It's rare I get to just write about something that isn't boring, or my daily life (what's the difference, eh?), but Scott Pilgrim vs The World has just moved its way into my Favourite Movies of All Time list. So right now I figure I need to get back to my bass, start up a shitty garage rock band, and get me my Ramona Flowers.

As a film, Scott Pilgrim is everything I've ever wanted. It's a comedy, it's got action, it's got romance, it's got nerdy references and a great soundtrack. Even though I hate Michael Cera films, this one is the exception to the rule. I probably should have read the original seven Scott Pilgrim books, but like most people I only discovered this recently - and I'm kinda glad I did. Blown away doesn't quite cover it.

Admittedly, things that are 'integral' to the Scott Pilgrim story are glossed over, like Ramona's travelling through subspace - sure, it's implied and she mentions it once, but when you know it's a part of what makes her "her", then you should maybe include a little bit more... Aside from that, it's just brilliant. If you're a nerd, anyway...

And since I'm such a fanboy, I've gone ahead and messed around on the Scott Pilgrim Avatar Creator. Sadly, the only thing I don't own is the Parka, otherwise it would be a damned accurate depiction!

As yet another week has passed me by, it's high time I actually started doing something. At least, this is the thought I should have had for the last two months. Instead, this has probably been one of the lamest summers in the history of lame, and I've yet to find one to surpass past summers which have involved trips to Canada, to Barcelona, and generally doing something more than sitting indoors being antisocial.

So, news. News, news, news. There is very little news, as ever. I've spent my nights playing Empire: Total War, perhaps one of the best strategy games going - so much depth, so little time. Currently running a campaign as the British, and the entire world is 'hostile' towards me - lovely, war with Spain, distrust from the United Provinces, a shaky alliance with a hostile France, and a shattered one with the Maratha Confederacy. All-in-all, I'm a real diplomat!
Still on the gaming front, my days have been sucked dry by World of Warcraft. Luckily, it's still free - free trial, one month free on purchase, free trial of Wrath of the Lich King. Twenty-six levels in, and I've yet to spend more than the cost of the game itself. So much for a subscription-based model, eh Blizzard? As we speak my level 26 Demonology Warlock is sat in an inn, waiting for me to come back so we can wreak havoc across the land. [sarcasm]My life is awesome![/sarcasm]

It turns out, while we're on the subject of awesome, that I'm awesomely underprepared for Italy. The next seven days are going to be part of one long string of phonecalls, forms, and emails all in the hope that I can sort out every last thing before I leave. So, that's sorting out my contract with Orange, extending my overdraft, applying to L'Universitat de Lleida, finding out how Pavia expects me to pay them for halls, and generally having a good old stress! Lovely stuff.

I'm also awesome at getting drunk enough to be cordial around people I know, but a total dick to those I don't. In fact, last night I received a Facebook friend request, and was at the stage of drunk that made me immediately go 'I have no idea who you are!" - instead of waiting until the morning, when I actually figured out the link between us, I decided to message the poor lass. Tragically, it probably gave off one of the worst impressions I've managed to present to someone. In the words of FTHC though: Well I'm not the only one who regrets the way they act, but I seem to be the only one who's honest with the facts.


I suppose that's it. You may leave now, filled with the sense of having accomplished your weekly charitable act by making it seem like my life is interesting enough to warrant reading about on a semi-regular basis. Ciao, tutti.

With two weeks remaining until I saunter on down to Italy, the pressure is really on to get things sorted before I leave. There are a few ‘issues’ I need to really start sorting, like my Lleida application, and my phone; as well as figuring out what I need to take, and what I don’t need to take. Overall, the main issues are going to be money (having to pay €800 on the first day is not looking at all fun), and language (since I’ve not exactly brushed up on my Italian for weeks!) – I reckon I can survive though. It’s not like I haven’t managed for the last two years.

A point of note, regarding this post, is that it’s being written with Live Writer rather than Blogger. I don’t know how it’ll turn out (hopefully as close to the blogger standard as possible), but, if I like it then it’ll stay as the path of choice for updating this blog. So far, I like that I can see the background, rather than just having a box to fill up, but, it almost seems like I’ve lost that ‘security net’ of bland old Web 2.0. So, a reason for this post being uber-bland, aside from my lame-ass life, is the fact I wanted to test this out ASAP.

Aside from all that – not much going on in the life and times of a poor student. The only thing aside from Italy that I have to look forward to is the UK release of Scott Pilgrim vs The World. Right now it’s the only thing that I’m totally psyched about – even if it does star Michael Cera, a guy that I’m not too keen on. In the words of a critic, on the original Scott Pilgrim comic: “It’s perfect if you were weaned on music records and nintendo games” – with a giant ‘in-joke’ jumping out in the form of Sex Bob-omb, I think it’s perfect for me (though I do want to get hold of all the original comics soon, having not read them…).

I think that’s about it, with no AOB floating around this week. Shame.

What to say; what to say?

First up: I have a shiny new laptop! Yay me! For those curious of the specs, we're looking at a 2.27GHz i3 processor, 2.87G RAM, 250GB HDD, and a fair number of USB ports (well, maybe not - there's an HDMI connection, a SATA hi-speed USB port, and two rear USB ports), and room for an SD reader too. Sweet. Windows gives it a 4.4 rating, as a baseline (which is based on the graphics being 'average'), and the highest score is a 6.4 for the processor. All-in-all, pretty sweet!

So, what with this new powerhouse at my fingertips, I've started clogging it up already! Daily doses of Sim City 4 have become the norm, with my eye on getting Empire: Total War in the near future. The rest of the time, I'm sitting scribbling pretentious 'essays' on my tumblr which is now totally language oriented - if there isn't some lengthy piece on languages on there, there's a video, or a song. It keeps me busy, and lets me blather on about things that would bore 90% of people, and get 10% of people annoyed as I don't reference my sources (Wikipedia, for those of you who care...)

