Posted in bloggers, Celebrities, Food, Lifestyle, Travel

Etiquette for Meeting Celebrities AKA What NOT to Do When Meeting Gordon Ramsay

While in Vegas, one does hope to meet celebrities of a certain calibre. Its almost a given. I mean, in the time that my sister and I stayed at the MGM Grand they hosted the Latin Grammy Awards and I am still convinced that I rode the lift with Jennifer Lopez (apparently it was a very convincing impersonator but whatever).

Anyway, I’m sure most of us would like to see celebrities but are we really fully prepared in the event that such a momentous occasion actually occurs?

Never fear, I am here to tell you exactly how to increase the likelihood of meeting one, what to expect, what to do and what not to to do. Are you ready for this?

First of all, its all about location, location, location.

If you want to see celebrities, be where the action’s happening. Do research. Where do they eat? What nightclubs do they frequent? In this world obsessed with social media its not hard to engage in some low-key stalking.

Or if you’re like me and you find the thought of doing the above ludicrous, then maybe just choose a nice restaurant with no hope, and no agenda, just the intention of enjoying a nice meal with your family, and wait for miracles to happen.

In our case, we chose to eat at Gordon Ramsay Steak at Paris Las Vegas.

The casino itself was so opulent, it truly boggles the mind. Where else but in Vegas will you find yourself trying your luck on slot machines located at the base of the Eiffel Tower under a very convincing facade of a Parisian sky?

Anyway, I am now of the opinion that the difference between eating at say, McDonald’s, and a Gordon Ramsay restaurant is in the service. Instead of the sullen person in front of the till asking you if you wanted hash browns to go with your Egg McMuffins, you get personalised service, constant attention and GET THIS, an actual live meat presentation instead of an ordinary humdrum menu.

I have never had wagyu rib cap before and I probably won’t be able to afford to do so anytime soon, but can I just take the time to say this was absolutely delicious? Steak. Heaven.

Second, always have a celebrity-worthy outfit.

I mean, you have to dress up in Vegas anyway. Its almost a requirement. I got to Vegas and I felt underdressed and low maintenance for the first time in my life. They take dressing up to a whole new level.

What you mustn’t do is wear a jumpsuit that requires another person, like your sister for example, to fasten it. See Exhibit A below.

Because believe me, you will find yourself abandoned with the zipper and buttons at the back only half done-up, because said sibling has abandoned you in the toilet after your aunt has made the pronouncement that Gordon freakin’ Ramsay is in the restaurant.

You will then find yourself trying desperately not to have a wardrobe malfunction in front of one of the most famous chefs in the world.

Thirdly, pay attention during the photo op.

Celebrities are busy busy people, and they have loads of fans to meet. In this case, Gordon Ramsay had to go around the entire restaurant, table by table, to give diners indigestion secondary to the sheer awe of meeting him.

What you must NOT do is be too excited and hyper that you develop tunnel vision and not realise who’s actually taking the photo. You must NOT ignore Chef when he tries to tell you to look at the camera so the photo can finally be taken.

But then again, the result of not following this rule is truly hilarious and priceless.

Here’s Chef, telling my beloved Di-ko to please, please, PLEASE, look at the camera madam.

(And also, my jumpsuit is holding up. Not a side-boob in sight, thank goodness).

Finally, enjoy the moment.

Celebrities are people too, and (surprise, surprise) when you engage them in conversation they will actually respond. I told Chef that we’d also just come from London, and he asked us where we lived and what we do. He even asked about the state of the NHS.

Sadly, he did not offer us a 20% discount on our meal so Nando’s, you’re still our favourite restaurant.

The whole experience was absolutely surreal, especially since we’ve been obsessed with watching Hell’s Kitchen reruns on Netflix this year.

I think my sister was tempted to ask Chef Ramsay to say “its raaaaawwwww” just to hear what it sounds like in person, but she didn’t want him to think we were stupid. I would have gone for it if I thought about it.

So there you go, everything you need to learn about celebrity sightings. All smiles and say cheese, everyone!

Posted in Travel

Making Lemonade Out of Lemons

In an effort to save money, I decided to book our tickets to the States individually instead of purchasing all of them through a single airline.

Based on enthusiastic reviews from my friends, I booked Norwegian Airlines for our flight from London to Seattle, and a connecting flight with Alaskan Airlines to reach Portland, our final destination.

