Tag Archives: personal

Age Is But A Number

16 May

Today marks the 27th anniversary of the day I was born, a day my mother’s life became considerably more awesome. As a child I was a complete primadonna, scared of getting muddy, refusing to eat most foods and reluctant to admit that my baby sister was something that was staying around. As a 27 year old im scared of getting muddy, sure, but I will eat anything within a mile radius and am reluctant to let my little sister leave when we spend any time together. What a difference over a quarter of a century makes!

The fact that I am now 27 is a bit of an issue for me; my brain has a power struggle with things that I think I should be doing and things that I am actually doing, causing minor meltdowns when I think that I have missed something off the list. As an over achiever, I long for the days when I was at school and papers got marked, exams got scored and you knew you were bang in line with your peers. Thanks Facebook.

For example, when having a chat with my mother over the weekend I casually asked her how old she was when she met my Dad. 22. How old she was when she married him. 24 and how old she was when she had me. 26.

I then dramatically declared myself “behind the curve” and announced that I would be a spinster surrounded by cats, growing old in a hoarders house surrounded by old cardboard boxes and things that I had formed emotional relationships with for no reason other than attachment, like bin bags. Sure, I may have been watching too many of those compulsive hoarder shows, but the fear was still there. I ate a whole lot of cheese (I might be old now and my cheese choices have matured from orange square cheese to goats cheese, but cheese is still my comfort food of choice) and went back to my lovely urban flat, minus children and significant other half  to cook and clean (makes me feel calm, don’t judge) until I proudly announced that “I liked it when my flat smelt of swimming pools” and I wasn’t even joking.

My housemate (God love her) then proceeded to read me an article about things that would make me feel old, and they did. So it worked.

Capture

The main killer that took me from ‘strangely happy about the fact that I am turning 27’ to ‘wait while I go slash my wrists with my OAP bus pass” was the fact that Luke Perry, the first TV star who I was in love with in 90210, is 45. Goddamit, 45??!!!! The Backstreet Boys are also rocking their 40s, and according to this article, not too well given the hair plugs and protruding beer bellies.

If you fancy getting hit with the full list, here you go.

The moral of this story is that after a brief chat with myself where I pondered my existence, I realised that I don’t actually want to be 17 again. I had bad hair, hadn’t mastered the art of contact lenses and ……….. TEQUILA.

I rest my case.

What makes you suddenly realise you’re a grown up?

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A Wintery Weekend At Borough Market

1 Nov

It’s a rare occurrence, but this weekend was mine and mine alone. No neatly penned scribbles in the diary, no vague plans with the girls carried away into the air when we previously parted – nothing.

Exciting. I love the thought of a free weekend spanning out across the horizon with nothing interrupting it as it drifts away, and so I went about that brilliant hobby of making last minute plans to fill my day.

On Friday evening we decided, out of the blue, to go out in Camden. There was a bite in the breeze as the season is turning, but we had great fun drinking and dancing and talking with strangers. It just goes to show that when you are with your best friend, time passes too fast and very happily. No fair weather friends, just me and my partner in crime, having fun.

My Weekend In Photos

My Weekend In Photos

On Saturday we went to Borough Market. If you are based in London and haven’t been, or ever get to London, it’s a must. Lane upon lane of food stalls, the hustle and bustle of people browsing butchers and fishmongers, and the delightful smell of food stalls whetting your appetite and tantalising your taste buds. It was so hard not to stop at the first stall and chow down on paella, but luckily we resisted as we eventually came to a hog roast stand with cracking and applesauce. Yum!! We finished wandering the market and found an independent cafe to have some tea and warm our bones before heading out into the sleet to go home.

I woke early on Sunday, as the clocks had changed and took the train home to spend the day with two poorly little girls. We had great fun making pizza faces, watching movies and playing, with the kind of clingy cuddles that only sick kids give you, when they don’t want to be out exploiting and discovering, just having cosy cuddles.

How were your weekend? Seems like an age ago now!!

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Coughs and Sneezes Spread Diseases

31 Oct

I have an illness. Some days, weeks and months, it’s not a big thing. It’s not who I am and I exist in uneasy silence with it while it sleeps, waiting in the hope that its feeling tired and not going to rear its head when I least expect it. As I said, it doesn’t define me, but it IS a part of who I am now.

