Cheers 2013!

I feel that these past few weeks have been so hectic that the end of 2013 has crept up on me with very little notice. What with moving house, working and, most recently, having an absolute ball down south, I've had little time to reflect on the past twelve months and what it means to me, let alone contemplate the brand spanking new year beginning in a matter of hours (by the time you folks in the UK crack open your first beer, I'll be well into 2014). It's very easy to get caught up in what's happening right now and forget all the brilliant things that have happened to me this year. I reckon that this afternoon, while Jess is working and I sit by the pool hydrating myself in preparation for this evening's onslaught of booze, is my last chance to put 2013 to bed, so here goes!

Although it feels as if I've been down under an eternity, it now dawns on me that I actually had eight whole months of life at my two English homes this year. When I say "two homes", I mean the places I split my time between and two of the most beautiful places in England: Bath and North Cornwall. I feel attached to them for a bunch of different reasons, but the thing that unites them is that they're both full of people I love to death. In Bath, I've slogged through two exam seasons, several hungover lab sessions and countless lectures, all to pass the second year of my degree and averaging 1% under a First Class in the process. I'll be honest; there are times when I genuinely feel as though I don't want to see another mechanism or equation as long as I live and can't see myself pursuing a career in this frighteningly unreliable field. However, I have an epic support team of coursemates going through all the same doubts and it's days like results day that reassure me that all the hard work really is paying off, despite the occasional and irrational feelings of violence towards inanimate objects, such as pipettes.

On the non-academic side of things, AKA the real reason any 18-year-old bothers with A Levels, personal statements and all that nonsense, I've done my best to continue getting stuck into university life and utilising my free time as best I can. Exploring our beautiful city to the extent that I know much more than key pub locations like the back of my hand and landing first chair in the Concert Band, allowing me to make the solo part of Capriccio Espagnol my bitch (after a lot of practice, at my housemates' dismay), are accomplishments I'm very proud of. Moments I'm not so proud of are all alcohol-fuelled and involve consuming an astonishing amount of Ouzo with Mr Edwards, drinking versions of Monopoly and Backgammon and Jack Rossiter's bare and hairy arse in my face. You win some, you lose some.

In between all the cider drinking (I mean studying), I've managed to leave the stress of exams behind me for two fabulous holidays abroad this year. Embarking on the fancy dress-filled booze fest that is the Bath Snowsports Ski Trip over inter-semester break for the second year running proved to be even better than the first time, almost entirely due to the fact that Miss Foreman was in attendance in addition to the usual suspects, and I had a blast hitting the best slopes in the Alps by day and running amuck on the streets of Tignes by night. Sharing a room with Becky and Daisy and their (initially) mystery friends resulted in meeting the deliciously insane Emilie and Beth, who I now can't imagine not knowing. My summer sun fix was satisfied when Chlo and I booked a package deal to Tunisia the moment we found out that our May exams finished ten days before Summer Ball. We figured we simply had to get away because Rach, Jools and Chris would have been driven insane living with two free souls when they still had exams to study for; we're selfless, we know. Ignoring the close shave with a bunch of dodgy looking Tunisian men in a van and the extremely creepy waiters, we had a very relaxing time and achieved exceptional tans for our ball dresses. Finishing off the year dressed up with the Marlborough crowd was just perfect.

Oh yeah, and I beat the odds and the interview system to clinch a placement in my area of interest at a prestigious institution in one of the most beautiful places in the world. That was pretty cool. I remember being on campus with Mr Alex Sherwood, my dear friend and the only other responsible person in our friendship group (landing us the nicknames Mum and Dad) when I got the offer back in February and can honestly say that it was one of most overwhelming moments of my life. The thought of adventuring solo to the other side of the planet for a whole year was shocking, exhilarating, daunting, amazing and every feeling in between all at once. I then proceeded to get exceedingly drunk on a lacrosse social to celebrate my success. The best thing about these five months in Somerset is of course spending every waking minute of the rollercoaster with friends that are fast becoming the siblings I never had. It's hard to believe it was only two years ago that we were being thrown together in halls and playing those first fateful games of Ring of Fire; I now can't imagine sharing this experience with anyone else and love each and every one of them dearly. Even Dominic Florisca.

