travelling

Mud, mud, glorious mud!

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Ahhhh I’m so behind, so let’s take a few posts and catch up…

 

On the 11th, after a long night bus from Hanoi, I arrived at Easy Tiger hostel in Phong Nha National Park.  I’d been looking for somewhere to go to that was a bit remote, but given that I’ve not planned this part of the trip particularly well, I’m having to just do highlights.  A guy I met in Vientiane, Alastair, recommended the Phong Nha Farmstay as a good place to go as it’s halfway down the country, in the National Park and they do tours.  Plus it’s a lovely place to stay.  They were booked up but suggested I try Easy Tiger.

Designated by UNESCO as a world heritage site to protect it’s amazing cave system, under it’s geological categorisation, but also has amazing bio-diversity and as the British caving Association and local explorers attempt to study and uncover more caves they are also finding more new species.  The area is also home to the world’s largest cave, which was ‘discovered’ only 5 years ago in 2009.

I hardly slept on the bus, so had a long nap and a bit of a rest while watching the new Jonathan Creek episodes.  Then I got up for a wander around the village – it’s not big, I took a leisurely pace and had finished within about 20 minutes. I passed houses, loads of locals looked both bemused and entertained to see a red faced white girl wandering past.  One handed me her child and laughed saying ‘100 thousand!’  The child didn’t seem too entertained, but people walked out into the street to laugh with her.  I walked over a rice paddy and heard the unmistakable sound of a school playground.  Following the noise I came upon the primary school, to be met by loads of children running up, waving and shouting ‘Hello!’  somehow they all managed to get in time with one another so for a little while it got a bit Midwich Cuckoos, but then I headed back to the hostel.

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The lady at the hostel wrote a note in Vietnamese for me explaining that I was a teacher and could I visit and they let me in.  The chairs are tiny, as always, they don’t seem to have any tables, but otherwise, just like any other primary classroom.

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The teacher, Thanh Huyen, was very helpful despite our language barriers and let me look around.  The parents seemed quite surprised to see me there when they came to pick up their kids.

Yesterday was the big trip to Paradise Cave, Highway 20 and Dark Cave.

Highway 20 is so called because on the 15th November 1972 the Americans carpet bombed this area of Vietnam as it is the narrowest part of the country and they were attempting to cut off supply streams and movement options for the Northern Vietnamese.  8 people were sheltering in the cave known as 8 Lady Cave and were trapped by a falling rock and died of starvation 9 days later, the local villagers powerless to help them.  The majority of those killed in the cave were 20 years old.

The highway, crossing over the border to Laos was built and maintained by local Vietnamese, many of whom were too young to be in the army, so around 5 years old, so our guide Chrissie (Joss Stone look-alike) told us.  They were given enough supplies to last them as long as they were expected to survive in the area.  how long was that?  2 days.  15 year olds, working on a road because they couldn’t join the army were expected to live for 2 days.  If they found someone dead on the road then they would collect their supplies and keep moving on.

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Offerings to spirits

Offerings to spirits

8 Lady Cave where 8 people were entombed by a falling rock after a bombing raid.

8 Lady Cave where 8 people were entombed by a falling rock after a bombing raid.

The names of those killed in the cave and those who were manning the anti-aircraft posts.

The names of those killed in the cave and those who were manning the anti-aircraft posts.

The smoke of offerings burnt to send to the spirit world.

The smoke of offerings burnt to send to the spirit world.

Chrissie, our guide

Chrissie, our guide

We took some time to look around and the other guide spotted a couple of monkeys scampering across the mountain.  Luckily my camera has a pretty good zoom so this is what I saw through the viewfinder.

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As ‘Joss Stone’ kept on talking, briefing us on the history of the area, I spotted a tornado of butterflies across the road.

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Soon it was time to move onto Paradise Cave (Thiên Đường Cave)  31km long cave which gets is a bit of a walk up the hill to get there.  We could only go through the first 1km, on a raised wooden walkway, but that was enough for me.  There are amazing examples of stalagmites and stalactites, as well as helictites, which I’d never heard of before.

But the main part of the day was reserved for Dark Cave, so-called because it is formed from basalt instead of limestone.  We were to kayak to the entrance, then walk through mud filled passages, swim through a pool in the cave to reach the main part.

