Plane-talkin'

I currently sit in the free wifi lounge of Seoul international airport, South Korea. This is officially the farthest I've ever been from 'home', wheree'er I choose that to be, the first time I've been out of Europe, the first time I've been to a country where I speak literally none of the language (I think 'Incheon' means 'Seoul', but personally I think it sounds like a new pokemon).
On the flight, I was seated in the mid-row seat, right behind a baby, so, as you can imagine, I was in for a fun ride. Except, neither proved an issue- the woman to my left was very talkative, but not overly so; she was also quite picky with her food, so I got two cakes and an extra omelette at breakfast (I had to choose between pre-made omelettes and pre-made porridge; is there no god?!); I don't think the man to my right spoke English, but he didn't get huffy when I accidentally elbowed him so I've decided I liked him. The baby was actually a delight- only two short bursts of tears, quickly allayed by one of her mothers (I took her stoic silence as conclusive proof that gay parents raise the best kids) or one of the stunningly beautiful women who sashayed up and down the aisles, bows in hair and water jugs in hand. They really were very acommodating- as far as I was aware, I was the only one awake on the plane at one point and one of them still thought to come and offer me refreshment. The in-flight movies were also not to be sniffed at- I caught up with The Lorax, Wrath of the Titans and Friends with Kids, so I'm pretty solid for next year's Oscars, I imagine. The one problem was, as previously alluded, I Could Not Sleep.
It was frustrating.
I was too hot.
I was too cramped.
I was too vertical.
I wanted to find out if the Lorax ever restored his beloved forest.
Kay, a creative writing teacher at Warwick University, who also happened to be the woman to my left, dozed off as soon as she wished. Same story with the wee bairn in front of me. Just like in Sleeping Beauty, I watched everyone else fall into a deep and magical sleep whilst I stared at what I presume is the Korean for lavatory. Then I played Pac-man, but the controls didn't work. Then I played Street Fighter but I always sucked at that game, so I gave up. I have some sleeping pills (sadly inaccessible during the last flight, which I have now stuffed into my trouser pocket, so hopefully the next journey will not expand my filmic horizons so broadly but will leave me feeling less like a punching bag with a bladder problem. But I may stay up to watch  the last five minutes of Friends with Kids, sadly stolen by the inconvenience of landing- I really hope Julia and Jason get together- they've earnt it.

Google (per)plex

When I was coming to University, I remember vividly counting out the number of pairs of socks I had- even allowing for odd ones, I am not heterophobic-and it totalled eight. I now have eleven, so it's nice to have a solid way of measuring how much I have grown in two years. Since google is as unforthcoming with the number of pairs of socks that the average person owns as ever, I have no idea where this puts me in comparison with my fellow human being, but I like to think this is somewhat less, if only cos it makes me seem less materialistic. Alack.
In other news, Esmond came, saw, conquered and departed, a teary farewell on Telford Central station ensuing, culminating in me running after the train, arm outstretched, as he looked on, embarassed, his fellow passengers raising their brows at the weirdo on the platform. Emma is still here, though, and so my final four days in Britain will at least be spent in company. Things are naturally heating up on the preparation front, and today my mother actually gave me Marks and Spencers' vouchers she'd been saving since her birthday so I could buy some smart looking trousers (in the hopes of securing employment in the antipodes). Tomorrow we go trawling through TK Maxx for discount sun glasses and 'evening shoes', whatever they are. I'm sure google could inform me, but he's in a huff after I asked him that question I didn't know about the socks.

The Parting of the Ways

I bid farewell to Mel and Travis today- that's my second oldest friendship now sealed for a year and put into the back of the wine cellar to mature (one can always hope). I don't know if I'll even get to see Dan, my longest-running friend, before I leave, as he's off sojourning in Brum, which I'll admit is hardly, oh I don't know, 10505 miles away but we're not close enough for me to travel more than a mile and a half (i.e. the distance between our houses) to see him. So, I like to think I've hit my nadir in terms of sadness; Esmond and Emma are both coming over the next few days to keep me company, but for some reason these have the feeling of a joyous celebration, like the prospect of a sleep over with my friends when I was twelve, whereas visiting Mel felt very much like the end of something- not to say I didn't enjoy her company, but we both knew that the friend ship was going to be moored for a while (see what I did there?) I think part of this might stem from the fact that Emma and Esmond are coming to me, while I had to go to see Mel- I wonder if they'll arrive filled to the brim with lugubry to find me wearing a party hat and carrying a bowl of warm water, a mischevious glint in my eye. Travis certainly displayed no outward signs of lament as I hugged him one last time and helped tuck him into bed. Then again, he's two, so mayhap he should not be my role model.

