Old Before Our Time

Yup. Ullapool’s lovely, but we’re probably the only people here who are under the age of seventy. This is not something that bothers me though as I LOVE old people. Like, really love them. I love speaking to old people, films about old people, books about old people and just old people in general. Well, apart from my Grandma – she was a bit of a scary lady. Terrifying, really.

Aaaaanyway, so yes, we’ve reached Ullapool. It was a nice journey, actually. I insured my boyfriend on the car so I was able to just kick back and have a wee snooze. I woke up when we arrived and it was absolutely pissing it down – pretty standard weather for here I’m guessing, although yesterday was quite sunny. I keep trying to tell my boyfriend that I’m actually a little sunburnt, but he’s adamant that the redness of my cheeks is due to the copious amounts of red meat and butter I eat.

So we checked in and I’m pretty sure the hotel owner took a double take when he saw us. It did feel as though we were 12 year olds playing at being grown-ups, but he took us to our room and after another wee snooze (we definitely belong amongst the older generation), we headed out to wonder around the town and try a pub called The Seaforth – the place where I finally got my long awaited for mussels. I was going to take a photo of them to put on here, but I couldn’t stop eating. They were served in a creamy, garlic sauce and were absolutely delicious. I don’t know why you never get a spoon to go with your mussels because the sauce is definitely the best bit. I usually use one of the mussel shells to scoop it out the bowl, which I think actually adds to the flavour, but you do end up with sticky, fishy sauce all over your hands and running down your arms, but I don’t mind that.

We then headed to another pub called The Ferry Boat Inn and we were lucky to bag a comfy seat by a window that was decorated with fairy lights and overlooking the harbour. Ah, there’s nothing quite like a pint and good view to make you feel content. There was also a couple of couples sitting next to us who I was hoping to make friends with and as we were leaving the pub, I saw my chance! One was taking a photo of the three others so I offered to take a photo of all four of them. I was met with the reply, “Oh yes please, you’ll know how to work this phone better than I do”, but I didn’t. I ended up taking a video of them and had to ask my boyfriend to do it. They then told us to have a good night and wondered off in the opposite direction so my hopes of friendship were dashed.

Ach weel.

The next day, we had a proper wonder around the town and came across lots of jam and short bread and tartan. Classic Scotland. We then went on a wee boat trip to see some seals. We saw the seals and I guess they were cute, but I couldn’t help flinching at their shimmying down the rocks. I know they’ll have tough skin, but it still looked sore. The tour guide was a bit useless as well. He didn’t tell us anything. He just parked the boat next to the seals and we sat there for half an hour, listening to people go “Awwww…” He then took us around the corner, and parked there for another 15 minutes, but I wasn’t sure what we were meant to be looking at. There were a few seagulls and a lot of rock, but that couldn’t be it, could it? I think everyone else was a bit confused as well. There was one confused “Awwww…?” and that was it.

Back on land, we returned to the hotel for another snooze before setting off for dinner and this time we thought we would try The Ferry Boat Inn as all the food we saw there the night before looked really good. And BY JOVE it was. I really wanted to get mussels again so we got some to share for a starter and they were even better than the ones I had the night before and what’s more, SHE GAVE US A SPOON! Finally, a woman after my own heart. It was funny that it was only one spoon she gave us. It’s like she knows drinking the sauce is only something some people do. We both had scampi and chips for our main course, which I’m sure was delicious, but I hadn’t eaten in 12 hours and before eating my mussels, I’d had a pint of cider, so naturally, I felt a bit drunk and sick. My boyfriend told me to stop eating my scampi, but I powered through and sure enough, the scampi soaked up the alcohol (hehe, drunken little scampi) and I was right as rain.