With academia done and dusted until September 2014, I headed back to the Shire in June for a summer that would prove to be over in a flash as preparing for Australia took over my life. I worked pretty much all the hours God sent in order to save up for my year away, but it's a given that there's nowhere else I'd rather have my nose to the grindstone that The Strand Café. As if being situated at my favourite beach and second home wasn't enough, the people in that little building made serving the world's rich idiots not only bearable, but enjoyable. Spending each and every summer day in hysterics at some ridiculous joke/prank for the sixth year running was a pleasure and there's no doubt I'm looking forward to more of the same next summer before I embark on my final year of university and Grip and Kirsty relinquish the café for a quiet life in the south of France, ending a huge chapter of my life. When I wasn't working, I spent a lot of time with the family and friends I miss so much at university, ever mindful of our impending separation. Evenings under a blanket at the beach or on the side of a cricket pitch with fantastic company were just what I needed to wind down from café chaos and, as always, it was great to catch up with my oldest friends down the pub. There was also just enough time for a triplets' reunion in Exeter for Rachel's birthday, a very messy weekend at Harry's in Ramsdell and one last day in Bath, which were a lot of fun despite the abundance of emotional goodbyes. The hardest goodbyes, however, were my parents (naturally) and my second family, the Burnards. Jordan is pretty much my brother and I'm not quite sure how I've coped without his faultless good humour so far. As for Jane and Dave, I love the pair of them to pieces and think about the incredible times the six of us have shared often.

At the end of August, I waved goodbye to the UK and travelled 9,000 miles to Western Australia for the adventure of a lifetime. I won't say too much about that here because, as you've read, that's been pretty well documented already.

All-in-all, life is pretty damn cushty right now and, when I really think about it, has been all along. I've been incredibly fortunate to grow up in a loving and supportive household that has allowed me to pursue anything I felt like doing at the time, however fleeting or silly it may have been. Mum and Dad, I'm talking about everything from the need for Barbie rollerskates that I never used to a very brief yet intense interest in feng shui that left me determined to rearrange everything in my room/the living room/grandma and grandad's house/our Center Parcs chalet in the name of positive energy. You never told me "no" and I only wish I was old enough at the time to appreciate the giggles and eye-rolling you probably exchanged at my weirdest obsessions. Other pursuits, like learning a musical instrument, being a total bookworm and dabbling in a little science from time to time, are all things that I know will stick with me for life and I thank you for discovering and nurturing these skills from the gargling bundle of drool I started out life as. I know I don't really show it, but it's huge being so far away from you for so long for me too. Knowing that everything back home will be exactly as I left it is hugely reassuring and I can't wait to spend quality time together again; you're the best.

As for New Year's Resolutions? Frankly, I think they're a load of rubbish; we all promise something ridiculously ambitious and often image-related, like "I will binge drink less" (seems easy, but you forget I study at a British university) or "I will not eat cake" (I just like cake too much), only to be demoralised when it fizzles out by February, despite your best efforts initially. Personally, I think I'll set myself an optimistic and, more importantly, achievable goal: Continue to spend every day living life to the full with the people that make me happy.

Happy New Year everyone; let's make 2014 the best yet!

A hungover New Year's Day at Trebarwith

Sledging in Tignes

Biochemistry girls on pancake day

Parents (biological and surrogate) at Jane and Dave's anniversary

Nan's 80th

Jord visiting me in Bath

Fi, Alana and Lucy at Lany's 21st Garden Party

Besties in Tunisia

Sam & I at Summer Ball

My two favourite girls

Mum and Dad visiting Bath

My very normal employer...

Mum & Dad's Padstow holiday!