In other news: We are down to 2 weeks, 4 days until I ship off to Italy. I still have to complete my forms for Lleida, because I really don't want to be doing those while I'm away on foreign soil. Part of me is starting to get nervous about it, but the rest of me is still 110% up for it. Let's get away while we can, eh, boys and girls? There will no doubt be a pre-leaving blog up on the Saturday (28th) or Sunday (29th), dependent solely on the state I get into on the Friday night. And, much as I've said it before, I will try my damnedest to try and update 'on the road' - I have a feeling the hotels won't have wifi, or they'll be at extra cost, so it may just be a case of "Hey, I'm alive!" when I get to Pavia. We'll see - early days yet!

I'd like to think that this pretty much covers everything of importance. So, we'll move on to the AOB:

1. I've got my mind set on a certain picture I once saw, but I can't seem to find it. This is a request: if anyone knows where one can find a photograph of Cwmparc at night, taken on a long-exposure from the road over to Nantymoel, please let me know!

2. I really need to head to Spillers before I leave. I've probably said that before, but, it's worth seriously noting. There needs to be a trip, and there needs to be a purchase - for too long have I gone in, browsed, and left. Now they're set up in their new building, it seems like the right time to start a new era in my musical collecting.

I've been itching to blog all day, as if my life is somewhat important (or as if I've done something vaguely interesting in the last seven days). I can, in fact, confirm that neither is true. So, really I'm just spamming up your RSS feed and providing the internet with yet more drivel from the "blogosphere".

I've turned into a right lazy son-of-a... lately. I've been drinking up to six cups of tea a day, sometimes interspersing it with coffee. I've been getting up later than normal - I actually got into a routine of bed at 9.30, awake by 8am, and then lost it somewhere along the way. Shame, really. All day I yawn, and that's not very polite, is it? I'm also getting very bored with this mundane routine of wake up, drink tea, surf the net, make lunch, drink tea, surf the net, play games, (maybe go for a walk), make tea, surf the net, have dinner, make tea, surf the net, make tea, go to bed. Suppose living in the doldrums is on my "to change" list.

I really have nothing interesting to say. It's quite a bad excuse for a blogpost really. We'll just skip to AOB:

1. Finally, I've got a shiny, new laptop on the way. It has all that I wanted as minimum specs, so that is good. It was ordered on Dell as a "Ships in 24 Hours" laptop - that was three days ago. It's not due for another three. Obviously, Dell is based in a factory travelling faster than the speed of light - twenty-four hours for them being six days for us...

2. I think I've practically invited half the world to visit me in Italy. "Just pay for your flights, I'll put you up." - think I'm going to have to check out the 'rules' of living in this place. Who knows, Italian halls might be a lot stricter than Cardiff when it comes to visitors.

3. Five weeks, four days until I hit twenty-one. Then I'm pretty much of legal age to do everything in the world, within reason of course. I suppose I should count that as a new stage of my life, and try to sort myself out appropriately. Go from mopey teenager, to cynical adult. All that jazz. It'll be amazeee.


And that...until I do something exciting, or get my new laptop, (whichever comes first)...is that. Itch satisfied.

Well, last week I gave up alcohol. Yesterday, I was downing a dirty pint in a friend's lounge. It's nice to see that I totally lack any sense of willpower at all. Alcohol will just have to sit as my primary vice in life - I can't escape it no matter what I do. I can avoid hard drugs, I can keep away from nicotine cravings, but I can't run from the sweet taste of alcohol...or so it seems.

What I've learnt, however, is that even if it is my primary vice, it doesn't come with any benefits. I pay for it in the mornings with my hangovers. I pay for it on the night with my exceptionally poor-form and emotional outbursts. In short - I probably pay for it more than I should really be paying for something I enjoy. I am shelling out financially, physically and psychologically - eventually, I'm going to be a shell-of-a-man...

In other news: I can start working on filling out the forms to get my ERASMUS grant for next year. The Insurance forms came today, and reading them is one of the criteria for getting the grant approved. I read them, and I laughed at how thorough insurance is these days - "You are not covered for cases of nuclear or biological terrorism, exposure to radiation, or cases of war, uprising, revolt, rebellion, civil war, or military sponsored coups" - could they be any more precise in their findings? I highly doubt it. However - getting this filled out will mean I'm one step closer to living abroad happily!

Also, last week I got around to teaching some Italian. It turns out that my Italian really needs brushing up on. At least the basics - things like foods, body parts, all that GCSE nonsense. I'll end up doing more of these little lessons, but, I'll also have to plan them a  bit more in future. Sitting around going "Uhm..." really drags out the time of a lesson. It'd be so much easier to say "Today, we're covering [x] [y] and [z]." Then again - I like a challenge...

And finally, a bit of AOB, to clear up things I'd rather not ramble about:

1. I've set myself up with a YouTube account. If I can get a laptop with a webcam, you can expect plenty of vlogs along with these updates whilst I am abroad. For now, I'll leave it at that - if things go right, I'll update with usernames (for handy subscribing purposes!)

2. As mentioned, I'm actually (finally) looking into getting a new laptop. While my dad says "Processors are all the same...", I'm on the lookout for a cheap i3. He's thinking via Dell; I'm thinking via PC World. We'll see.

3. The outward journey to Pavia has been finalised. It now stands at a trip from here to there, stopping in Calais, Baden-Baden and Certosa di Pavia. We just have to decide whether or not to travel via Reims, Strasbourg and toll roads to Baden Baden, or via Belgium and the autobahns.

4. The Ukulele is still on the cards. Watch this space!

And that - as they say - is that.

Last night, it is fair to say, I hit bottom. So, today has been spent clawing my way back up out of that abyss with plenty of tea and cake. Don't worry - I didn't do something...too silly. Just went off on one for no reason at all, and it made me feel very, very bad. What can you do, eh?