I was sharing a kayak with Gill, who has a bad shoulder, and neither of us has kayaked before.  So essentially I was doing most of the paddling and just as we set off, a random Vietnamese girl jumped in the back with no paddle.  We eventually made it to the cave in a beautifully choreographed movement of circles, back paddling and attempting to follow the others (who all looked very professional) in a straight line.  There were some locals fishing who were pissing themselves with laughter and beckoning us towards them.  I really would have been good at kayaking if I could have been, but, unfortunately I have to admit, I was crap.

As I’ve not tested out the waterproof case for my camera and it would have been pointless in the mud, I have no pictures of my own, but have found some on Google.

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The mud was thick and slippery, making farty type squelchy sounds as we walked.  I am not a particularly physical or active person and I always worry about my knee dislocating (it has 15 times before) so this was a struggle for me.  There was one section where you had to go up a steep mud bank, which I didn’t manage, but behind it was just a mud pool where a bit of a mud fight broke out.  The others in our group were not quite this covered but this is a good illustration:

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Next we clambered back through the muddy tunnels, slightly easier this time because I knew roughly where I was going (albeit backwards) and I just sucked it up and slid around on my bum a bit.

Then we reached the shore of the cave pool, headed straight in, pretty cold, but I adjusted to it, and swam across about 70m before reaching a pebbly bank and then swimming again through a narrow passageway and under a big rock.  We had a bit of a talk about this cave then swam back, me at the front, this time without the lights on our helmets on.  It’s quite a strange experience, swimming in the dark with a teardrop shaped beacon of light signalling the outside world to you.  The water, by the way, is definitely colder second time in.

We headed back towards the boats and Gill and I had the brilliant idea of swimming back to the jetty instead of taking the kayak.  I was really pleased I did this as I didn’t take the opportunity to swim in the River Kwai (no-one else was and I didn’t want to feel like an idiot in my swimming costume) or in the River Ping, near Chiang Mai.

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It was a long and exhausting day, but in a good way, and my legs have not yet recovered from the mud and the steps, but I think that when I get back home I will start to try messing about in boats a bit more.

Wade in the water – goldfish shoals, nibbling at my toes

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My trip to Laos was brief and, on the whole, brilliant, barring the scam fiasco of the last day in Luang Prabang.

I wish I’d managed to see a little more of the country and spend more time with the locals, but I didn’t quite realise how much time I’d spent in Thailand, not really doing much.  But there you are, you learn and I’ll be planning the rest of the trip a little bit more than just ‘ah I’ll go there next…’

The main impressions that I have of Laos are:

  • mountains, mountains and more mountains.  Covered in forests and jungle, long twisting roads passing through linear villages with small children walking to school, even smaller children playing by the side of the road.
  • the misty vistas that ideas of Asia bring to mind.   Mountains looking like torn tissue paper, fading off into the distance.
  • A father having a waterfight with his son as we drove past, the child giggling in delight.
  • Friendliness of strangers (mostly) offering directions, tips for good food options.
  • Resourcefullness and hard work ethic.  People were selling items made from the shells dropped during the ‘American War‘, flowers and peace signs shaped from the metal and destruction brought by American bombers.  I had no idea that Laos had been affected so badly, I’ll certainly be reading more about it in the coming weeks.
  • Water, water everywhere…

In Luang Prabang the main feature of the surrounding landscape is the Mekong River, winding it’s way past the city, conjoining  with the Nam Khan and in the evening you can sit and watch the sunset over the river.

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Dreams of breathing underwater

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The first film I remember seeing at the cinema was when I was 5 years old. It was Disney’s The Little Mermaid.  I was amazed by it, immediately decided I wanted red hair like Ariel.  We went to McDonalds and I got an Ursula toy with my Happy Meal. It was 1989.

Some time not long after I was amazed to see the video in Ritz (as it was then, don’t think it had become a Blockbusters, or indeed a cafe at that point) and begged Mum to buy it for me so that I could re-live that magical underwater world at home.  Mum said no.  It wasn’t the film.  I disagreed, it had Ariel on the front and I could definitely read the words ‘Under the Sea’ there too.  Mum said it wasn’t, it was just in the cinema. I disagreed and must have pestered er for ages because somehow I acquired that video.  Of course it wasn’t The Little Mermaid, it was ‘Sing-a-long Songs Under the Sea‘ which did feature some of the Little Mermaid soundtrack, but also other vaguely water related Disney songs including one from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in which Kirk Douglas seems to be telling his shipmates about some sort of dalliance with a fish or two.  Mr Jim Causley has been known to do an amusing cover of this if you ever get the chance to see/hear it.  Ask him nicely.