I then booked JetBlue for the domestic flight from Portland to Orlando, and Norwegian again from Orlando to London. All in all, it cost me 800£ to book all these flights instead of the 1300£ it would have cost me had I gone with my original plan to book United Airlines all the way through.

You know that saying about best-laid plans?

Well, five days before our scheduled departure to the States I got an email from our travel agent saying Norwegian has changed our destination airport from Seattle to LAX, which meant that we’d miss our connecting flight to Portland and they’d had to find alternative connections to get us there.

My carefully planned and well-budgeted 13-hour trip had now become a nightmarish 26-hour journey which consisted of me flying from London to LAX, LAX to San Francisco and from there to Portland. I was livid, to say the least.

I spent an entire evening being transferred from one agent to another, and I am convinced that at one point I was talking to someone from the Philippines. Not one of them could give me an alternative that I was happy with.

Fortunately, my aunt was planning for us to take a trip to Seattle anyway and had already booked hotels to that effect. So I had the option of telling the airlines that I’m happy with a flight that will get me to Seattle by Saturday (we were flying Friday morning, London time). Norwegian confidently offered me a flight that would get me to Seattle by Saturday evening, with only a 2-hour layover in LA, as our flight was apparently arriving Saturday afternoon.

I thought it was just me being stupid at first, but the more I thought about it the more sure I was that IT DOESN’T take 24 hours to get from London to LA, even if you factor in the time difference. Something did not feel right. And sure enough, Norwegian had made a bloody mistake and did not realise that there were more than 24 hours in between the two flights they’ve booked for us.

At this point I was ready to inflict actual damage on someone or something. It had already been a day of pointless conversations and phone charges, and it was clear to me that I had to take matters into my own hands if I wanted to survive this holiday without having a stroke.

What I lack in actual riches I truly make up for in friends.

I sent a quick Facebook message to my friends Kittin and Jamie who were based in LA, and within minutes I had someone who can pick me up from the airport and a place to stay overnight.

My sister and I landed in LA as planned and were given an awesome welcome. We got to see the sights and I got to have a catch-up session with my friends that lasted until the wee hours of the morning. I haven’t seen Jamie since maybe college so there was so much to talk about.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a welcome in any city I go to, but I am really truly blessed when it comes to friends.

The next morning I found myself on the drive that overlooks the Hollywood sign and I thought to myself: things really do happen for a reason. I need to send Norwegian a thank-you card for fucking up my flights (excuse my language) because it gave me a truly amazing additional side-trip.

And yes, I would even fly with them again.

Posted in bloggers, Medical, Politics, Reviews

Book Review: This Is Going To Hurt – Adam Kay (and also, A Love Letter to the NHS)

As someone who will officially become British in the next 6 months (after dropping a whopping £5000 on residency and naturalisation fees of course), I now feel like I have the authority to list some of the things from my adopted country that I’m most proud of.

1. Harry Potter

2. The very commendable ability to insult someone while still managing to sound polite

3. Scones, clotted cream and jam (yum!)

4. Intermediate rent for key workers

5. The Tube (believe me, I’ve travelled a lot and I’ve yet to find a more extensive or well-run transportation service)

6. That damned accent that makes everything sound like a Shakespearean play, even when someone is telling you to sod off

7. The NHS

This post, and this book review, is really an ode to number 7. I freakin’ love the NHS. Call me naive, but I think its a modern miracle. And I say this both from the perspective of working in it, and from having been a patient needing its services.

I arrived in London seven years ago, and within the first four months I managed to get myself bitten by my landlady’s dog to such an extent that it necessitated actual surgery.

Up to this point I had never been admitted to a hospital, never had a cannula put in and have never had to take anything more serious than the occasional antibiotic. Unless you count the cholesterol-lowering medications but hey, I blame genetics for that.

ANYWAY. I was totally unfamiliar with the country’s health system. Heck, I didn’t even know where or what my nearest hospital was. I had to take a bus to a certain hospital in North London and hoped someone there would know what the hell needed to be done with me and my gaping leg wound.

I arrived at the A and E and was seen within the hour (I was later to learn that this was an exception rather than the rule). I had a line put in for the first time in my life, was given antibiotics and was asked, quite stupidly in my opinion, if I cared about the appearance of the leg.

Being somewhat vain about my legs, I said of course with an admirably controlled level of incredulity that such a thing needed to even be asked. I was then informed that in that case I would need to head to another hospital which specialised in plastics and that I would most likely need surgery.