Well, to answer that I'm going to simply analyse the facts. I was drunk - quite so - and I was in the company of my ex-girlfriend. Was it her, or the drink? Personally, I blame the drink, for bringing out my inner demons. I don't like to let them roam - I just let them bubble to the surface and then beat them down with my "Grow the hell up" stick. So, when they come out, they're usually quite cranky and prone to ruin anything that's good about life. Including quadruple Gin and Tonics.

That is why I have decided - and laughably so - that I am not going to touch alcohol for the next month. In any form. So that's beers, ciders, wines, liqueurs, hard liquor, rum cakes, and assorted others. I would make the magical timescale a little longer, but I kind of organised a bit of a leaving shindig for the bank holiday weekend. Can't exactly be all "Well, I'm leaving. Drink up for me...and I'll have a coke." I suppose that would prompt more people to offer to buy me a drink, as I wouldn't be breaking their wallets... Hmm...

As far as this goes, it's a bit of a weak statement of 'learning a lesson'. I should really just say "I'm going cold turkey for a year." or something absurd like that. We'll see.


Time for a bit of AOB:

1. Despite my outburst, I am still going ahead with teaching Italian.
2. I really, really would like a ukulele. Yes, everyone has one these days just because they're "hip" and "cool", but, there's only so much you can do with a bass. I need to step into the land of melody.
3. Finally my ERASMUS forms have arrived. The only problem is that I don't remember the courses I applied to do in Italy (or rather the full names and codes). Oops.

I believe that's covered everything. If not. I don't particularly care. Just means more rambling for next time.

This week my parents decided it would be a good idea to take my brother and head off to Kent. I applaud their decision - I've had a quiet house since lunchtime on Monday, and it will continue this way until around 7pm on Friday night! However, it does mean that the day starts to drag a bit after about 8pm. Usually I'll have had the news on, some stimulating conversation about idiots in the workplace, and numerous calls for cups of tea. Instead, I'm marooned; trapped on an island that is slightly more bearable than the version currently inhabited by Noel "Robinson Crusoe" Edmonds on this week's Deal or No Deal.

Today i think I've added a new low to my life. I've decided to start a Tumblr tumblelog! So far, it's a bit empty, but clogging it up for the sake of clogging it up is no fun for anyone - readers or myself. So, whilst it's still in its infancy, I can try to get to grips with it because "Man, I don't get it at all!" - and I'm no Luddite.

In other, brief, news:

1. My laptop decided to get all sickly today. Finally, after months of struggle and heavy-breathing, it's succumbed to old-age and finally the hard drive has reached that point where it's about to collapse in under its own entropy. So, I think I have a month, tops, left on this thing before it goes kaput! In better news: the Parentals are suggesting buying me a new one, so I'm on the hunt for something in the i3 processor range. Nothing less for my computing needs!

2. In addition to adding Tumblr to my life, I've also agreed to start re-teaching my ex Italian. She was my star, and only, pupil last year. I thought she was progressing rather well - then we hit the wall, and yeah, everyone who's been an avid reader of this knows the rest. Anyway, we got talking last night, while a bit tipsy, and we came to the agreement that I should start teaching her again. I'm hoping to get a bit of an intensive 'revision' session in with her this week, if she can find time when she's not working - that way I know how much I have to do to get her back to her good standard.

3. Italy looks like it's going to bring some interesting things into my life. My dad has decided to drive there, because he's in need of a proper holiday I think. So, it'd mean leaving here at the end of August, and spending a few days driving through France, dropping me off in Pavia, and then they can head where they like. I'm sure they'd do an overnight stay or something, and I can be all showy with my Italian - shouting Buongiorno walking into shops; ordering coffee and grappa after meals; eating Tiramisù. Still, it sounds infinitely more fun than a flight from Heathrow, right?

Beyond all of that - life is progressing at the normal, sluggish pace. There are probably a few more things I could rabbit on about - the fact that I am missed by my housemates; how I'm constantly thinking about my future and the prospects of teaching; the terrible state my room is in now I've moved home, and how there is a slice of Jijona turrón sat on a plate on my TV still being uneaten - but they're probably stories for another day. After all, we don't want to run out of material do we?

You know that feeling you get when things start coming together? Well, I'm starting to feel it now. Seven years of Spanish, and two of Italian, are starting to finally pay off - and the dividends really aren't too bad. I know I've already talked about where I'd applied to go, but now it's so much closer and much more tangible! Well - Pavia is at least.

Yesterday I had the lovely surprise of opening my inbox to find an email from Pavia's Centro Assistenza Studenti. They had received and reviewed my application for accommodation, and were willing to offer me six months in a single room out in the Biomedical Residences. On the one hand, this filled me with glee - I have a potential place to stay! On the other, I have no idea where it is.

You see, Pavia, like most Italian Universities, is old. Its Halls exist pretty much in the centre of town, near all the Faculties. Collegio Nuovo is pretty much in the heart of Pavia, near to the Humanities Department; Santa Caterina da Siena is to the north-east, near to the Sciences Department. Other Collegi are dotted around, close to other departments. The more modern Residences seemed to be in the centre too. Simple enough, so far, right?

Well - I did some research. The Biomedical Residences are funded by the University College of Santa Caterina da Siena, naturally. The logical step, then, is to assume that they are going to be east of the town on the fringes near the Collegio (Santa Caterina da Siena is an all-female Collegio, while Biomedical Residences are mixed). Nope - it's not there. A little more digging led me to a street address - Via Giulotto.

After some time spent on Google Maps, I found out that Via Giulotto didn't exist...as far as they were concerned. Was I being led on a wild goose chase? It would seem so. Until I found another link mentioning the opening of the Residences - July 5th, 2010, the Foundation of Santa Caterina da Siena opened the new residences, situated on the Polo Cravino Campus, to students. Polo Cravino! Of course. Wait - where's Polo Cravino?

This is when panic set in. I know that Pavia has links with Mantova and Cremona. I know that they have an entire music department in Cremona; what's to say they don't have a Biosciences one there too? Again, it seemed like Google Maps might be enought to save me. So, I searched, and was led to find that Polo Cravino is the other name of the campus on Via Bassi - half an hour out of the centre. Essentially, I would have a half hour walk from the station on arrival...and a half hour walk to my lectures.

