A Travel Story

I went to Korea.

(I can't tell you how tempted I was to leave the post at that. But that would be unfair to the requests, nay demands, for a Princess Tavel Story.)

Long time readers will know that I've been to Korea before. Actually, I'd say after the USA and Singapore, it's my 3rd Most Time Spent In Country. Oh come on, we've all worked out that list, am I right? Am I right?

I find getting to Korea is always fun. This is largely because it's been a far way away from where I was before I went. This time I was leaving from Belfast, and it being a far way away it was also entertaining. (That's not the right word, but it'll do.)

The fun started on early on the Monday morning I was supposed to leave. Yes, supposed to leave. That was the day, way back when, in October 2013 that there were big storms in London and my Belfast to London flight got cancelled. Not until I had spent a considerable amount of time in the City airport while Aer Lingus (who had their Belfast to London flight cancelled by Heathrow) worked on an alternative way to Busan, Korea without the luxury of a computer with the internet. I said at the time on Twitter, any sort of Information Desk without the internet is really just a Desk.

Visitors to City Airport will know it's super fun before security; there's that newsagents (I want to say WH Smith's but didn't' they close?) which sells those brightly coloured Irish sheep tourist tat and a Costa, for which I was the lucky winner of a £5 voucher for. I mean, it wasn't a raffle or anything, they just gave them out, but I hadn't had breakfast so I felt like a winner.

Anyway, cut to Tuesday and I was back in City Airport and ready to fly out again. This time I made through security! Again, patrons of City Airport will know that your options for pre-flight time killing rise exponentially. I mean, there's that cafe restaurant place that you have to walk all the way through before you chance upon the sort of food you're in the market for, some bar round the corner that few people must ever go to, another newsagents incase you passed by the opportunity of the first one (again, possibly a WH Smith one), some sort of last minute present buying shop that sells watches and scarfs and then a really small cafe that you see too late because you've already assumed the bigger one is it for your non-newsagent bought crisp food options.

As we were boarding the plane, who should I see, only Alistair McDonnell, leader of the SDLP! He's the one when I mention in class, I have a panic about his name (McDonell? O'Donnell?) and then look like I know nothing about. He was going to the bathroom before boarding so there was no time to for him to pass on to me how he easily remembers his name.

Heathrow was fairly uneventful. I got my Korean Won in the airport because I was so ill-prepared for the trip (even with 18 months notice) that I didn't have them already. I had something nice to eat while I watched something on my iPad. I can't remember what either were, but I have the feeling one was a milkshake or a donut or something. That's the eating; I think I watched something on iPlayer, I wasn't looking a picture of a donut on my iPad for an hour. That'd be weird.

At the gate for my flight to Shanghai (oh yeah, my nice route out to Busan got all arsed about and I was flying to Shanghai now), someone beside me had a very curt conversation with his mother about looking after another house he was having to sell on behalf of another family member (relationship: unclear). This made the wait for boarding way more interesting as me and fellow passengers shared shrugs and grimaced, awkward glances to the sky.

The flight was empty. Like empty. My nearest passenger was about 3 rows behind me or the other way, on the opposite window (I was in seat K). I watched movies...I'm sure. I can't remember. Oh yes! I did! I watched The Interns. Average.

Twelve days, I mean hours later we arrived in Shanghai. Ugh. It beats Atlanta to the top of my list of Worst Airports Ever. Come on, again I say, we all have that list, don't we? In my experience, it's a rare crap Asian airport, normally they're the best. Honestly, I have no kind words to say about Shanghai Airport… ummm… ehhh… it's roof seems to work, if it rained. There. There's one.

So let me explain my horrible Shanghai airport experience.

I was told I didn't' need a landing card. I did. I was told I needed to go to flight connections. I didn't. I was told my luggage was booked all the way through. It wasn't. I was told I'd have enough time to make my connection. I didn't.

And that's where the, what I'm calling, Shanghai Disaster really took hold.

My Chinese isn't what it should be, well whose is?! And bless those airport workers, I could tell they wanted to help me, just as I was willing to be told, but a game of Cross-Cultural Airport Charades after an early start and a long flight is just not my sport. It was only as I was on the points of having an emotional breakdown at a luggage carousel that one of the flight stewards from my flight saw me and worked out where I was supposed to be headed.