Off I go, taking the Victoria Line and changing at Green Park to take the Jubilee line, stopping somewhere in the general vicinity of Hampstead before taking the bus to get to where I needed to go. I got to the hospital and was scheduled for a day surgery procedure the next day.

On the day of the surgery I was seen by a very lovely and good-looking plastic registrar. I would have given him consent to do anything and everything but all he wanted was my ok to do a washout +/- skin graft procedure. I was wheeled into the anaesthetic room and asked to count backwards from 10. And that was the last thing I remembered before waking up in the recovery room an hour later.

After a couple of hours, I was discharged with take-home meds, dressing instructions and a smile. I then took my very stressed mother and aunt (who were supposed to be on holiday to visit me in London) to eat some peri-peri chicken at Nando’s.

I did all these without having to pay a single penny, and without having to worry about insurance, or my lack thereof.

I don’t know any other country where anxious patients, especially those new to the country like myself, would be able to expect this kind of service. Its a privilege that we take for granted everyday because we are so immersed in it, but that’s exactly what it is: a privilege.

Its a privilege to have the services that the NHS provides, and its a privilege to be a part of those services.

I haven’t read other reviews of Adam Kay’s book and I don’t give a fig what other people say. To me, what I got from it was a love for the NHS, despite the stress, the understaffing, the unbelievable pressure to meet somewhat unrealistic targets and the perpetual financial crises that meant you rely on the goodwill of the staff most of the time.

This Is Going to Hurt is in turns funny, poignant, frustrating, touching, and above all things, wonderfully and painfully accurate. I laughed at the bits I recognised (because I experience it day in and day out) and teared up over the things that, despite our best efforts, we health professionals can’t do anything about.

There were moments that seemed so absurd that non-medics would think its fiction. But believe me, the number of times I’ve gone to work and been in a situation where I’ve said after “You cannot make this shit up” cannot be counted on both hands.

I bitch and moan about work as much as the next person, but it only takes me 5 minutes to remember that without the NHS I will not have a career, nor would I have had the experiences, opportunities and relationships that I’m blessed with today.

The NHS is neither good or bad. It simply IS. At the end of the day, one learns to suck it up during the bad days because inevitably, there will be good days that make all the effort worth it.

Like when someone is walking pain free for the first time in their life because of a well-done knee replacement. Or when you help deliver a couple’s firstborn after they’ve experienced more than one miscarriage.

These moments are everything. And for the cynics who say that the NHS provides sub-par services and that I’m idealising the whole situation, believe me, I’M NOT.

I’ve had days where, just like Adam, I felt like throwing in the towel and maybe moving to the private sector where I will at least be paid more. But something keeps me staying and sticking with the NHS. I really truly believe we get it right more times than we get it wrong.

I, for one, am glad that someone finally made the effort to make the general public more aware of what really goes on within the four walls of the hospital.

Once, someone I knew who worked in a different country shared an article written by a nurse who used to work for the NHS, and who had quit because she had gotten traumatised over the deteriorating quality of services in her hospital.

This nurse highlighted a lot of things that are true in most hospitals in the country. Its a tale of a health system that’s on its knees and a government that continues to be ignorant about its plight.

We get daily updates about Brexit negotiations but no one thinks it important to point out that patients with serious health conditions are delayed in seeing a doctor because of an A and E that’s full to bursting? Ridiculous.

Anyway, this person sharing the article erroneously thought that the nurse didn’t have the right to complain because third-world countries have the same problems and the nurses get paid even less, the message being that NHS nurses should just suck it up and get on with it like the rest of the world do.

While I acknowledge that the UK still have it better than, say, the Philippines, the fact is that the point of the article was not about salary or any kind of compensation. The article made an effort to bring to light some of the very real issues the NHS faces, and to bring it the level of something as crude as money is to take away the power of the message it was trying to get across.

What can we do to help?

That’s a question Adam Kay got asked a lot during his book tour apparently. The answer is as varied as the medical field itself.

Maybe next time you see a junior doctor who’s spent more than 24 hours on shift answering bleep after bleep after bleep, or a nurse at the end of the operating list who cannot decide whether she’s more tired or hungry, you’ll find it in your heart to offer them a KitKat.

Maybe during the next election think long and hard about who you’re voting for and ask yourself whether they are the once in a lifetime politicians that will actually care about our health services. (Something to keep in mind now that I can actually vote).

