Nanny.

I've been contemplating for a few days now on whether or not to blog about this. For starters, it's hugely personal and it's still raw. Very raw.

In life, the only guarantee we have when we are born is that at some point, we will die. Yet, despite this, 'we', as a collective species, are all pretty bad at confronting our own mortality... until it slaps you square in the face that is. I've experienced loss before and I'm as bad as my fellow man at dealing with it. However, no amount of loss can prepare you for when you lose someone as close as your grandmother. I'm literally on an emotional rollercoaster ride at the moment but I thought writing down my feelings would act as some sort of therapy, even if the effect is only temporary.

Now, I feel I need to recognise the fact that 'Nanny' isn't the most common title for a grandmother to have. By all accounts, my grandmother actually didn't like being called 'Nanny'. However, as I was the eldest grandchild and someone who couldn't actually say 'Granny' at the time, the name stuck. Looking back now, she never looked like a 'Gran' or a 'Granny' or a 'Nan' anyway... She looked like a 'Nanny' and she was perfect. Thankfully, she accepted her title with the type of grace only a grandmother could have and she made sure to sign all of her cards with 'Nanny'.

I have always thought that if you closed your eyes really tight and imagined the archetype-grandmother, you would open your eyes to find my 'Nanny' standing and smiling in front of you. She had grey, permed hair like the Queen, something that never changed for as long as I knew her. She wore glasses and had false teeth. Her personal style was the height of 'Granny-Couture' - she was never without tartan trousers, a wooly jumper or cardigan and loafers. Chic indeed.

She had the perfect voice for a Grandmother as well. Soft and soothing, accompanied with typical Grandmother sayings such as 'Cor'; 'Blimey'; 'Crikey'; 'Wotcha' (I'm making her sound like an Australian Cockney... she wasn't). Every single birthday, the highlight of the day would be when she would ring and give a rousing rendition of 'Happy Birthday'. It was always sort of a jazzy arrangement, her own unique style. Not something that would win 'The X Factor' certainly but perfect all the same. She also had the most wonderful laugh, a sort of a giggle that came from the heart, sometimes a little shrill at the end but always full of glee.

When it came to 'Grandmother Skills', my 'Nanny' was definitely top notch. She was fantastic at sewing, even going so far as to make me a dress for my starring debut as Dorothy in my Primary School's production of 'The Wizard of Oz'. She made the best flapjack. No contest. And her hugs? Well, they were the best. Even after I grew to nearly double the height of her, she could still give you the biggest, back-breaking hugs that would literally squeeze the breath out of you. That's how much love she had to give and it was endless.

When I was a child, Katie and I would spend every summer with both my 'Nanny' and my Grandad. I wish I could remember all the amazing times we spent together at their caravan but there are far too many. Whether it was cycling up and down the road, sitting in the paddling pool, participating in dance competitions or karaoke at the clubhouse, watching 'Annie' and 'The Jungle Book' one after the other repeatedly or simply running out of bed in the morning to climb in beside them whilst they had their morning tea, they are all precious childhood memories. Ones that I will never forget to treasure.

However, as you get older, things begin to change. You begin to get a little too big to share the bed, you begin to outgrow the child movies, school starts to become a more prominent priority in your life, the distance between England and Scotland seems to grow larger, time seems to go faster and then 'BAM', you're suddenly eighteen years old and off to university, ready to begin a new chapter in your life. And yet, despite the distance, the love never dwindles or diminishes. Even though I didn't get to see my grandparents as much as I would have liked over the last few years, we certainly didn't love each other any less. And the few times we did share together in the last few years were fantastic.

Last year, when it was Katie's eighteenth, I could not have imagined at that time that that would be the last time I would ever see my 'Nanny'. It was a normal weekend and when we said 'Goodbye', I never even considered the possibility that that would be the last time I would ever see her. A little foolish in hindsight, considering that both of my grandparents were in their eighties at this point. I still never even considered it when she was admitted to hospital last month for the first time. 'Nanny' was old, yes but she was still fairly active and had plenty more years in her. I did start to worry when she was admitted a second time but having survived four heart attacks in three weeks, she seemed almost indestructible for the time being. When she was discharged, we all breathed a sigh of relief. We became complacent. Stupid really.