Then I had to trek (with my luggage) through the airport. Please, if you're going to Shanghai airport and changing terminal, remember your camel and enough food and water for the journey. The camel will be a pain to get it through customs, but you'll thank me. When I got the other terminal I wasn't entirely sure I was there because all I saw was a sign that said 'You are here'. Well no shit, Sherlock. Thanks a lot. Useful information. I have been 'here' since, well, 1980. See, even now I can't hide my bitterness and anger towards Shanghai Airport.

I arrived in time to discover I had missed my flight to Busan. Super, more Get To Know Shanghai Airport Time. And as a special bonus the next flight wasn't for another 7 hours. Woo. I was tired and hungry and had no Chinese money. Remember, I was never supposed to be in China and certainly not for any length of time that might require spending money. As BA had made me late for the flight, I was technically their responsibility. So I had to go back to the other terminal to see them. But again, I was without my camel.

When I got back to the other terminal there was no one from BA there. I tried Departures, Arrivals, Information. Everywhere. There was no one there. The best I can work out from the Shanghai Airport Information Girl (probably not her job title) it's because of the flight times to Europe they were done once my flight landed until that night when the flights for Europe would leave again. But the SAIG (I prefer the acronym) tried to describe to where the BA office was.

Three times I tried to get to that office. I couldn't find it. Each attempt felt like a two mile walk. And there were steps…with my stupid 'it's booked through' suitcase. My third time back at the desk, she gave me a note written in Chinese to show to the next airport worker I came across. Again I say, my Chinese is not what it should be.

I got to the office and, as with form, it was also closed. See what I mean. I know what you're thinking, how could a major airline, in a major city's airport close its office at 10.00am, because it's what I was thinking too. Albeit with more swearwords.

After 30 minutes, sitting in the only place I could find air con (oh yeah, all this was going on in a sweat box of an airport) I went back to the office, now I knew where it was. I got my flight delay money to spend in the airport. Of course, because it's Shanghai, you can't spend that anywhere. Oh no. It's like a less fun, more hunger driven game of treasure hunt to find the one underground restaurant to spend it in. Oh there's logos on the 'money' that match logos in the airport but for reasons I can't explain you can't spend them there. I suppose in fairness, I did find two restaurants but I gathered from the workmen gutting the second one that they were closed.

In the underground restaurant where I had to fight to be able to spend the airport money, I had a great sleep deprived, jet lagged, mental arithmetic task to work out what I could buy with my, as it turned out, limited funds. It was like the bloody Crystal Maze. If it hadn't been so far to get back to the BA office and had I been confident I would have someone there I would have gone back. But instead, I converted the fake money to a bowl of smiley face fries, dim sum and a Coke.

Three hours later, no joke, I left my seat in the basement restaurant and checked in for my flight. Well I tried. It's Shanghai, so I made my way through one long line only to be told I needed to join a different one. By now I'd been in Shanghai so long I was practically a native, so I headed straight to the top of the next queue, like I belonged there. But at last I had got rid of my 'it's checked through' suitcase.

I was flying with China Eastern to Busan, which was my first experience of time travel since I flew with Garuda to Jakarta; I was right back to 1970s air travel. What a joy to see and experience the olden times! We left the airport and boarded the bus. That's fine, lots of airports do the bus ride out to the airplane. Most airports don't drive you half way to your actual destination though. It took an age to get to the plane and although it was grey day, it was roasting hot. Plus I had the distinct feeling I was the talk of the bus. It was the looking and pointing that gave that away. That's Cross-Cultural Airport Charades for beginners, that.

So should you ever have the misfortune to fly to Shanghai I wish you luck. To you and your camel.

May you have enough smiley face fries to see you out of there.

The awkward silence

It didn't start out awkward but it definitely is now. I didn't mean not to blog in 2013, it just sort of turned out like that. And once you don't blog, the stories build up and then it becomes more awkward because you have too many stories to tell you don't know where to begin.

