Cake, Trains and Awkwardness

If you are reading this blog then I think a massive congratulations is in order because you have managed to stick with my boring blog for another day. As a reward, I'm going to try and make this blog a little bit more 'exciting' or at least bearable and don't worry, your very own imaginary medal is on its way to you.

I didn't think jet lag was possible with only a five-hour time difference but apparently it is. As much as I told my body that it was not cool to wake up at 7.20am, I was wide awake, with a complimentary winter cold courtesy of a passenger on my British Airways flight. See, not all complimentary services on airlines are fun. Feeling icky, I hunted for paracetamol in the black hole that is currently my luggage before finally settling back down for a few more hours kip.

Eventually woke up at half ten and grabbed a yoghurt for breakfast and a throat lozenge. I finally managed to get connected with my beloved Facebook and message my friends which made me a lot happier before speaking to my Mum and Dad on the phone. Then, we made plans to sign the contract for my flat, get a SIM card for my phone and buy new straighteners and hairdryer because my own couldn't heat a slice of bread. Stupid, unnecessary expense and voltage. Pfft.

So, wrapped up to the absolute max, with a T-Shirt, jumper, fleece and winter coat, we ventured outside and I can safely say that the volume of snow is unbelievable. There are cars just covered in the stuff so they look like little snow houses (whatever they are) and the paths are slippy too (naturally). Sadly, I found this out the hard way because to my horror, I slipped and fell not once but twice. Luckily, my cousin and his flatmate were the only ones to see but how horrifically embarrassing it was and on my first day. However, I have accepted that it was probably the first of many and I'm hoping I can develop ninja skills to avoid falling for life. Or at least get a reasonable sense of balance.

Eventually, after what seemed like a trek across the Himalayas, we made it to the office of the agency who's organising and letting my apartment, which in itself was a tiny top-level apartment, whereby the only access to it was up a very steep set of metal stairs. As I think back now when I looked at it, I'm surprised my life didn't flash before my eyes because this was the definition of lethality and it looked and felt like a ladder. Taking the plunge (or not) I made it up okay but I was conscious of the fact that I wasn't out of the woods yet because I would have to go back down them in a few moments. I managed to sign the contract for my flat and set a time of 4.00pm to move in on Tuesday, allowing enough time to hopefully recover from a boozy night from before. Then, I had to tackle the stairs again. When you're going down something precarious, you often take it slowly at first but then as you get closer to safety, you rush down the stairs and that's when the accidents happen. With this in mind, I probably went at the speed of a drunken snail down these steps but I made it down, with every bone in my body still intact. Now, got to touch wood for the rest of the exchange period now. I'm quite superstitious you see...

Then, we went across the road to 'Fido', a mobile network service and got my SIM card for my phone. Now, as I have had the pleasure to discover things about Canada, the first thing is that you get nothing for free here. And they have crazy laws, legislation and in general, ways of doing things. My first brush with this was when I found out I have to pay to RECEIVE calls, which, to be quite honest is just mental to me. I mean, could you imagine paying everytime you got a PPI call at home? I don't think so. With this in mind, I got an unlimited package, which is actually more expensive than what I was paying at home, which brings me to my next point. I thought Canada was going to be cheap like America but oh no, don't be silly, it is WAY more expensive. So, I think the dollar shops will be my favourite haunts here (Oh, they exist).

We then decided to catch a Metro at the Mont Royale station and go to Atwater. The metro stations are the main way to get around Montreal and are very similar to the Glasgow Subway except it looks more aesthetically pleasing and it didn't smell like piss. Luxurious, I know. The metro is incredibly fast. You literally get ten seconds to get on the train before the doors close on you, which might sound a bit harsh but it means they are actually incredibly punctual and efficient. The trains also have wheels on them which I found amusing, the reason being so that the ride is a bit smoother for passengers. The advertisements on the Metro are hilarious too, with Viagra and Sex Shops being splayed all over posters for the whole world and his mum to see. No shame. We got off at the main metro station, lovingly known as 'Berri' before switching lines and getting on another metro. A good thing about Montreal is how cheap their Transport System is to use, especially with it being so good. When we got off, I didn't know what was at Atwater but when we got off the train and went through some double doors, we were suddenly in a shopping mall. All was well until my cousin lovingly described it as Montreal's Savoy Centre (if you know what I mean).

However, I feel that this was an unfair analogy as it wasn't anywhere near as bad as all those dingy little stalls in the Savoy Centre. Another thing in Montreal, is that all the shops have an English equivalent and you can compare. For example, the shop that I went into to get my new hairdryer and straighteners was the equivalent of a Woolworths. I was quite impressed with the price of my new hair-styling attire and then that's when the sad thing that is the sales tax they add afterwards was added to the bill. It makes me so sad seeing what was a bargain become an expensive item, which made me wave goodbye to approximately C$100 of unbudgeted funds. Very sad.

We then went to IGA, which is like a supermarket chain similar to Tesco or Sainsbury's, except it is so much more expensive and the fruit and vegetables must be genetically modified because onions are roughly the size of babies' heads. We did a bit of grocery shopping where I discovered that Canada do have Fajitas, unlike I had been informed. Over the moon does not even describe my feelings.

