Edinburgh, baby!

Dear Diary,

So I have returned! Technically, it was yesterday, but because it's been so busy (or I've just been so lazy) I've had to leave it till tonight to enthrall you with my Highland adventures.
Oh, and just to warn you, I left with 5 Scottish Missions:

THE 5 SCOTTISH MISSIONS

1. Hear someone say my name in a Scottish accent
2. Try Haggis
3. Photograph someone in a kilt (must NOT be a tourist attraction)
4. Kiss/sleep with someone Scottish
5. Get someone to say "There's been a MURDERRRRRR!" 'Taggart'-style.

FRIDAY

Where to begin? Well, Friday might be a good place, as that was the start of it all. Had to be up at the crack of dawn to take delivery of the new double bed (sadly, not for me). Naturally, the delivery men didn't arrive till half 12, by which time I was flapping around, lobbing things into my suitcase, and trying to hurry them out - which made them decide to try out Shaun's magnetic darts board. Twats.
Frantically executed a speedy hair-dye (accidentally dying the edges of my glasses and face orange in the process) which actually turned out looking alright. Even left for the tram on time. Things were looking good! Until the tram decided it was a perfect time to test their emergency brakes. But even so, I miraculously arrived at the station on time, after legging it through the city centre, suitcase in tow.

Arrived at the platform sweating like a bitch and panting like a dog in heat - still, surprisingly, on time. Showed my ticket to the inspector, who calmly assured me I hadn't missed my train. And that is when the entire weekend went spectacularly wrong.
He stared at my ticket for a few minutes, and then informed me that the ticket, the one I bought the day before, in advance, which I assumed was an open-dated return, was in fact only valid for the day I'd bought it, i.e: yesterday.

I stared at him for about 10 solid seconds. And then I said the word "SHIT" so loudly he visibly flinched and a group of passing people turned and stared.

I'm not proud of it, I mean, there were CHILDREN present. I had to spend FORTY FRIGGING QUID on another return ticket, and there was no way I could argue or beg my way out of it, not even with heartfelt pleas of "I only have £60 ALL WEEKEND!" I even started panicking and crying right in front of them (not even on purpose, believe me) as I handed the cash over, and all they could do was look highly uncomfortable and offer me a complaints form. So I was left to trip dazedly down the stairs, stand on the platform, crying silently yet hysterically to myself, and wondering what the hell I was going to do in Edinburgh with £20. Texted Alice and Mum, who surprisingly didn't tear me a new one, but suggested I borrow some money off Alice, which she would replace with a cheque in the post. Alice agreed. So, with a sense of shame, embarrassment and slight relief, I was back on track.

Got to Edinburgh only an hour later than I would've arrived, gazing in wonder at the highlands and beauty surrounding the train and listening to Scottish music to get in the mood. Sadly, all I had was one song by The Procclaimers. Met Alice, who it was WICKED to see..... until we walked the INCREDIBLY long route to her flat, haha. First impressions of the city - absolutely stunning, churches, castles, views and hotels as far as the eye can see, and about 7 takeaways on every street. My kinda city! Arrived at the flat, met her lovely flatmates (The two "P"s, one Scottish, one Irish = 7th heaven, accent-wise) and crashed the hell out, watching TV, nosing round Alice's room and generally exploring. Ordered pizza off the Internet (THE INTERNET!! PIZZA!! Yeah, you heard me) and watched the "Skins" finale while our stomachs internally exploded. To paraphrase Superhans from "Peep Show" (ironic, as he was actually IN the "Skins" finale) "I wanted to kill myself just so my body could avoid the sheer fucking hell I was about to put it through this weekend....."

Went out to a student bar soon after (me in my Flashdance top) while I stared around in wonder at the:

a) Students. My GOD, I've missed that lifestyle.
b) Scottish people. Everywhere. Speaking Scottish.
c) Green Beer. Yep. Exactly what it sounds like.

Met Geri, a friend of Alice's (Scottish Missions 1+5 completed) who managed to wangle us tickets to a show called "The Improverts." I was going to an Improv show! In a theatre! In Edinburgh! How could this weekend get any better?? So we ambled off round the corner (after an impressively quick downing of cider and black - I'm getting good!) and soon, I was sat in a theatre for the first time in about a year, watching students prat around making funny shit up for an hour. And I'd never been happier. The show was brilliant, and the actors hilarious. The whole performance was basically what first year at uni was like, on my course. Good times (*tears up*)
Went for a drink afterwards but soon our yawns were becoming too obvious to ignore, despite my fluctuating moodswings ("Let's go out!" "Ohhhh..... I'm so sleepy..." "Let's carry on drinking!!" "Ohhhhhhh..... tired..... my eyes.....") so we decided to pack it in and headed home.