I've been asked by, literally units of people when I'm going to blog again. Ruth even asked me when I was going to delete my blog. I'm surprised she asked me that though because she lived through Lost in Space and knows I throw nothing away and the collection of stories, photos and recollections this blog brings up for me is far too valuable to throw away just out of embarrassment at not having blogged for seven months. I mean really, what's seven months between friends, eh?

At some point though, you just have to take the bull by the horns or the blog post by the keyboard and put something down. So here it is. My first blog post to break the awkward silence. So how have you been keeping...?

Open wide

I am not doing very well blogging my adventures, which of course implies I've had many.
Take last week for example. Last week, I spent a happy 6 hours in A & E. Yes for me.

So let me expand upon that.

I had gone home to my parents' to pick up a few things I needed. Straight in, grab the stuff, straight out. What actually happened though was a lot more complicated, however. I tripped over the front step. Yes, the same front step I've been stepping over - without incident - since 1991.

Not so bad you're thinking. Well try not to wince when I tell you that rather than just stumbling, or even falling down, I fell into Dad's car - face first. Actually, I landed my jaw on the headlight before landing on the driveway.

I howled, like actually screamed, for a short while on the driveway before I realised I didn't want the neighbours to find me like this. After feeling for my teeth (and checking there were none on the driveway) I hobbled up and made my way to the freezer for an ice pack for my jaw (further demonstrating my good, non-panicky emergency skills) I stopped by the mirror and saw the blood in my mouth, which, thankfully, was just coming from a small cut inside my lip. Then I called my parents to tell them I thought I'd need an x-ray. I said it hurt a lot, Dad asked if I'd had a painkiller. Ha! I was so beyond painkiller pain.

So there I was in A & E with no real outward sign of my injury. No bruise materialised and there wasn't much swelling to notice. So it really did look like I was just there for my two scraped knees. So I held my jaw for extra effect. Obviously.

I really really hoped my jaw wasn't broken because they wire it shut. I also hoped that I wouldn't throw up because of the painkillers, because having to open my mouth that wide would be horrendous. Oh yeah, and I don't like being sick.

The x-ray was quite cool. Well I say that, but I had to stand perfectly still while biting a yellow grip thing (which I'm not entirely sure was sterilised beforehand) while the radiologist broke the machine twice. When she did get it working is swooped around my head doing its x-ray vision thing. The swooping was cool, the rest of it I could take or leave.

When I broke my hand in Singapore and had to go to x-ray by the time I had made it back downstairs to the doctor he had my x-ray on his computer screen. Not so much here. It took a long time for them to tell me they didn't think my jaw was broken. Any thoughts I had of smiling at that point ended, well yes with the pain, but also with the news I'd have to see a specialist the next morning at 8.30am. It was 3.00am.

So later that morning the max fax (maxillofacial - Max Factor make-up has a cleverer name than I ever gave it credit for) specialist told me my jaw definitely wasn't broken. Thoughts of smiling were still far from my head though. She told me I'd have to work over the coming days to stretch my jaw back otherwise I could have long term damage, but for a few days I'd be on a liquid diet and soft food for about three weeks. Definitely no crusty bread or apples for me.

It's been quite sore, right up to my ear. Talking tires me out but I haven't had to talk through my teeth though. Stretching has been hard work too. By Friday evening I could fit one finger in my mouth and twist it 90 degrees. Skips (the crisp) would just about fit into that gap, although some would have to be broken. On Saturday I had run out of soup so tried beans. That's when I got my (temporary) fear of eating implements from - it didn't go too well. Don't worry, I haven't wasted away. Wotsits, Skips and chocolate Buttons alongside soup and smoothies. Last night I came home to my parents' and had my first proper meal since Wednesday night's Spag Bol. (I mean, if that was going to be my last meal, what a way to go. Only sorry I didn't have the garlic bread now.)

I can open my mouth quite far now, maybe not Dentist-wide (that's the industry term) and chewing is still quite difficult but I really am so lucky it wasn't worse, because it really could have been.

I mean, what would I have done if the chocolate Buttons didn't fit?