Rach's 21st in Exeter

My babes at Harry's

My Australian going-away party

One last look at Trebarwith

#eatclean

It's a well-known fact here that the "Perth city girl" stereotype is trying too hard; high heels, fake eyelashes, a lot of make-up and a generally stuck-up attitude which, as you can imagine, isn't quite my cup of tea. It takes a pretty special occasion for me to put anything more than moisturiser on my face and myself and Jess, who is of a similar mentality, always despair when we're out for lunch in the city and there are girls there who look like they're ready for a ball or something. After three months of feeling distinctly underdressed on the streets of Perth, I was looking forward to not having to make an effort to fit in down south, picturing a much more laid back style amongst the female species. Sadly, this was not the case. Granted, they may be kitted out in cut-offs and T-shirts, but this, my friends, is simply disguising the pretentious monsters that lurk berneath. They are just as obsessed with image as the Perth airheads and are avid fans of the "clean eating" fad currently tearing its way through Australia and the US. Basically, it's all a load of bollocks. Excuse my French.

Jess and I were tucking into our breakfast this morning when she got a text from Hayley inviting us to breakfast at Samudra, this über healthy café we went to yesterday afternoon for coffee. The first thing Jess had to say about it was that it was run by and frequented by snobby hippies, but the food was good and they had comfy sofas to lounge on. Walking through the door, we couldn't spot Hayley (who apparently has a reputation for being consistently late; a southern hemisphere version of Alana), so we settled ourselves on a sofa and had a giggle people watching all the posh mums and their irritating kids. We'd just given up waiting and ordered drinks when Hayley walked in with a yoga mat tucked under her arm. I met her last month when we went for an end-of-exams dinner and she's really lovely; she's from Zimbabwe, like Sian, and pretty cruisy. The same did not go for the group of girlfriends we were invited to go and sit with.

Goodness gracious me, what a bunch of idiots. First of all, they all looked identical and were wearing matching Lorna Jane yoga gear. While not instagramming photos of their food on their iPhones, they were either fiddling with their rubber bracelets that are supposed to give you inner strength or something, or coming out with pearls of wisdom such as this:

"Oh my god, that woman just got what I've ordered and it has, like, a whole half an avacado on it"
- Jeeeeesus, steady on, that must have at least 100 calories in it

"What's happened to this place, it was so good when they only did raw stuff"

"That many chia seeds is, like, your entire day's protein"

"Can I get my coffee with skimmed milk? Actually, no, soy milk. Actually, no, just black"
- Number one, 'can I get' is the worst phrase ever. Secondly, milk will not kill you

Jess made the excuse that she had to go to work (incorrect) and we just about made it out of earshot before bursting into tears of hysterical laughter; I thanked her countless times for rescuing us from the most painful interaction of my life. We left them to count the grams of carbohydrate in their scrambled tofu (not even kidding, they ordered that) and flushed our minds of this terrible ordeal by munching on a lunch of cold cuts, corn chips and guacamole and lying by the pool all afternoon. I thought women like that only existed in LA, so it was a little disappointing to discover their abundance in little old Dunsborough. Don't get me wrong, I like to watch what I eat (when it's not Christmas/December), but that level of psycho is just ridiculous. For me, the festive season might as well be renamed "Put on 5 kilos then resolve to lose it in January" and I like it that way. Stupid cows making the rest of us look bad! At least I can go to sleep tonight in the confidence that the friends I've chosen are as against it as I am.

The fat girls' end of the table

Christmas Day

 I now feel like an idiot for all my moaning about being away from cold, rainy England at Christmas; it’s safe to say that, despite missing my nearest and dearest like crazy, this Christmas has been one of the best yet! I actually spent Christmas Eve the same way I would if I was at home: with a very large glass of Baileys watching Home Alone (if you replace having to scoop a tilting glass out of my Nan’s hand as she snoozes with Cornish friends and spag bol). I got an early night in preparation for all the excitement of the next day’s festivities.