I spoke to her on the phone for the very last time a week ago when she was discharged. It was quite brief considering how exhausted she was but she did sound happy and that is a great comfort to me. I told her how good it was to hear her voice and how glad I was that she had got out of hospital before New Year. She told me how happy she was because she was sitting in her armchair, at home, surrounded by her family. I told her to take care of herself, that I loved her and that I would see her very soon. If there is any comfort in all of this, it's that I'm glad I told her that I loved her one last time. Because I truly did.

The last few days have been a bit of a blur. From the moment I was told she had passed away to now, it's been quick. The thought of going back to some sort of normalcy is a difficult prospect at the moment because I cannot see how things can ever be normal again. I have lost such huge part of my life and I'm unsure how to come to terms with that. I'm comforted by the fact that in the end, she was very happy and that she did not suffer. A small consolation in the midst of so much grief.

It's only now that the gravity of the situation has begun to hit me. I'm slowly realising that I will never see her again. I will never see my 'Nanny' and Grandad together again. I will never hug her again. I will never see her writing on birthday or Christmas cards ever again. I will never hear her sing 'Happy Birthday' to me ever again. I'm actually frightened that I will eventually forget what her voice sounded like.

However, as the special person she was, she lives through the ones she left behind. She lives through my Grandfather, the man she chose to spend sixty years of her life and have four children with and who I hope, will find that life is still worth living to the full, even without her. She lives through my mum and my aunts and uncles and finally, through us, her grandchildren. The last photograph she saw of me was my graduation photo whilst she was still in hospital. I hoped she realised when she looked at that photograph that she had had a huge influence on the sort of person I have become and that she was proud of me.

I hope that wherever she is now, she is at peace and although it's painful right now, I will find the strength to continue my life without her, for her. She was an incredibly special lady, a truly kind and caring person and a wonderful grandmother. And I will never forget her as long as I live.

I love you, 'Nanny', Forever and Always.

The Home Run

Right Now: 'The Vortex' - Hadouken!

"Day 83 in the big Montreal House". These very words terrify me. I can't even believe it's possible that those many days have gone by since I first set foot in Montreal. And it's been a period of time where there has been a lot of highs and of course, with any new experience, a few lows too.

I cannot lie, exchange life hasn't always a bed of roses. There were the infestations of mice and recently, ants that I've had to contend with, which doubled with my other flatmates 'rocky' relationship with our landlady (she loves me, she gave me a Chinese pear) has not helped. Then, there's of course the weather, which really is nothing short of abysmal, especially when about 12 inches of snow decides to dump all over Montreal at the end of March. It's rather unacceptable. And of course, the most obvious factor is the constant longing to see my best friends and family again. I think, you could travel the entire world, experience and see the most wonderful things the globe has to offer and yet, I don't think there is anywhere quite like home (even East Kilbride, even East Kilbride). It's a deep-rooted connection that can't be broken, you can hear it calling you back and there comes a time when you just can't fight it anymore.

However, and this is a big 'However'. I am now getting to the stage where I'm so settled into a routine here that it almost feels like home. I realised it today when I walked 'home' from university and I didn't have to think about which way to go or which path to take. I just did it automatically and when the experience has entered your sub conscience, it starts to hit you that this place maybe means slightly more to you than you first thought. I enjoy being able to wake up when I want to, choosing when to eat, what to eat, when to shop, where to go out for dinner... The freedom of choice is literally limitless and that for me, is something which is priceless. I have also had great opportunities to travel, the highlight being meeting my family in New York City. It was a dream to go there and usually, when you people say 'OhmyGosh, New York is the best place ever' you wonder, can it really be that good? Well, I can tell you honestly it is. Boston was also a very beautiful place and somewhere I really think I would enjoy living permanently. Finally and the most important thing is, I have met some truly lovely people here who I hope I can be friends with for life. At first, I found it difficult because I missed a lot of fresher's week due to illness and other factors. I admit, I felt out of the loop for a long time. But gradually, you build on it and you meet new people. I mean, if I had to put it in simple terms, sixteen people came out for my birthday and I've known them around two and a half months. Last year, about fourteen people came out for my birthday and I've known them for years. It's nice to know that wherever I go in Asia, I will always have a friend there and I hope these people they will always have a friend in Scotland too.