And then at other times, it consumes me like a hunger that I can’t fix, a void that I can’t fill. I struggle to walk up the stairs; I get out of breath and my heart races doing the smallest of tasks. I get sleepy, I feel dizzy and I get forgetful. My illness becomes the first thing that you see about me; dark circles, a pallid complexion and a girl who sleeps for 23 hours a day and could drink a river dry.

Last week, the hint of the day on the WordPress blog was to explain to someone who didn’t know anything about a part of you. And it came at a poignant time, as that week I had been in bed, struggling with the other part of me and dealing with people who just don’t understand.

I see it from the other side, I really do. I can remember a time when I wasn’t ill, when all the bits in my body did what they should when they should and I used to get annoyed with people taking lots of time off and having to cover their work. So I can put myself in their shoes, and I get it.

But I wonder how many people, equipped with the knowledge of my day to day life, could put themselves in my shoes? Imagine a day where the first thing you do when you wake and the last thing you do before you go to sleep is stick a needle in yourself, or you would get really sick? Not to mention the four or five times in the day in between. A life where you can’t get pick and mix at the cinema because you can’t exactly work out the sugar content, or where you can’t reach for the calming bubbles of that full fat diet coke when you have a hangover, making do with diet versions or fizzy water?

It all adds up. Don’t feel pity, the majority of things I can do, with some subtle adaptions, and I do. But there are some days that something happens, like someone sneezes in my face on the tube, and then the whole balanced micro system goes to pot. The cells that are preventing me from coming down with any other nasties get confused and rush to a different place, leaving the alien bugs of someone else’s sneeze to bring down my pathetic immune system in one fell swoop. And then the sugar becomes the enemy and infiltrates, causing a whole host of other problems. I make light of it, but it’s serious.

If someone could stand in your shoes for one day, what would you like them to see?

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It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas – Winter Warmers

23 Oct

As much as I hate to admit it, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. The nights are drawing in and the weather is starting to chill, and the fireworks going off in the distance most nights herald Bonfire Night on its way – my favourite holiday of the year. The mince pies in Marks and Spencer at the start of September was a bit much if I’m honest, but I love the fact that the air is starting to smell like gunpowder and it feels crisp when you step outside. The chestnut man has arrived in Covent Garden and now when I step out of the office the familiar Christmassy smell greets me, and gives me the warm and fuzzies. We are on the countdown, people, and I for one am super excited to see the gleeful little faces of my god-daughters when they open the presents that I have already started buying, and get their letters from Father Christmas.

It does mean that the flip-flops have seen my toes for their last time this year, and are lovingly placed in my wardrobe, not to be seen again till the sleepy sun rises in spring. I’m getting my money’s worth from my new leather boots, and my winter coat has been dusted down and is being carted all over the place when I think it’s cold out, and then decide after walking a bit that I’m actually melting. My Canadian friend informed me that he couldn’t cope with Britain as its ‘all about the layers’ and he was finding it hard to grasp, and you know what, it’s true.

But there are some AWESOME layers for me to get my grubby little paws on! I love the fact that England is no longer the chubby kid that’s picked last for the football team, and now the quintessential look is aspirational. Quilted jackets, wax, tweeds and Wellington boots are all the rage, and although I detest mud and getting wet, my wardrobe makes me look like I would be at home on the back of a tractor, complete with sausage dog and locally sourced produce. I am Queen of the Country, hear me roar (above the churning noise of the tractor and the mooing of the cows).

Given the fact that it’s the giving time of the year, I have some exciting competitions coming up between now and Christmas and I’m pleased to announce the first one, with Joules! By entering below, you have the chance to win your choice of jacket from the range. You can choose between the quilted and tweed options on the site, for men, women or your little ones.

I wanted to use Rafflecopter to run this, but WordPress limitations mean that I can’t, so to enter all you have to do is leave a comment below with your email address, and what you love from the Joules site. If you want an additional enter, then please tweet me “I just entered the Joules competition! @Lillyheart999″ and I’ll throw you into the mix again :) .

My favourites are included in the image above, but I love the Women’s Quilted Jackets and the Men’s Quilted Jackets would make a perfect present. They look so snuggly and warm!

Joules do these awesome jackets for men, women and children, and you can enter wherever you are in the world, so whether you want a great Christmas present for someone on your list or a bonus gift-to-self, then please go ahead and enter! Its running for 2 weeks, and the winner will be notified by email on the 11th of November. Good luck! (pick here).