The small children within Jess and I were wide awake at 6:30am and, after the exchange of hugs and a bit of jumping around, shared stories of family Christmas traditions while waiting for the remaining youths to arrive. Every Christmas morning since forever, even now I’m a “grown-up”, I go into my parents’ room (sometimes at ungodly hours) and before anything else can happen, they ask “Has he been?” and I run downstairs to check out the previously empty space under the tree for presents. Once I know the big man has delivered the goods, I run back upstairs shouting “He’s been! He’s been!” and we’re then allowed to go have breakfast in our pjs and start opening treats. Weird I know, but it’s the way things go down in the Stephens household. Despite being a very scary 22, I’m sure I’ll be doing it this time next year. Candice, Chris, John, Chloe and Oli arrived at 8am with their arms full of presents and booze and we cracked open the champagne in the garden, where it was already heating up. Candice and Chris’ adorable miniature bulldog Walter was looking very smart in his Christmas collar and he and Johnnie, who had naughtily found and opened his new chew toy from under the tree, caused absolute chaos.

We gathered in the lounge around the tree to wage war on the mountain of presents stacked up under the tree. I say under the tree, but there were so many they covered practically the whole floor. The McKiernans do the unwrapping a bit different to us and I kind of liked it; they just chuck the parcels at the right people all in one go instead of doing them one by one and everyone watching the person unwrap it like we do. It was a very exciting half hour, during which I received a lovely little mound of gifts. Terry and Maggs bought me a gorgeous top and purse and a stack of choccies, Jess got me some more tasty treats and I got an awesome pair of flowery shoes from Candi, who was my secret Santa. Chris loved the crazy foreign beers and glass I got him. I also got a little taste of home with some parcels all the way from Camelford; my parents got me a top, scarf, some pretty bracelets and a book of short Christmas stories by Dickens. The star of the show present-wise was the wheelbarrow Terry and Maggs had spent hours wrapping for Chris and it reminded me of another family tradition, which is my Nan looking at the shape of a present and guessing what it is, usually getting it right and wrecking the surprise. We still say “I wonder what it is” when someone gets one of a particularly distinctive shape!

With the presents all opened, we left our new treats for later and Terry whipped up an incredible breakfast of crepes with banana, butterscotch sauce and ice cream, washed down with more champagne. After our first feast of the day, the young ones (minus Jess, who drove to Meelup to visit her boyfriend Pete who was lifeguarding there) hopped in the cars and drove down to Yallingup so the boys could go for a Christmas day surf. Us girls basked in the sun and swam with Walter, who drew a lot of female admirers with his cuteness! The beach was absolutely packed with people enjoying the sun and it was so cool to see that the ocean is as big a part of the Christmas tradition here as a good roast is for us in the UK. Jess stuck fast to her reputation for getting into trouble when she called us to say she had come down to join us and bogged her car in a massive pothole in the bush and couldn’t get out. We checked it out when the boys came out of the water and she’d done too good a job to be rescued by Chris’ truck, so we abandoned it for the day and returned home.

Walter doing a bit of navigating

The table in the garden was looking amazing, ready for the upcoming feast, and the weather was just gorgeous, so we set about concocting our beverage of choice: Pomegranate punch! We made it in a huge glass bowl with a tap in it and it looked delicious with fresh mint, lime, cucumber and pomegranate. Armed with a big glass of punch, we pulled crackers as the starter was served up. We had giant prawns coated in coconut and a mango and lime salad, which was of course delicious and a big change from the prawn cocktail or soup we have at home. The next hour was spent drinking, sunbathing and playing with our toys when lunch was prepared. Oh my good lord, what a spread! Here’s the mouthwatering menu:

