Back oop nurth.

Well, I technically returned a week and a bit ago but that is neither here nor there, the point is I am back in my beautiful homeland. Kinda. I'm in Scotland right now, which is even better. You have no idea how much I've been craving brown, rocky desolation over tarmac and the occasional "park".

I'm in heaven, guys. I can walk down the street and hear everyone missing out their "t"s, there are "aye"s and "dinnar"s and slurring everywhere and pease pudding is available from every good butcher! 




Anyway, down to business. And by that I mean me rambling about useless stuff for more than I should.

You probably knew this, but Christmas is over for another year! Sorta. I need to buy Alice and Zoe a present (DON'T LET ME FORGET, GUYS).

Monday 19th brought my glorious return to the Tyneside, which saw us all standing outside the Baltic flashing torches up to the top of the building to create this little advert thing:


Flashlight from Northern Stars on Vimeo.


Oh, I've missed people! Though they've been inescapable the past week, I'm getting sick of them (I jest, I jest!).

Adam turned 19 and got awfully drunk and many awful beautiful photos were taken. And I was officially declared skint (by myself).

Then I hosted my annual party extravaganza. And by that I mean five people came round mine, we ate takeaway and party food, exchanged gift and drank our choice of tipple. Except me, who stole a tiny bit of Alex's Malibu but mainly survived on coke and lemonade, and one bottle of ginger beer. Rockin'.

Anyway, my friends proved once again to be far superior to me in the gift department. I don't have photos of most of them, just know they were all breat (brilliant + great. I've been saying this a lot lately by accident, so I might as well make it look like it's deliberate). There's only this one, really.

Can yer guess what is it yet?

Christmas day was amusing as ever. Started with the fantastic, the immortal

motherfuckin' tubby toast. Sadly, the Hogfather was overlooked by Sky for an entire morning of Dog the Bounty Hunter (seriously?) so I had to find other entertainment. Namely in the form of Disney films. And chocolate. Of which my sister bought me lots. She's trying to fatten me up, let's just hope it doesn't end with one of us being pushed into an oven. Or not me, anyway.

As for gifts, my parents once again proved that they know me too well. Even though they don't realise it. Got me this

Gonna drop a hotel on Tony Stark.

and a bottle of Kraken rum. This is where they didn't realise they knew me. Well, in one respect they did. I don't think my unhealthy love for mythical (and non-mythical) cephalopods goes unnoticed. 

*hugs*

My notoriously staunchly anti-tattoo mother (previously "DRAWING ON YOUR ARM LEADS TO TATTOOS" and "if you ever come back with a tattoo, you're out of the house") even commented once about how she would be able to stomach "a small kraken or something" if I wanted it. Sadly I only like words. Even though sometimes those words are related to krakens. In roaring he shall rise...

But yeah, back to the point, they didn't know I liked rum. When they learned I did they started to yell different things to have rum with at me. Apparently it goes with blackcurrent?

And this being the age of the internet I even got some shopping done on Christmas day. God bless companies using the supposed birth of 8 lbs 6 oz Baby Jesus for putting on sales. Much love, a content atheist, with no problem of appropriating once-religious festivals for my own gain.

In this case, some new leather boots! Leather will be the absolute death of me. Why must I love something so expensive? I spend hours lusting over leather boots and leather jackets and leather bags and leather shorts and leather pants and leathers you wear for motorcycling (which is another lust altogether). My mum is determined to get rid of my old faithful boots. Yes, they are battered and broken. Both zips have been replaced, along with both heels. The insoles are ripping away a tiny bit more every time I shove my ungrateful foot into them, the hard heel bit inside has broken completely; basically, they're dying. But like some crazy Frankenstein I'm keeping them alive by replacing them bit by bit. They may become a monster boot but it's my monster boot. I've owned these things longer than I've owned, sorry, I mean had a lot of my friends. That's not to say these new ones aren't utter babes because they totally are.

U r so beautiful 2 me.

BUT, as with all new boots, I ain't gonna be doing shit with these that could be remotely straining. My purple boots are the same. Much like people, they're treated with tenderness because they do not yet know me or my strenuous feet routines. As soon as they get a few years old they'll become my old faithfuls that are dragged up mountains and through rivers and over rocks and up towers. Assuming they even fit. I'm sure I've tried them on before but my feet are so dodgy to find shoes for.

BUT I DIGRESS.

Back to the previous storyline, they are also either super-parents or I forgot that I told them at some point that I wanted a camera to take back to uni that isn't my DSLR (which is still coming, don't get me wrong. But the moment I take Cap'n Jack to a bar is the day I throw myself into the depths of the ocean).

It even matches the colour scheme of my room, I shit you not. It's bright red.

Mmm, like the blood of a freshly murdered enemy.

My colour scheme phases are ridiculous. They're so blatant too. My room at home is purple, and I bought purple sheets and purple clothes and purple everything. My room in Scotland is blue. Blue carpet, blue wall, blue sheets, BLUE TOWELS (en-suite, wooh), blue christmas decorations. And blue jumper. And London has red. Technically it's red, (off) white and blue. Completely accidental, I promise you. I didn't state "Oh yes, to match my bed covers and this one union jack cushion I have I will be requiring the block you have with the dark blue door. Fantastic." 

I'm sat in my blue room at the moment. In a blue jumper. And a blue hat that my mam bought me.

I'm in Scotland, laddy, heating or no this hat is needed.

My mum decorated while I was away. There's a super cute tapestry on my wall right now. I freaking adore this room. It is literally pretty much my dream room. It's huge, and clean and there's a fireplace and a bloody bathroom! All for me! And not a tiny one like my uni room, a git proper bathroom, with a git proper shower and hardly any chance of flooding and mouldy loo roll! 

Oh shit, son, is that a motherfucking skylight? You're living some fairytale ass shit right now.

It's a shame it only got finished when I pissed off to uni so I couldn't have spent my youth hosting sleepovers on the more than large enough floor. Seriously, I could fit dozens of tightly packed dead bodies in here. Or at least 5 living people and they wouldn't be cramped at all!! I never had a sleepover until the Christmas (?) last year or something, which makes me feel like I missed out on some great teenage girl tradition, but c'est la vie. We were all dicks back then anyway.

But yes. Scotland! I got here yesterday and today I hived up to Kingussie to gaze longingly at red pandas. Didn't even get any photos of them (whoops) because they were asleep. So here's a monkey.

"Fucking tourists."

It's meant to be raining heavily for the rest of the holiday. Ahh, I've missed this place. Down to Perth tomorrow for a lovely look in TK Maxx because CHEAP STUFF IS GOOD INNIT. I'm looking for a suitcase because I'm spoiled and my bag is fucking awful to carry backwards and forwards. It managed to damage both mine and my dad's shoulders (huzzah!).

So, hopefully, in a few weeks I shall be returning to the south with a snazzy new suitcase, posters galore courtesy of my friends, and, hopefully, slightly better hair. That'll last a day. The water in London does horrors to it.

But before that there is New Years Eve.

And I am armed with rum.

Bring it on.