My obsession with TLM grew and I was exceptionally jealous of my cousin Rebecca because she had an Ariel doll.  I even used to pretend to be Ariel when swimming at Brackley Pool – the pool has two sets of steps in the shallow end, if you swam around underwater, legs together because you are a mermaid with a tail, singing ‘Part of your world‘ to yourself and timed it right you could push yourself up the steps, breaking out of the water at just the right point to recreate the iconic waves/big stone moment.  To me, I was definitely a ginger mermaid, to everyone else I must have looked mental.

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You’ve gotta get a gimmick…

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I’ve managed to get myself a little bit sorted out now – I’ve bought a back pack, packed it, un-packed it a but, left everything on my bed in the vain hope that it will sort itself out.  I’ve got a room in a Travelodge for the night before my flight, I’ve got Mum taking me to London in her Mystery Machine, ta Mum.  I’ve even gone so far as to book a hostel for my first few nights in Bangkok.  I know crazy, eh?  And in 20 minutes I’ll be off for my hepatitis A booster.

Well now I’m obviously procrastinating because I’ve yet to get up, have shower, get dressed, but I have come up with something to do in the next two weeks – make myself a travel companion!

 

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In the kitchen, the mighty kitchen, the lino sleeps tonight…

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Now that I’m entering my final months of this stint in Tanzania there are so many things that I want to do but don’t have the funds for at the moment. I’m almost half way through our Easter holiday and I was hoping to go to Gombe Stream National Park to visit the chimpanzees but the ‘death money’ hasn’t come through, so I’ll se staying in Mwanza. I would love to go white water rafting in Uganda, or to see the gorillas in Rwanda, take the train from Dar es Salaam to Zambia to see Victoria Falls, but it’s not going to happen on this trip. Even if I stayed on for a further year I don’t think I’d have enough cash and time to do all of these things so there’s no point in getting annoyed and feeling like I’ve missed out.

There is plenty that I have done in the 6 months that I’ve actually been here, however. I‘ve been to Zanzibar, to Tanga and Pangani on the Tanzanian Swahili Coast. I have driven through ancient landscapes down to Shinyanga, across to Arusha, seen Mount Kilimanjaro, up across the border into Kenya. I’ve fed giraffes, been tickled by an orphaned elephant, snorkelled in the Indian Ocean, met fishermen and Maasai, been stupidly sunburnt (even in the shade), eaten fresh octopus and fish straight from the ocean. I’ve been to one of the most important archaeological sites in Kenya and watched monkeys play for half an hour. And last weekend I went to the Serengeti.

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A weekend in the country.

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So where was I?  Oh yes, a bit hung over.  Not intentionally but it happened.  And I dealt with it.  Just about. Mainly by sitting inside watching stuff, avoiding excessive movement and the sun.  Then by writing things for this.

It’s been a busy week by and large.  I finished school at 2.15 on Friday, got home picked up my suitcases and by 5.15 I was on a plane for Dar es Salaam and the beginning of my half term birthday holiday adventure.

“Beep de be beep, beep de be beep…”  The alarm wouldn’t stop when I hit the button, even though I was pressing very, very hard and willing with all of my might for it to stop.  It was 7 o’clock on Saturday morning and we needed to get up to get ferry tickets because that was the day we were going to Zanzibar.

I had been sharing a hot, humid room with a partially functioning air conditioning unit at Mongolia’s house with Vicki.  As she went off to clean up in the bathroom, I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but failed miserably.  Mongolia (An American, real name Joyce, but forever to be known as Mongolia because she lived there and that was what she was introduced as) stumbled into the room to say hello.  It was clear that she was still a little hung over if not still drunk.  And just wearing a towel.  She pointed out that we needed to wake the boys and head across the compound to Emma’s house where the others would be waiting for us.  I said I would do it, but Mongolia got there first, scrambling upstairs on all fours and announcing that she knew where at least one of them was.  Luckily nothing was flashed during that scramble.  I suspected that Phil had perhaps managed to find himself a lady so went into the room to wake James…  But instead of finding James it was Phil, his face bleeding, passed out on the bed.

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Begin the Begin

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“Fresh starts: thanks to the calendar they happen every year —just set your watch to January, our reward for surviving the holiday season is a new year. Bringing on the great tradition of new years resolutions, put your past behind you and start over. It’s hard to resist the chance of a new beginning, a chance to put the problems of last year to bed.”