Skewered giant Bali prawns in chilli

Whole crayfish barbecued in Gran Marnier and garlic butter

Apricot and clove ham

Slow cooked turkey

Duck fat crushed roast potatoes

Beetroot, feta and spinach salad

Mango and lime salad

I cannot even describe how good it all was and we all had at least three helpings, stuffing ourselves silly. The fact that we had all eaten an obscene amount and were harbouring food babies made stripping off to our bathers for a muck around in the pool a lot less daunting. We took our drinks in (frantically covering them with our hands when the boys, including Terry, bombed us) and had a hilarious few hours of synchronised swimming, diving, racing in inflatables and generally being big kids. When we’d dried off and returned to the table, it was time for my number one weakness: Pudding. Another impressive spread of Christmas cake, mango ice cream bombe with white chocolate sauce, plum pudding and custard and Black Forrest trifle was served up, plus homemade shortbread and macaroons. How I am not 20 stone by now is a total mystery to me! The time came to play games in the garden, which was timely as I don’t think I could have held another morsel. Terry had been given quoits (the rope rings that you throw over the stick) and, when they’d finished almost wetting themselves laughing, Chris and Oli said that quoit is another word for bumhole in Cornwall. I’m sure Dad would have known this, but I was none the wiser!

Quoits!

Evening rolled round in a punch-induced haze and we grabbed some beers and headed over the road to the lifeguards’ house for a party. They were just finishing up their dinner, so we drank a lot of beer in a savage game of drinking table tennis downstairs. Pete, Adam and Craig were there, who I met when I arrived here, plus Danny, Janek, Alex and Sian’s boyfriend Skipper. They were all very drunk and a great laugh and by the time I left for my bed, everyone was very merry, including myself. The next morning, Jess said that the others borrowed the boys’ bikes to cycle home to Candice and Chris’ and the ride was interesting to say the least, with everyone stacking it several times. Don’t drink and ride, kids! Oli fell off in someone’s driveway, where a huge scary dog was coming towards him as he scrambled to get moving again. I managed to squeeze in a lovely albeit quick Skype with my family and it was great to see all their faces gathered around the living room to talk to me. I absolutely loved my hot Christmas; bring on the Boxing Day leftovers!

First day in Dunsborough

My first 24 hours in Dunsborough have been absolutely heavenly! I’d like to think that the way I spent them is a taste of things to come; it’s so nice to finally chill out after months of work. I’d been here about ten minutes yesterday afternoon, just enough time to dump my stuff at Jess’ and say hello to Maggs and Terry, before we decided that the weather was just too beautiful to not go to the beach for a swim. We drove to Eagle Bay, a little local spot undiscovered by tourists (imagine Tintagel in the height of summer and that’s how busy Dunsborough is like at Christmas) and spent the hours before Jess had to work alternating between sunbathing and cooling off in the gorgeous clear water. It felt like an age since I’d last seen Jess, so we did a lot of catching up and she filled me in on all the fun we’ve got planned for my stay. Back at home, Jess got ready for work and left me to have dinner with her parents. They made a gorgeous stir-fry and we ate on the veranda by the pool. It was lovely to get to know them better; Maggs has a huge family like my Mum and Terry showed me the garden and all the work he’s done on the house. Despite numerous offers, I declined a glass of wine without mentioning that just the smell was making me feel physically sick. After watching some Rick Stein and flicking through Better Homes for Christmas food inspiration, I retired to bed for a much-needed sleep.

One happy girl!

This morning, Jess and I got up early and drove down to Yallingup for a morning swim. We worked up a sweat walking through the dunes then jumped in the water to cool off; despite it being a cloudy day, the water was lovely and warm and the reef made it shark-free: Bonus! We bumped into a group of Jess’ friends in the water, including Emma, a local girl who works in the town, who invited us back to her place for breakfast with everyone. We drove to her place, which was a gorgeous wooden building just up the road overlooking the ocean, and set about chopping up fruit for a very healthy brekky. There was such a ridiculously interesting mix of people there that you just don’t get in England and everyone was so lovely and chilled. Amongst the surfy bunch were Craig, an Aussie lifeuard who’s just come down from Geraldton and is good mates with Jess’ boyfriend Pete, Ana and Flo who used to work at Malt with Jess and are now back for another summer and Helena, a very eccentric fashion designer. Out of the 12 of us, we figured out there was a grand total of 7 nationalities; Aussie, English, French, Italian, Swedish, Brazilian and Scottish. Jess was the only person originally from Dunsborough! It’s evident that it’s the kind of place that people just keep dropping back for a few months for work or just to hang out, which I love. By the time we left Emma’s, I’d met so many nice new people who I’ll hopefully see again before I leave.