But - I'm used to that. I lived out my entire first year of study at Cardiff in Talybont North - initially a 30minute walk from lectures, but, by the end I could do it in 15. So, with that in mind, I snapped up the offer! I have a place to live in Pavia, for six months!

Now, the only problem is...where can I get a cheap flight out of here?

Time for another update. I am officially no longer a student of Cardiff University. Well, at least for another year. I passed Second Year, and with an average quite higher than I was generally expecting. Based off last years "general scraping in" I was going to be happy with a 55 for everything - in fact, I'd have been ecstatic with a 55 average, considering languages mark out of 80. Instead, I was granted the pleasure of a 65 average, boosted up by my spectacular 70s in Catalan and Italian Culture, and only lowered by my average performance in Spanish.

So, boosted by that high, I can genuinely say "I cannot wait to move out again!" - in fact, I've only been officially home-for-good since Monday morning, having spent my last night in the Cardiff House on Sunday. It was nice to sleep there one last time, but kind of disconcerting to see all the items of the new housemate sitting, accumulating dust, while I selfishly kept the room as-near-as-dammit to the end of the tenancy. Yet, since being home, I've been bored out of my skull.

The thing is, when you're going to go to a foreign country to live two things are of vital importance:

1. You're going somewhere new. You're either going to be scared, or you're going to love it. Personally, I am loving the thought of getting the hell out of this country for a year.

2. You have a shorter summer than everyone else, and you're not here after it, so nobody wants to employ you. "Oh hai, I'd like a job...for six weeks." doesn't really cut it in the World Of Work. It's the one downside to all this - since it means I have money for fleeting instances, while bills are still floating in from the house that I am obliged to pay. Joy!

In light of all of this, I've come up with the ingenious plan to visit my local tax office and finally get around to reclaiming back all my erroneous tax from the last 10 months. That'll be a nice £55 which should save my pockets when the dreaded Water Bill arrives in Cardiff. Then, it'll be off to Natwest to beg them every so politely, with maraschino cherries on top, to let me at my Third Year overdraft limit that little bit earlier. Yes - I'm that type of student. Sorry, and all that, Mister Tax Payer.

Anyhow, I'm just blogging to pass the time now. It seems one can only sit in the garden/sit in the lounge/sit on the laptop and read Iain M. Banks/listen to steampunk-esque music/play Assassins' Creed 2  so many times before the cabin fever sets in, and one finds the need to either break one's skull against a wall, or spork one's eyes out, just to add some spark to the day. Sure, I've been for walks. I've found diversions. It's just not enough when you're 'below the poverty line' in terms of your finances, and there is nothing to do for free in this heckhole except walk from A to B or look at things.

As such, I now have a "website of interest" for today and yesterday: Sleepycity.net where Urbexers (Urban Explorers) go scuttling through the metro systems of Paris, through the sewers of London, and over the rooftops of Manchester. In short: if you like architecture, or things that you don't normally see in your humdrum lives, check it out.  Which is exactly what I am going to do now!

A thought has just occurred to me, what with the sun being constantly on show this summer, and the prospect of going to two foreign towns that are big enough to warrant public transport, but small enough that public transport is only really for the old ladies and the sightseers, that I never learnt to ride a bike.

You know how everyone has one of those things they regret never doing? Some people regret not putting on that lottery ticket last week, because they were sure to win it. Others regret never being taught to swim by their overcautious parents. Me? I honestly regret never having an interest in riding a bike. I think it came from the fact that I grew up on a terraced row of houses, at the top of a hill. The prospect of going down to the main road involved a lengthy descent via one of six potential inclines - I could have gone down the three streets that connected our terrace to the road below; used the nearby park to go down without careening to my death; or I could have tried the lanes at either end of my section of houses.

However, I didn't. I remember my parents bought me a bike. It was a black one. A Wolfcub or something it was called, with this red and yellow thunderbolt on it, and a soppy looking wolf's head to boot. At least, that's how I remember it in my head. They put the stabilisers on it, and we went to the park to practice, but, to get into the park, there was a hill. That's no fun when you've not really learnt how to pedal AND not panic. So, needless to say, I had no interest in dying at such a young age. And the bike became resigned to the shed.

Now, almost aged 21, having lived in Cardiff for two years, and seen umpteen students biking to and from lectures; having been to Artà and seen the number of people who would bike just to enjoy the breeze; having been to Barcelona numerous times, and seen their amazing commuting program, making use of a bike rental (pick it up at one bike rack, and just make sure you drop it off at another one before you leave it unattended); having been to all these places and seen the fun that comes with it all...I wish I actually had put the effort in to learning to ride.

They say you can never forget how to ride a bike. Well, how about never actually learning in the first place? I think myself quite the social anomaly in terms of this. In light of this, I've been looking into how an adult can learn to cycle. It appears that the simplest way is just to get a bike, take the pedals off it, and 'scoot' until you feel you've got the knack of balancing - increase the scooting speed; increase the distance; increase the time with feet off the ground; add some corners - and then put the pedals back on, and see if two-and-two can be put together.

One day I'll master it. One day. But for now, car-less, penniless, and generally lacking motivation in this sweltering heat, I am resigned to sitting indoors, reading through my collection of Terry Pratchett novels, just to induce some kind of fantasy world which detracts from the fact that I live in a veritable Llareggub, without the sea! Right now, I've got more chance of learning to fly!

Another week has flown by in my ever expanding quest to find something to do. Apart from many nights of heart-racing dreams, including, but not limited to, being robbed, being shot at, being attacked, being chased, and generally being the target of the entire world, it hasn't really been an eventful week in terms of "things getting done".

