Center Parcs Convert

So this year I was introduced for the first time ever to the glorious place that is Center Parcs. In all honesty I don’t know why I avoided it for these 31 years, because I did it by choice. I did not want to go to Center Parcs! Never had.

I know. Ridiculous. 

After having now been, I don’t know why I denied myself the sweet sweet joy for so long. I know some people will read this and think how ridiculous it sounds that of all the places in the world my new favourite is Center Parcs, but it really and truly is. 

I absolutely love it.

I always thought of Center Parcs as some sort of a healthy Butlins type of thing, and I don’t know what advert I saw for it but I had the vision of it all being under some sort of weird dome. This advert was on when I was a child so forgive me if the details are a little foggy, and I’ve distorted it somewhat in my adult mind. 

I remember two people cycling along the woods, but underneath a dome. 

I thought it was like that film with Pauly Shore; Bio Dome. It was out in the 90’s about people living under a dome! Maybe I watched that film and then an advert for Center Parcs came on and my wires got crossed, but anyway I digress. I didn’t want to go to Center Parcs.

Flash forward a couple of decades, and a death in the family meant a family trip away. Mum wanted to go to Center Parcs, she raved about it, having been a couple of times before, so I thought Ok fair enough let’s go. Our Nan had passed, Flange was sad, she can choose. Flange = Ange =My Mum to quickly explain the name change.

I was excited about spending a week with my family so where we were was not a bother to me. I was just happy to be with them, play some games, and generally just hang out with my nephew Gingey.

From the moment we hit the car park though I was loving it. Trees, trees, trees, as far as the eye can see. I love the woods, so being surrounded by trees was immediately up my street. It might be obvious to others that this is what Center Parcs is, but I’ll take you back to Bio Dome where I thought it was all fake and crap. 

Yes I know it sounds ridiculous!

It is such a wonderful place to get back to nature, be good to yourself, and get yourself off the technology highway which is so difficult to avoid in this day and age, and being as most of us are addicts, we don’t want to usually escape.

You can choose how cheap or expensive you want to make it. For example we joined in on a few activities which bumped up our spending, but we made sure we did things that you don’t really do in everyday life. We did archery of which some excelled more than others. This didn’t stop me and my sister Laura screaming like fools though when we hit the board, transforming our quiet group into chatty expressive cheerers with us.  

We believe we broke the ice for those around us to become a bit more extrovert than they usually would be.

We decided to hit the lake another day so we booked onto a Katacanoe. That as I found out was a 6 man canoe. I would recommend it as it was only £16 for 40 mins and that between 6 is nothing really. Be aware though there has to be a level of communication, skill, and synchronised team work. All of this we severely lacked which led to us going in various directions and narrowly avoiding some near hits with fellow canoers, paddle boaters etc. I would go as far as to say we were a danger to those around us. 

I even finally went on a pedalo, which is not as fun as it always seemed from shore. Combination of tired legs and sneaking ciders onto the lake meant we floated and enjoyed the sun more than anything else.

We visited the sports hall a few times, which can add up depending on how many activities you do, and for how long. The list of activities is endless, and if you’ve got the cash, join in. Like I said though you can keep it cheap. You’re surrounded by nature trails to fill your boots with. The pool is amazing, and the rapids just make you feel like a child again. As long as you don’t mind some near death collisions, and occasionally landing head first on someone’s ass or in someone’s crotch. I got rapids bingo on that one!

It is just a fantastic place to get back to nature, and get back to yourself. Enjoy your time, and time with loved ones. It really refreshes you, and everyone seems of the same relaxed mind set. Everyone is helpful and friendly, and I think if we could just take the ethos we feel when in Center Parcs and apply it to real life we would all live in a much better world.

I LOVE CENTER PARCS AND I DON’T CARE WHO KNOWS!

Don't be Upset, Here's some Meat!