SATURDAY

Woke up in quite possibly the comfiest bed in the world about half 11. Sigh, THIS is what my life should be like..... Dossed around for a bit (I read my book, Alice Internet-ed) and had some toast before heading out on our first Edinburgh adventure - ie: shopping. My god and sonny Jesus. We went EVERYWHERE.

I bought:

Fruity Incense
Wooden incense ash-catcher
2 bracelets, 1 multicoloured, 1 matching the Cheryl dress

My feet were nearly BLEEDING by the end of the afternoon, but damn, it was worth it. We stopped off in Burger King for lunch (yessssssssssss) and took a peek in Ann Summers - which housed some ridiculously attractive lads all jostling each other and looking at props for a stag do. Mmmm..... straight Scottish men in a sex shop...... Walked back and crashed the hell out in the flat, showing the girls our purchases, listening to the Chillies (have resolved to buy or download "Blood Sugar Sex Magik") and generally having a rare old time doing absolutely fuck-all.

Hoisted ourselves out of the stupor to visit the notorious chippy to get tea - and let me experience my first battered meal. I was given two sausages, and when I say "battered" I mean they had the SHIT battered out of them. The batter literally formed a shapeless mass around the sausage. I picked it up with the tips of my fingers and still ended up greased up to the elbow. God, I love Scotland. Sat with the girls and watched "The Simpsons," before going to get ready. Unfortunately, and this was the real bitch of the weekend, I'd forgotten to pack any going-out shoes, so had to borrow Alice's low ones. Still the dress made me smile, as it is the Cheryl Cole dress - with the combination of GHD's straightening the SHIT out of my hair and mixed Cosmos.

Soon we were all gathered in the lounge, with the addition of Rowetta - another uni friend (who I got a slight girl-crush on for the evening, typical). At my suggestion, we ended up playing "Roxanne," - a notoriously terrifying drinking game I picked up at uni.

"ROXANNE" - THE DRINKING GAME

Rules: Split into two teams (preferably boys vs. girls) of equal numbers, or as close as you can get.
Find an Ipod or CD with "Roxanne" by Sting on it. Plug it in, and set the track going.
Everytime he sings the word "Roxanne" - the girls (or Team 1) drinks. Everytime he sings the words "Red light" - the boys (or Team 2) drinks. As you can imagine, when it gets to the bridge where he does nothing BUT sing those words, it gets understandably messy VERY quickly.

So after Round 1, we were all, as you can imagine, ridiculously giddy and warm-faced. God, I love that game! Loved it even more when one of the girls (having been on the phone for an hour) entered the room and decided she had to "catch-up". Cue much moaning/giggling as "Roxanne" was set on repeat......
Eventually set off to the club, where we got in free and got cheap drinks all night (one of the girls knew one of the barmen). The club was A-MAY-ZING, playing the cheesy music I unashamedly love, lights set at WILDLY flattering shades, and gorgeous Scottish blokes EVERYWHERE. We made straight for the dancefloor to shake ass for 2 hours, with cheap drink breaks in between. THIS is what my life should be like!!

After a while, I sweatily made my way to the bar, and ended up standing next to a guy stood alone, to avoid the masses. Stood waiting for 5 minutes, getting steadily harrassed by a pleasantly (but annoyingly) drunk girl dressed as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle who seemed determined to tell me about her sprained ankle ("I'm a Teenage mutant INJURED turtle! D'ya GET IT??!") After she left, the guy - who was really VERY good looking - smiled wearily at me, and we started chatting. Somehow, my Cheryl-yet-secretary-style dress seemed to change my personality, as I tried out a new flirting technique I'd never attempted before. I simply asked about him, and did ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ELSE. I asked what he was studying, what he worked as, who he was out with (his friends, who abandoned him) and all manner of things. I didn't tell him what I studied, I didn't tell him why I was in Edinburgh, I didn't tell him about "Roxanne." I simply talked about him, with the occasional hair-touch and subtle gaze-at-his-mouth. Why have I never DONE this before??!