[Beth Lav (shoutout!) hoped for me to write a comical blog about all this in six months' time. I'm not sure that I'll ever find this as funny having happened to me, as opposed to if I'd seen it happen - I laugh when I see people trip, I can't help it. But when you see a headlight (albeit from a stationary car) that close to, it's hard to find funny. Five and half years on from my broken hand, I'm still not laughing about that (although there were parts of that made me laugh - like squeezing shampoo straight onto my head and the soapy bubble mess I made because I had no clue how much I had put on). This will probably be the same - thinking about it will be no fun, till I remember all the day-to-day things that made me laugh.]

Bye Bear

I don't have fond memories of the launch night of Big Brother in 2004. I don't have particularly fond memories of any Big Brother launch night I suppose, but 2004 was particularly bad because that's the night my cat died. Tigger had been part of our family for 18 years. Yes, that's right she was old enough to vote so she'd had a good innings (not that I ever saw her with a cricket bat, or a voter registration form for that matter).

Little five year old Tina came home from church with her brother and dad and watched through the window of the conservatory as Dusty gave birth to one of the last of litter.

We already had a dog, Bruno, and along with Dusty we were allowed to keep one of the kittens.

Tigger won my mum over by sitting on her foot instead of the cold conservatory floor. She soon became my cat; I was her favourite and she was mine.

We're all so little!

The night she died I came home from being out and, after watching the opening night of Big Brother 5, I found her in the first throes. I wish I had looked for Tigger right when I came home like I normally did instead of being lured into a crap hyped-up television show.

Blurry shot of her, but digital photography was in its infancy when Tigger was around.

Tonight is the England - Ukraine game and no matter what the score is I won't have fond memories of it either because today Sox died.

We didn't get a cat after Tigger died. It was a deliberate decision and one that lasted a solid two years. I was in North Carolina when news reached me that my parents had befriended a stray cat that had been appearing in the garden for a while. By the time I was home a few months later Sox was well set up.

Sox didn't eat too many more meals outside after he arrived with my parents.

I didn't get to spend a whole lot of time with him until after I was back from Singapore. We were originally just acquaintances in the same shared space, but he soon won me over too. After the coal incident it took a while, but we got there. He was even allowed to sleep at the foot of my bed, a place that Tigger had also been allowed.

For a while after I was back I called him Soxopher. I like to think of it as his full name. Soon enough he became Soxybear or The Bear, or just Bear. This name came from the bear outfit my nephew wore when he was a newborn baby. Just a few months ago Johnny pointed out to me that Soxybear wasn't a bear at all and I had to tell him the why he was called this, lest he think his Cool Aunt Tina was a complete idiot when it comes to animal recognition.

There is no doubt that Soxybear was my mum's cat. I used to tease her that "My Tigger - God rest her soul" never had the same number of cat accoutrements that Soxybear had. Honest-a-patience, that cat had more things to sleep on than I do. No really. 

The Bear in his igloo.

Soxybear was a very sweet cat, with a nice personality. Our theory is that he had been abused before he arrived with my parents because he really didn't like big noises like shouting or hoovering and practically no one could touch his back legs and expect to get away with it. (Probably why he was scared of me for a while after that unfortunate coal episode.) He seemed to trust us though and I think we gave him a really good home for six years. He gave just the right amount of head butts to tell you he wanted something and purred loudly when he was pleased with life.

I'm glad my parents are the sort of people that like animals and look after them well. And I'm glad that their hearts can be melted by a stray cat because as much as right now I feel like the end of Marley and Me, I wouldn't want to be without the Soxybear in the Soxybear Years.

Lucky?

I don't really consider myself a lucky person. Other people might disagree; mostly because I've been known to have a bit of luck in obtaining tickets for things. Take for example my 2nd row centre court tickets for the Men's semis at Wimbledon last year. Or how I managed to get Take That tickets for later this month. Actually I got three sets of Take That tickets, so I can maybe see their point.

But it was with nervous anticipation I checked (and kept checking) my bank account yesterday, the final day for money to be taken out of your account for the Olympics. Eventually a phonecall to the bank confirmed the reason for my reduced credit limit was indeed for 2012 tickets!

Lucky? I'm not so sure. I wasn't the best at Maths, but the only thing that I can see that adds up to that amount is...wait for it...Handball.

Are. You. Fricking. Kidding. Me? Handball?