We also decided to go to The Ferry Boat Inn because they had an open mic night on so we thought we’d be in for lots of music and laughs. We were. A group of older people joined our table and didn’t stop talking about sex – or “bonking” as they called it – the entire night. They come to Ullapool every summer, by the sounds of it, and rent a bungalow that sleeps around ten people. They hit tea rooms by day and pubs by night and all I have to say, is that retirement looks AWESOME!!! After a few pints, my boyfriend then got up and played, and by the end of the night, I had to fight the old ladies (and a few old men) off him with their walking sticks.

So that’s us up to date. This morning I had haddock and a poached egg for breakfast – trying to be healthier – and it was nice, but I missed my sausages and black pudding. Tomorrow, there’s always tomorrow. As for now, we’re away for a wee drive to Gairloch.

But not before another snooze.

Staring into the Abyss

This photo doesn’t exactly show an abyss, but it does show a big, expanse of space so it’ll have to do. I also apologise for the slightly melodramatic title at 8 o’ clock on a Monday morning, but I’m FREAKING OUT. You see, I’ve just completed my 4 year degree and have my whole life in front of me, and – while this should be cause for celebration – it’s causing me to lose sleep. The big knot of anxiety that told me I was going to fail my exams is now telling me that I’m going to fail life.

Great.

Maybe it would help if the big knot of anxiety got drunk, although then it’ll just come back louder and shriller when I’m hungover. Yeeeeah, alcohol’s probably not the best solution. Who knew? Not my Dad, anyway. Oh yeah, my Dad’s third wife has left him, and now he and my mum are flirting more than ever. Seriously, if they get back together, I’m going to have to go to therapy.

Aaaaanyway, I’m just first world whining. I need to give myself what my Dad calls a damn good talking to and look for a job, get a job, and keep the job.

BUT WHAT JOB?!?!?!?!?! WHO’LL HIRE ME?!?!?!? I CAN’T DO ANYTHING!!!! I STUDIED ENGLISH LITERATURE FOR GOODNESS SAKE!!!!!!!

No, shut up anxiety. I will not take this abuse. Deep down, I know you’re right, but I’m going to attempt to quash your opinions with books and television. Ooh, I’ve read some good books since I finished my degree – READING FOR PLEASURE DOES EXIST HURRAH. Everyone on my course has been talking about it actually, saying how they can’t help underlining things and thinking What would Derrida say? I smile and nod and exclaim, “I know, right?!”, but really, I didn’t even have that urge at University and I have absolutely NO IDEA who/what the hell “Derrida” is. After four years studying English Literature, ladies and gentleman, all I can say about a book I’ve read is “Yes, good” or “No, bad”. I’m like a caveman with the ability to read.

Anyway, I’m off to complete task one on my to do list: wash car.

It’s good to have goals.

Another Friday Night, Another Cup of Tea

I MISS DRINKING! Although, considering I have a wee tipple before going to my bed pretty much every night (yes, I’m drinking alone, but no, I’m not an alcoholic – I like the taste and it helps me sleep and also, isn’t a glass of wine a day healthy? SO STOP JUDGING), I’m hardly in the position to say that I actually miss alcohol, so really, I miss getting drunk. Ah, that blissful state of fuzzy wuzziness. Yep, it’s the fuzzy wuzziness I miss.

The fuzzy wuzziness.

Boredom levels have reached a new high (or low?) at the Spar. I was stacking Coke bottles the other night and got so excited (too excited) when I saw a Share one with…and then the name of a friend! Oh my goodness, this is a Dear Diary moment!!!! I immediately took a photo and sent it to him.

I don’t think he was as amused as I was.

BUT THEN, half an hour later or so, I was stacking some more Coke bottles when I saw ANOTHER friend’s name! Freaky or what? So I went and got my other friend (in coke bottle form) and put them next to each other. Aww, sweet. And that was the moment that my awe-inspiring plan was born – Tonight, I will find all my friend’s names and get a picture of them all together! Oh my goodness, this is going to be so much fun. 