Before heading back home, we went to a small Chinese patisserie, which sold cheap cakes. As you can imagine, instantly, we were sold and sat down with a cake and coffee (although I obviously didn't have any coffee because I consider it quite rank). I had this bun with a cherry on top and inside was roughly a whole jar of strawberry jam. It was very nom.

We then headed for the Metro to go home and got off at a stop called Place Des Arts where all the art galleries are situated and the art festivals are held in summer. This was by far the prettiest area I had been in so far and you could see the skyscrapers in the distance. It was lovely. We got on the 80 bus which was included in the metro ticket price (hence the value for money) and got back to the apartment.

Now, the worse thing about wrapping up to the max to brave the elements is when you are inside, you feel hotter than the sun. Sweating like a bitch doesn't even cover it, it was disgusting. And my hair... it was like Kate Bush, it was out to my shoulders and curly and frizzy. So, jumping into the shower was the best thing ever and as soon as I had straightened my hair, I felt like an Amy again. Fabulous.

We had Fajitas for dinner (which were so fucking good, I can't even tell you) and then we sat back and watched the lovely film, Black Swan, which is not exactly a sit down with the family and enjoy sort of film. All was well and good until the masturbation and lesbian sex scenes come on. No matter who you are with, it's fecking awkward. Then, we watched Sex and the City, which had vibrators in it and then the commercials had vibrators too and it was just awful, I wanted to curl up in a ball and die. Too many vibrators...

So, I think with that in mind, Canada and me are going to get along fine as we both obviously do not have any shame. Excellent!

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!

Au Revoir Ecosse...

Well now, it's currently 01.06 on the morning of the 28th December and I'm about to begin my biggest adventure yet. And I'm terrified. And excited. But mostly terrified...

So, in the true spirit of goodbyes, I sort of want to blog a farewell to all my family and friends that I am having to sadly leave behind in Scotland. It's going to sound slightly like an Oscar Acceptance Speech so I would get comfortable.

I hate leaving all my family and friends behind, adventures are all well and good but it's nicer to share them with someone. If I could take all of you with me to Canada, I would in a heartbeat but unfortunately TARDIS Suitcases have yet to be invented (definitely a potential niche to invest into though).

Firstly, to my Sainsbury's buddies, who have been the best work colleagues I've ever had the pleasure to work with, it's been fun moaning about customers and joking around and I have loved working with all of you. However, I can't deny that the thrill of never having to be on Self Scans again is utterly fantastic and I have to be honest and say I will not miss that part of it.

To Facebook friends who've had to put up with constantly moaning about the snow or posting something Montreal - related. I'm just going to apologise now. Sadly, I'm a drama Queen by nature so I can't promise I'll ever stop complaining but I will be sure to reduce the frequency of my posts in the future to give your eyes a rest.

To Fraser Shaw, who deserves a massive chocolate medal for putting up with my inane and constant questioning about Montreal. You Sir, are a trooper and a fabulous friend.

To everyone who has bought me a card or a gift for leaving, you're all far too generous and kind, so thank you! I'm very blessed to have such lovely, caring friends and family.

To my best friends, you know who you are. Thanks for spending the day with me today, you have no idea how much it meant and the fact I won't see you all for five whole months is a wee bit heartbreaking. I love you guys so much.

And finally, to my wonderful family, who I'm going to miss the most. Twenty years is a long time to live with the same person and the fact that I've only ever spent two weeks away from you makes it even more harder. You're the best family a girl could ask for and I love you all so very much. The airport tomorrow is going to have puddles everywhere, just saying.

Bleak.

Let me set the scene. I decided I was going to go for a nice walk today. A nice, virtual walk on Google maps from HEC (the university) to my apartment on Avenue de Kent (which is said to be about a ten-minute walk but by my standards, that's probably twenty-minutes).

I was quite enjoying my walk, there was a lot of greenery and nice houses. Eventually, after a number of clicks, I arrived at Avenue de Kent.

Looks quite green!

And then, I looked back to see how far I had 'walked'.

Not bad, not bad.

And then I turned onto my street.

Sadface.

Thanks Google Maps, thanks. I despise Winter.

'Art' and Afremov.

One of my main aims in life is to become a cultured gent (although without the moustache preferably. In fact, scratch that, I would carry one off very well). However, one of the stumbling blocks I have encountered on the road to 'snobbery' is a real aversion to Modern 'Art', mainly because I think most of it is a contrived pile of pish. I group most of the pieces of modern 'art' I have had the misfortune to encounter into two categories.

Group One: THIS IS NOT ART.

To get a true sense of what I insinuate with this group, all you need to do is look up either Tracey Emin (whose face has to win 'The Most Terrifying Face of All Time' award) or anything that has been nominated for the Turner Prize. I mean, how is a bed, art? Does it mean I could show my bed off and be awarded with an exhibition? DOES IT?!

Tracey Emin's bed.

Apparently, the bed is to symbolize Emin's intimacy with the world in regards to her private life. To me, all it shows is she's an untidy, lazy bastard. She also used worn pants in this piece. I rest my case.