So, now it's the home run. I have 53 days left to make this exchange the best experience of my life so far. And with events such as Toronto and Niagara Falls and Spring coming, I don't think it will difficult! 

NB: As some of you may have seen, I recently became a blogger for Fireball Liqueur Official UK. My  first blog hasn't been published yet but I'm really excited! I'm not sure how this is going to affect the frequency of this blog (which you know, is pretty much non-existant anyway) but I really want to try keeping them both going. So, I would really appreciate it if I could see the same level of support for my Fireball blog as I do for this one (plus you might actually win goodies and you'll be getting a guaranteed blog from me twice a month).

Thanks dear readers!

Tea in a Saucepan is how we roll...

Wednesday arrived with a 'clatterboom' as I heard my landlady's shrill voice at 9am, heralding the arrival of our Chinese flatmate, Ka Ki (or Katrina). All I can say is that I'm glad Aziza was up and about otherwise they would have been standing behind that door for a long time. An interesting thing that I should point out which I have noticed both at Strathclyde last year and in Montreal is that students coming from China often choose English-sounding names as monikers during their studies. As cool as this is, I also feel slightly sorry that Chinese people feel the need to choose names that people find easier to pronounce. For example, I would hate to simplify my name, it's my name and everyone should know it (I'm not sure why I'm going on a bizarre tangent here, I'm tired).

Anyway, I hurriedly pulled on my clothes, not wanting to meet my new flatmate in nothing but pyjamas and tried in vain to mould my hair into an acceptable style. We introduced ourselves and spoke to her for a while. She had had an insane 18-hour journey from Hong Kong and was very jet-lagged, poor thing. Leaving Ka Ki to adjust and settle in, I went into the kitchen to prepare a seemingly simple breakfast of toast. Except the fact that the toaster is broken and you have to physically hold the toast down whilst it cooks. I mean, Jesus wept and that's all I have to say on the matter.

However, at around 11am, the landlady very kindly offered to drive us around the block and show us the local landmarks. Firstly she took us to the shopping centre near us, which is probably similar to a retail park. Inside, there was a supermarket, Metro, which I would describe as the equivalent of Morrison's, a shop very similar to B&M and 'Dollarama', a one-dollar shop and possibly my favourite shop here so far (I am a genuinely poor student now, after all). The landlady very kindly waited whilst we did some shopping and then drove us back home, which was great considering how heavy our bags were, via HEC Montreal, which was the first time I had seen it in reality. I have to say, It's quite an impressive building, if not slightly ugly. Although, as my cousin said, it was 'probably sexy in the nineties'.

After we were dropped back home, I fluttered around, trying to make sense of my biggest enemy since the rope frame at the gym, the American-style washing machine. I believe that the washing machine is its own entity, has its own mind and has one goal and one goal only, the goal being to confuse every single international student who uses it. There are so many dials on this thing... I didn't even know where to begin. By a random act of divine intervention or magic, I managed to get some things washed but they didn't turn out very well (although, it might be because the detergent is from Dollarama, go figure).

It's always after you've been shopping that you realise you have forgotten something and I realised that I needed to get another pillow. I have a King-Size bed in Montreal (which I'm not used to, I still use only one side of it, although I intend to learn the spread eagle position momentarily) and I only had one pillow. Not only do I have four at home (don't gasp at me, they are flat and firm, not these big, soft fluffy monstrosities) but the bed just doesn't look right with one pillow. So, I decided to be a big girl and venture out on my own, back to the retail park. I was quite proud of myself for undertaking this expedition, mainly because if I fell and injured myself, I would probably be left to die in the snow (like what happens to climbers on Mount Everest).

