Sun, sangria and siestas.

Hola Blog,

I am not writing to you from my usual spot i.e. my study room or B6D in Collingwood College. No, I am writing to you from the study inside a house, in a place called Villanueva del Pardillo, just outside of Madrid. And why am I here?

About three months ago, I decided I didn´t want to spend this summer stuck in Carrickfergus, where all it does is rain and, if we´re lucky, the sky will only have a few clouds.

I also knew that if I wanted to be eating more than just bread and water next year, I might need to consider getting a job. And so, as I was browsing the internet in desperation to find a job, the words " au pair"struck me. 'Yes. Au pair' I thought to myself. I get to earn money and have a holiday simultaneously. A winwin situation really.

And this is exactly the case. A holiday whilst earning cash. Fantastic.

Revision? What?

I am currently listening to people having fun in the beer garden below my room and it is making me ponder why it is exactly that I'm stuck in B6D, downloading songs on itunes. Has my life hit such an all time low that I can't even pretend I'm revising?



In hindsight, though, I've never really been a reviser. I'm one of those people who pisses everybody off because I just don't do anything, thus I'm never that stressed and then, at the very last minute, I'll pick up a book and cram like there's no tomorrow. I always manage to do well in the end though. Well, this is what I am telling myself as I glance at all the books on my shelf which are bearing an increasingly thick layer of dust.



My itunes is playing 'there you'll be' by Faith Hill by the minute. I feel like standing up in my bedroom, pulling out the hairbrush and singing into it in a very Tina Turner-esque fashion. Whilst that may satisfy my temporary diva urges, it would be highly uncool if someone walked into my room and witnessed such bizarreness. So, I think I'll refrain.

I just love the song, because it reminds me of Pearl Harbor, which, I think, is possibly one of the saddest films I've ever seen. It doesn't quite reach Romeo and Juliet levels of sadness, but it's pretty close. When Danny dies, I literally cry every time. For me, that's pretty impressive because I tend not to cry that much or films, or generally at all these days, come to think of it.



Ooh, Hey Jude is now playing....I always get excited for the 'jude jude judy judy judy judy' bit, but, for some reason, lots of people don't seem as familiar with it as me, so everytime the song comes on I always belt it out, and people just look at me like I should be in an asylum.



Anyway, since I am clearly harping on about what songs my itunes is playing, I'll tell you what I've been up to. In conclusion: very little. I went out on the first tuesday back of term for a post-birthday celebration with some friends. We opted for a 'around the world' themed night, so everyone had to dress up as a country (or, in Mike's case, attempt to look vaguely country-related). He tied ripped up t-shirts around his neck and went as thailand...only 'tie-land.' I know, he is incredibly quick-witted at times.



I, being highly accustomed to my irish title ( the english don't really get the whole northern ireland thing, bless them), dressed up in green and wore a massive leprechaun's hat, which was accompanied by a very sexy ginger beard. We intended to go on a bar crawl, but decided that torrential rain, a bunch of drunk people, some of whom were wearing heels, and hills didn't really make such a fantastic combination. So we had more of a bar stay than a bar crawl, remaining in Collingwood for about 20 years, and then hitting studio when we were already smashed. Result.



On Friday night, we experienced our first Planet- complete with DJ Robin himself-of term. The night consisted of pre-lashing in Scott's room, drinking in the bar which left us barely able to make it to Planet. But, we managed to conquer our stumbling, and made it to the club in one piece. One of the night's highlights was mine and lucy's ridiculous 'birthday shout-out' to Sarah that ended with us muttering complete crap into the microphone, and wondering why noone seemed to understand what we were talking about. After singing at the top of our voices, and consequently destroying our voice boxes, to songs by S CLUB 7 and Bewitched and other songs that reflect our highly cultured nature, we headed for some post-clubbing food. While Scott and Lucy ended up ordering Pizza, Sarah, Adam and I headed for subway, which was apparently closed, but we seemed to be indifferent to this fact.

Due to the fact that my bladder felt on the verge of combusting, and I wasn't overly keen on being labelled 'the incontinent girl' by my peers, I made up some crap about needing their toilet because I was diabetic and had to inject. Lame, I know. But the guy was quite clearly thick and somehow bought into my pathetic story, and allowed us to use their loo. I thought it was a very kind act until I discovered that the toilet was in the middle of a dark corridor, which was rather lacking in doors. Nontheless, in a stage of desperation, I overlooked the creepiness, and just went. I wasn't entirely aware at that time that there was no toilet paper in the vicinity. So I had to ( very classily) shake it...like a polaroid picture. Well, I say this, but I did manage to find a page of the times newspaper on my way out. Even classier, I know.