Turns out, it wasn’t. Three crates of coke later, I only found one other name, although I did find “Bobby”, which I thought I could use to my advantage since there is a sub-group within our group of friends known as “The Boabies” (Scottish slang for penis). But alas, my awe-inspiring plan just looked sad:

Hey my little coke bottle friends! Looking gooooood!

And then I had to explain myself to the owners:

Owners: Josie, why did you open three crates of coke?

Me: Oh yeah, that – yeah, I didn’t realise that one was already open and then I forgot that I had opened another one…

(Quick thinking or what?)

Owners: Right…

Pffft. They were looking at me as though I was crazy, but imagine if I’d said “Oh that, I was just trying to find my friends!” They would have at least considered letting me go and so it is with this blog, that I do give you another example illustrating the necessity to tell a little white lie to people one barely knows.

I Partied in Zante (and Lived to Tell the Tale)

“Do you ever feel like, when we go on holiday, we have to pretend that we are a lot cooler than we actually are?”

The question I asked my best friend after paying 60 euros for a week of partying that, really, we just didn’t want to do. I’ve found that I’ve let go of a lot of insecurities as I’ve grown up, but I wonder at what age my friend and I will feel comfortable enough to hold our hands up to the “YEEEEEAH, COME ON GIRLS, GIRLS HOLIDAY, GO MENTAL, BE DRUNK ALL THE TIME, SEE HOW MANY BLOW JOBS YOU CAN GIVE” spiel and just say, “No, we are not party girls; we are very much lie by the pool, read lots of books, have a few cocktails with dinner before going to bed and reading some more, kind of girls. Please go away and do not bother us again.”

But no. Desperate to please and over-eager to smother our true selves, we fake exclaimed excitement and ran off to get our purses. Maybe when we turn 22 everything will be alright, but for now, it’s like we’re still insecure 12 year olds.

I really am looking forward to growing up and just not giving a shit. Although, maybe it’ll go the other way and we’ll find that when we’re seventy years old, there’ll be a rep trying to get us to pay a package deal for bingo nights, story readings, and board games and we’ll want the party, the alcohol, the blow jobs…doubtful, but it could happen.

Anyway, back to Zante. The first thing on the agenda was a free bar, which actually sounded ok. We like a drink and it was free (although it wasn’t really as we’d already paid a hefty sum for this “amazing” package, but we were trying not to think about that) and so off into the bright, disco lights of Zante we headed, once again feeling like country girls brazening the big city. Our rep had given us a ticket that enabled us to get our free boos and informed us of the time and location, which sounds very helpful, but the bar we were told to go to was completely empty (seriously, it was like that scene out of The Inbetweeners) and the bar staff shooed us away. They were actually very impolite and so we headed back out, feeling slighted and rejected – the usual feelings one experiences on a night out. We were also quite annoyed because we had paid for a free bar and our free bar just kicked us out. Luckily there were two very nice reps who felt quite sorry for us and found out where we needed to be, but when we got there we were rejected AGAIN. They said our ticket only gave one person free drink. WELL. Already a bit liquored up (we had to spend our own money on drink while we figured out what to do) we were RAGING. But also still quite scared and so we left it to our drunk-after-three-cocktail-seventeen-year-old-companions to sort it out. Again, a very nice rep took pity on us and went to find our own rep who told the bar staff that he had meant to write 4 people on the ticket. FINALLY, our two hour free bar that was meant to start at ten o’ clock, started at half past eleven after we had spent all of our money and were already quite drunk.

The only conclusion we could then draw from that night out was that while the majority of reps we encountered were really nice and helpful; our one was a complete and utter (please excuse the profanity) moron.

The next thing on the agenda was a water park, which was actually AWESOME – we really are 12 year old girls at heart.

(I’m the one who looks as though she’s giving birth).

And then it was a paint party, which didn’t sound as fun and already pretty skint, we decided to deal with this the grown up way – hide from our rep and when confronted, pretend that one of us was ill.

Thursday was a blissful day off. I thought a holiday was meant to be a string of days off, but apparently not.