I made it to the retail park unscathed and headed to SUPERMAX (the B&M) and found a pillow for $8, which I thought was pretty good. The other thing I needed was a king size sheet because the double one I bought would not fit, no matter how many times I pulled and stretched it. The cheapest one they had was $35 so I think I can live with the double sheet not quite fitting the whole bed for the moment (I've taken student living to extremes). Then, I headed to Dollarama, which is genuinely amazing, bought a few bits and pieces before buying milk at Metro and making my way home. And I made it back alive. Put it this way, if it was socially acceptable to high five yourself, I would have, I was so proud of myself.

Then, I Facetimed my family and it was genuinely great to see them all. It's probably the best part of my day. But then as soon as I sign off, I get a wee bit teary-eyed and start to miss them. Sometimes, I wish they'd just put my sister's iPhone on the sofa, in front of the TV and then I could be with them for a few hours, sort of like a robot. But that would be silly (but possible, I think it could work, wishful thinking...) I'm not sure if these bouts of homesickness are going to pass or not but I hope so. Sometimes, I think I'm being silly because I see my flatmates and they don't seem as homesick as me. Bleurgh!

Around about 8pm, Nana, our Japanese flatmate arrived with her two friends to move some of her stuff into the apartment. When I say 'some' stuff, I mean it looked like she had robbed a shop because she had about fifteen different bags with different things in them. I thought the apartment might explode. Once her friends had helped her move in, we all sat down and had a wee chat (and her friends had a well-deserved rest) before they all went to the bar. It seems I'm not as hardcore as I like to think I am because I didn't go. About an hour later, Ludovica, the last flatmate arrived with friends of her family and she settled in, before going to bed, exhausted from a day's flying. Whilst she was getting a tour, Aziza, Ka Ki and me decided it was a good idea to have a cup of tea and retrieved the kettle. All was well until we looked inside the kettle and discovered it was as black as night. Yuck. So, we settled for the next best thing, a saucepan. Lovely. The best part was that as we were huddled around this saucepan waiting for the water to boil, the landlady described our kitchen to Ludovica as 'well-equipped'. Uh huh.

However, the tea was a success and after a nice wee chat and a laugh, we decided to go to bed because some bright spark at HEC Montreal thought that everyone would like to come for a welcome meeting at 8.30am. Nom.

You can take the girl out of Sainsbury's but you can't take Sainsbury's out of the girl...

Sunday arrived and already, my cousin, his flatmate and me had already settled into a familial routine. We'd all get up around half ten, have a spot of breakfast, watch a bit of TV or go on the internet, shower, make a sandwich and then go out for about 1pm. Today, after a slight debate between the shops or the Old Port, we decided to go to the shopping hub of Montreal, St. Catherine's. St. Catherine's has its fair share of normal malls of course but it is the underground city that is really worth seeing. We grabbed a bus which took us downtown and then walked (or slid in my case) a wee bit until we got to a snowman-guarded entrance and descended into a mall.

Now, I guess it isn't very impressive because it just looks and feels like a mall but when you realise that you're underground, that's when the impressiveness hits you. The best thing is, it's pretty much never-ending because as one mall ends, another one begins. It genuinely goes on for miles and there are so many shops, I wouldn't like to guess how many there were but I would hazard a guess and say 'a lot' (which is a correct description of quantity, thank you very much). 

We wandered a fair bit and eventually came across Montreal's main train station, which looked slightly like central. Here, you can catch a train to most of the major cities in the vicinity, including Toronto, Quebec City and New York. Definitely something to bear in mind methinks. Beyond the train station, we hit the 1000 centre, which had the prettiest Christmas decorations I think I've ever seen. Inside the centre, there was an Ice Rink. My cousin, his flatmate (who is called Benoit, much easier to use) and me all looked at each other and collectively chickened out. At least it runs in the family...