Meredith Grey, Grey’s Anatomy [2.13]

It’s nearly the end of the year, very soon I will be by a beach overlooking the Indian Ocean and so many things have changed.  The Mayans thought the world would end today.  They were wrong but for me, this year, a good many things have ended.

The first, in January, was a three year relationship, I thought that we would get married (mainly because he said we would), I thought that we would have children and that I would live in a cottage somewhere in the North East (he said all that too…).  Last December I sat at my sister’s and then at my brother’s playing with their children and decided that enough was enough.  Enough making do with someone who couldn’t look after himself, enough hoping that if I was supportive and patient that things would pay off and we would be happy.  Enough of being afraid that I couldn’t cope on my own without him, despite him dragging me down gradually with him. So I told him that this was it and he agreed.

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One week.

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There are things that I really hate doing sometimes. I hate washing up if it’s hot outside. I hate running. I hate feeling like I’m not in control. I hate having to walk dogs – it really stresses me out after a bad experience when I was little, I hate writing job applications. And I really hate asking people for money that they owe me. I’m now in my last week in England for a while and I still have lots to do. I’ve got a shopping list of about 20 things I still need to get but I’m running low on cash.

My ex boyfriend has had plenty of warning of when I would need the money by and he’s been off work (his choice, not sickness) and so hasn’t really got it to give to me. I’m getting paid a little from my old job, but not until I’ve gone. I’m getting some money from the school, but not until I’m there. I don’t want to borrow more money from friends or family that I’m not going to be in a position to pay back for a while when he knew he had to get this money to me.

It’s making my last week really stressful. I’ve got family to visit, packing to do. I’m not sure if I’ve got to much stuff for my weight allowance, I’m coming to terms with the idea that I’ve seen my grandmother for the last time (she’s 99 and ¾, so that’s not just being pessimistic, it’s a very strong likelihood), that I’m going to miss a big chunk of my nieces’ and nephews’ lives, that my dad needs more support than he is willing to admit and I’m leaving my siblings to sort that out without me, that I may not have the opportunity to go to my best friend’s wedding, that I’m heading to somewhere that is completely alien with no one I know and now I feel guilty because I’ve told my ex boyfriend’s mum that he owes me lots of money and would she be able to help out?

I know that he’s been trying to pay me the money and he has given me some of it, but I had budgeted for him giving me the rest, as he said he would. And now that’s gone wrong and I’m not in control of what I need to be. As I mentioned before I hate that. His mum is probably going to help out and then I don’t have to worry about it any more, but I still feel guilty, like I’ve betrayed him by telling her.

I also feel guilty that I’m storing lots of stuff at my mum’s house and so it’s a bit chaotic for her at the moment. I know she doesn’t really mind too much and she now has access to a substantial DVD collection, but when you move 9 years of your life into boxes in cupboards, you can’t help but feel that you are infringing on someone else’s life.

There have been some positives in this past week – I’ve spent time with one neice and nephew and am going to see the others on Tuesday, I’ve had a good day with the ancient grandmother – she recognised me, looked highly irritated when I suggested she was 120, told her everybody’s news and she told me she loved me before I left. I’ve started the ball rolling for the support for dad (with the help of some of his very lovely friends) and he’s already sounding better than he did before and apparently feeling so. I’ve spent a lovely day with the best friend who I’ve not seen for a stupid amount of time and it was like no time has passed. I’ve even given her some centre piece ideas for the wedding and have called upon a standby date for the wedding in case I can get back over for it. I’ve been to my little brother’s housewarming bbq, made some chocolate orange brownies, seen a shooting star and looked after some chickens. I’ve also been in touch with three of the other teachers who will be in Tanzania with me, so hopefully that will ease the way.

Next week I’ll see more relatives, hopefully some school friends and finish packing. Then seven days from now, I’ll be heading to Heathrow, freaking out a fair bit no doubt, taking travel sickness tablets and wondering what on earth I’ve let myself in for.

Something’s Coming.

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Something’s coming.

It’s my last Friday in my current job, we are having a paper aeroplane contest in honour of the Olympics and I have built a cracker.  Preliminary tests showed it to be a good flyer, with a slight tendency to curve to the left after about 12 feet.  Since the initial testing phase I have given it a decorative all blue Union Jack design, but I think this may have compromised the aerodynamics a little.