Aside from a two second 'Zambia won the gold medal' highlight, I have never seen handball in my life. I don't know the rules. I don't know what a good score is. I don't know how long a game (or match? See I don't even know the terms!) lasts. But because of a last minute whim on my ticket application by throwing in a just-for-a-laugh sport that's what I'm going to see at the Olympics!

To say it's my Olympic dreams coming true is an understatement.



Is it possible to teach yourself handball via YouTube?

Still, it's not all bad news. Mum has an amount taken which opens up a couple of possibilities. So with that and my lucky handball tickets (ahem), at least we're getting to go to something. Plus there's always the second round and resale options, although it looks like everyone got so little no one will be selling anything on.

So with muted enthusiasm I say:

2, 4, 6, 8, what do we appreciate?
Using our hands!

Ok, my cheers will need some work.

Colora-d'oh

Hi, my name is Tina and this year skiing I fell off a chairlift.

Now, wait just before you get all panicked about whether I'm still able to use my legs let me explain.

The story starts right at the beginning of our trip when Megann and I were exchanging our Christmas and birthday gifts. One of the worst things skiing is having to carry your skis while walking in your ski boots. That is certainly the least fun thing about skiing, and certain resorts make you carry them a long way. Winter Park, I'm looking at you!

Megann, realising this, took action with her gift to me by getting me a back pack which has different straps to carry your skis with (or snowboard, if you are so inclined). Megann usually skis with a small back pack anyway, but I just filled my pockets with everything. But now that I had a backpack to use and one that so handily doubled up as a ski carrier, then why not!

Things were all fine, skiing with the backpack. It takes just a minor adjustment to your skiing, and it proved quite handy that I could take more stuff on the mountain. Well that was until C-chair.

We were skiing in a new area of the mountain and came upon C-chair and we decided to take it. It was the smallest chairlift we'd taken this trip, just two seats and as we were in the line I noticed how it didn't really slow down any for people getting on. It also seemed to undulate once you were on. In fact on the way up we joked that C was for seasick!

The chairlift was long and quite slow. Eventually we got to the top, lifted the bar (which didn't have footrests like 90% of chair lifts), lifted our ski tips to set on the off ramp (I'm sure that's not the term) and stood up.

Except I couldn't. I tried not to panic, and just said to Megann  "I can't stand up!". I tried again, but no, something was stopping me from standing up. I said it again, with a bit more emergency in my voice. I sat back down again as Megann skied down the ramp. You only really have seconds to get off a chairlift and my two attempts had used up all the time I had. A vision flashed before me of me heading all the way back down the mountain and having to travel back up on the slowest chairlift in history.

But I needn't have worried. For all its slowness travelling up the mountain, C-chair picks up speed as it goes round the corner to head back down. The centrifugal force forced me off the chair and into the pile of snow about 4 feet below. Unfortunately whatever was stopping me standing up wasn't enough to hold on to me round the corner.

When I landed I was surprised I wasn't more hurt. Or even hurt at all. But I looked round and saw everyone at the top just staring at me. Oh die. The chairlift operator came running over to see if I was ok. She said  "you didn't need to bail, I stopped it". I looked and saw that the chair lift was indeed stopped a couple of feet on from where I had fallen. I replied (in a tone one might expect when one had just fallen off a chairlift) that I didn't 'bail', I fell and not through choice. She helped me get my skis and moved me out of the way so that she could start the chair lift again. Well the show must go on.

I can't be absolutely sure, but I am fairly confident that it was the backpack that was stopping me standing up. The bar must have trapped it with the back of the chairlift and so I wasn't able to stand up to get off. Even though it was mostly to do with the rinky dink chairlift we were on; the single bar with no footrest and the fact it didn't slow down at any point going around, I decided that my few short days of skiing with a backpack were done. I would now be stuffing my pockets again. Well, it's only vanity to want to take your woolly hat to cover up your helmet hair at lunchtimes anyway.

Even though I wasn't hurt, I was fairly shaken up after it. Megann said I was as white as a sheet. Thinking back on it, I think it was more the fear once I realised I couldn't get off that was worse rather than the actual fall. I did manage to get back on a chairlift again, well they are fairly crucial to the whole skiing experience. I just drew the line at getting on C-chair again.