Eventually, we made it back and hit IGA again, albeit a different branch. We bought some stuff for Caesar Salad and then went through the Self Scan. Now, maybe I was being over zealous but I thought that by leaving the country, I could escape the bane of my life. But alas, life doesn't work like that because as it turns out, IGA have installed the exact same Self Scan machines Sainsbury's use. And then, when my cousin pointed out that every time he scanned an item, it didn't beep, I knew exactly how to fix it. Sad as fuck.

We then got a metro and bus back to the apartment and settled down to a nice Caesar Salad, which was pretty awesome. We then watched NCIS, Criminal Minds etc. I thought that because I was in 'North America', these would be brand new episodes but it turns out Canada likes to show repeats as well. Sounds about right. We also ate cake during NCIS, a cake called Elizabeth cake which is a sort of Coconut concoction. 

To be honest, if everyday was like this, life wouldn't be so bad. Shame I don't have disposable income to spend in the shops anymore. Sigh, paying bills sucks!

Bonjour Montreal!

Bonjour from Montreal! Finally, I now have the opportunity to sit down and blog about my first proper day here in this wonderful, albeit snowy city before I forget all the details. Currently, I'm unable to post pictures but I will endeavour to do so on Tuesday, when I move into my OWN apartment (super mega adult mode activated).

So, where do I begin? Well, as the immortal Julie Andrews once said, the beginning is a very good place to start (and I think I just out-camped myself there, bravo).

After spending a wonderful, sordid four hours sleeping in my own bed for the last time, I was rudely awakened at 5.50am by my alarm and had my last ever Scottish shower, which I felt had to be noted. I'm not sure if other people do this when they go on holiday or what not but I actually went upstairs said 'Goodbye' to my bedroom out loud. I can't really decide if that's mental or not but it felt right. It's the little things in life...

We all left the house at 7am and drove to the airport and a strange occurrence happened on the way there, when 'Good Riddance' by Green Day came on the radio. Never have those lyrics been so apt and appropriate. It was like some weird, divine intervention sort of thing. We arrived at the airport and checked in before heading up to just outside security where the time came to bid farewell to my family. I'm not even lying when I say it was absolute horrific, everyone was crying, even the boys! Seriously, between my mother and myself, wet floor signs were probably placed and a mop needed after we had left. Somehow, I managed to leave them behind though and head through security before buying a few bottles of water and a necessary, obligatory puzzle book from WHSmith.

Now, one thing about flying from Glasgow to London is that you don't get much time to roam about in the Duty Free, which was quite sad although, from another perspective, it was crazy how efficient it was. All in all, the flight down to London Heathrow was superb, the only thing that happened was that the plane dipped for about two seconds and I genuinely thought that we were either going to crash, or if it happened again, I would die of a heart attack because mine's was racing. This was made worse by the fact that I was playing Temple Run and I do this bizarre, stupid thing when I play it, where I bet myself that if I don't get above a certain score, something bad will happen, which then turns up the pressure and usually gets me through. For some reason, I decided to tempt fate by saying if I didn't get above a million, the plane would crash. Why my scumbag of a brain decided to think this up, I don't know. But I will never do it again. Idiot.

I arrived at Heathrow and made it straight into Terminal 5... which was one of the coolest things I've ever seen. It was like a shopping mall. You had your WHSmith, Boots, then you sort of worked your way up, past souvenirs and Duty Free to the really high end shops, such as Gucci and Prada. Needless to say, I did not venture into these shops because I looked exactly like Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street, minus the bin. I roamed for a bit as I had a good three hours to kill before my connecting flight to Montreal and then 12pm hit which meant lunchtime. I went upstairs I was confronted with the worst dilemma I've come across in a while. Wagamama's or Giraffe. Genuinely, I walked between them about five times, deciding which one to go to. I was surprised I wasn't accosted by security and taken for questioning because I must have looked suspicious. It was a hard call but at the end of the day, I decided on Giraffe. Now, at first, I felt a bit pathetic asking for a table for one, until you're suddenly front of the queue and shown to your table immediately. After that, I soon forget about being on my lonesome and celebrated the solitude with a diet coke (I actually typed 'cock' there, thought you all oughta know that). After some Chicken Popsticks and a weird combination of Mac n' Cheese with tortilla chips (I regretted that choice afterwards, the burger sounded so much better), I got a seat somewhere and relaxed before getting a tram to my boarding gate and boarded my flight.