I’m feeling a little bit odd at the moment.  I had a health scare earlier in the year and yesterday went for my 6 month check up.  Although they said everything looked fine there were a couple areas they biopsied to be sure, since I’m going away.  I’m not too bothered about that to be honest, I’m sure it’s all fine but it’s just another thing to add to the list of current unknowns.  For example, I know I’m being booked 3 suitcases for my flight but I don’t know anything about the size of bags or total weight I’m allowed, whether one of those counts as hand luggage.  I know I need a visa to travel, but I don’t know how to get this yet.  I know that my ex boyfriend owes me a fair amount of money that would cover a lot of things, like my anti-malarial tablets, but I don’t know if he’s going to pay me any time soon.  I know that I need to finish packing, but I don’t know when I’m going to get the motivation to do that.  Actually, that’s not entirely true.  I’ve got a day off tomorrow, Sunday morning and a whole day on Wednesday, but I do have a lot of stuff and I’m not sure that I want to keep it all.

The unknown that is going to be revealed soon enough is my surprise leaving party – yes I know you’re probably thinking that it’s not a surprise if I know it’s happening, but other than the fact that I’m getting collected at 7.15 this evening and delivered to the venue, I don’t know much else.  I’ve bought some fake nails to try out (mine are bitten down to an almost embarrassing length, a habit I’m yet to break even after that rank tasting nail varnish that’s meant to put you off – I started biting the skin around the nails instead and so thought the nails were the lesser of two evils at that point.)  Never had fake nails before or nails of a normal length so it might be a bit odd. Still, thought I should make an effort as people are making an effort for a party for me.  I know 6 people are going.  Hopefully we can push it to 10!

I think the oddest thing is that I’m starting to feel the same way I did this time 9 years ago – I’d been accepted on the Newcastle University Folk Degree roughly a month before and it had suddenly dawned on me that I was leaving the home I had lived in for 16 years and the area that I’d lived in all my life.  It wasn’t happening the way I’d planned, I was planning on working for another year, then travelling for a year before heading off to university, but then circumstances changed – I’ll leave that story for now in case I need to get £500 for my story from a weekly woman’s magazine – and suddenly I was heading north.

It wasn’t the thought of leaving my family all those years ago, but more the fear of being found to be a fraud.  I’d had a good group of close friends at school and had been friends with quite a few others in different groups, but somehow I always felt like I was on the outside looking in.  Also, I was joining a course for a type of music I loved, but didn’t really know a lot about.  What if I was laughed off the course? What if I didn’t make any friends?  I’ve got the same concerns now I suppose.  I’ve been out of the classroom for a while and although I know I’ll be good at the job, it’s big thing to start with a new class, in a new school, a week after I arrive in the country 4500miles (ish) from home? I’m sharing with someone new – my 17th flatmate in 9 years – what if we don’t get on?  What if the school decides after a term that they’ve made a horrendous mistake and send me home?

I know that these worries are probably unfounded but as I spend 6 more days in my adopted city I can’t help but ahve them playing on my mind.

Still, loads of entertaining things have happened in the last few weeks, won the pub quiz twice, been to Olympic football matches – Mexico vs. South Korea, Gabon vs. Switzerland – seen an amazing production of Julius Ceasar by the RSC, developed a crush on Tim Roth (don’t judge), been given a lock by a stranger so that I ‘don’t get the AIDS’, been to see the Dark Knight Rises, been to see my friend perfoming at a local gig – Kate Edwards, look her up, you’ll be impressed – watched lots of sports on the TV and soon I’ll be off to the ball.  Or something. And I bought a hat.

Wide Open Spaces

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Sometimes in my current job we have a bit of quiet time and have to entertain ourselves with questions and games. 

A recent question that was set was ‘What song would you use to sum up your life or personality?’  Most people struggled to think of one, but mine sprung to mind straight away.  I’ll post the lyrics below:

Taking the Long Way Around
 
My friends from high school married their high school boyfriends.
Moved into houses in the same ZIP codes where their parents live
But I, I could never follow. No I, I could never follow.
I hit the highway in a pink RV with stars on the ceiling.
Lived like a gypsy, six strong hands on the steering wheel.
I’ve been a long time gone now maybe someday, someday I’m gonna settle down
But I’ve always found my way somehow
By takin’ the long way. Takin’ the long way around.
 