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A Season, A Reason, A Lifetime

17 Oct

Clichés and turns of phrases are things that are abundant in life. Ever heard your grandmother tell you “there are plenty more fish in the sea”? Or someone say “in for a penny, in for a pound?” “You have to kiss a few frogs to find your Prince, dear…”

Lets face it, they are everywhere, and sometimes they serve to give us solace, while other terms they just damn well piss us off, don’t they?

But there is one that I have learnt rings true as I get older, and my mind always goes back to, regardless of the situation.

And its true. I think back to all the friends I have had, memories I have forged and friends that have disappeared into the ether, and I can now, with a clear head, apply this to the majority of them.

The friend I have who has lived miles and miles away, and now lives within walking distance, and who I don’t see from month to month, yet I know that when I need her, I can count on her. A isn’t just a friend to me, she’s a bonus sister, one that I chose rather than was born with. We have laughed together, cried together, and experienced some of my favourite memories, and she’s held my hand when I’ve needed her, however far away. When we were angsty teenagers experiencing boy troubles we used to talk about the book. We used to say that we didn’t mind what happened, as long as we could flick to the end of the book and make sure there was a happily ever after. It sounds silly now, but even still, after a particularly messy ending with a boy or a date that never calls, we sometimes talk about the book. A. She’s my lifetime.

The boy who I met, who I spent the winter joined at the hip to, and who encouraged me to leave Guildford and try my luck in London. Who encouraged me when I was scared at being the new one in a big place, and who listened to me jabbering on the train all the way home with excitement. The one who dutifully helped me clean out our rented house on new years day and move all my stuff, with a smile on his face. We still keep in contact, but I think he was there to encourage me when I needed it.  A2 – the reason.

S – the good time girl. The summer I turned 21 we painted the town a rainbow of colours from red to gold, with backcombed hair and heels that made me look like a warrior. We partied until the sun came up, and we were a forced to be reckoned with. You couldn’t get a piece of paper between us, we lived, worked and slept within breathing distance. And then it fizzled out. S- the season.

And then there are people who buck the trend. Like the two Canadian boys who were definitely a reason. I went on an exchange when I was 16 and met them, and haven’t seen either since. A reason, you say? One just moved to the UK to study so we are meeting for lunch at the weekend, and it made me get back in contact with the other, and we are having virtual coffee and skyping next week. So maybe, a lifetime?

But the one person who is always guaranteed is my little sister. She is a lifetime in this lifetime, the past, and the next. I believe I’ve seen her before, and will continue to have her near me regardless of what path my life takes me on. She is my constant, my darling, and I am the luckiest girl in the world to have a little sister like her.

Do you have reasons, seasons and lifetimes?

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Some Of You Will Be Baffled, I Can Guarantee It

1 Aug

The word sport, in my book (it’s a dictionary) is considered a swear word. I am the fastest runner in the opposite direction to the gym, and a gold medallist in being first to the pub after work, but any actual organised sport makes me shudder. I don’t like anything that I have to do in a team, because I don’t want to disappoint the rest of the crew by dropping the bat or not hitting the ball, and when forced to take part in tennis on the Kinect in the office during the Olympics, even the automated commentary speculated on how bad ‘player 2’ was. That’s me folks!

So I wasn’t excited about the Olympics. I adopted a traditional British approach. Whinging about the sheer amount of tourists that would descend on the capital and hamper my journey to work , and bemoaning that food prices had soared to capitalise on hungry foreigners.

When a tourist coughs on the Tube and doesn’t put their hand over their mouth

But then I watched the Olympic ceremony with my American cousins, and a patriotic sports fan emerged like a butterfly from a chrysalis, having transformed from that grumpy caterpillar. I did find it a little odd (Beijing had thousands of drummers, we had sheep, some beds that lit up and at one point, E.T) but how awesome was it?! I felt proud to be eccentrically British, despite the rain and the cold, and embrace my tea drinking, jolly good fellow heritage. Although I know none of you ‘got’ Dizzee Rascal, but that’s OK.

And now? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a clue about the rules of any of these sports that I’m watching, but I kept one eye on the Equestrian events while at work yesterday, and my heart was in my mouth as I watched the men’s synchronised diving, and slightly teary as they scored a fourth.

When Mitt Romney starts bitching about London.