Megann waited a few days before telling me there was a ski lesson full of kids going on right beside 'the incident'. The ski instructor used me as an example of how not to get off a chairlift.

"Sometimes that happens when you don't get off". Yes, yes it does.

I am sick

Fear not, no more embarrassing trips to the doctors'. I diagnosed myself. It's my tonsils, head, back, legs. Nearly like the old joke "Doctor it hurts when I press here, here, here and here." Except I don't have a sore finger.

Anyway seeing as I'm up this late hour I thought I would give you my instructions for making and drinking co-codamol.

1. Boil kettle. It helps reduce the taste.

2. While kettle is boiling make a drink of juice. The sweeter the better. I like to use Ribena but I suppose orange squash would be all right too. It's also best if you use water from the fridge.

3. Do NOT be tempted to taste your pre-made juice. This will only mean you have further to fall once you have drink the co-codamol.

4. Once the kettle has boiled, pour a small amount (1/4 to 1/3 of a cup) of hot water into your cup with the co-codamol tablet(s) in (please consult package for correct dosage).

5. Wait for the tablets to completely fizz. Then add a shot of dilutable orange juice (Ribena does not work well). Be sure to wait because adding something cold only prolongs the fizzing time, therefore prolonging the agony of having to take it co-codamol at all.

6. Drink mixture in four or five mouthfuls. Be sure to be standing by your pre-made Ribena. I like to stand to drink it, I find it helps with the moaning and fist shaking as you drink it.

7. As soon the co-codamol is done, waste no time in drinking the Ribena. You could even hold it in the other hand to reduce the changeover time.

See, I have it down to a fine art.

You'll find this truly inconceivable

It's 1.00am. I have to be in Castlewellan in 11 hours. And you've guessed it - I haven't packed yet.

There's no real reason for it. Mostly just down to me thinking I had loads of time only to discover that I, in fact, did not have loads of time. I had great plans of blogging this week - where I went on my bike and exam answers amongst other general stuff. But you'll excuse me if I first of all make sure that I have enough clothes for this week instead.

August. August is going to be my blogging month. Yup, August.

Public service announcement

GCSE papers are not easier to mark than A Level papers. GCSE papers are not quicker to mark than A Level papers. GCSE papers are not funnier than A Level papers.

Just in case anyone thought that, I can set them straight. Now.

Yes, it's marking season again. I know, I know, I promised myself I wouldn't do it, but for all the reasons above (well maybe not the funny one) I thought I'd change it up and drop to GCSE. As Julia Roberts would say, big mistake. Huge.

Excuse me, I need to go cry into my box of marking.

Not Bryansford

We had a teacher retire last week in school. Weird time of year but when you can go who would wait around for June? He'd worked for the past 38 years and since the early 70s in the same school. When he took 20 minutes out of lessons for his thank you/farewell speech, no one in the staffroom was prepared to walk out, he'd earned it. As I was leaving on Friday afternoon, I said cheerio to him and wished him well. I asked him what he'd be doing Monday morning instead of coming into school and he said he'd be anywhere but home, 'probably Bryansford'. This Monday morning I was not in Bryansford. Only another 32 years til that dream becomes reality. Oh good.

So what did I do this Monday? Well, I worked all the live long day, probably much like you. In fact I am just about to reconvene my work. Well after 'The One Show'. I have my priorities sorted out alright. Chris Moyles is on tonight, it's like my morning and evening routines meshed together!

In other news, my Student Loans Company disaster continues. I don't think I've mentioned it on here but the highlights are they are still charging me what they did when I was away. No, you're right, I have been home for MORE THAN A YEAR!! Something they haven't managed to grasp. I think it's only the fact that every representative has a pleasant Scottish accent which has held me off writing to 'Watchdog'. That and their assurances that they've got a handle on the 'complexities' of my case. I'll give them complexities alright. The latest episode tonight included a nice girl who actually seemed to know what she wasn't talking about and hopes are high with both parties that a resolution can be reached. She even understood my explanation of why I shouldn't take part in the customer service survey. 

It was a glorious moment of bridges being built.

Anyone bokeaphobic?

If I had been on Facebook this weekend these might have been my status updates:

Tina had dinner in O'Briens.

Tina doesn't feel so good.

Tina has been sick out loud.