Group Two: A FIVE YEAR OLD COULD PAINT THIS.

This group annoys me more than Tracey Emin. The painting below was crafted by Mark Rothko and is simply titled 'Orange and Yellow'. Now, I'm not being funny but I genuinely could recreate this. In fact, a drawing of a stick man has more artistic integrity than this. But the suckerpunch to this absurd piece of 'art' (if it can be called that)? It sold for $86 million very recently...

You just can't rid the world of stupidity it seems. And you know what, my cat could paint this, that is how much I think of it. A true waste of canvas.

However, this blog was not just a rant (Yes, you may wipe your brow in relief now). It seems that I may have overcome the stumbling block previously mentioned as I have recently discovered the work of Leonid Afremov and I am in love. His paintings are true art. They're pretty, they're colourful, they tell a story and they invoke emotions. Isn't this what art should be like? Not like the crown colour chart above?

No caption required.

Perhaps he's not as successful as these other artists because his paintings portray real life or perhaps they could be described as 'pedestrian' but alas, that is the world most of us live in and most of us are pedestrians, peddling our way through normality. Simply put, they are beautiful and if galleries were filled with this sort of thing, rather than Tracey Emin's disgustingly stained bed sheets, I'm sure they would attract a bigger audience.

The only thing that worries me about this though is that having a favourite artist might be the harbinger of impending maturity or adulthood. I sincerely hope not anyway.

Shit just got montREAL.

So, five weeks today, I've somehow got to leave the family that I have spent everyday of the last twenty years with at Glasgow Airport, make it to Heathrow, the busiest airport on the globe and then fly to Montreal, Canada, a country I've never been to before in my life and on top of all that somehow,  mature and learn how to become a responsible adult during a seven hour flight.

Forgive my scepticism but even I have no faith in myself.

The thing, is when people ask for my advice, I will gladly give it and generally, I'm quite good at it. I like to help people. But I have a confession to make. It's all bullshit. I make all this stuff up. I don't have a clue and now, I'm paying for it, like a metaphorical Peter who cried wolf (or something). And this is not about believing in yourself, oh no, this is about knowing your limitations. And I have many.

When I was in school and people would say, 'Oh I'd love to go on exchange, that is my thing', I was the person who was convinced she would never want to do that sort of thing because that ain't my thing. Now look where I am. Why did I choose this course?

Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful for this amazing opportunity, I appreciate what it will do for me and I know that there's a 95% chance I'll get there and never want to leave but I'm a home bird. I like my creature comforts and I like familiarity. I'm not an adventurer or an explorer. Unfortunately, the one trait I inherited from my mother was the capacity to think of the worst case scenario of everything and stress. Lots of stress. MAHOOSIVE AMOUNTS OF STRESS. Am I allowed to worry about these things or am I just being silly? I can't tell.

However, I will digress from the anxiety attacks for a moment to share with you all, possibly the most absurd and disturbing thing I've seen in a while.

www.greatwallofvagina.co.uk

The first impressions formulating in your mind when you read that link are probably correct. This guy makes plaster casts of woman's vaginas to celebrate diversity and prove to women that all vaginas are different and you shouldn't be ashamed of your own. Personally, I think you've got too much time on your hands if you are worried about that sort of thing.

On the whole, I don't really mind the actual idea. I guess it could empower a very small minority but seriously, SELLING THE STUFF? I do not want to walk into a house that has casts of vagina just hanging on the wall, minding its own business. And I'm not a prude, I just think it's really strange. Especially, the gold cast one... 

Also, I wish to point out I don't actively seek these things out, I found it in Closer or something (Problem page FTW).

A Scottish Educational Haunting...

Not much has been happening here. In fact, I spend half of my blogs explaining my absence (this must stop).

The past month has been a... revelation of sorts. I think third year has arrived with a metaphorical kick up the arse because I have never felt so crumpled by the work pile before in my life. And then coupled with 'Canadia' stress (It was christened Canadia by Devon) and now honours entrance, I'm drowning. And I believe I'm drowning in 'Real Life'. God, does growing older ever stop getting worse?

As it is the penultimate year of my degree (what?), I have decided I'm going to take a bash at getting an internship for next summer. Now, I can't lie, I doubt very much I'll make it past the application process in most of them for two reasons.

1. Very little Proof that I will attain a 2:1 degree - Which is a pointless thing anyway. How can you employ someone on the basis that they MIGHT get a 2:1 degree? You might get someone who does and then goes into Honours year and falls flat on their face. Conversely, you might get someone who decides they are going to work their booty off in fourth year despite the fact their grades were substandard in second year (Aka, moi).

2. Maths test - I had to do a maths test on the very first one. Given enough time, I can work something out but I was given sixteen questions and eight minutes to do it. I don't like pressure. And then I ran out of time. I cannot believe, after two years at University that mathematics are still haunting me. It's like a slap in the face everytime. I hated maths and I still hate it and you wouldn't be asked to answer a complex maths question in a minute in the workplace. No. It just plain sucks.

So yeah, rant over.