I met the queen of whatever, drank with the Irish and smoked with the hippies.
Moved with the shakers, wouldn’t kiss all the asses that they told me to
No I, I could never follow.  No I, I could never follow.
It’s been two long years now since the top of the world came crashing down
And I’m getting’ it back on the road now
But I’m takin’ the long way, takin’ the long way around.
 
Well I fought with a stranger and I met myself
I opened my mouth and I heard myself
It can get pretty lonely when you show yourself
Guess I could have made it easier on myself
But I, I could never follow. No I, I could never follow
Well I never seem to do it like anybody else maybe someday, someday I’m gonna settle down
If you ever want to find me I can still be found
Takin’ the long way, takin’ the long way around
 
The Dixie Chicks
 
 
When I first heard this song it reminded me of a conversation I had in a pub with my best friend from school in 2004.
I was 20 and had gone home for Easter.  I’d met up with Clare and other friends and we were discussing what we wanted from our lives.  I had a plan (as people tend to do at 20ish) of what the next ten years would probably bring.  I would be 23 by the time I finished my degree, I would work and take a part time Masters in Music and Education, train as a primary teacher, work for a few years and hopefully start having kids at about 30. 
Clare baulked at this idea, saying 30 was pretty old to start having kids, she wanted one as soon as possible.  My mum had me at 30, although her first child was when she was 21 and the 5th at 34, so 30ish seemed a good time to get going.  We were at different stages in our lives – Clare had been working since she left school, was settled with her boyfriend and either had just, or was just about to, buy a flat.  I was part way through my first year of university and had almost had a relationship with someone who liked to dress as an elf.
 
Eight years on from that night in the pub and Clare has a lovely little boy, has been married to that boyfriend for about 6 years and is still very settled.  I finished the folk degree, started the masters, dropped out because I didn’t get a job I was relying on.  So I ended up working in a homeless hostel for two years before finding the careers advice job. So I’m still no closer to having kids unless someone hands them to me, but I’ve mostly achieved what I set out to do.  Still taking the long way but sometimes that can be a bit more interesting I guess.
 
What would your song be?

How did we get there from here.

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This year has been somewhat of a trial.  I qualified as a teacher last June and although I applied for a few full time teaching positions I wasn’t keen to take one on immediately.  The PGCE has been one of the most difficult years of my life – as I’d been warned – but this hadn’t been helped by having a turbulent personal life.  I probably should have taken the hint when I was dumped on my first day at university, but after a few weeks we worked things out knowing that things weren’t going to last forever.  I’d found out that I’d been cheated on, I lived 250 miles away from my family, most of my university friends had moved away and I’d drifted out of touch with others because of three years of anti-social shift work.

I spent 9 months getting up at 6am, going to university or school, working solidly until 10pm, letting myself watch a couple of TV shows and then off to bed at midnight.  I worked nearly every weekend and holiday between September and June.  My boyfriend was by no means perfect but was someone who I could mostly rely on to keep me going.  By the time I came round to applying for jobs I was burnt out and unhappy at home.  I’m not saying any of this because I want to portray myself as a martyr, many others were in the same boat with difficult circumstances, but just to give a sense that it’s an exhausting thing to do.  Grey’s Anatomy and Community were my lifelines and may well continue to be.

Luckily, during that time I did have my part time job as a careers adviser that kept me in touch with other people, gave me an escape from the simmering tensions at home and gave me some spending money.  After a couple of unsuccessful interviews I decided to sign up for teaching agencies and stay with my current job until a teaching position came up.  When September came there was not a lot of supply so I opted to go full time again with the careers advice. 

By December I’d still not had any supply work and I’d come to the realisation that my relationship was pretty much over after nearly 3 years.  It was something that I’d known for a long time, but hadn’t been brave enough to voice, mainly because I didn’t think I could manage financially without his support and also because I’ve never been on my own before.  I’m 28, I’m the third of five children and in the last 9 years since starting my first degree I’ve lived with 16 people.  I’m not really used to my own company. 

Making the decision to end things was actually quite liberating.  Although we continued living together in a one bedroom flat for about 6 months, he’s been on a lot of night shifts so I’ve had more time to myself. Had I not spent the last couple of years mostly being miserable then I probably wouldn’t have developed the confidence to apply outside the UK.  I probably also wouldn’t have discovered that the lyrics to the Umbongo song fit pretty well to the tune of Rolling in the Deep (try it) or remembered that my Heather Small impression isn’t too bad.