2014.

About a year ago I wrote a post recapping 2013, so I thought it apt that, even if I haven't blogged anything for the last 6 months, I should at least have a quick look over 2014.  But... I've had a bit of wine, and some sorbet cocktail, and some asti so I might need some help.  Also, apologies in advance for any typos, rambling and general mishaps that typically occur when typing in an inebriated fashion).  Here goes.

"Sam, what have we done this year?"

"...lots?"

Ooft. Thanks, nevermind.  Okay, from memory... (so definitely not in any kind of order)

Berlin.  Currywurst was great. Walking tour was knackering, but good.

Barcelona.  Even better than Berlin.  Lots of food, lots of Sangria.

Took a road trip to Scotland - went for a burrito on the way (woop!), got to see my family in Aberdeen, took a scenic route through the Cairngorms and had a t'riffic night in Edinburgh.

Latitude festival.  Highlights included watching Damon Albarn (and the better half of Blur) in an incredible thunderstorm, and getting to see Hozier live (eeeeee!!!).

I went to Brighton for the first and second times in my life, and found a youthful, vibrant city full of character and shops (and burgers covered in pulled pork).

I also got to be Maid of Honour for one of my best friends - first throwing her a nautical-but-nice hen do in Ipswich, then attending her big day and watching her tie the knot in a beautiful ceremony in Cambridge.

Admittedly, it's not just been a year of peaks and successes. There have crappy moments romantically, financially and professionally, but without them I wouldn't have been able to appreciate the fortune that I have had (sorry, cheese incoming).  I have some amazing and supportive friends and family, I've been living fairly independently for over a year and the future is looking very, very bright.  Yes, in six months time everything will be totally different.  I'm moving house very soon.  I'll be getting rid of a lot of shoes.  I'm going to be embarking on a new career path.  These things are definitely terrifying, but also... full of potential.  Last year all I asked was to schedule in some "me" time, spend some weekends in Europe and get back into running (2/3 ain't bad, right?)  So all in all I think I'm due a bit of a shake up - bring it on 2015, I'm ready for ya.

I wish everyone reading this (and some people that aren't) very happy new years.  May you triumphantly overcome the obstacles thrown at you, and be rewarded with all the love and happiness you deserve. Now piss off and get drunk(er) xxxxx

Byron, oh Byron

Okay, so it's been a while since I posted anything at all, and while I'd like to jazz life up by typing something clever and/or thought provoking, a girl's gotta eat.  So I've eaten, and thought I would share.  (My experience.  Not my food.)

For those of you who haven't noticed, Byron outlets have been popping up all over the place - most notably in London but also in a few other hotspots, from Leeds all the way down to Kent.  Each restaurant (though I've only been to er, four so far) has a slightly different vibe, but they share a kind of rugged, eclectic, retro feel, often encapsulated in quirky counters, naked brickwork and fantastic wallpaper.

Byron do burgers. Wonderful burgers.  Burgers with delicious, perfectly-cooked beef and real, fresh toppings, encased in the perfect burger bun.  There's nothing frivolous or elaborate on the plate when you get it - they don't even come with sides - but that's fine, because there's no point putting lipstick on a pig (or piece of cow) when that pig is beautiful, perfectly-proportioned and gosh-darned delicious just the way it is.  This works both ways; the sides at Byron aren't just for cosmetic value - the skinny fries are a perfect partner if you need your potato complement, and the onion rings might be the finest onion rings I've ever had the pleasure of devouring.  Yes, you might initially feel a bit ripped off at the thought of only getting a burger - but you wanted a burger, right?  Otherwise you wouldn't be here.  The portions are actually just right for you to have a meaty bun to yourself and still share a side with your dining-partner - you altruistic thing, you!