Or if you are part of the noble majority of the population that work for the NHS, maybe be a bit kinder to your colleagues. We are all on this (sinking) boat together, and we’ll hold on to it until they tell us we need to jump ship and swim.

I am extremely proud to work for the NHS, and I am extremely overjoyed that books like these exist.

5 stars.

Posted in Uncategorized

You Are Not Okay

I’ve recently decided to take a mini-break from all things social media-related. Apart from sharing a couple of YouTube videos which I found really interesting, some random status updates and a few IG stories here and there, I think I’ve cut my online presence by at least half over the past couple of months.

I don’t think I made that decision consciously. Its funny; on one hand, I feel like I’ve been so busy that, never mind writing a blog post, I’ve barely had the time to breathe. On the other hand, I feel like I’m caught in a perpetual cycle of the same old things that I haven’t found the will to write BECAUSE there’s nothing to write about.

And that’s crazy, isn’t it? We live in a world where real life and day-to-day struggles are considered uninteresting and not worth sharing. I think Facebook and Instagram instills in people the need to put up a front. No one ever goes on Facebook to say “I’m feeling really lost and disillusioned about where my life is going” or “I think I’m going to be alone forever and die an old maid” or “I’ve had to borrow a shitload of money just to go on this trip to Paris and take this photo of the Eiffel Tower, Cheers!”.

Instead, we create a false image of ourselves to project to the world just so that we can get affirmation about our lives – in the form of likes – from strangers living halfway around the world who probably do nothing but troll online media accounts all day. I think for me this was cause for a lot of disillusionment, and it became really unhealthy because it started to bleed into real life as well.

Ask anyone who’s ever spent 5 minutes in my presence to describe me and they’d probably say bubbly, cheerful, happy, effervescent, positive, or, as one of my colleagues put it, tirelessly upbeat.

The truth is, though, I don’t think I’ve felt that way in a long long time. Quite the opposite in fact. This past week I’ve been in the kind of funk that makes a person question his or her mental health. At home, I keep having these thoughts that send me into spirals of anxiety and helplessness. I felt at a loss about my future and what it holds, and half of it stems  from the fact that I could not seem to have any kind of personal life.

I promised myself this would not turn into a post where I complain about my love life (or lack thereof). And actually, while that is a big part of the problem, I think that my “funk” also has layers of insecurities and fears mixed in with my perpetual ever-present dating woes.

For example, this past week I’ve been obsessed with my inability to lose weight. Despite going to the gym three times a week and signing up to and downloading all kinds of fitness apps, my weight seems to have plateaued and fixated on a number that I am NOT proud of.

Of course, it doesn’t help that whenever I get stressed from work (which is most days of the week) I go down to the canteen to buy a bag  of M n’ M peanuts. Or that my sister and I have both been too busy to do the groceries we’ve had to rely on a steady diet of Chinese takeaway to see us through the day.

I’ve also been taking a long, hard look on my relationships, and I realised that I’ve lost touch with people I used to call my friends for a host of reasons, not the least of which is my tendency to take them for granted.

I looked in the mirror, metaphorically, to see what kind of friend I am (and really to ask what kind of person I am), and realised I didn’t like what I see. I realised that despite my desire to be a good person, and to do good things for others, when push comes to shove and I am torn between their benefit and my own interest, I will always choose myself. And that makes me selfish.

I castigated myself over this for the better part of the month. It was a low point, really. No matter what I did, I could not get to the point where I could like myself again. I feel like I’ve been lying so much to myself and to other people, and I wanted to undo some of the things I’ve done but I didn’t know where to begin.

I probably had like a mild version of an existential crisis. I couldn’t even turn to prayers because I’ve been in the cusp of a crisis of faith for a couple of years now and every time I attempt to pray and talk to God I just feel like a fraud.

Needless to say, for some reason, I was in quite a dark place. No one knew because, outwardly, I was still the same bubbly, cheerful me. And that made me feel even more of a fraud.

In a way, the fact that I’m even at this point now, a point where I can finally open my laptop again and just write like there’s no tomorrow, represents a breakthrough. I guess last night I just finally gave myself some advice that I should really take to heart from now on, and it consists of only two words.

LIGHTEN. UP. 