Today the sun was beaming so I decided to take myself for a walk around town for my lunch break. Drink in the sites, sit by the castle, and have a general wander while continually fighting the urge to sit outside a pub and have a couple of ciders. I’m still a bit new in my job for that kind of behavior.

I managed to avoid the alcohol but, while walking back to the office I thought I’d treat myself by stopping in the market and staring at the animals, me. I do this quite frequently at the market or pets at home, but my all-time favourite is Harrods when they have the puppies!

After staring at the animals and not buying a single one- very proud- I started back down the stairs to leave, but as I did I walked past the butchers, and stopped to check out the meat. I know it sounds like I’m in the business of staring at things and not buying it, but what caught my eye was a string of palony. I think that’s how you spell it, I’m not sure. When I was younger I used to love palony. So whenever I stayed with my Nan and Bamps, which was a lot of weekends and most holidays, from, school Nan would always bring me back some from town in her little push trolley.

Sometimes that would be the only thing she would go in for, and it was a fair trek from town so when I look back now it’s one of those little things that makes me smile. I mean she was an amazing Nan without doing all the little things that she did for me and my cousins, but stuff like this she did because it was in her nature to do so. She liked to make us feel special, like when she would aggressively slip some cash into your hand, and when you would decline, she’d squeeze your hand shut, and say “Now don’t upset me.” Nan things like that which will always make me smile.

So while I’m there just staring at this pink meat, the butcher comes up and asks if I need help. To which I replied “no, I’m just looking.” Yes I understand how strange a thing that is to do (standing staring at a counter of meat) let alone say out loud to stranger. I explained the reason I stopped was that I noticed the palony was like the one my Nan used to pick up, and not the kind that’s covered in plastic which I see at most butchers. You know the kind that has the pink plastic and white writing. I never liked this one, and Nan knew never to pick this one up for me. What a dream she was.

 Being a really lovely chatty man he asked after my Nan, so I continued and told him the stories of her visiting town to buy palony for my visits. Before I could even get into a flow talking about Nan I started balling my eyes out, I was still smiling and continued speaking with little sobs like giant burps popping out every once in a while. I must have looked like a crazy person. He was only being polite and then he had to deal with me getting emotional over meat. He must have just assumed I was menstruating, or that I actually escaped from a hospital. So we chatted little more while I cleaned my teary face up with some tissue I found in my bag, I made my apologies and walked away through the market.

I turned to start back on the street when I heard a voice behind me shout.

“Hang on darlin’.” I turned around and the butcher was walking towards me. I stopped thinking I’d left something or dropped something, when he handed me a white bag.

“Have this, for your Nan.” Then he walked away. Wrapped up in some paper was a string of palony. I tried to pay but he wouldn’t take anything from me. This obviously set me off again, and I got back to my desk an emotional wreck, tear stained but laughing at the strangest, nicest thing that ever happened to me.

Not only because I got sad and someone gave me food, which has been a constant cycle in my long chubby life! More so because this was a perfect act of kindness from a stranger. He had no need to come after me, he gained nothing by giving me a gift, he just did it. It made me feel like I was glowing from the inside.

Sometimes we are so bogged down in the negative, in the attitude of people. We forget to be nice to each other and more so we forget the kindness of others. I often do it. The woe is me thing. Not bothering to smile at people or make small talk. It can change someone’s day. Like this made an impact on me.  

It’s nice sometimes to be reminded. Even if it’s just a gesture from a stranger. 

I'm a Fan.....ish. #walesfootball

I’m not an avid sports fan, and I never have been. I like some games to watch on the tele or at the pub, but I don’t really follow a single sport or team. Except rugby, but even then it’s just Wales, and I’m only mad on Six Nations or RWC’s. I know, stereotype back of the net that I love rugby.

Actually I’ll call your stereotype, a friend of mine admitted not liking rugby over the weekend. I literally didn’t understand her words. She’s Welsh as well.