Never feel like a cheapskate again;
"we'll just have the er, 'good white' please"

As ever, the service aspect is just as important as the food itself (in my opinion, anyway), and Byron's staff are consistently good.  No matter what time of day, or how busy the restaurant has been when I've walked in, the team have pitched it just right.  They're warm, efficient and seem genuinely interested in ensuring you enjoy your meal.  Never hovering, never annoying, never false.  It's rare to find a chain that can offer this kind of consistency, so Byron; I metaphorically salute you.

Okay, so this one's actually pulled pork.
I'll snag a photo of the beef next time.

There's not a lot else to say - all Byron does is everything it should; great burgers and a flawless service in a relaxed but tasteful atmosphere.  Having eaten there a bunch of times and been repeatedly impressed, it's one of the few places I would go back to with 100% confidence.  I know there are others out there that could satisfy my needs, and while I'm at this learning curve in my life there's no doubt I'll experiment elsewhere - maybe with some MeatLiquor or even Five Guys - but I'm not sure I'll ever want to really move on from Byron - my first "proper burger" love.

Last things to mention:

• look out for Byron at festivals - my first taste was a messy but delicious delight from a retro-style trailer with a giant cow on the top at Bestival in 2012
• A bonus feature in each restaurant is a number of miniature cows, hidden away in corners and on light fittings - easily missed - watching you eat their delicious comrades.
• check out the specials - often topical (this month's is the "Ronaldo") they're usually something a bit off-beat and only available for a limited time

Yes, the main course was perfectly filling.
No, we didn't regret ordering the brownie.

The Bachelorette Pad

The perks of living alone are numerous.  For starters, living to my own schedule; food time is when I make it food time, nobody's banging on the bathroom door and there's no parent/partner/flatmate dropping heavy hints that it's time for my friends to leave.  I don't have to compete for basic resources like mirror space and cereal, and I have no battles over music/TV/heating control.  Loo roll, washing up liquid, toothpaste and milk all last in ways I previously didn't think imaginable and, perhaps best of all, I have the total freedom of prancing around in a onesie/pair of knickers/face mask without the fear of being walked in on by someone who might judge.  I'll unashamedly admit that I love embracing my inner hermit and having a whole house to myself, where I can lock the door and turn off my phone and not have to deal with anybody else's crap, or have anyone whinge about mine.

However, after reaching the six month mark in my humble abode I'll admit there are downsides to living solo.  Just in case you're dreaming about the wonders of living without your pesky housefellows (whoever they may be), let me share with you eight problems I didn't anticipate...

1. Having to be your own hero.

Bumps in the night?  Drain gunk?  A giant wasp flopping around in the middle of the carpet?  Don't get me wrong, it's incredibly empowering to plonk a glass down over the little nasties in life and fling them out into the night all by yourself, but one day there's going to be a noise, mess or beastie that's too much for me to handle and I'm going to need somebody else to tag team in for support.

2. Speaking to inanimate objects.

This ranges from the reasonable, like asking the toaster to hurry up or swearing at the shower when it runs cold, to the ridiculous (see below).  Being away from a nagging parent / screaming sibling / noisy flatmate might seem like a dream, and well, it kind of is, but when you catch yourself asking your oven a question you realise there's no substitute for human conversation.

3. Developing unhealthy attachments

following on from the last point, I made the mistake of naming my car, which is one thing when you have plenty of time to socialise with real people, but in my case unfortunately contributed to us having a somewhat Tom Hanks / Wilson type relationship.  Bingo was my amigo, and when I accidentally ran it off the road I was initially devastated because I’d hurt my car, and it had given its life in place of mine, like some kind of loyal pet.  The more logical “Jesus, that was a scary crash, thank f*ck I drove a well-made piece of metal and didn’t break anyone’s neck” followed later.  It’s easy to lose perspective and become dependent on silly things when there’s nobody around to keep you straight.

4. Washing machines aren't built for one.

I've been waiting weeks to come up with enough "whites" for a full load - and I'm coming to the nightmarish conclusion that I don't even OWN enough pale clothes to fill the machine.  The commandments of colour separation are going to have to be violated, all because I’m too tight to do half a load and I can’t go much longer without white socks. 'Nuf said.