It's taken me until today to fill out the application form for the Università degli studi di Pavia. It's all due back by July 9th, so that bad boy will have to be mailed ASAP, since it has to go via Cardiff's ERASMUS department. We're meant to be doing two culture modules and a language refresher course in order to 'pass the year', but, since I don't exactly want to pay €150 to study 50 hours of Italian (and neither does anyone else) we've been granted the privilege of being able to study three culture modules instead. My proposed semester abroad looks a little like this:

60 hours of Italian Renaissance Literature
60 hours of Modern Italian Literature (mostly focussed on Italo Calvino)
60 hours of Medieval Art History

So, all in all, from October to mid-January, I have a grand total of 180 hours of University to attend, which is roughly three quarters of an average Cardiff semester, by my bad math. All I have to do is get it sent off, and hope that it gets approved by the folks in Cardiff. Then it's time to start worrying about flights, transport, and general living costs for the first month, since I won't be attending the language classes but will be expected to be there from September 2nd.

All in all - this is hella-stress. And just think, I have to do it all again in November for Lleida; and I won't even be in the country, so that'll be mountains of fun! Part of me is counting down the days til I leave; and part of me is counting down the days til I can come back, finish my degree, and actually get a job and start earning proper money. Oh well, quello che sarà, sarà.


In beardy news: I am looking more and more like a tramp each day, and with the new haircut I now look like I'm aiming to be Ed Norton in American History X, but I'm not quite there yet. Anyway, we're only just coming up to Week 3. My target is 6 weeks, which will take me up to July 11th; and if it doesn't fill-out by then, I'll go back to being resigned to being clean-shaven.

Well, World, I've been home exactly...three days now, which is about as close to infinity as it could ever be. Time has been sufficiently wasted eating cake, drinking tea, and playing games that most people had finished months ago. I'm so "with the times", you know? Like a real trendsetter, you dig?

I had a nice day out in Swansea on Wednesday. I mean, okay, the actual Swansea part of the day out was rather lame, because that place is a Chernobyl sans lingering radiation. At least compared to the pristine "ooo aaahh waaaaw" of Cardiff. The good part was the trip to The Mumbles. I really like it down there; it's seaside-y, but not too full-on. Sitting on a rock, watching the tide come in, whilst watching a raincloud gather across the bay is perhaps the highlight of my week. That and the purchase of 8 large, white chocolate cookies for the chiefly sum of two pounds sterling! Huzzah! I'm a veritable Alan Sugar. Or maybe David Dickinson; I haven't quite decided the level of my business acumen.

Then, today, I commandeered the television set and managed to watch the full Mexico - R.S.A. match without anyone reaching for the remote. I was, for the most part, left in peace and allowed to watch it with a cup of tea in hand and a cake, filled with butter rum, and covered in coloured marzipan to make it look like a cauliflower. Most exciting food ever? I think so.

Whilst the match was a total "edge of your seat" "rabbit's nose" fest, and I uttered the word sangano no less than 28 times in the course of 90 minutes, thanks to the wonderful David-Beckham-feet of Giovanni Dos Santos and Cuauhtemoc Blanco (amongst 8 others...), it really didn't help the whole "World Cup fever". I can't commandeer any televisual set later on for the France-Uruguay match, and I'm definitely not in the mood to cram into a warm, sweaty, drunk-filled pub just to support the underdog in the name of all that is Hispanic. I could gladly do with an ice cold glass of cola/cider (delete as appropriate), and a sit down in a beer garden (or an air-conditioned room), but the effort of getting showered again, changing, and going out currently escapes me.

On the bright side, the sun is shining; I have the prospect of drinks on Sunday with folks. I just need to survive the cabin fever until then.


In beardy news: the sideburns were patchy, and I'm self-conscious, so I couldn't cope with weeks hoping they'd fill themselves in. However, I have faith in the rest of the growth, and shall leave it in the hope it thickens out. All I need now is a haircut. Self-done, again?

Second year is over. There is no more of it. It is an ex-year; deceased; it has breathed its last and run down the curtain to join the choir infernal. Lovely. Maybe it ended too soon; maybe it didn't come quickly enough. I'm not quite sure right now how I feel - apprehensive about the year abroad, and my exam results? Maybe.

However, now it's all done. It's summer. Sure, I need a job, but, while that's being sorted by the agency, I have time to plan out my life. I mean, there are so many things I plan to do this summer - actually, I lie. There's not much I've got planned. I'd like to go to Brighton to see an old friend of mine, and spend a day with her for once. I've got to sort a mountain of paperwork before I get anywhere in this dreary little life, too.

I'm not quite sure what else I'd like to get done this summer. Maybe actually attempt to grow a beard. Or at least see the extent of my beardy growths. I've never bothered before - I've managed 4 days, at most, I think; and then I think I begin to look scruffy and I feel the pressure of society to be a clean-shaven youth. This week, however, I left my shaver at home, so I have been subjected to 5 full days of growth. Suffice it to say, I went to LIDL today and bought some razors as I have bar work tomorrow and they like us "neatly presented" - scruff-beard doesn't cut it.

However, since I've had no calls about jobs in the near-future from the agency folks, I'm going to actually sit back and let the good times roll as of tomorrow night. I can't exactly go out and socialise (yay Natwest and their money screw ups), so nobody will really see me during the first 10 days of the scruff stage. By then, I should have a decent idea of where my beard goes; the full extent of how patchy it is; and whether I should just keep at it and attempt full-growth, or, trim it back to a circle-beard, which I know is achievable (with a few days more growth right now, it'd be thick-enough to be 'passable' I think).

And that's that: I look forward to days of sunshine, cider, and potential slavery just to bring in the dollah-dollah. I also look forward to keeping y'all posted about the goings on in my life, and any potential growth of beardage as the days go on. Huzzah for attempting to be a man for once! Huzzah, I say! Huzzah!