I clapped and cheered when we got our first gold today, and thought how fantastic Hampton Court looked as we grabbed our second. Now I’m sitting watching the men’s gymnastics, and I gather the point of this one is to stay on the horse as long as possible, do a handstand and then jump off without falling face first into the sand. And look at those arms!!

In the words of Boris Johnson,”The excitement is growing so much I think the Geiger counter of Olympo-mania is going to go ‘zoink’ off the scale.”

Who’d have thought, I’m a sports fan after all!?

What’s your favourite Olympic sport?

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Kara(Not)Oke – OK?

23 Jul

I have a terrible propensity for remembering things differently to how they actually happen. In my head, there are certain things that I love, and things that I hate, but they are often wrong.

So when my friend mentioned that for her birthday this year, she wanted to do karaoke, I shuddered ever so slightly. I really didn’t want to do it. My voice sounds Whitney Houston awesome when I am in the shower and there is no one else in the house, but as soon as the front door opens and someone gets home, it sound like the lone wolf calling for the rest of the pack. Apparently, its legendary tone also doesn’t travel well in the great outdoors, so, for example, if someone was walking past the house they would be tempted to call the RSPCA for cruelty to animals, when really it’s just the steam from the shower affecting the sound of my otherwise pitch perfect singing. I’ve actually heard it called tone-deaf, but in all honesty I think that’s really unfair to people who are actually tone-deaf. It’s a ton worse.

But it was her birthday, and therefore who was I to argue? I’ve dragged my friends to various places in the spirit of it being my birthday, including one fateful year when I was domesticated and insisted we have a BBQ in the garden. The quite cold garden. So I went. The alcohol we drank before numbed the embarrassment, and she got up there, complete with stick on Hulk Hogan moustache and comedy glasses, and killed Eye of the Tiger. And when I say killed, I’m not talking on the ‘nailed it!!!’ side of death. More on the ears bleeding and people crying side. At least we know our limits.

The thing is, I don’t like to see anyone not having fun. And everyone else was stone cold sober needed encouragement so I felt like I should step up and rally the troops. Think King Leonidas in 300….
Because there was a lot of shouting, and I also had a stick on handlebar moustache, to really complete my look. Disaster. Needless to say, I howled my way through Alanna Myles Black Velvet and a number of others, before embarking on a duet of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart with my best friend. It resulted in the picture below, which isn’t my finest moment.

Karaoke in London – Belle style.

So friends got a text at 1am that morning simply saying “I bloody love karaoke!!”

One final treat for you.. Move over Kid Rock, there’s a new band of moustaches yokels in town….

What do you secretly love doing?

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“OMG. That Was Totes Awk”**

8 May

“The existence of other people is essentially awkward.”
― Lionel Shriver, Checker and the Derailleurs

There is nothing more awkward than misunderstanding a situation and having to deal with the fall out afterwards, when your brain doesn’t catch up with the moment until you are well and truly knee-deep in misunderstandings. It often happens around the microwave at work during the busy lunch period (“Are you feeling OK? You sound sick.” “Are you saying I look rough? My boyfriend dumped me” Oooooooouuuch.) or when making polite conversation on a conference call while waiting for all attendees to dial in, but the most awkward one is when you accidentally overhear people talking really loudly and can’t help but laugh at their conversation. It happens a lot on public transport when you either overhear a really inappropriate chat or someone misunderstands the conversation you are having. I can assure you, this happens to me, Awkward Annie, at all times.

On Saturday I went for a lonesome jolly around London (one of my favourite pastimes) and hopped on the bus as my little legs were weary, to take me home. I sat behind two twenty something boys who were whinging about their girlfriends and the lack of fun in their lives. My ears pricked up. I’m nosy, and was hoping to uncover some sort of weird fetish that would provide me with a story for my friends at a later date. None of that, but it didn’t take a psychologist to work out what the problem with this guy and his girlfriend was.

“I just don’t get it. She literally doesn’t want any physical contact with me anymore. We’ve only been together three years!” Poor him, I thought, that doesn’t sound nice.

“Ah mate” his friend replied “Does that mean you haven’t had sex since dinosaur roamed the earth?” Good line..

“Nah not really. She doesn’t like the fact I play Xbox in bed, and also she thinks it’s bad that I thought the clitoris was a Greek God till about two years ago”.