5. Losing the passion in the kitchen

Baking is awesome, but I can't eat a whole cake alone and inevitably when I buy unusual ingredients form the supermarket they go off before I find something to use them for - it’s easier to just buy generic items, throw them in a pan and eat whatever concoction emerges at the other end.  There’s just dramatically less fun in carefully crafting something delicious when there's only me to be impressed.  Seriously, I've had microwave popcorn for tea more times than I'm willing to admit.  Setting a table for one also feels unbearably lame, so having someone around to cook for and eat with is a luxury I hadn't previously appreciated.

6. Not being able to trade chores

Cleaning an entire house isn’t actually that bad when it’s only your mess.  I know where the dirty mugs are loitering – I put them there.  Hair spiders all over the place?  Yep, no biggie, they come from my head after all.  I don't mind most chores, and I have an especially freaky nonchalance about cleaning bathrooms (it's satisfying, I can't explain it).  Washing up dishes, on the other hand... Well I could claim that the perpetual stack beside my sink is only because my kitchen is chilly, and because I don't like filling the sink for just one plate and a fork, but it's not.  It's because I fucking hate washing up and there's nobody here to trade kitchen chores for extra bathroom chores with.

7. Some tasks just need two

I've spent the last few days trying to put up pictures and rearrange my living room (again).  Mentally, I've got it all figured out… I just need another person here to help, because I can’t hold a frame against a wall AND check that it’s straight from the other side of the room.  I've also got a bloody piano that is the most awkward shape and weight for one person to shift across shag carpet, but would be ludicrously easy with a second pair of hands.  Until living alone I massively overlooked how much I took those additional eyes and helping hands for granted.

8. Being able to succumb to every whim
(aka "freedom")

Like the best of us, every now and again I like to break the monotony and do something impulsive.  Unfortunately some of these actions just aren't that productive, and when nobody is around to slap my wrist they can get a little out of control.  For example, haphazardly cutting my own hair, staying up all night for a Game of Thrones marathon, or embarking on an art project that involves lots of acrylic paint near a cream sofa and beige carpets.  It’s easy to make too much delicious chilli, and then wind up eating nothing but chilli for a week, or to “need” a soak in the bath for hours on end, every few days.  Even simpler – to leave the house when washing up needs to be done / post needs to be opened / the bin needs taking out because there’s nobody home to call you and make you come back home and face the responsibility of washing up, opening post and/or taking the bin out.  Lack of obligation is great, but what comes out of it is rarely industrious and giving in to indulgent urges every other day kind of takes the shine off of why they were so enjoyable in the first place.

After six months of independence I have no regrets, and am looking forward a little longer in my own company, under my own rules.  Sharing a living space with someone would definitely mean half the freedom and twice the mess.  It would mean compromise, synchronising routines, and having arguments over the position of the toilet seat, or what's going on for dinner.  But... I have to admit I underestimated what it means to share a home with someone.  Yes, someone to share the washing up, someone to share the electricity bills, and someone to lift the other end of the piano.  But also someone to share your day with, face to face.  Someone to share the sofa with on a Monday night.  Someone to share a meal with, at a real table.
I am still smug about managing to live alone - that I can handle it, that I can afford it, that I can enjoy it.  It’s a double-edged sword though, because as much as living alone means you I do whatever you want, actually, some of those things are just better with company.

Home

A little post I wrote in September but didn't get around to publishing.