It's rather weird when I feel the urge to blog about a dream, but, this one's been stuck in my head since I got up. It's like it's going round on a loop in the back of my mind, and when I'm not thinking about something else, there it is. So, enjoy the cinematic theatricality of "My Dream from Last Night":

Our scene starts in a strange, futuristic town. Everything seems to be connected by metro stations. One night I decide to go out with friends, and we head to this dive bar on the other side of town. Unnaturally, we walk there, along the garish, neon streets. We enjoy some kind of weird dinner-show, without the dinner, before my friends take it as their cue to leave when the police arrive to shut it down. 

I then decide to catch a train to the other side of town. Apparently, there's a Spanish politician onboard. He happens to talk to me. He enjoys my company until I finally reach my stop, and head to a restaurant to get that dinner I missed. It just so happens that this restaurant will end up being a Wetherspoons, but, inside a cave. Weird. It's all decked out with strange blue hues, and pinkish-purple gauze curtains.

Behind one of these gauze curtains I spot a familiar face, with three not-so-familiar ones. The ones I don't recognize are rather 'buff', jock-ish looking chaps, all done up in shirts and bowties. They're all leaning, on one elbow, on the table, chatting up my ex, the face I recognise. It doesn't affect me. I turn back to the table and continue eating, but then I hear sobbing. It's her; she's spotted me. She's crying.

I get nudged by one of my table friends, and suddenly I'm calling her over. "Come and talk..." She does - "Your letter...you didn't want to speak again...it's...it's...." and she broke down sobbing, so I offered her a seat at my table while she cried away, talking about some letter I've never sent. I put my arm around her to comfort her, and then she bolted upright and walked off. Strange.

So, I took that as my cue to leave. The crowds at the bars made it rather difficult to pay (obviously this place worked on the Spanish system of order-eat-pay, rather than order-pay-eat that 'spoons always uses). But, as I was approaching one, she came up to me and said "Shall we say goodbye then?", and still sobbing, she reached up to kiss me. I tilted my head, so all she got was a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her ex-boyfriend was sat behind, watching it all, and shook his head. I walked off, paid, and left, leaving my coat behind...the rest of the dream then descended into chaos involving the coat, the forces of darkness and stuff I could not understand. Thankfully I woke myself up before I got too into it. And that was that. Weirdddd.

And in the crush of the dark, I'll be your light in the mist. I can see you burning with desire for a kiss.
                                                                                                       Tigerlily - La Roux

All good things come to an end eventually, and when that happens it's a damned shame. However, I suppose I'll just have to get over it, and the best way to do that is to let people know how amazing the last six days actually were.

Day #1


Well, if you want to talk about bad starts to a holiday, I suppose now's the time. I got to the airport at 3.30 and was charged more than I had budgeted for a taxi. Then, my online booking failed epically on me so I had to queue for an hour to get a new boarding card. Next up was the eyelets on my shoes setting off the metal detectors, so I had to be searched. And when all that was said and done, I did sweet sod all on the plane except read Martí i Pol until I fell asleep.

The journey out to Artà was a bitch, to be quite honest. After the twenty minute bus ride into town, on a packed aerobus, I managed to squeeze in some breakfast at the Ses Estacions Palma; and followed it up with a long train ride out to Manacor. Even that didn't go to plan, as the line was closed from Sineu onwards, which meant a bus ride to Manacor, and then on to Artà. However, I did get my first tallat (a Catalan cafe cortado) at the Ses Estacions Manacor.

What then struck me was the fact that despite being in the middle of nowhere, Artà was so much nicer than what I'd seen of Palma and Manacor. It was both quaint, in that "pueblo" kind of way, but, it was civilised and thought-out in a way that most places never seem to be. It was the perfect amalgamation of "new" and "old", if you like. Possibly, it was the best thing to come out of a day where for 10 hours I was either on my feet, or travelling.


Day #2

The best way to wake up is to the prospect of breakfast, so, on heading out into town, the plan became a trip to Ca'n Pere, the local bakery. It was here that I got my first taste of Catalan life, meeting two locals - Tòfol and his brother-in-law Oriol - who turned out to be the nicest men I could ever wish to meet. While they're both kind and generous and friendly, they also know how to hook a brother up with bad language. Today's words and phrases included:

Cago'n Déu - (Cag-on Day-oo) - equivalent to "Holy shit!" [Literally "I shit on God"]
Els teus collons - (Els Tay-oos Coy-ons) - equivalent to "Are you shitting me?" [Literally "You're balls!"]
Déu sagrat! - (Day-oo Sag-rat) - can mean multiple things, in the same way as "Damn!" [Literally "Holy God!"]

After my lesson in language, and one of the best sandwiches I've ever eaten, I spent the afternoon exploring town. Some of the street names were quite clever, like the fact that the Carrer de's Sol backed onto the Carrer de S'Ombra [Sun and Shadow]. From there, I walked on up to the Sanctuary, perched high above Artà. Honestly, the views were amazing; all the way out to Cala Ratjada on the coast, and right over the town.

The day ended with typical Spanish drinking - Kalimotxos [red wine and cola] and Xopets [lager and lemon fanta].

Day #3


Honestly, not much happened on this day. Really and truly. There was some late night drinking involving Pitlingorrí [red wine and fanta orange], and some rather rich food. Possibly it was the best food ever cooked, thanks to my host's wonderful cooking skills. I attempted to write down the ingredients and the recipe on the plane home, but I think I may be wrong:

Cholesterol Carbonara


To make the sauce:
                 Add some bacon lardons to a pan, roughly one small pack per person.
                 Once the pan is sufficiently greased from the bacon, add double cream or creme freche.
                 Reduce slightly before adding butter and blue cheese (of your choice)
                 Add some vaguely-cheddar-esque cheese to thicken the sauce back up
                 Season to taste

From that point on, you mix in your pasta, and since all the ingredients were estimated, you can practically end up with a heart-attack in a bowl. In fact, the feeling once you finish it is pretty rare - you're either going to be dead thanks to a cardiac arrest, or, you're going to feel like you've had the best metaphorical oral sex ever. C'mon, why else would I dub it "Blowjob Food"?