Tina thinks that maybe the chicken wasn't so good afterall.

Tina can multitask - she can throw up and hold her own hair back.

Tina can't decide between Pepto Bismol and Milk of Magnesia.

Tina decided on Pepto Bismol. It doesn't smell.

Tina actually cannot multitask. Oh dear.

Tina is being a hero and not waking her parents.

Tina was not cured by Pepto Bismol, bring on the Milk.

Tina found her hair ties.

Tina thinks maybe the Milk of Magnesia is making her more sick. Maybe she should stop?

Tina cannot take it anymore and wakes her mum.

Tina's mum cannot take it anymore and wakes Tina's dad.

Tina's dad encourages her to get up off the bathroom floor and back to bed.

Tina is either moaning in pain or throwing up.

Tina is very glad to have woken her parents.

Tina finds it easier to sit up and be sick.

Tina may finally have stopped being sick.

Tina discovered that was a false alarm.

Tina thinks it may now be over and might get some sleep.

Tina aches all over.

Tina has bucket and will travel. Only to the sofa though.

Tina finds some sort of comfort in moaning.

Tina is drifting in and out of sleep.

Tina's face is burning up while the rest of her shivers with cold.

Tina was not done being sick afterall.

Tina's dad arrives home with miracle cure tablets.

Tina thinks her parents are not funny and should be careful about mentioning O'Brien's chicken wraps around her.

Tina finds even walking to the bathroom requires 5 minutes of catching her breath back and moaning because of the pain.

So that was my Saturday. Sunday and Monday were recovery days and today I found out that I wasn't the only one to be struck down with it over the weekend. Still, can't see me go back to O'Briens this side of...well ever.

Grr, bloody grr

I'm not in Sydney anymore. And in between then and now I've been in Hawaii. Aloha. Well actually goodbyah because now I am in San Francisco, where it is freezing (except that it's not, it's like 10 degrees celsius or something, bodes well for later in the trip eh?!).

I'd tell you all the cool things I've seen and done and maybe even put a photo or two on but my stupid computer has once again forgotten it has wireless just at the time I am staying in a place with free wireless!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Stress

After the emotion of last week, it is now time to get down to the hard work of leaving. Today I cleared my classroom. I find it consistently amazing how much stuff one person can accumulate. This fact will be drawn out to me again and again over the next few days I think.

I actually have so much stuff to do I don't know where to start. Let's review, shall we? ('It's too late for 'shall we''.)

1. I have left my job.
2. I am moving house.
3. I am going on a trip.

All three of those are bad enough, but let's add in these facts:

a. I have no future job.
b. I am moving across continents.
c. My trip lasts nearly three months, around the world
in all weathers.

Any one part of 1-3 are enough to give anyone a nervous breakdown, but simultaneously and adding a-c and...well you can imagine.

I will be cutting my internet soon so this may be the last you hear from me for a while, which is a shame as I've done some pretty cool things recently. Gutted I'm sure.

Sometimes he'd even sign 'you're going!'

We used to have a lovely smiley security guard in my condo. He used to see me coming up the little hill and give me this big wave and smile and welcome me home.

Some days he even used to cry (with joy I might add) 'You're back!!!'

I never knew his name (he was called Smiley Security Guard Man in my head), and I hadn't seen him in a while so today I asked where he had gone. It turns out he left to go work somewhere else.

Today was such a pisser of a day I could have done with a nice cheery 'You're back!!!'

On the other side of exam stress

Exams are all great until you have to mark the %$&!*@ things.

I reckon I still have about 6 hours ahead of me (still!) and classes and reports and (kill me now) a Geography Field Trip to go on.

Harry who?

It was Hari Raya Puasa on Saturday so even though I work in a Christian school we still got today off because Saturday was a public holiday. Aside from the religion thing, I'm really not opposed to days like these off (there's a Hindu holiday coming up soon too!) But today had the added bonus of my parents being here. So off we trotted to Sentosa for tasty pizza on the beach and a visit to Fort Siloso. Fun times.

But now they've gone (for now - soon to return) and I have work to do and I have the cold and I've only two more episodes of Grey's to watch.

I don't know which is worst.