From there, we returned home to help Terry and Maggs with the Christmas preparation. This mostly involved coating the macaroons Jess made yesterday in chocolate and decorating biscuits with everyone’s names for the Christmas table, both of which mostly consisted of singing along to Wham, eating and making a mess. We then rode the bikes into town to browse the shops pick up the ingredients for a pomegranate punch we want to make tomorrow; yum! Coles was absolutely packed with manic Christmas shoppers and I was reminded of Mum dragging me along to the annual Christmas shop back home. The abundance of gorgeous jewellery and clothes is just too much; I need to go on a shopping spree here! We’ve just got home and the plan for this afternoon is to go and visit Pete at the beach he lifeguards for a swim and Candice, Chris, Chloe and John should be back from their camping trip in time for dinner. I am having the best time!

One sleep ‘til Christmas!

Last night in the city

I really must stress how much of a miracle it is that I’m writing this, considering that this morning’s wake up was accompanied by feelings of impending doom. In other news, I’ve made it to beautiful Dunsborough safely, but to say that it was not plain sailing is a huge understatement. It is not often I lose the ability to sit upright, but this morning was one of those rare occasions and I have a sneaky suspicion spending last night in the company of my dear host family might have something to do with it. Vic text me earlier in the week inviting me to a festive reunion dinner at the Billingham pad in South Perth and I jumped at the chance to revisit my old home and catch up with my favourite family of expats.

Walking through the city and over the bridge that I rode over every morning for the first three months here brought back happy memories and I couldn’t wait to see everyone again, particularly Jamie who’s just got back from a month in England. I stepped out of the elevator into a very familiar scene; Vic running around like a blue-arsed fly (a famous Tim Stephens phrase), John doing some very questionable Dad dancing to Christmas tunes and Jamie’s efforts at help stretching to grating/eating the cheese. There was one very important addition to note amongst the hugs; the Billinghams 21-year-old daughter, Lauren, is here from Auckland for Christmas. After introducing herself, the first thing she did was pour me a very large glass of white wine: I liked her instantly. As we all caught up with one another (I mostly moaned about how I hate living by myself and miss our games of Canasta and sailing trips), I gave them a hand preparing dinner and generally soaked up the atmosphere of us all being together again. To my surprise, some other familiar faces turned up; Prachie, my darling fellow Homestay and Philippino cooking whizz, Denai, one half of the Greek couple that replaced me as homestays fresh from her waitressing job in the city, Catriona and her lovely little old-man dog Anzac, and Shelly and Simon, friends of the Billinghams who we did a quiz with back in October and who bought me champagne on my birthday-eve. All-in-all, a very pleasant group of people who I am rather fond of.

Christmas fairies!

Jamie and Catriona deep in intellectual conversation

The wine continued to flow as a sumptuous feast was served up; I spent dinner trying to avoid a grilling from Vic and Catriona on my “Aussie sugar Daddy” and getting to know Lauren, who for the record is an absolutely brilliant girl. She made a Eton mess/Brandy Snaps hybrid for dessert, adding pudding queen to reasons to love her. She currently lives in New Zealand with her boyfriend James, who she met working at the national television company. She’s also trying to get her kids’ TV show, Fairy Luna, to hit the big time; take a look at all its adorableness here and tell all your friends with kids to give it a go. Lauren plays Luna, of course, and watch out for Vic with a cameo role as the wise fairy! Her and James are going through a weird patch, so she decided to spend Christmas with her family and even has a few job interviews while she’s here. It would be so great if she moved to Perth as I’d like to recreate this first meeting on a regular basis but without the stinking hangover.