I had a shenanigan once; most uncomfortable twenty minutes of my life

I really wish my life were a page on TV tropes, because boy do I have a subversion of the classic 'zany scheme' I've read so much about. See, there are so many TV shows (Will and Grace, Ugly Betty) where the resident gay's parents are coming and, hilarity of hilarity, he's told them that one of the female leads is his girlfriend! Cue laugh track galore, lots of improvisation and a web of lies so big that Charlotte could have written out the first five chapters of Silas Marner upon it. Naturally, the truth does out (as does the gay) and there's tears, recriminations and a heartfelt hug, with a moral about tolerance and openness and getting your story straight before undertaking any big lie. Roll credits, tune in next week.
But here's where I get all post-modern and give it a twist: my parents already know I'm gay. On Wednesday next week, an old friend will come and stay. Now, this friend is a redblooded heterosexual, but also a bloody good actor. The scheme is simple- I tell him that I've told my parents that he's my boyfriend to get them off my back about being single; we'll play the part of the couple until it all falls apart in a huge set piece involving someone getting hit in the face with a piece of cake.
Whilst that all sounds wonderful, I can't imagine why I would do it, except to subvert expectations, cause shenanigans and generally spice up what is a dull and lonesome place (my parents' house). Also, I've already had a grilling from my loving progenitors about my utter lack of a significant other, so I wouldn't even be maintaining an illusion. Ah well, I'll just have to settle for decapitating some more chickens to enliven my hometown.

I wish we didn't need wishes

I'm pretty sure one of the Goosebumps books extolled 'be careful what you wish for'- evidently I Did Not Learn. After posting yesterday's gushing swansong, I learnt that I would not in fact leave the Burgh that day- the heavens had conspired, decided that hiding the modern gospel in children's horror books was evidently not working and then opened, flooding Newcastle and showering Lancaster in mud and generally cutting off Scotland from the outside world (read: England.) So, I guess I was not the only one who needed to be taught not to make wishes; all those who have been calling for Scotland to indeed fly the nest have seen just what such a separation will do to their nation's train stations. They're just lucky they weren't on the train I finally managed to catch- I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Yet, not for me the furrowed brow, as it means I got some extra time to fritter away with the good lady Freya, who was positively incandescent with mystery and wit. And I still managed to make it home in time to catch my sister and use up a year's worth of conversation in five hours, forty minutes, so we shan't feel cheated when I depart. So, heavens, I applaud you- I've been taught not to make idle wishes yet not suffered any real consequences for my actions- and isn't that the best and most reliable way to learn? You may have to try harder with the SNP, though.

10505 Miles

Genuinely at this moment, I don’t want to leave Edinburgh. Compounding this is the fact that if I weren’t about to cross the globe I could’ve saved myself a lot of stress and anguish this past week (I know, I know, #firstworldproblems), but the meaty heart of this lamentation stew is that Edinburgh has never seemed so uniformly charming in all my time here. As I was clearing out my flat this morning, everything took on an aura of delightfulness so potent that I nearly burst into tears upon finding a note- written by an American exchange student in my first semester- telling me ‘farewell’. I swooned over finding some mementos of a show that at the time nearly killed me. I pored over posters, wept over washing baskets and cuddled a shoe; the better half of a pair where one’s ruinous, worn existence had condemned the other to garbage.

I wish I were exaggerating, but despite the tepid atmosphere and decidedly damp vibes I’m getting from her right now, I want to lie down and wrap Edinburgh around me like a blanket. This week alone I’ve said goodbye to Becky, Freya and Rik, all of whom I’ve known since Fresher’s week- Becky has never been earnestly fun, Rik so quintessentially knowledgable nor Freya so unfathomably fascinating. ALL of them will be here next year. I could bask in another year of their friendship if I weren’t sodding off down under. Of all my fresher’s week friends, only Esmond remains to bid adieu, and then I am officially alone.

But, if my heart of hearts wants to kick and scream and hold its breath and refuse to get in the car, then my mind of minds is perfectly fine with that, revving the engine, leaving now, goodbye, going to leave you behind. I KNOW this is an amazing opportunity; it will improve my employability, gain me life experience, flesh out a sadly depleted CV (I think those might all be the same thing)- and I must confess, the allure of my antipodean paramour is intoxicating. But goshdarn it, did Andy have to be so witty last night? Did Connor have to be that loveable? Did John have to be...John? I am not particularly close to any of these people, and a voice in the back of my head is yearning to plumb their depths (metaphorically, guys, in case you’re reading- this is not a love letter). And I could, if not for the fact that I’ll be 10505 miles (a pleasingly round number, don’t you agree?).

So all I can do is hope; hope that I find an Australian Andy; hope that my friends don’t change too much while I’m away; hope that my year abroad isn’t just a bullet point on my CV or a kooky story I tell my children; hope that it’s a start of a whole new life, one equally as awesome as Edinburgh seems now. I’m realistic about what will become of this blog- at best, it’ll be a curiosity wheeled out to entice future freshers to apply for exchange years. My advice to you then is this: take off the graduation goggles, and you’ll see they’re rose tinted.

P.S. Flipped a coin as to whether the title should be ‘10505 miles’ or ‘Graduation Goggles’ before realising that the former is a better title and will stop me from having to think up a ‘How I met your mother’ themed title for each post.