And so it continues

Tonight in the supermarket I knocked over about, no kidding, 25 boxes of tissues. Oh die.

I've never been particularly dexterous but this is getting ridiculous.

Doubley smug

I felt very satifisied tonight. Not only did I finish setting all my exams today (deadline tomorrow), I went to the gym (first time since April).

What else is new?

My form class officially hate me for making them do something serious in their assembly devotion next week. I can take it though. It's a three line whip, only kidney operations are excusable. Let's see how many dare incur the wrath of Miss B. by not showing up!

The results of the clumsiest person in the world came in and I won!
-Today I walked into a doorframe. This is a fairly common occurance actually.
-Yesterday I walked into a desk in my room. Actually come to mention it, this is fairly common occurance too judging by the bruises on my thighs.
-On Saturday, I turned on the oven and put some tortillas in, burning my hand on the way.
-On Sunday, I lifted half the nail off my second toe moving a chair. Thankfully it's still attached.
-All this is in addition to the finger I nearly sliced off the morning of the cruise whilst cutting a bagel.

But I think what really clinched it for me was this. On Monday, I somehow, and please don't ask me how, managed to stand on my own toe while sitting down. It was perhaps more painful than all the others put together. So painful in fact that I wanted to swear but couldn't even speak.

Actually I should make that tripley smug because I didn't fall off the tread mill tonight. Given the current form it was a distinct possibility.

Sniff

Ruth and Mark are packing now. That makes me sad.

But to cheer me up, tomorrow I am going to see the mighty Northern Ireland play...netball. Looks like they need my support.

So any thoughts on a banner for them? So far we have:

'Come on the wee girls'
'We're not Australia, we're Norn Iron'
'I'm the eighth man!'

(Ruth wants credit for the last two! I came up with the slightly patronising first one!)

Wardrobe malfunction

My first proper guests arrive tomorrow and I am so excited. Even though I have a thousand things to do for school and my house is tip, I'm so excited. You know Ruth, she comments on here once in a while. I reckon she's now one of my oldest friends (as in known the longest, she's not 80). We were in the same Science class in 2nd Year, we shared a study booth in 6th Year and I made her wedding stationery (v. stylish they were too!). One of the smartest things we ever did was to decide not to buy each other a Christmas present as there is enough expense at that time of year. Yet she is one of my best friends.

So Mark* and Ruth will be in my room whilst I move to the spare room.

However in the attempt to move my stuff to the other bedroom, I broke the wardrobe. Not badly. It wasn't a sofa cushion shrinking moment or anything. It should be a relatively easy fix. (I say this as if I am some sort of expert. Although let's not forget I am my dad's right hand girl when it comes to the old flat pack. We put together that computer-desk-cupboard-thing for my mum in a matter of...hours).

But the one sticking point right now is that I don't have a screwdriver to do it. And it being 1.00am I think I'll have to wait until tomorrow until I can get one. ('Can you believe there are no hardware stores open in the city past 1.00am?!') But unfortunately that means my tidying and swapping bedrooms has been put on hold.

So instead I am writing here and watching 'Later With Jools Holland' on BBC Entertainment. I think it must be fairly recent (as in this year) as Amy Winehouse and Muse were on. Duke Special is playing at the minute. I realise what I am about to say is about as controversial as my 'I don't really like Portrush' statement but I am 8000 safe miles away from getting mobbed so I'll take my chances and say I don't really get Duke Special. Call me 'mainstream' but he's odd. Leaving aside his appearance, he sings with a big old NI accent (and not in a Juliet Turner cute kind of way) and uses cheese graters in his songs. Hello?! Emperor's new clothes?! Am I the only one to realise you're being conned? Of course, I realise that when I come back home and am fully immersed in NI culture again, I'll eat my words and think he's the best thing since...some other fantastic NI artist with cult status.

In other news, I had an impromptu dinner party last weekend when my fridge freezer died. I didn't want to waste the food so invited people round to share in my thawed Bolagnese, Curry and Mushroom Chicken Something. Unfortunately it was too late for the Ben and Jerry's. My new fridge arrived on Wednesday and while I am excited by the turny ice cube trays, I am distressed that pizzas have to be taken out of the box to fit.

*Obviously excited he's coming too.