Anyway back to SPORTS! More specifically the EURO’s. I love how the country has been swept up in Wales being in the Euros for the first time in 60 years. Don’t get me wrong I think it’s amazing and I’m chuffed for them, but like I said apart from ruggers, sports is not my thing, and football especially not. That’s just my opinion. I only enjoy MOTD (Match of the Day) because my boyf massages my feet at the same time. Win- Win.

Speaking of, Rob (boyf) has been obviously really into the footie games since it started and as there’s so many games, I can’t really expect massages all the time. I have therefore spent my time, pottering on the computer, around the house, reading, or doing a bit of writing. We’re watching the Wales-Russia game as I type.

Oooooh2-0 Wales.

It’s a mixture of him talking to the TV, shouting various words, or simply animal sounds, and laughing at his Whatsapp group who are “all the boys”. I’ve never asked him to elaborate on this group. I imagine boobs and sports. A bit stereotypical I know! Maybe I’ll ask one day and he’ll prove me wrong. It’s great because I’m earning loads of “remember that time I didn’t mind you watching all those footie games…” points. Which I will bank and whip out in the future. Don’t give me that if you love him let him watch what he wants shit either!

Sorry, back to the footie. My intrigue into the world of football started last Thursday when I found myself stopping what I was doing and watching the game, Wales-Eng. It wasn’t a great game, but I was still shouting at the tele. A great rivalry as old as time. I was getting excited, and asking questions. Apart from Bale I didn’t know anyone, but I was interested.  When it comes to football I have never liked the amateur dramatics of the game, the falling over and claiming broken foot, but the skill in the game is something to admire. I also have never liked the challenges with the referees either. You don’t see that in Rugby. These massive blokes getting a row off a tiny ref, they just take it, and so they should.

Sorry, Sorry! Back to footie! Focus!

Back to Thursday, it had happened, I had become a Welsh football fan, or a glory-fan (I think I coined that no?). Now that Wales were in the Euros I was into football. The more I started looking into the story the more I thought “well done Wales.” I felt proud, I was caught up in the patriotism that comes with being Welsh. I loved the way the country had come together. I loved how we were being seen across the world. One thing bringing so many people together to cheer for one common goal. It goes beyond that as well. It’s bringing countries together.

(Ooooooh 3-0 Wales, and the boy’s having a heart attack!) I just suggested taking Bale and Ramsey off and started a debate. I’m getting good at this footie chat.

Again back to last Thursday Wales-Eng. Question after question rolled off my tongue and Rob was happy and shocked to reply. He seems to know his stuff as well though he could be making it all up, I wouldn’t know. Though I hope not because, I have also learnt the offside rule, but for real now as well. I always thought I kind of knew it, but now I’m all over that S…!

So now I sit, cheering on Wales. Well writing this while cheering on Wales. I’m still bugging himself with questions, and obviously laughing at the football jokes he’s making that I don’t understand. For now, though, I’m into it. I’m excited and shouting now and again, and getting excited. No matter what sport it is there’s nothing like the sound of thousands of voices singing the Welsh National Anthem.

 I doubt I’ll stick with it once Wales are out, and I’ll go crawling back to rugby like a cheating wife that left to see if the grass was greener. I definitely won’t be watching MOTD, but I think if anything watching Wales has given me a new found respect for football, and with all my tuition now I may understand what’s going on in the other games.

I’m thinking of putting a female commentary team together. I think it would be interesting. A funnier, more interesting insight. A better perspective. I mean this one commentator is talking absolute SHIT! My friend Chloe and I were thinking about doing for Rugby, we rock a good Rugby game commentary. First Rugby, then the World! Well the other sports in the world but you get it!

What I have really enjoyed so far though about the Euros 2016, with so much negativity and fighting in the world, people killing people everyday, it’s nice to see the nicer stories about the positivity of the football in France, and the good that’s coming out of it.

I like this side of football.

