I’m in Wales.
I’ll be back on Monday.
Don’t miss me too much.
I’m in Wales.
I’ll be back on Monday.
Don’t miss me too much.
I am a master at both overpacking and under packing. It’s almost quite impressive, when you consider how tricky that actually is.
It’s simple really. Pack too many pairs of tights and dresses that you won’t wear, and fail to pack enough cold weather clothes which will leave you shivering in a yurt at 4am, bemoaning your own stupidity and asking yourself why you NEVER LEARN.
I’m kind of tackling the second problem by taking my throw from home, which is by far the snuggliest thing I own except for dressing gowns, which get tricky to pack. Granted, the throw takes up a Sports Direct bag of its own, bringing my total amount of luggage to a large bag, a rucksack, the bag with the throw in and my handbag. It is definitely too much for a week away in Wales, but I like to give myself the illusion of choice even though I know I’ll be in my crew shirt for the majority of the weekend, and when I’m not, I’ll be in my raincoat, bundled up with various pieces of knitwear or in my pyjamas under my duvet…and the afore mentioned knitwear. Summer in mid Wales really is a true delight.
It will take me less than 10 minutes from when I arrive in Machynlleth to realise I’ve left something absolutely crucial behind, but it won’t be my alcohol, because I’ve just reminded myself to pack that (thanks, blog writing self!) and will do that right now. PRIORITIES.
I had every intention of actually starting my packing for Wales today. It didn’t happen, and I don’t even have a good enough excuse for why.
I slept in until about 11am (I miss a lot of snooze time during the week, I really do.) and then dragged myself downstairs and out into the garden so that Mum could do my hair for me, after I did such a shocking job myself earlier this month. The big chunk of my locks that I missed has now been expertly covered up, and I’m ready to be seen by people I only catch up with once a year. Can’t be rocking up to Powys looking like a fox crossed with a zebra, can I? (Fobra or Zebrox does sound almost cool though.)
Then I caught up with Shakespeare Live from yesterday, which, as expected, was an absolute delight.
I’ve got a last minute dash into town tomorrow to get a couple of bits and bobs, and then I can spend the rest of my day fighting with luggage and rolling all my clothes up, in order to try and fit far more clothes than I actually need for a week away into less than two bags.
Good luck, future me. You’ll need it.
Proberbial. PROBERBIAL. Jeez. I’m so tired that I have a little tear of laughter rolling down my face, especially as I’ve only just realised my spelling mistake in yesterday’s blog title. And I’m normally so hot on that stuff.
But today’s last day at work before my holiday was actually lovely. It was incredibly busy, but that meant it flew by and before I knew it, I was sat waiting to come home.
Now I get a chance to have a day of a little relaxation before I do my annual panicked bag packing on Monday, alongside a last minute dash into town for toiletries and extra layers of clothes, because as we all know, Wales has no shops to buy any of those sorts of things. I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about taking my living quarters or sleeping bag this year, as that was probably the most stressful bit of my Machynlleth last year. There will be no tent pitching for me to worry about at all. (You’re making your own jokes now. Shut up.)
Ugh. Today was the first day where I’ve genuinely struggled to get up for work in order to make my bus/train on time. I was so tired that pretty much as soon as I got into my seat on the train, I was fast asleep, leaning on my snood for a little bit of comfort hoping that the subsequent 50 minute sleep would sort me out.
Luckily it did, and the walk from the station to my store woke me right back up again. It probably helped that it was utterly miserable, and getting pelted in the face with big fat raindrops meant I couldn’t stay in my sleepy state for long.
I can feel the stirrings of a low level cold sneaking up on me, so I’m heading it off at the pass before it gets too bad, because I am not spending Machfest filling my yurt with tissues. (So many jokes. None of them approptiate. Such a shame.) I keep forgetting that I’m going up really early, but that gives me an opportunity to get all my money out before the masses descend later in the week and clean out the cash machines. Foresight is a marvellous thing, but I’m already dreading whatever it is that I’ll forget to pack this year.
It took less than two weeks for me to turn into the kind of person that sits on the train eating hummus at 9pm.
I’m not a savage, mind. I didn’t use my hands to shovel chickpeas into my face, and I didn’t slam said face directly into the tub. I got myself some carrot batons. A whole kilogram of the orange bastards, which will inevitably go off before I get round to actually eating them all.
I have at least gotten through these last two late shifts without incident, which is definitely a good thing. Taking work one day at a time seems to be a strategy that’s working in my favour at the moment. One step at a time and I’ll definitely get there in the end.
I found my silver lining to working the late, guys.
It’s getting to come home on the train in first class for the same price as standard class, and be able to take advantage of their complimentary drinks, comfy seats and wi-fi.
I MEAN SURE. I don’t actually get back to my house until 10pm, by which time I should be fast asleep in order to not be a completely cranky bitch at work tomorrow, but that is the sacrifice I made when I chose to not be made redundant in this tricky job climate. I’m basically a hero.
There is nothing quite like getting a face full of gravel to really take the shine off your day.
It wasn’t even from face planting the ground. If it had been my own silly fault from tripping over my feet, I’d have been more fine with it. What it actually was, was two small children pawing at a flowerbed in town, and subsequently throwing a load of gravel behind them, directly into my face, and into my bra. There is no dignified way to get foreign bodies out of your underwear in public, which led to an exceptionally uncomfortable five minute walk to some public toilets so I could deal with the problem.
I spent my day off doing my early Machynlleth prep, including getting my annual pre-festival haircut, and shopping for bottoms of outfits to go with whatever colour the crew t-shirts are going to be this year. Playing it safe with dark denim shorts and muted grey skirts is this year’s plan, even though I know I will be packing for the weather I WANT to have, as opposed for the weather I’m more likely to get. I have a Mach mac, so at least I will be dry and fashionable even if I’ll be freezing my extremities off come Friday night.
(Oh no. We’ve gotten to the point where I’m starting to use 90’s stars for blog titles. This is terrible. I am so sorry. Inspiration has dried up and tenuous, tenuous links have to be found. I’m more embarrassed than you, trust me.)
So I’ve officially made it through 7 days of work in Exeter. It’s going well. I’m getting into the swing of things and actually starting to enjoy myself a little bit now.
I still have a tendency to get lost in my own thoughts on the train home sometimes, which can lead to the odd wobbly lip, but it’s just about in check.
The weight is starting to drop off me again too, thanks to all the walking I’m doing to, from and at work, so at least I don’t feel quite so guilty about not having found the time or energy to go to the gym. At least this time it’s loss down to exercise as opposed to just plain stress.
Also, I saw an actual fox in a field on my way back tonight, which I am absolutely taking as a sign. I’m not entirely sure what it’s a sign of yet, but I’m reading it as a positive one, given my penchant for them and their night time bin rummaging ways.
So it would seem that my Sundays off work will consist of catching up on sleep. I managed a cool 10 hours in bed last night/this morning, and I didn’t even get that groggy, overtired feeling you often get when you sleep too much.
Still. I’m going to be in a permanent state of excitement all week because of my Machynlleth pilgrimage next week. I just have to try not to think about the fact that this time in a fortnight I’ll be finishing up the final show in my venue, and getting sad because it’ll soon be time to head back home. On the plus side, I’ll then be drinking all the drinks and doing all the celebrating with some really excellent people, so the fun will outweigh the maudlin feelings. Until I wake up in my yurt on Monday morning, probably still a bit drunk and unable to find where I put my shoes, that is.