Day #4


This was the day when I truly learned what the Spanish are like. It had been arranged that we'd go for variats with Tòfol and Oriol, but, the plan was cancelled at the last minute. I can't quite remember why, but, either way, the plan was off. Instead, we went for the nicest patatas bravas I've ever had, topped with a huge dollop of aioli.

After feeling vaguely full off those, we went out that night for tapas. For all of €9.50, we managed to get six raciones of tapas between us: Chorizo en vino tinto, calabazín thailandés, champignones en ajillo, tomate y feta, ensaladilla de mariscos and boquerones en tomate. Honestly, one of the nicest meals I've had. The chorizo in wine was perhaps the most amazing food I have ever eaten, though the butter-beans came close.

That night I also tried my first glass of Hierbas. It's a liquor made in town, though there are other variants of it. The local brand is Moya, and everyone in Artà frowns upon you if you don't drink Hierbas de Moya. Think Ouzo, or better yet Pernod, and you're on the right track. The Secas variety louches in water, while the Dolces one doesn't. And for €2 a glass, it's hard not to get wasted off the stuff.



Day #5


Then things went back to plan. That morning, after a quick xopet at Sa Plaça, we headed off for variats. A variat is a dish made up of many things. You could order one of them, three, five, or all of them, and munch away to your heart's content. In the particular bar we went to, all of us ordered the variat gros, which consisted of the entire menu: meatballs, octopus, mushrooms, ensaladilla rusa, tongue, tripe, and frit (pig's liver in fried vegetables). I've never been so eager to finish a plate in my life - it was the God of all bar foods, and I wish that the Welsh had something similar.

From there, it was a simple step to getting tipsy in the afternoon when Oriol bought us each a glass of a typical Mallorquí drink: both varieties of Hierbas, a dark, high content drink called Mesclat de Matanzes, and a 55% rum called Amazonas which they drink to clear out their tallat cups. Overall, each drink had it's good qualities, but, I'm now totally sold on the Hierbas dolces. It really is quite sweet, but, it doesn't have the backlash that the secas does. Here, there was another language lesson:

Som es puta xot - [Som es poo-tah shot] - "I'm the fucking boss" [Literally "I am the king of the goats!]
Puta pípa - [Poo-tah pee-pah] - "Fucking dick"
Els teus collons són carabasses - [Els tay-oos coy-ons sohn car-ah-baz-us] - "Your balls are like pumpkins!"

To round off the day, we visited Moya, and I found out the easy way that alcohol in Spain is very cheap indeed. I actually regretted only taking hand luggage, rather than a full-on suitcase. What a shame.

The night, however, was passed drinking Cruzcampo and then heading out to the local 'dive bar', Es Pas a Nivell (or "The Level Crossing"), a converted station cafe building which now houses once of the dingiest bars in Mallorca. But, dingy is a word we associate with bad things; realistically, it was far from dingy, it was "full of character" and had a damned fine musical playlist going on with its massive collection of liquors. I even saw some Brecon Gin in there somewhere...

Day #6


It all had to come to an end though. After a baguette of the traditional Mallorcan Sobressada at Ca'n Pere, I spent the last few hours lazing around with my host, chatting, reminiscing, and all that jazz. Then it was off for the bus to Manacor, which, oddly, seems to have more furniture stores per head than anywhere in the world. If they weren't selling muebles they were making them!

After a few magical moments of being lost in translation - such as an Englishman speaking slowly to me to get the time - "Excuse me...do...you...have...the...time?" "Yes, I do. Would you like to know it or something?" - and speaking in nearly "bloody good" Spanish at the airport to the check-in girl, who was most impressed - I had to leave.

Leaving is the worst thing, because you never know what you're coming back to. At least I knew that behind me there were four of the nicest people I know, who were willing to put me up, give me amazing food, a bed for the night; introduce me to one of the most beautiful towns in the world, and generally keep me sane, safe, and satisfied for an entire week. Screw hotels, like!  Ahead of me could have been anything: rain, ash clouds, deaths, famine; you name it.

In short: Right now I miss Artà and all that it had to offer, but, I'm not too worried about all that. Exams permitting, next year I'm returning there for Sant Antoní, since I have an invite, and they're apparently the village that puts in the most effort.

Artà, jo no et oblidaré!

Well, a month has gone by without updates. In fact, I think it's been longer than that. Actually, who cares? What matters is that there's one right here, right now; as the Chemical Brothers song goes.

So, the last month has pretty much been hellish. It's exam season, in case you haven't already guessed. There was the fun of "functional translating" for Italian, followed by an oral exam on Italian novels and, yup, you guessed it, functional translations. That was swiftly followed by a Spanish exam, possibly not the hardest I've done in my life, but, still, one of the trickiest tense-wise. A week of freedom, if procrastination and revision can be called that, was followed by another Italian exam - one of the silliest exam papers I've ever had the misfortune to encounter - uh oh.

Now, in this glorious sunshine (well, the glorious sunshine that existed earlier, since it is a quarter to one right now), the prospect of one more exam is looming on the horizon. It's Catalan. It's going to be different, because I've never done a Catalan exam; we've never really been formally tested on it to be honest. Orally, we just speak in turn and ask questions about grammar; aurally, we listen to Manel and Whiskyn's and Estanislau Verdet and learn a few new words here and there; grammatically, we have a sound basis, but, I don't think I could hold my own for long in Catalonia.

That's why I'm throwing myself in at the deep end. I've had an entire two weeks off from exams, so in less than six hours I'm flying away to Mallorca to stay in the deepest, darkest part of the Mallorquí countryside. There'll be plenty of avis and avies to chat to; maybe a few nens and nenes. The plan is to leave at 3am, bum around in the airport for a bit, spend two hours on a plane reading Miquel Martí i Pol, then get a bus into Palma. There, I'll probably spend an hour hunting down a farmàcia to get some crema de sol. If I find one a bit faster, maybe I'll grab myself a tallat and some pa amb tomàquet for breakfast before heading off on the train to Manacor. Then, I'll do some mild sight-seeing in Manacor, before getting the bus out to Artà, where I'll be spending the next five days.