31 Post Party Fun

A lucky, lucky girl I’ve been over the last weekend.

I reached 31 and as terrified as I was about this for some reason I had an amazing time. Many buddies joined me from far and wide to eat and be merry on the streets of Cardiff before dancing the night away at Brewhouse; which is my new favourite place. It reminds me of being young at gigs, where you would be covered in sweat and lager from jumping around, and sticking to the floor because it’s covered in some crap or another. It was awesome, staff were great, band was great, and it’s all about having a good time! Which is what we did. We drank, laughed, did stupid shots, and danced like assholes. Or well at least I danced like an asshole, everyone else looked pretty good.

The ageing process however does not take kindly to nights like these, and it’s difficult to recover after a booze filled party bash. So as you can imagine the day after was spent in a haze of Bob’s Burgers reruns, cuddles between my bezzie and my boyf, and dirty dirty food. Not to mention the conflicting emotions of the hangover horn and too much nausea to do anything about it. I mean seriously what is that? It can’t only be me that get this right? And if it’s not then why would your body do this to you on what is already an emotional day to get through, and we wish it stopped there!

 The next hurdle to overcome. Ladies and Gentleman, it’s the curse of The two-day hangover. That post hangover day, and for me, my worst day. Urgh! The reason being, you can function again, you can feel mostly back to normal but there’s something that’s hanging in there. Something that lingers on the fringes that you know you’re not quite yourself yet, but it’s the day after so you can’t cling to the “I’ve got a hangover” excuse anymore. You have to become a functioning member of society again which is hideous. Especially if you have to be around people who bounce back from a night out. Those early 20’s that you used to be where you would go out 5 days a week take a day off and then head out again. Rather that now where you’re out on Saturday and have to take a week holiday to recover.

In order to battle this, I took to the internet in search of post hangover, post 30 advices. The web is saturated with advice and conflicting advice, so I did the best with what I had.

 So armed with metabolism boosting, energy packed ingredients I went about fixing myself a Smoothie. And. It. Was. DISGUSTING! I had a great attitude though so I got through it, and downed it in a record 45 minutes.

No one ever said trying to get healthy was easy. This is just the pain following the pleasure of the weekend.

To combat the trauma-ok I’m dramatic- of the smoothie I treated myself with a gorgeous warming face pack to detox the pores, and cleanse my skin. Being healthy and looking after yourself can’t be all doom and gloom. It was bloody gorgeous! A combination of papaya, kiwi and red berry.

I mean the thing is apparently, the older you get the harder it is to stay healthy. This information has been confirmed time after time my one of my older cousins. Who loves to give talks on the challenges of getting on a bit. Not only do you have to put yucky things in your mouth (easy filth bags!), you have got to put amazing things on your face. That’s the first thing I noticed while I’m chugging on my smoothie, I would have much rather been eating what was on my face, and patting my face with smoothy!

It wasn’t all bad, and with the way I’ve treated my temple this last 30 years, cleansing and detoxing was definitely going to be on the cards sooner or later. This is not to say I’m going to become a one track goodness train of wellbeing. I am going to make the effort to try. That for me is what I’m going to do with my year of 31. TRY. Looking after myself. Understanding my limits and desperately trying to hold onto my youth. Age is just a number baby. Now hand me that night cream!

A Late Grown Up

The first time I’ve felt like a grown up, or as much like a grown up as I think I can in this time of my life is quite recent. A strange thing when I’ve just turned 31 I know.

My Boyf Rob and I have shacked up, and been living in relative harmony the last 4 months! We have moved into a whole house together. This might seem like a relatively small thing, but to someone who has spent their adult life in house shares, this is huge!

We have a house, a whole house and our own entire house. We have three bedrooms that no one else will be renting. We have a living room which will not be let out as a bedroom. A dining room that won’t be let out as a room. A kitchen which won’t be- well that’s slightly exaggerating, but you get my point.

