A perfect day in Cádiz – in photos.
I’ll sing it one last time for you, then we really have to go
Andalucía
So what if it hurts me? So what if I break down?
King Arthur has returned! There will be a post in the near future.
You walked in, just like smoke, with a little come-on, come-on, come-on
We had Tres Flores and Naranja tea. mmmm.
***Thoughts:
I love having the upper hand; he’s going to suffer next time I see him.
If I’m cold now I’m going to be bloody freezing in Belgium.
I should have known better than to buy skinny leg jeans. Thighs, dude, thighs.
Damn, how did I become a secret ‘romantic teen comedy’ junkie? Need car chase movies, stat.
Please. Please. Please. Please. Be okay. I’d give up Europe forever for that one thing.
I didn’t hear what you were saying, I live on raw emotion baby
In a moment of weakness, I downloaded New Moon. All I can say is, I am now even more convinced of the hilarity of it all. Also, it is totally unrealistic, not just the whole vampires/wolves thing, but puh-lease bitch, who is going to choose a pasty, weedy, shiny dude over that gorgeous dog boy? Yeah, nobody. So case closed, storyline is unrealistic and the lead character is a twit. Oh, and Edward looks as if he’s constantly constipated.
Now that I am feeling rather disturbed and a little pervy (who cares if he’s a dog boy, being 16 is the problem) – time for my photos of today’s trip to Antequera. Lessons learnt = the train station is miles from the actual town, buses don’t run on puente and taxis are expensive; some happy taxi driver is 50 euros richer after our lack of research. The price of the taxis was worth it though, what a beautiful place.
People dancing should have never chose girlfriends
- On Friday morning I got home at 4am from Thursday night. On Saturday morning I got home at 5am from Friday night – three hours later I got up and packed to spend Saturday night in Granada. Never, ever, pack whilst drunk.
- My camera has decided to screw with me in revenge for the many times I have dropped it whilst drunk. It is now set to landscape/no flash mode and therefore won’t work at night; possibly trying to give me hint – less drinking. Therefore I have been put incharge of my flatmate’s camera; she doesn’t know how mine died.
- Spanish Halloween is great, nobody dresses up as ‘slut’.
- I was a little ‘girly girly’ for awhile, but I have been cured.
- Trying to get the spaces between my photos to be the same is really, bloody frustrating, and now these bullet points are messing with me.
That’s right, put in work, eat your salad – no dessert.
The day after, the day after, the night before (tequila is now banned from our house).
My photos of Málaga:
I said "hey! What’s going on?"
Now that I have my own room, internet connection and a bit of free time, I have started getting link lost in blogs again. As much as I love fashion/style blogs, I’m keen to discover something different, so if you can recommend me a blog – your own maybe, or other non-fashion blogs you read, it’d be great!
Oh, and if you’re one of my friends- stop being lazy and write me an email, douchebag. A-strizzle, Flower and Snoop are exempt, but the rest of you – just because you can blogstalk me doesn’t mean I don’t want to know all your gossip.
Aiight, here are some of my photos from Seville, it’s the bomb-diggity.
WTF?!?!?! …..oh how…cute? ‘Who’s a cute little future dictator, then? YOU are, You are.’
This is yours to wear, you’re the chosen one, there’s no turning back now
It’s pretty much safe to say I am totally and utterly in love with Spain. And totally not in any way interested in or bothered by certain stupid boys.
Right now it’s 8.45pm and there are hoards of little demons, I mean…children, running around screaming in the park nearby. It’s 24 degrees. I have finished work for the evening. I’m going out soon for a tinto de verano (o cinco) because I don’t have to be at work til 12 tomorrow. Most importantly, my room is looking less and less like the cutesy boudoir of a 60 year old Spanish woman.
I always feel a little uncomfortable when life is all rainbows and lollipops (despite bloody ugly curtains and chandeliers), because it means you have further to fall when the shit hits the fan..yikes, too many idioms. I’m wondering how long I can maintain the good life and when reality is going slap me on the arse and say ‘yo t-dawg, what’s crackin homie? Hahaha fo’ shizzle? you thought you were gonna be happy for ever, bitch you trippin”. I’m not sure why reality is a douchebag gangsta’, but there you go. Maybe reality is a posh English person, and it will be more like ‘Hello madam, kindly leave your happiness at reception by no later than 10am, failure to do so will result in further misery at a later date. Thank you for your cooperation and have a lovely day’. Maybe reality is the nasty kids from school ‘Oh look, it’s the midget, frizzy-haired girl with glasses (laughter) What’s up Jackson Five? (more laughter) She thinks she’s going to be happy? Let’s go call her fat, ay? See if she cries..I wonder if it makes her glasses steam up…’.
To wrap up: couldn’t reality just be happiness for the rest of my life? Please and thank you.
I have twenty days off around Christmas and I am struggling to decide what to do. Ay ay ay.
Photo: Anna Rosa Krau
Sometimes reputations outlive their applications. Sometimes fires don’t go out, when you’re done playing with them
Photo: Fergus Padel
I’m all settled in. Apart from the fact my room has the most vomit inducing pink frilly curtains I have ever seen, I’m pretty happy. Moving in has been fun, we went on a sheets mission yesterday, who would have thought choosing a sheets/blanket/pillow colour scheme could be so demanding? I have decided to just pretend the pink curtains don’t exist…or clash with my chosen brown and beige bedding. Screw you, curtains. Our clothes line is on the roof of our building, I can’t be bothered walking up there so at the moment everything in the apartment is being used to dry my clothing.
We moved in yesterday and the landlady was there, with her husband and her mother. It was a flurry of double cheek kisses, with the six of us in rotation. They didn’t speak a word of English, luckily my flatmates speak Spanish, I felt like one of those toy dogs that sit in the back of cars nodding their head repetitively. Nod and smile, right? I was the only one who hadn’t already seen the flat so the landlady’s mother insisted on draging me around, trying to speak to me in French, while showing me how to use these amazing machines called ‘Microwaves’. She instructed us that we needn’t worry that the oven doesn’t work, since microwaves work just as well. So, microwaved muffins, pizza and pot roast coming up. She was quite concerned when I exclaimed with surprise ‘Oh!!! no es para los gatos?‘ when she explained what a washing machine is for. Being a smartarse never pays off -she thought I was serious and proceeded to show me how to turn every single tap on.
Now we are heading out to suss out our area. Systematic sampling of every bar within a one kilometre radius. Life is tough.
Save some face, you know you’ve only got one. Change your ways while you’re young.
Photo: Fergus Padel
Hello. I live in Spain! Yeah, I got a job…
…in Andalucía. Moving again, luckily my life fits into one (rather large) case.
The other morning I woke up to the sound of lots of people talking and curiously looked out the front window to see a street market practically on my doorstep! I was so excited, it was brilliant. I took photos out of my window and dragged my friend down to have a look. Then we played the Russian Roulette comida game, which basically entails eating something even though you don’t have a clue what it is. I got some fried cheesy, potato thing…I survived. My Spanish lessons have been going great. I am the class clown, it’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it.
Gosh, I’ll really miss the cojones off Valencia -yes, I am allowed to invent my own cojones sayings, feel free to do the same- but, I’m also excited about new Andalusian adventures to come. I’ve got no time to think about boys, that’s for sure…
Oh, and I’m doing Te’s Postcard Service again! So, email me an address if you’d like a postcard from Valencia: thatwassubtle@gmail.com
That was subtle. 