And that, dear friends, is how I ended up in a club, in a city miles from home, getting 3 -THREE!! - drinks bought for me by a gorgeous Scottish guy. And yes, he knew the same barman, so they were all cheap. Good times!
Sadly, I realised too late that I'd been gone for about an hour, and got a bollocking off Alice for disappearing. Fair enough, it was fairly stupid of me - I really don't think about things sometimes. It's strange, I think too much about things I shoudn't, and then completely ignore or forget the things I SHOULD. Hmmm..... Maybe I should visit Paul McKenna. This CAN'T go on.

After some more lovely chatting, Dan (for t'was his name) confusedly helped me accomplish 2 missions (1+5) before suggesting we hit the dance floor. And THAT, dear friends, is how, after a few minutes of dancing closely and with much smiling, I accomplished Scottish Mission 4. Eventually had to leave, as typically, that was the night the clocks went forward, so we all got kicked out an hour early. We stood in the coat queue, Dan standing behind me, while I, in demure-looking-secretary-in-vixen-mode (*Snort* I wish!) let my hands do some slight wandering behind me....... while he had his mouth on my neck. Mmmmm. I fucking love Scotland. Not to mention I've discovered a handy talent - being able to undo a fly button with one hand, behind me, without even LOOKING. I am a GENIUS!! I wonder if that's a skill I could put on a CV? Well, if I wanted to get a job the EASY way, I suppose.....

I'd like to say that when we got outside, I gave him a little kiss and joined Alice to head home, during which I did nothing to embarrass myself or remember in horror the morning after. But, as we know, this is me. And however unintentionally, I don't always follow the rules.....

We got outside, Dan being very lovely (and rather pleasantly, not pushing or anything) and suggesting we go back to his. And I'm ashamed to say, despite being in another city, I was considering it. Well, Alice had already said I could, if said paramour lived nearby (seems I am quite predictable after all!). Sadly he lived with his parents, and there was no way in hell I was taking him back to the flat. So after 10 minutes of anguished pondering, Alice getting steadily more annoyed and Dan even suggesting we took a "walk" (at 3am?? Do me a favour....) I decided to leave him with a kiss. Just as well really, I took a different handbag out with me and forgot to transfer the condoms from my purse. Subconcious, anyone?

Anyway, this is where the hell began. In the excitement of pulling a sexy Scot, I'd forgotten to go to the loo before leaving, and was now faced with the agonising task of walking the 30-minute journey home with a beachball full of urine inside myself. I shrieked, I bobbed, I bounced. I took my shoes off and did that horrific clenched-knees walking. I even put my hand in my coat pocket and tried to hold myself without looking like a public fiddler. BUT NOTHING WORKED. I don't think I've ever needed a wee that badly in my LIFE, I was literally nearly crying with the pain. Although I somehow managed to accomplish Scottish Misson 3. And this is where I sunk the lowest I've ever sunk. God knows I've done some stupid things in my life. I've got into debt, slept with strangers, tried weed and had a STD/pregnancy scare. But this was by far the most embarrassing. There's no nice way to say it, so I might as well just come out with it:

I pissed down an alley. Behind a skip.

And do you know the worst bit? I checked up both ends of the road that no-one was coming. And just when the coast was clear, the fucking group of friends who'd walked past the alley TURNED ROUND, and started walking down it. And there was NOTHING I could do - I was mid-flow and it was one of those 55-second-long ones where you just CANNOT STOP. Needless to say, I yanked my knickers and tights up the second I was able, and calmly strolled out from behind the bins, adjusting my coat and trying to smile blithely at the passers-by who were staring at me in disgust.

Me: "Evening!"
Gang: "Umm......"
Me: (*walks off really quickly*)
Girl: "Oh my god, what's that.....?"
Me: (*thinks*) "Oh no, no, NO........!!!"
Guy: "Hahahaha!! Spew-age! Spew-age! Spew-age!!"
Me: (triumphantly gives Gang the finger and strides away*) "Hahaha! They think I threw up behind the bin! When I actually peed behind it! I win!!"

By far the most "Peep Show" moment of my life.

The journey home was a lot easier after that. We weaved through the remaining streets. I started singing "Pour some Sugar on me" to myself at the top of my voice and taking photos of random things. We got into bed (I don't even remember getting into my PJ's) and I spent a few minutes desperately trying to apologise to Alice before conking out.

SUNDAY

Woke up on Sunday feeling pretty annoyed, as someone had obviously come in the room while I slept, poured glue in my nose and ears, and hit me over the head with a particularly heavy Sporran. Had those glorious moments when things start coming back to you, causing you to bury your head in the duvet and wail with sheer horror at what a cretin you were. Had a brief moment of pride upon realising I had not gone home with Dan, but as I said to Alice - "What if my answer to actually finally having an orgasm lay with him??" Ah well, what if..... Apologised again, but thankfully it turns out she wasn't as pissed off as I thought, just annoyed that I took so long to decide what to do.