The flight to Montreal was amazing and went surprisingly quick. The in-flight entertainment was impeccable, with The Big Bang Theory, How I Met Your Mother, Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow, Inception and Brave all getting nommed. The meals were actually decent too. And I got a snooze, which never happens on a plane. Ever.

Finally, after seven hours, we touched down in Montreal and I have to say, seeing all the city lights from the sky got me all excited and buzzing in general. My first contact with the cold was when I noticed the access corridor from the plane to the terminal was frozen and covered with ice. I can't say that was a great sign of things to come.

I think I have bored everyone now which this overly long and unnecessary blog about airports. Sorry! Part two coming to a screen near you soon!

You must be barking!

Today, the family and myself decided to take a trip to Sainsbury's in Kingsgate for a wee swatch at the new store. It's absolutely massive and sort of scary. Having lived in East Kilbride for seventeen years now, it's strange not to see the familiar brick-styled building...

However, I digress. The thing I want to discuss today involves an advertisement that we saw at the roundabout near Sainsbury's, on a billboard. Travelling at speeds of 30 m.p.h, it was slightly difficult to get a good quality photo but I did try my best.

Now, the photo is incredibly fuzzy, so I do apologise but luckily, I managed to decipher most of it and make it onto the website. All I can say is that what I've read so far is nothing short of ridiculous.

Maythorne Cottage is the name of a new, 'luxurious' dog kennel situated between East Kilbride and Strathaven. And when they say 'luxurious', they ain't half kidding. Here is a little excerpt which will hopefully convey my meaning.

"Every dog will have its own Dog Room which will have a half double glazed domestic upvc door. The flooring will be soft vinyl, with 65% of this being under floor heating, leaving the remainder of the area as cool spots for the dog's comfort.

Each Dog Room will have a wall mounted television (just like home) as well as speakers that will carry soft music for daytime comfort.

The rooms will be tastefully decorated - if your dog would be more settled with its own home comforts, feel free to bring along its own bedding and toys etc.

There will also be a second door leading into an Open Room where the dog can sit and look out over views of the beautiful countryside. This Open Room will have double-glazed French doors, which can be opened in good weather and closed during cold spells. The dogs will be secured within their own space at all times even when the French doors are open.

In addition to all of the above, the Open Room leads to your dog's own private garden, which is laid to lawn and chips."

I mean, THIS IS JUST INSANE. Absolutely insane and I have some points I would like to raise. Most dogs don't even have the mental capacity to follow simple instructions, let alone understand a full episode of Eastenders (although, really, who could?). And honestly, would a dog actively choose to sit and admire the 'beautiful view'? Especially considering that you have to tell them to sit half the time? I think I'll believe it if I see it. It's just all a bit bizarre really. In fact, this isn't a kennel, this is a proper dog's hotel, a holiday for dogs. I must admit, I've stayed in worst rooms than the ones described on the website.

However, as much as I am ridiculing it, the owners do sound like they genuinely want the dogs that stay there to be comfortable and happy with their arrangements and they've definitely thought about everything. I know it myself with Biffy, the woman who owns the cattery he stays in is one of nicest people you'll ever meet and a total animal lover, which makes us feel happier.

So, with all that being said, does anyone want to book a room? Sounds like a lovely place to stay!

Here's the link to read at your own leisure.

http://maythornecottage.co.uk/