Prachie, Lauren and Denai

After we’d been fed, we kicked back on the balcony with yet more wine before Catriona suggested we head over to her place in the CBD for a game of pool and some more alcohol for good measure. We jumped in the cars, driven by tee-total John (he got so drunk at his stag do that he and Vic had to cancel their wedding, no biggie) and Catriona, who’s Scottish and can therefore drink as much as she likes and drive. While we were poured extra large vodka and oranges, us girls ventured out of the shared games room to the pool area for a paddle in the Jacuzzi. Luckily, none of us fell in, although Anzac did take an accidental dip in the pool in his old age and Catriona had to fish him out, which we all found hilarious once we were sure he wasn’t drowning. The pool skills weren’t overly successful to begin with and only went downhill as we became more intoxicated, with John being just about the only half-competent player; I vaguely remember Denai, who had never played pool before, beating Jamie and I.

The wise decision to go out in the city must have been made somewhere around that point, because the next thing I knew we were climbing out of the car in Northbridge. Northbridge has a “vibrant” nightlife, shall we say, but you do have to deal with the possibility of being stabbed. We found a little bar with a live band playing and Lauren bought a round of Long Island Ice Teas to the tune of $65, so that’s Perth for you. We met a strange midget man who gave us reindeer ears and a glowstick in return for listening to him talk rubbish for a few minutes, which was nice of him. From there, we stumbled down into the city and entered the first busy bar we came across. We were just getting into our ciders and a very crude game of Rock, Paper, Scissors/Truth or Dare when Lauren commented on the abundance of Irish blokes, which lead us to the conclusion that it was in fact an Irish bar. What followed was several hours of us two fending off extremely drunk Irishmen and Jamie being horrified at them trying to touch up his sister. At the thought of my very long, very early bus ride the next morning, the sensible girl inside me must have said goodbye to the Billinghams and hauled my butt into a taxi around midnight, giving me a grand total of five hours sleep before my public transport mission. On the bright side, I had a great night with the Billinghams and it was an awesome way to spend my last night in Perth for a while.

My undoing

However, when my alarm went off at 6am, it was very difficult to think of the “bright side”. I’m sure I’ve said it before and will say it again, but I think that’s the worst I’ve felt after a night out ever. At first, I genuinely considered spending the day in bed and booking another bus because I wasn’t confident that I could stand, let alone make it out of the house. Why do we do it to ourselves?! After abandoning all hope of navigating the journey to the bus station via public transport and booking a taxi, I took a shower (via a short stint lying on the bathroom floor) and forced myself to take in fluids. A combination of hydration and sitting in the fresh air meant that my condition improved exponentially and I was slightly more mobile when the taxi pulled up at 7:30.

Whatever improvements to my health that had occurred thus far proved futile when I arrived at the public transport centre in East Perth, where I think I would have felt less out of place if I’d been unconcious. It’s common knowledge that public transport is the scum of the earth’s territory, but this took the biscuit. As I watched all your textbook weirdos roaming around (toothless woman in her 50s with a bottle of vodka and a small child, aboriginal gentleman with food in his beard attempting to smoke on-board, total raving nutjob screaming and waving his arms around who turned out to actually be working there), I took a moment to wonder whether there could be some system in place to allow normal people trying to leave the city to travel separately to those who clearly belong in some kind of asylum, but no such luck. Fortunately, my coach was psychopath-free, bar one stinky German bloke who kept trying to spark up a conversation in the queue, and I was left to listen to my music in peace. I was also in relative comfort, with a double seat to myself, until we pulled into Mandurah and an old lady hopped on next to me. Despite her possessing no immediately obvious insane qualities, she turned out to have the next worst habit in my opinion: She described everything she did out loud to herself. That really gets my goat; if I didn’t love Jordan Burnard like a brother, I probably would have murdered him by now. Four hours of trying to block her voice out of my head by turning my music up was not condusive to my headache and time dragged on, but eventually the ocean came into view and we pulled up in Dunsborough, where Jess’ lovely face was waiting to meet me. I'm so relieved to be out of the city and only one sleep away from feeling human again, although the stack of alcohol in the house suggests that won't last. Let the real holidays begin!