Friday Five: ‘The Exile’s Return’ Edition

1. So… I turned 30. It was fine. It was a really busy month of social events so I was coaxed out of my narcissistic pit of introspective anguish and actually enjoyed myself an awful lot. My actual birthday was spent in Barcelona, and as the clock struck midnight, heralding the significant birthday I had so feared, I surveyed the 10 (!) empty martini glasses in front of me and felt a sense of strange calm. And a sense of being fucking shitfaced, obviously. It was a very pleasant combination. The night of my actual birthday we were boozing once more, and I got to wear my Vivien of Holloway dress that I wore to our rehearsal dinner again. Though I am glad that our hotel had such clean floors…

 

10 martinis later. And a very sad looking bottle of water.

10 martinis later. And a very sad looking bottle of water.

IMG_4885

A Speakeasy in Barcelona.

 

Before...

Before…

 

During...

During…

After...

After…

 

2. I went to three weddings in the month following my birthday. The first was near Barcelona, and was my first experience of a Catalan wedding – it was ace, but oh my word, so much food. Amazing, delicious food, but man alive. So much. Obviously I took one for the team, and ate everything in sight, but even the memory makes me want to unbuckle my belt a little. A beautiful day though – I wish I could show you more pictures but apparently putting other people’s faces on the internet without their permission is uncool.

 

Just keep smiling and try not to explode!

Just keep smiling and try not to explode!

The second wedding was the week after my birthday, in Tuscany. It was the wedding of one of my oldest friends and his frankly awesome partner. It was an incredibly emotional wedding for me – I mean, I love a wedding anyway, but as soon as I saw him waiting for his bride to arrive, there were some tears. The whole ceremony was so simple, but so beautiful. It was the first non-religious wedding ceremony I’ve been to, but having said that, it was also the first with a David Ginola-look-a-like Italian mayor, complete with goatee and red, white & green beauty-pageant-style sash. It was a cracking do, too – lots of Welsh people make for a damn fine party.

When in Italy, attempt to be stylish...

When in Italy, attempt to be stylish…

 

The third wedding was just last weekend, and we celebrated the union of one of my really good pals from university with her beau. It was in London, in a pub on the Thames that overlooked the Shard. We flew into London City airport and took a cab straight to our Liverpool Street hotel to get changed and then jumped in another cab to get to the reception in time, so all a bit hectic, but we had a great time. And even managed to take a cab to Chelsea to make a special guest appearance at one of my best friends’ surprise 30th birthday party. Drunk. But so were they, so it’s cool. Unfortunately I don’t have very many pictures, so you’ll just have to imagine it from the vivid and detailed description i have provided

 

3. I had a bloody marvelous birthday party. Seriously. The best ever. Ok, it is a tie for first place between my 30th and my 8th, when I got a My Little Pony Courtyard, and a tiny kitten walked out of one of the little stables. TRUE STORY. But my 30th was pretty epic. We hired a house in the peak district and my nearest and dearest flocked up for a good old fashioned house party. I should probably give it its own post, but I feel that this photo sums things up nicely.

The birthday beast.

The birthday beast.

 

4. I got home from the third wedding and fell into a seriously homesick funk. It began on the tube from Liverpool Street to Paddington, but because London is London, people have seen much stranger things on the tube than a nostalgically weeping and hungover woman in a stripey dress accented with baby sick, clutching a Washington Red apple. (I’m not going to explain that – I think that image stands alone).

I’ve missed home before, of course, but this wave of homesickness hit me really hard. I think it was because I’d had such a lovely time seeing all my friends every weekend for a few weekends in a row, as if we were still in London. I got upset looking at the advertisements for West End shows, seeing all the restaurants and bars where I could be making memories with my pals, beholding businesses who deigned to open for trade on a Sunday(!) and just generally felt a bit melancholy that we are missing out on one of the greatest cities in the world, at the point in our lives when we actually have the time, lack of responsibilities and resources to enjoy its infinite sexiness. But we are here. In beautiful but dull Geneva. Until at least April 2017. (If you think I sound spoiled and ungrateful – I am both of those things at times. But in my defence, they don’t sell monster munch here. Try waking up from a hangover here on a Sunday when nothing’s open and all you can think about is the unforgivingly harsh texture of roast beef flavoured corn snacks and then we’ll talk about ungrateful).

 

But I'M in Geneva...That makes it perfect. Fact.

But I’M in Geneva…That makes it perfect. Fact.

 

5. Ever the diligent listmaker, I made a two-point plan to get out of said funk – it involves my online and offline abodes. Online, I think that I can use this blog to make me happier about our expat lives here, by recording fun shit that we do. Because we do fun shit, that we couldn’t do anywhere else, and I think it’s easy to forget that when I’m hankering after a night out in Soho or a Marks and Spencer Dine in for 2 Meal Deal. The second prong to my tuning-my-life-fork is to make our apartment into a place I’m happy to spend a lot of time. I work from home, and even though we’re limited in what we can do as renters, I think there’s a lot more we can do to make this feel homely and semi-permanent, rather than as a glorified waiting room where we can tread water waiting for our lives to recommence. (Oh, as well as being spoiled and ungrateful, I also tend towards the dramatic too. I’m a treat).

Existential crisis face, complete with hair of the apocalypse. You're welcome.

Existential crisis face, complete with hair of the apocalypse. You’re welcome.

So there – happy Friday fucking five.

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