Went for the most magnificent, massive (and possibly first) fry-up I've had in a year, accompanied by Haggis. So that was Scottish Mission 2, and therefore all of them, completed! Although I can't say I'm a fan, it was all mushy and gross. And I couldn't stop picturing where it came from. Oh well. I called it Angus and took a photo, to prove I'd done it.
After the stunning hangover cure, we discovered another one - walking through the city up to the Castle on the most fantastic sunny day imagineable. Looked over the whole of Edinburgh with the wind blowing through our hair, and wondered what it would be like to live this kind of life, instead of the one I have. Gosh, I really need to stop travelling so much, it just makes me wistful.

Walked through gardens and parks full of daffodils (stopping for an obligatory frolic) before journeying back through town. We got drinks and sat outside a church, watching the local chavs, or "NEDs" (Non-Educated Delinquents) as they're called in bonny Scotland. We talked about sex for a while - shocked myself with the realisation that I've only enjoyed it 3 times, and that I only see it as successful if the MAN comes, AND also spend most of the sex waiting for it to be over - EVEN IF I'M ENJOYING IT AND LIKE THE PERSON I'M WITH. My god, I really am impatient, aren't I? Well, that and the fact that I just can't let go during sex. I never can. If I'm not panicking about my body and wondering if I'm pleasing the guy, I'm just thinking about other stuff and wondering how long before it ends. Is that bad?? Surely one shouldn't be bored during the wonderful act of love-making (or fucking, depending on the type of sex being had)? Shouldn't you just be focusing on the sheer pleasure you're giving each other? Meh. I don't know. Maybe I've just not experienced that chemistry with anyone yet.

After these afternoon revelations, we went to Tesco for ingredients, and I cooked tea (as a Thank You for the money-lending). Am ashamed to admit, I was incredibly proud of my signature meal. We ate Creme Eggs for pudding, and watched "The Thomas Crown Affair" - gawping at Pierce Brosnan. Watched "Lost" with one of the girls, and packed the rest of my stuff with a heavy heart. And scribbled some goodbye messages for the girls on the communal kitchen whiteboard.

MONDAY

Up bright and early, as Alice had a doctors appointment. I gathered my scattered belongings (about 90% of which were bangles and bracelets)whilst listening to the Chris Moyles show and gazed around for the last time before being ushered out onto those beautiful - and now familiar - streets. I actually got a lump in my throat. Had a goodbye hug at the traffic lights, before I was left to wend my way to the train station, staring around me as if I'd never see anything again, with "Bittersweet Symphony" on my Ipod. Wellllllllll, you have to play that as you're strolling along a city street! Grabbed a Burger King breakfast since I was about an hour early, and read my book. Got a Subway for lunch as soon as I arrived back home (I know, I'm gonna weigh a metric ton after this weekend) and headed over to Auntie's flat/office.

That was quite cool, I just did some Data Entry for a few hours. She kept her promise to help me with the MJ tickets, but sadly the website was run by a bunch of fucking liars. When they said "2 for £170" they apparently meant £170 EACH. Plus £60 comission. And £10 postage. You do the math(s). So I've sacked that off for the time being. Something will work out, it always does.

Got home to meet our new houseguest for the next few months - our cousin Damien. He's over from Switzerland, working down the road from Mum, so his wife emailed to ask if he could stay with us - hence, the new double bed in Shaun's empty room. Jammy bastard. He seems nice - I've met him before, but I'm not surprised I don't have much of an impression of him, he's incredibly quiet and keeps to himself a lot. I didn't even pester him with questions or talk at him like I usually would. Well, fair enough, he's probably slightly uncomfortable in our house. Still, it's something new. Dad seems pretty chuffed at having another man around the house, considering he wasn't too keen on the idea to begin with.

I'm not that pleased about it, to be honest. I'm not ANNOYED at him, or anything like that - it's just gonna be slightly uncomfortable, I reckon. Or it could be fun. Who knows?

And thus ends one of the best weekends EVER. I don't half love all this travelling and re-living the student life for a few days, not to mention seeing old friends. It really made me wish my life was better at the moment. Not in a depressing way, just pondering, like.

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Current Mood: knackered
Current Music: "Wisemen" - James Blunt