I know what they say about the unexamined life, but in many ways, ruminating about life and where its going is counterproductive and just straight-up depressing. You get too busy analysing life and you’ll suddenly find yourself ten years down the line realising that you’ve missed the best of what it has to offer. Go out there and live. Have new experiences. Make mistakes. Fall of the horse and get back up on again.

If there are things you don’t like about yourself, change it. Every day you wake up is an opportunity to do better, to BE better. No one gets it right all of the time, the best you can do is to NOT set out to actively hurt people, and to apologise when you do.

And the other things that I should get rid of? My unrealistic quest for perfection. Honestly, this has been indoctrinated in me since childhood and by now has become so innate that it will take me years of years of focused reflection to undo the damage.

I won’t deny that its helped in certain areas of my life, but I think I will feel less inclined to go berserk and save myself a whole lot of anxiety if I just accept the fact that life is inherently imperfect. Relationships, careers, heck, the daily experience of living is messy, as messy as my room after I’ve worked seven straight shifts in a row.

The sooner I accept this, and I mean really accept it not just pay it lip service, the happier I’ll be. As a start, I will be posting this rambling, imperfect, incoherent post just to prove to myself that I am not maintaining this blog to maintain an image that I have it all together. This is me, unfiltered and real.

So no, I am not okay.

I’m imperfect and messy and a little bit crazy half the time, and that’s what makes me more than okay. That’s what makes me fabulous. :p

 

Posted in bloggers, family, Filipino, relationships

Eight Things I Learned From My Best Friend’s Wedding

 

Some people’s weddings are worth travelling five hundred miles for.

Christine is one of my oldest friends. Like I said in my wedding speech, there aren’t a lot of people I’d hop on a plane for but she’s one of them. I don’t have enough words for how extraordinary a friend and person she is, but the mere fact that there were people who travelled from almost all seven continents of the world to come to this wedding is a testament to her character.

One must not eat Jolibee Chickenjoy mere hours before one must fit into a bridesmaid dress that barely fits when your stomach WASN’T FULL.

Apparently, one MUST sacrifice things like comfort and the ability to breathe for the sake of looking good in one’s dress. Apparently, letting the dress out so that one doesn’t feel one’s lungs being slowly crushed is secondary to the threat of ruining the aesthetic of the design, so one must simply NOT EAT to fit into one’s dress. Ah, the Philippines’ obsession with image and being skinny continues to amuse me. Lol

There is power in female friendships, not to mention friendships that were borne out of the excruciatingly hard journey of studying Nursing in Velez College.

This wedding was also a chance to catch up with people I haven’t seen since I graduated from college. The nostalgia and the rehashing of memories made what was already a poignant wedding even more special.

Ah, that darn bouquet toss.

Throughout the years people have come up with several ingenious alternatives to throwing the bouquet and garter, and single girls everywhere have come up with just as many ways to avoid the embarrassment of being the chosen one who gets to go up in front of strangers and make nice with some random guy.

Of course, none of that matters when your friend and the host almost seem to contrive to have you be the last female standing. So…

One must always expect to be kissed because kisses can happen when you least expect it.

I am pretty sure there are still photographic evidences floating around of that EPIC bouquet toss but I am thankfully ignorant of their existence and I’d like to keep it that way. Lol

Family is everything.

I am of the opinion that weddings aren’t really for the couple but for the couple’s family, and that is as it should be. At the wedding reception, Ray and Christine had a tea ceremony as a symbolic gesture of respect to their respective parents.

The traditional father-daughter dance was extremely significant to everyone there who knew the story and the journey towards those tentative steps. I still tear up thinking about it.

I’ve always said that there’s no rush towards marriage, because its a once in a lifetime decision that should not be taken lightly. But I’ve also thought about how my Papa is getting on in age and how I’d really like for him to walk me down the aisle because, out of necessity, he’s missed a lot of milestones in my life.

I’d like my mum to be there blubbering through the ceremony like she always does, and I’d like my aunts and uncles who have helped raise me to be part of that special day. I can’t picture who I’ll end up marrying, but I can picture my family coming together to send me off to my new adventure as a married woman.

Ah, well. To everything there is a season, I suppose.

Love is everything.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this idea about how my own love story will go. I scoffed at people who did online dating because is that really the kind of story you want to tell your grandkids someday about how you and your partner met? SHUDDER. 

But that wedding got me thinking about how shallow and superficial my idea of love is, despite my claims of being a hopeless romantic. All that talk has been mostly lip service because I’ve never understood that its not the hows and why’s that are important, its not how you met or where you went on your first date, what’s important is that the love exists.