And Friday was the dreaded PUB CRAAAAAAAWL, which I must admit, I have mixed views about. Beforehand, the thought of it made me so nervous that I gave myself indigestion while eating dinner. It was like freshers week all over again and all I wanted to do was curl up with a bowl of jam roly poly and watch an episode of Friends, but sadly there wasn’t any jam roly poly on the hotel menu and I left my DVDs at home. My nerves, however, soon subsided after arriving at the first pub: there were so many people there that it was easy to blend in and well, hide. I was under the impression that it would only be a few people and so we’d be forced to play drinking games that resulted in us dancing in our underwear, licking people with ice cubes, and doing questionable things with a pole (all I had to go on was Sun, Sex, and Suspicious Parents). 

And so, so far so good. There were drinking games going on, but we stayed out of the way and tried to have our own party. The bell – or knell – then sounded and it was time to move on to the next bar – it honestly felt like we were the herded sheep and the reps were the collies. Traffic was stopped for us and everything – there was no getting away. When we reached the next bar, we were given a set of rules. We weren’t allowed to drink with our right hand, we had to hit the floor when “Sniper” was shouted, and we had to get into the doggy style position with the person closest to us whenever they shouted, take a wild guess, “Doggy”. I swiftly moved away from the sweaty boy with earrings who was sitting next to me with an evil glint in his eye.

The reps then got up on the bar and we had to cheer for the girl who gave the most blow jobs; the guy who had slept with the most girls, and generally, the dirtiest people there. It was at this point that I felt that, for anyone in this bar to like me, I would have to lie my little socks off and so when I was waiting for the toilet and a girl ran in and threw up in the sink – standard –  I patted her on the back, handed her some tissues, and said the same thing happened to me the first night I went out. (It didn’t). But she looked up at me, from her acrid bowl of bright pink sick, her eyes a-wide with gratitude and earnest implorations and said, ‘They made me down something – I – I – I didn’t want to. I had no choice!’ and I suddenly realised that there were perhaps other people on this bar crawl that were just as scared shitless as we were.

Going back out into what I can only describe as a disco infused jungle, we were met with a guy who said we could have one 80% shot and two normal shots for 5 euros each. My friend and I looked at each other and telepathically communicated that we may as well give in, get drunk, and at least try and have a good time. And sure enough, on downing the shots, things began to change and we ended up making the best of friends with some girls from Ireland; dancing on the bar where only moments before, the sluttiest people in the world stood, and pulling guys that were short, fat, bald, and wearing earrings – oh no wait, that was just me who lost my last ounce of self-respect.

And so it wasn’t as bad as we thought it would be, but as a general rule, I tend to think that whenever you need alcohol to get you through something, that something is probably not for you…or perhaps you’re a borderline alcoholic. And sure enough when we went to the beach party the next day (this time we were absolutely refusing to drink; we just wanted our free food), we bumped into our besties from Ireland that we’d met the night before and had absolutely nothing to say to them. The tumble weed just kept on passing. And as soon as we got our charred burgers and watery coleslaw, we sneaked off one by one into the sunset, never to return.

And so when people ask me how Zante was and I reply that it was really good, I’m thinking of the books I read, the food I ate, the lazy cocktail drinking by the pool, and the giggles I had with my friends; I’m definitely not thinking of the chicken dancing on the bar (although, secretly I quite enjoyed that) and pulling the guy with the earrings (OH THE HORROR). But at least it’s taught my friend and I one thing: from now on, we’re just going to have to toughen up, fight the shame, and be comfortable with WHO WE ARE. I can’t answer for my friend, but I’m starting to think that I’m nothing more than a eighty-two year old woman, trapped in a twenty-one year old’s body, who definitely enjoys a wee tipple, but cannot understand the banter of lad culture or the fun in clubbing, despite thoroughly enjoying the chicken dance.

It surprisingly eased the pain in my hip.