I snorted. I couldn’t help it, my iPhone battery had died (again) and I had nothing else to do but listen in! They turned around and scowled at me like I had mugged their grannies, and then I made it worse. Of course I did. “Sorry, but it WAS funny”. I know, I’m going to hell without a get out of jail free card, but if you are sensitive about this kind of chat then please, for the love of Christ, don’t talk about it on a busy bus.

And then, this morning, when getting the Tube into work, he and I were laughing at the fact he never gets angry over anything, except the amount of people in the tube station. I get annoyed at a lot, but funnily enough the amount of people at the Tube isn’t something that bothers me. The way i see it is everyone needs to get to work one way or another, and sometimes you get a bonus cuddle with a hottie if the tube is full. Or a tramp, which in all honesty, is the more likely one to happen to me.

Image sourced from hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com – check Allie out, she’s hilarious!!

So I was laughing at the rage of the happy kid and how he turns from this smily character in pretty much the image order above, and said, not in a loud voice; “Try not to assault anyone on the platform today, Hulk. It’s not the done thing.” I didn’t realise however that a woman was actively listening to our conversation, and as he got off the tube at his stop she visibly shrunk against the side of the train to let him pass, like the rage was catching and she had a low immune system. She then proceeded to try to catch my eye for the rest of the journey, and scowl when she did, and I swear she stuck her foot out when I got up to get off the tube. To give this some background, he isn’t exactly rocking the Rocky look, smiles at everyone and when we were out one Friday night, after walking past a homeless girl, he doubled back and gave her a tenner because it was cold.

You know what though? Life would be far less amusing and easy to get through without an awkward situation or two.

Have you ever overheard something really funny when you probably shouldn’t have been listening?

** I would never actually say this. This was another overheard bus conversation, but this time, amongst teenagers, a breed I don’t understand and a language I am not fluent in.

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Like Poetry to my Ears

7 May

I have blogged before about how often I hear a song and wonder about the point of the lyrics, but I swear to whomever it’s politically correct to swear to these days that the world of music is headed sharply for the bottom of the pond.

At work, we have a carefully selected music system, where we all submit an eight-hour playlist, and these playlists are rotated so that there is harmony on the songs that are played and the regularity in which we hear them. You would think that given this system, there would be relative calm and a happy work environment, but there is not. I’m not sure what possesses some people to select songs that feature on their playlist, but I can assure you this; they never admit to it. I personally love a good selection of Wham!, but I wouldn’t actually go as far as to opt for it as part of my eight hours, for fear of becoming a social pariah in the office. It was bad enough when the Beach Boys came on and when the moaning started I stood up and hotly claimed ownership, arguing that I defied anyone to not feel happy when the Beach Boys were playing. They couldn’t. Win.

So far we have had all sorts. The office is a melting pot of ages, sexes and upbringings, so there is of course a wide variety of songs, from The Eagles to Daft Punk, Rihanna to Bob Marley. What you can guarantee, and is as certain as death is to life, that at least once a week we will get Imogen Heap, and also a song that sounds like a smurf has been carefully fed into the paper shredder, with someone drilling behind it.

And the lyrics! Some rap songs, for example, make it really hard for me to understand what the hell is going on, and the motivation for this particular lyrical avenue. It’s almost like the dictionary had a lobotomy, and I just know Bob Marley is turning in his grave, alarmed at the amount of overshare that we get as an insight into these people’s lives.

Historically, rap (I use this in the loosest terms so I don’t get abuse) hasn’t had much to look up to. Lets take the unique Vanilla Ice

“cooking MC’s like a pound of bacon / Take heed cos I’m a lyrical poet (that’s opinion) / if there was a problem, yo ill solve it / check out the hook while my DJ revolves it”

And then, years later, graduates from the Vanilla Ice school of lyric writing, LFO:

New kids on the block had a bunch of hits / Chinese food makes me sick… when you take a sip you buzz like a hornet / Billy Shakespeare wrote a whole bunch of sonnets

Apparently, if it rhymes, you’re good to go. I hear these boys also wear a badge stating they are poets but they just don’t know it.

And even today, they are still at it, with Kanye West leading the pack

You should make your own toilet roll, cos you the s**t”

Compliments a plenty with that one, hey? Obviously, this is a cultural pandemic and not just specific to rappers. The worst ones have quite a catchy tune so you find yourself humming along, but then you clock the words and have to head off to the loo to apply some brain bleach to the affected areas.