Living in London previously, I had no hope of getting a place of my own and you simply fitted as many people in as you could to bring down your crippling rent.  This is what initially brought me back to Wales to live. My plan was always to move home, and the fact I say move home means I left my heart in Wales.

Yes I’m biased, but let me stop you. I loved London. I chose to leave Wales for London to go to Uni, and enjoyed so much of what London had to offer, but the cost of living in London compared to Wales means I have more of a life since coming home. This is the same for others who have moved out of London. If you can make it in London on a low wage you can do anything!

I now live in Cardiff in a three bed terrace with garden and parking and all the little things you want and miss, with no one else having to live with us! This for me is adult and exciting.

Don’t get me wrong I have led a blessed life when it came to house shares and have always been in with friends who can tolerate my singing in the shower, and my singing in bedroom and my singing, well literally all of the time. Now all my little annoying quirks will be shared by someone else who is equally if not more annoying. And if we get sick of each other there are so many other rooms to escape to. It’s sweet sweet bliss.

This is not me being mean to my house share family, but as everyone knows, however much of a shared house family you become, there is one day when you say. I’m done with this. Whether it’s the random stranger someone else brought home walking in on you doing a doody, the pile of dishes that smash to the ground as you make the last move on dirty dish jenga, or even the tactical chess game of passive aggressive move your shit out of the living room conversation. The time comes and you want to live how you want to live.

I feel like such a child because so many people I know have been living like this for years, and now that I’ve moved back home I feel like London kept me young for so much longer. THANK YOU LONDON! All those back here have kids, and marriages, and mortgages, and I am nowhere near this. I still wake up most days clueless to what I’m doing but apparently blagging my way through it. I applaud everyone who’s got their shit together, I’m just not that guy yet.

So from my time warp, this is what being an adult is to me. It’s renting a place with your fella that only you two live in. It’s being able to have people over to stay and not checking with your housemates if they’re away so you can use their room. Or chucking a duvet on the couch in the living room. I have beds for people. Actual beds. I can host stuff without permission, and make dinner to last days because I won’t feel obligated to offer it around. There are things I can’t

even imagine right now but I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough, but for now there are rooms. So many rooms!

Maybe my optimism is cute and adorable and I will fall into the traps that all one on one home dwellers have without the buffer of a third party, but we shall see. Watch this space. 

This Little Blog of |Mine

This Little blog of mine which I neglect and forget was actually started in 2009.

OK, I didn’t mean that to become a little rhyme, I’m not DR Zeus, though I do have a lot of respect for his ever creative stories of lyrical genius! I digress.

I sat here one evening and had a little look back over it, and saw that there is a certain point every year when I say “Oh hello Blog, remember me I’m back!” Then before you know it, poof I’m gone again in a cloud of excuses. I’m too tired, I need to catch up on Grey’s Anatomy, or Geordie Shore, or Made in Chelsea- don’t you friggin’ judge me- I’ve got too much on in work- or when I’m unemployed I’m just unmotivated.

Excuse after Excuse.

I enjoy writing. Scrap that, I love writing. I always write for myself, which I explain throughout my blog, but I usually just pop it in my scrap books and leave it there. The fear of putting my thoughts and feelings out there, which I’ve also mentioned before. Well F That now. 31 is the time to grow a sturdy vagina and woman up! You can see if you look at the years of blogging but I always let something get in the way. Then too much time passes and I feel I need a hook to start it up again. Usually a New Year’s Resolution. I mean 7 years of blogging and only 36 posts! I’m more interesting than that honest!

This time I’m going to use my 31^st Birthday as the reason to jump back in! I’m 31. Now let’s start up this blog again. My plan is to write at least a blog a week.

That’s not too taxing I’m sure, then let’s see what I get up to in a year. Let’s see if anything’s changed, or will I be the same person. A tubby little moaner, blaming the world for things that go wrong and times I get knocked down, ignoring my love of writing to self-destruct, spend all my time working on someone else’s dream and ignoring what I love. 