I'm Scottish.  Mostly.  I was born in the land of the heathens, as was my father and his father before him.  Actually, should you care to look, you'll find various aunts, uncles and cousins scattered all across the highlands, from both sides of my family.  I like Scotland, in all its backward wildness, and despite having barely lived there, I always feel an otherwise inexplicable feeling of 'home' (cheesy as that is).  When I moved to Edinburgh last year, I had no apprehensions about the city or the people, and felt absurdly at ease wandering the streets alone aimlessly (although admittedly everyone feels that way about Edinburgh).  Perhaps the best thing about being in Scotland is that I rarely have to repeat my name, or spell it out before it's understood (Joe Bloggs and Emma Smith, this might go over your head, but I'm sure anyone who has a remotely awkward name - or two - will know what I mean).  I have the heritage, suffer with the colouring and know the lingo.  My surname supposedly dates back to one of the original Scottish clans, meaning I even have my own family tartan.  Bar the accent and a few addresses, I consider myself fairly Scottish.

That said, most of the places I have lived have not been in bonny Scotland.  I've lived a mildly nomadic life, moving from Ely to Norwich to Cambridge, with a couple of different houses in each place.  In fact, I've lived at 21 addresses so far.  So I've never really felt that I've lived anywhere for long enough to authentically describe it as "home".  I've now been living in or around Cambridge since I was eight or nine.  Despite this, I won't tell anyone (at least without a great deal of reluctance) that I'm 'from' Cambridge.  I'm not a local.  It's not where I belong.

Anyway, today I caught the bus into Cambridge for a brief meeting.  £3.90 for a return ticket.  THREE POUNDS NINETY (the Scot in me was not happy, but then, the student part of me was too lazy to cycle, so I can't really complain).  After my meeting, I started heading back towards a bus stop.  There isn't actually a stop for my route that's particularly near the meeting-place, so I had to walk towards "old town" a little bit.  

About halfway to the stop, I passed along the top of Bridge Street, which - for those who don't know -  is crammed full of cobblestones, boutique shops with rustic fronts, elegant restaurants, churches, a little bridge over the Cam and university buildings - essentially everything "Cambridge" bundled into a few hundred yards.  

Normally I just see it as a crowded lane, filled with river touts, arsey cyclists, lethal buses and stupid tourists.  Today however, it looked absolutely stunning.  Maybe it was the sunshine bouncing off the brass flowers that are studded into the pavement, or maybe it was just that a short walk would mean a longer and more convoluted bus ride home (therefore making that £3.90 stretch a liiiiiitle bit further), but I thought to myself, "oh, I'll just take a picture of how pretty the folk museum looks", and then "oh, the river looks nice, too" before strolling down towards the round church, nipping into Hardy's gorgeous old-style sweet shop (very helpful staff, thank you) and taking a couple more pictures along the way.  Before I knew it, I was practically in the centre of town, and still I was surrounded by bikes chained to iron railings, little patches of trimmed lawn, university crests and wide, clean, flagstoned pavements.  There is no denying that Cambridge is a beautiful city, and generally the people are a pretty good batch, too (no matter how much we'd like to deny it).  The river, the university, the wide open spaces and the pompous students - whilst I wouldn't want a whole world like it, there's nothing actually wrong with the inherent Cambridge-ness 

I guess what I'm trying to say is, no matter how cool it is to dislike where you're from, today I'm quite proud to consider myself Cambridgian.  By no means do I wish to stay here longer than I have to, but when I do finally escape I know there will be some pleasure in knowing that I can return to peaceful, historic Cambridge.  I will miss the things that are normal here and nowhere else; cycling on a bike with a wicker basket, punting down the river on a summer's day and the bemusement at a non-native asking "where can I find the university?".  My birth-city and the city where I live are pretty different, but you know what?  I don't think either of them are sh*tholes.  So there.

bit blurry - I blame the bus windows.

2013

My excuse for not posting in a while is just that I have been so gosh-darned busy.  Or at least it was going to be my excuse, until over the holidays my family pointed out that actually my entire year has been fairly eventful.

365 days ago I was in Florida, with my boyfriend.  We had 11 days crammed full of all the touristy stuff - Disney, SeaWorld and Universal (yep, including Harry Potter World).  It was sunny and warm, and we ate more food than most people probably do in a month.  Definitely a nice way to see in the New Year.