And here are my top 5 terrible song lyrics, as chosen by me:

5) Hanson – Mmbop

Plant a seed, plant a flower, plant a rose/ You can plant any one of those / Keep planting to find out which one grows / It’s a secret no one knows.

Lets be sure of this people, it is a secret we know. You plant a seed, and the majority of the time, it will grow. Sure, if you find the seed on the street it will be a surprise as to what actually grows out of it, but chances are, the majority of seeds will grow.

4) Black Eyed Peas – My Humps

So don’t pull on my hand boy / You ain’t my man, boy / I’m just tryn’a dance boy / And move my hump.

This upsets me as Will.I.Am wrote the lyrics to Ordinary People, a song that I absolutely adore. And then this. How. HOW?!

3) Vanilla – No Way No Way

Ah, if you got the genes and think / Ah, you can buy me with one drink / Ah, come we’re livin’ in a dreamworld, boy / Ah, no no no no no way, no way, man-ah man-ah man-ah

Is a highlight. Lyrical genius.

2) Vengaboys – Boom Boom

Boom, boom, boom, boom / I want you in my room / Let’s spend the night together / from now until forever / Boom, boom, boom, boom / I wanna double boom / Let’s spend the night together / together in my room

What a double boom is ‘bear thinking about.

1) Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney

Because she’s mine  /The doggone girl is mine / Don’t waste your time / Because the doggone girl is mine

I can’t help but think that this trend for terrible lyrics comes from looking up to Michael Jackson and Sir Paul McCartney. I just cant fathom how two of the greatest songwriters ever were put in a room together and the only word they could think of to describe the girl they were fighting over was doggone.

I rest my case.

Know any ridiculous ones?

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Backstreet’s Back, Alright?

1 May

There are some times in a girl’s life when she regresses back to her pre teen days, and she frickin loves it. And this weekend was one of those times for me (plus two friends and my sister) when we got the chance to go to see the New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys hybrid tour.

It. Was. Awesome.

I’m a little young (it’s rare I get to say that!) to really remember New Kids on the Block, but I could hum along to enough of their tunes to be OK with going to see them, but the Backstreet Boys are a band I knew as a child, mainly because my sister had a massive obsession. She loved them and listened to their music all the time, and by osmosis the songs perforated my hearing and nestled in my head.

So I was surprised when I emailed her to say I had tickets, and she seemed quite disinterested. Fine! I thought. Plenty more people who will come with me!

But she came, and it made me laugh when, about half way through, she looked across at me and mouthed “I LOVE Brian!” gone was the emo kid with a cool taste in music, replaced by a ten-year old who wanted nothing more to grow up and marry a Backstreet Boy.

It was so cool. Have I mentioned that? It did get a little inappropriate when New Kids on the Block, who don’t fall into the ‘kids’ category any more, were thrusting in their PVC pants. We all looked away, a little embarrassed that they were pulling out all their best Chippendales moves and we were ever so slightly repelled, and half of the party decided it was a good time to take a trip to the bar and/or the bathroom. After all, they are older than they used to be. There was also a chant that they were all trying to start, which went N-K-O-T-B-S-B, which was all too much for us (in fact, the whole crowd) and we got lost at the K and mumbled the rest. Plus, I was perturbed by the fact that they had missed a ‘b’ out in the middle.

But the Backstreet Boys were nothing short of legendary. Well, except the weird faces that Nick Carter was pulling. I try to keep my thoughts about his quiet as my friend Charlotte loves him, but when he pulls the face, it makes me feel like a teenager that just got inappropriately groped by a youth in a nightclub. Sort of dirty and like you want to curl up in the foetal position and rock. I think it’s the sweaty curtains that were only borderline fashionable in his heyday, let alone fifteen years later.

I recorded a lot of it on my camera, but unfortunately the over excitement got to much for me, resulting in some real Blair Witch Project style filming, not to mention the drowning out of the actual singing by the four of us screaming out lyrics and whooping at regular intervals. Embarrassingly, at one point you actually hear me say “Im so excited!” and my friend replies “i think I might cry!” hahahaha.

So my two close friends, my sister and I had the best night we have had since the days when we used to make up dance routines and sing into our hairbrushes, swooning over the appeal of those hot American boys. And I have had The Right Stuff stuck in my head for the past 48 hours.

Some things never change.

Thanks to the people at Superbreaks who provided us with the tickets. They offer hotels in London, and sponsored this post. But all opinions are, as always, my own!

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