Hopefully, I'll be able to come back with some improved Catalan, and maybe some improved Spanish. I really need to get up to speed with both really; I feel unqualified in the one, and rusty in the other. It's such a brilliant thing that Mallorcans tend to speak both, especially in the more rural areas. However, it does mean that every sentence in Palma will start with Le importa si hablo Español, porque no hablo bien el catalan. (or if I feel confident Usted sabe catalan? Le importa si nos utilizamos?). My one downfall will be the conditional, but, beyond that I should be able to handle myself - I'm even packing a Catalan dictionary. How sad. I wish I could pack Wikitravel's Catalan Phrasebook to be honest - the more I look at it, the more I remember words from way back in the first semester. Ho sento, no puc comprar-ho. És una miqueta massa cara per mi. Pero, moltes gràcies per la seva ajuda sprung to mind on reading it.

The worst bits of all of this will be killing time and staying awake. I mean, I've been up since 8am; done 3 hours of shopping; had two hours of extra sleep on top of the 6 I've already had; drunk a pint of coffee; and it's still only a quarter past one. I have another hour and three quarters before my taxi turns up, and another four hours and three quarters to take-off. It's all a bit much really.

However, as previously stated, I did hope to vlog some of this holiday. The more I think about it, though, the less I want to. I feel like it's just going to be a holiday of relaxation and some mild language use, so there's not going to be anything worth vlogging about. Maybe I'll save those for my real year abroad, when I can dictate the flow of the tourism. Until then, you'll just have to wait with bated breath for me to return, gather my thoughts, and write up some form of post-trip bloggage to keep you hanging on for something infinitely more interesting in the forms of Pavia and Lleida.

On sunny days like this, when I'm forced to sit inside and do work, I can't help but let my mind wander. Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan and Warren Zevon are all lined up to keep me entertained, but, the main thing that's keeping me chipper is the fact that I am rewarding myself pretty soon!

Foolishly (some might say, thanks to Eyjafjallajökull), I've gone and booked a flight to Mallorca to go and stay with a friend out there. I figured, I keep complaining that I need a holiday, so I may as well get myself out there and practice my Spanish and Catalan, and not have to say that I've had yet another summer spent in this country.

This also seems like the perfect time to give my blogging abroad skills a test run, though I have no idea how that'll work. I kind of managed to cause a nice bit of 'damage' to my laptop, unintentionally snapping one of the hinges. I don't think the old girl would be up to the 2 hour flight, 2 hours of hanging round in Palma at midday, an hour and a half on a train-bus combination, all the while being tapped away at, in the hopes that I can keep up with what I've done.

I suppose I have three options open to me, though:  One, I find the nearest internet cafe and blog (or I try and find a PC whilst in the airport on the way back) ; Two, I ask to borrow my friend's laptop while I'm staying there, and just do one or two 'mini-blogs'. Three, I invest in a larger SD card for my camera and Vlog it. That'd still mean radio silence for a week, but, at least it could all be uploaded into one post including everything. And, I wouldn't have to ham it up on the adjectives...

I suppose that after the summer I'm going to have to invest in a new laptop, so I've got some machinery to be able to blog about life closer to the Med. Until then, I'll just try and keep up with my shoddy post schedule; perhaps even try to do something a little more interesting than sitting in my room, up to neck in three languages worth of revision. I'm sure something can...be arranged...

So University life starts back tomorrow, and I'm in panic work mode. I've managed three of five chapters of an Italian novel. So far, so good. I get the gist, so that's what they're getting - gist. I've got everything I need this week printed out, and the sun is shining. Remixes on the stereo (read: Spotify). Cider about to go in the fridge. Barbecue on the cards for tonight. In short: it's going to be epic.

I don't have much to offer in the way of a blog post though. I've managed to fill my cupboards to bursting with only £50; I've got a clean room, smelling like "Cotton  Breeze" whatever that is; I've got a bottle of Gin almost polished off, a bottle of Whiskey to work through; there are only three weeks left of work, and I am happy as can be for some reason. I can't put my finger on it. I know there are still things missing in my life (it's the usual thing. I like to keep reminding myself, otherwise it's a bit pointless making absurd "Te prometo que no voy a coger un chino..." style promises. Despite all that, I am the happiest I've been in a long time.

The big news is, however, that I'm looking at a nice wardrobe reshuffle. I quite like being able to open my wardrobe and see all my shirts in there, but I need more casual ones I feel. I have quite a few really nice 'evening' and 'formal' shirt/tie combos, but you can't wear them to lectures without looking like a tool. A nice undershirt/shirt combo would really make my summer - so, tomorrow I'm heading into town with a bit of money and picking up some things I've had my eye on. Sort. It. Out. Non?

But, with all this student loan money I feel like I'm burning holes in my pockets. I've worked out I can spend up to £160 a month without hitting 'empty'. So, I'm aiming to do that, or less. But, there are some things on my mind: I've been on deviantArt in some form or another for 5 years or so. I think I'm due a membership, no? But, I don't seem to use it enough to warrant one. I suppose that can wait til June or July and then, even if I don't use it much in Italy, I know I can cancel it when I'm back from there (and it's only £20 for a year). The more important membership would be Plaid Cymru - I'm fed up of touting my political allegiances and not having something to show for it. Filling out a form doesn't seem like fun however - maybe I'll get onto it though.

Speaking of memberships: the Spanish-Italian Society is re-electing. Obviously, I can't stand for anything this year, but, I'm considering getting back into it in 4th Year, applying for President or something. I feel like I could add a few more things to my CV. We'll see how Lleida and Pavia go, though. Maybe by the end of it I'll hate Italian and Spanish. Maybe I won't.

I'm dry now. I have nothing else I can pull on to make this any longer. So, roll on BBQ. Happy days, etc!