Okay, so this is 367 days ago if we're being precise.

Fast-forward a few weeks and I was sitting (and failing) my driving test, before re-taking it a couple of weeks later, and passing.  For a bit more pressure, shortly after this were my final exams for my degree.  These were a total breeze, and rather than aggressively cramming everything I'd ever learned into my brain, I definitely just sat back, painted my nails and meditated.  "Zen" is what my exam-period was.

Yeah, right.

Average revision session, courtesy of my instagram.

At least the exams paid off.  Come July, I was graduating with a 2:1.  The weather was gorgeous (although hideously sweaty for those of us in gowns), and I couldn't have been prouder of my friends graduating around me, with the grades we had worked our little socks off to achieve.

The least sweaty photo I could find

Before the terror of being an alumnus could set in, I ran away for a month in Thailand.  I won't go into detail (there's always the recap I wrote here if you haven't seen it already), but it was the most amazing month of lying around on stunning beaches, getting delightfully tipsy on Chang and sweating around stalls of street food and neon vests.  It's amazing how short a month can feel.

A day of particularly bad weather.

We landed back home with a bump - straight into job-hunting and the endless rounds of applications and unsuccessful interviews.  It seemed for a while that everyone around me was landing cushy roles in fancy companies, and I was stuck on Jobseekers Allowance, being sent home early from assessment centres for reasons employers didn't even care to divulge, and being offered positions that weren't in the industries, pay range or locations I was hoping for.

Somewhere in this terrifying rut, I turned 22.

*not actual birthday cake

And then at the beginning of November I got an interview for a company I thought were rather nice and, as luck would have it, they thought I was rather nice too.  Based about 30 miles from where I was living, I suddenly needed a car, or even better, a flat and a car.  Five days after getting the call, Bingo the Citroen C3 was mine, and three days after that, I was moving my vast collection of stuff into a cosy little two bed, only 10 minutes away from my new job, which started the following Monday.  Where I had previously felt like I was on the world's slowest bus into adult life, I seemed to be stepping off of a bullet train into the world of 9-5.

Housewarming gift - I ate the rest before the shutter closed.

Out of sheer stubbornness I decorated my little home for Christmas, even though it feels a bit sad, rather than festive if you're by yourself.  I can't really say what it felt like to spend the season alone, as most of the time I was actually with the fella, family friends.  I did try my hand at being a domestic goddess by cooking a roast - somewhat compromised by the fact that I don't actually have a dining table, and that I left the potatoes until LAST to prepare (d'oh) - but it was a start.  Give me a couple of years and I'll be mashing swede and stuffing a turkey (or not) like a pro.

My handiwork

Not my handiwork.  Sneeze; you bake a LOT.

And now we're here; January 2014.  Of course, just like everyone else I have personal goals and aspirations for the year, but given that "the only things I didn't get round to were getting married and having a baby" (thanks, Grandma), I think my main aim is to give myself some time to get bored.  I'm going to schedule in some "me" time to procrastinate and relax without the guilt of doing the same thing at uni - I'm not going to pretend I didn't chill out, even in 3rd year, but it was coupled with the knowledge that I SHOULD have been revising/working/reading (or, more accurately, the guilt of knowing that I should be feeling guilty, but wasn't). Of course I'll be using a good percentage of my weekends to visit London, and I expect now I'm back in the South I'll be around for my friends (and their new additions) a lot more than I've been able to be previously. On top of that, I plan to play my piano again, get back into running when the weather warms up, take a few weekend breaks in Europe, and finally, FINALLY play Lego Lord of the Rings to at least 99% completion.  Baby steps though, right?

It's a big goal, but hopefully by the time I reach 23 I'll be hitting my stride at this whole "life" thing.  I might not quite feel like a fully-fledged adult (at least I hope I won't), but watch this space.