I was surrounded by couples all throughout the day, and while I’m not rushing into anything because of wedding fever, I think that this wedding was the last puzzle piece that needed to fall into place to make me realise that I’m ready for something real. I’m done with the endless dating and the mind games of will he won’t he, or the people who are only after a good time.

I want a partnership, and I want a marriage. I know its a lifelong commitment, and as someone who’s never really been able to finish the things she starts, it is kind of daunting. But looking at the love that surrounded the entire ceremony during the wedding, well, its not big a leap to say that love…well, it simply makes everything worth it.

Posted in bloggers, dating, Lifestyle, relationships, Self-Discovery

Castles in the Sky

My old boss once told me that one of my greatest strengths is my ability to think of the most outlandish and craziest ideas and then have that idea become a reality. She says that I work like I have my head in the clouds most of the time, and I come down to earth and get on with the business of making things happen.

I suppose I’ve always been a very optimistic person. I’ve been fortunate enough to have an easy and happy childhood. Even when things seemed difficult, life always had a way of sorting things out with or without my help.

Being somewhat of a type A personality of course I wasn’t contented to watch from the sidelines. I’d like to think a took an active role and made some pretty savvy life choices to get to where I am. I’ve made some mistakes along the way but I’ve managed to bounce back from them with my psyche relatively intact.

So yes,  I am a person who’s full of hope. Hope springs eternal; I shit dreams and unicorn and all that. It will be the last thing that leaves my body when I’m dying, and even then I’d probably be clinging to the hope that I can find a way to defeat death somehow.

Hope is a double-edged sword though. On the one hand, it is what propels me to keep going and to keep pursuing the things that I aspire to. But on the other hand, I often wonder how much hope affects my ability to perceive and interpret the reality of what’s actually happening around me.

I sometimes find myself in situations where I do really stupid things in the hopes that things will go my way, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. I once built an epic romance out of what was essentially a platonic relationship, based on nothing but hopes and dreams alone.

I’ve travelled tens and thousands of kilometres on the hopes of finding something amazing, based on something as flimsy as a month’s worth of semi-intense connections (and you know, that connection might have just been due to Christmas being in the air and the lights around Central London making things more romantic than they normally were).

I’ve had my heart if not broken, certainly bruised, because I refuse to give up hope without definitive proof, and that definitive proof usually comes in the form of almost soul-crushing disappointment.

After my recent brush with hope and its consequences, it would be tempting to resolve to be a hard-eyed realist from now moving forward. It would certainly save me a lot of tears (and a good chunk of my life savings) if I did.

But the thing is, I wouldn’t know who I am if I wasn’t the kind of person who would go to the other side of the world for the chance of exploring the potential for something more with someone who made my heart beat for the first time in a long time.

And yeah, maybe that blew up in my face a little bit, but I came back to London ready to try again, to give it another go.

And when I get to a point where I’m ready to throw in the towel because I feel like I may never find the kind of love I’ve always dreamed of having, I somehow find an inner reserve of hope that something amazing could still happen.

I suppose what I’ve realised, after having given it some thought since I came back from my holidays, is that I would rather hope and love a little too much, than to ever become a cynic who can’t see the possibilities of the extraordinary in the ordinariness of life.

I’ll keep building my castles in the sky. Who knows? Someday my prince could even come along and join me there. Or better yet, a prince will come along who will share a mortgage with me and join forces in the battle against exorbitant London house prices. Lol

Happy Sunday, one and all.

Posted in bloggers, Travel, Writing

Still Alive, People

Hi guys,

Just writing something short and quick to say I haven’t given up on blogging but I have been away on a three-week trip to the Philippines and Australia. Its been difficult to find the time to write something but I’m back now with plenty to write about.

I’ve learned so much about myself and about life in general while I’ve been gone and I will have plenty to blog about for the foreseeable future. I really want to get it right though, because the things I want to write about mean a lot to me, so I’m taking my time and really reflecting on the things I want to say.

Hope everyone’s enjoyed the epic British summer we had this year. I have to say though, I’m quite looking forward to chill Autumn nights and sleeping in when Winter comes. With that said, I’ve just been told I’ve celebrated one year with WordPress, so I’d like to thank everyone who’ve stuck with me for all the seasons, it means more than I am capable of saying.

Watch this space, blabbaholics and bookworms! x