I saw a quote the other day- I LOVE QUOTES BY THE WAY, anyone will tell you I suffer awful with depression, lack of confidence, and sometimes crippling anxiety. (I’m such a catch righ?!) I simply hide it behind sarcasm, comedy acts, witty banter, and over confidence. These quotes and mantras are something I collect to help me-

“How can you spend 8 hours a day building someone else’s dream, and no time on your own?”

I don’t care what people think about them they help.

I’m going to try and retrain myself now, to quash negative thoughts, I’m going to strap on some positivity and look for the good in the world. This is my year in 31 x 

The Best Thing I've Ever Had In My Mouth!

This is not a joke people! This is an amazing slice of delicious truth that combines in your mouth creating a taste sensation that only the Gods could hope to produce. Do I exaggerate? Yeah of course I do, it’s kind of what I’m all about.

I recently met a friend for a drink after work, and as things usually go with a drink, one became two, which became many. Then of course what happens after a few drinks in a bar? No, not stumbling out with someone you’ve picked up. Something better.

Snack time, and what I ask you is the best pub sharer of them all. It is of course the amazing union of tortilla chips, salsa, soured cream and cheese. Street Name. Nachos! It’s a little heavenly party in your mouth with every bite. You don’t have to choose one taste; you got a plethora of taste sensation all in one. It’s sheer genius.

This however is not the end of the tale. Something better than the sweet taste of Nachos presented itself to me. My mate and I chatted over what to order and I put my feelings for nachos on the table- without as much gusto as I perhaps have in this instance- but to my delight the idea was met with more happiness than I had hoped for. We both shared an unhealthy love for Nachos.

After a brief moment of laughter and chat over this mutual love that had brought us closer together I stood up and made my way over to order.  Before I could step far she casually called after me.

“Get the pulled pork”

To which I replied.

“What like I sandwich.”

Through the distorted chatter of the bar she called back to me. I couldn’t have heard her right. I headed back to the table and apologised.

“Sorry” I said. “I thought you said pulled pork nachos.”

“I did!” She told me.

What in the sweet name of Baby Jesus was this bitch talking about? Someone had decided that nachos and pulled pork were not good enough separately but they had to be combined? What gourmet genius came up with this idea? Adding delicious shreds of pork to an already amazing share platter just blew my mind. Would my taste buds be able to handle this barrage of awesomeness it was about to receive? I was excited to find out.

Giving little regard for the price increase adding the pork would cause I made my way through the crowd to order the nachos and sat back and waited for them to come winging their way over to us.

When they arrived it was more than I could have dreamed of. Literally, the pile of food was more than I had ever seen in my life. I mean these guys weren’t messing around. There was easily enough food for a table of 5, but never one to turn down a challenge I attempted my first bite of “Shredded Nachos”. I believe I coined that phrase but don’t hold me to it. 

I picked up the triangular cheese covered corn of salty goodness and began swooping down into the ingredients like an eagle diving for its prey. I smothered the spicy tomato salsa on first, and then topped it with cool soured cream and guacamole. With great anticipation I placed a forkful of barbecue glazed shredded pork onto the already toppling mound of food and slowly, for fear of dropping any of it, brought it to my mouth.

It was an explosion of taste.  More than I’d hoped for. Every ingredient brought something to the table and complimented each other effortlessly. The amalgamation of flavours combining together in my mouth made for an exquisite orgasm of deliciousness. Not only did the sweet barbecue shredded pork round off much of the taste, but it also topped off the texture perfectly. Never again could I go back to plain old nachos. This would now always be my sharer of choice.  Like I said, it was the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth. I wasn’t lying!

Re-reading this I have come to terms with how much I actually love food, and I will always be a chubbly lovely! But got damn I gotta say, there’s no way skinny could make me feel any better than those bloody nachos!