through. Spent the whole time at baggage claim convinced they'd lost my luggage because everything had been too easy up to now, then walked through the 'nothing to declare' part of customs, unworthy of mr Sniffy the sniffer dog's attention, to meet my friend in Arrivals.
Let me tell you something fabulous; diet coke is about 1 pound. Though it's 500ml and not 600ml, it's only $2. I have enjoyed more now than I care to mention (the water's fine here, too. Water pressure for showers are AMAZING).
Stay tuned for adventures of jet lag, clubs, international student gatherings and TopShop. Too tired now.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