Sarah and I attemped to look in another dark compartment of the very bewildering subway toilets, but clearly they are anti-hinges, because their door fell right on top of us and almost made us into human rugs.

Nights like that are what Uni is all about. It's the only thing getting me through these crappy exams. Please let me wake up one day and they'll all be over.
I'm not wishing death on myself by the way, just a very very long sleep.

Life: Four months on.

Usually I make some sort of apology at the beginning of my blog, telling you how bad I am for forgetting to write in it. I'm not going to do that this time. Sometimes there are better things to be doing in life that sitting in front of a computer, typing in a blog that, generally speaking, makes me sound like a big of a depresso.


I have a tendency to view my blog as a kind of escape mechanism, so every time I'm a little bit down or, contrarily, over-the-moon about something, I'll write about it. But these types of blogs aren't quite 'me' because they leave out all the inbetween emotions and situations that shape my everyday life. On the whole, I'm a very-at least I like to think-optimistic person, so I would just like to inform you that I am not on the verge of wrist-slitting or becoming a fan of death metal in the near future just because I may sound a bit down occasionally. Chances are that I felt like that for one day, picked myself up again and got over it.



I don't really know where to begin because this poor blog has been neglected for around four months, which is like a third of a year and actually quite a long time when you think about it.


Things haven't changed dramatically if I'm totally honest. I haven't decided to quit University, leave the country, convert to Islam or get a sex change or anything like that...I guess I've just matured a little. Little being the operative word. I'm not saying I'm now suddenly an avid attender of my thursday 9 am lecture on spanish history or that my pure love for studio mondays and loveshack wednesdays has dwindled, but I do think I have learnt a lot about myself.

I've learnt that I really love spending time with people and that I could never live alone when I'm older, but that I also find it quite a liberating feeling to spend time by myself, not in a i'm-a-social-recluse-esque way, but just to sit and think. College, awesome as it is, can have its downfalls. If you feel like being pensive or if you're majorly hormonal and need a good irrational cry, it is quite often the case that you just can't. You try the 'I'll be really silent and pretend I'm not in my room' method for a while or pretend to be vaguely upset about something when the reality is that you just need to breathe. I hope I'm not creating the allusion that I somehow shun public contact ( I'm quite sociable...I promise you), it's just I find it a tad chlaustrophobic to be living in the same vicinity as people who are jumping up and down with hyperness when what I really want to do is to give someone a cuddle or watch tv. Thankfully I'm not constantly on my period so that feeling of 'someone, please give me a hug' is usually temporary.


I've also fallen into the 'drifting away from home friends' trap that I thought was beyond possibility prior to moving away. There are people from home who I can confidenly say I will be friends with for a very long time, if not forever, and then there are that select ambiguous few who are sort of just 'there'. They are my friends and every now and then I'll wonder how they are, but really we make a mutual amount of effort, which is no effort at all as it goes.

I have actually managed to contact a few of the friends who I thought I was never going to see again in my life( except possibly at the belfast high reunion in 20 years), so I'm really looking forward to meeting with them over the easter hols. It'll be like a table-banging english talking and listening session I imagine, we'll have that much to say.


It's so strange to be home. Last term flew in even more than the previous one. In a sense, I love being at home, because it's where I feel most secure, but then again, I always get a little bit bored. It has absolutely nothing to do with the people there incase you're thinking 'bitch.' It's more just that the pace of things is a lot slower and so if you want to meet up with someone, you have to text them a week in advance, wait two days for them to text back, then meet up...but chances are it'll get cancelled anyway.


I prefer it when I'm constantly busy and socialising and, if I sit about all day doing nothing, I think ' well that was a total waste of a day.' I know it may seem marginally irrational to think I have to be filling every second of my time with something productive or interesting, but I often think that there is so much to see and do in the world and I have so far only experienced a tiny fraction of what it has to offer. I mean God didn't really create a huge world so that we would just stay happily enclosed in Broadlands Gardens, Carrickfergus, did he?

Given that I'm not made of money and am, in fact, quite the opposite, I'm unlikely to be jetsetting across Europe anytime soon, but I just hate routine. I hate doing exactly the same thing every day because, to me, it seems a bit pointless. How can you really learn new things if everything you do remains constant? That was kind of a rhetorical question, but I think the answer is 'you can't.' And, for that, I am so glad to have gone away to uni, to finally step outside of my comfort zone and meet people whom I may not have necessarily chosen to be friends with in Northern Ireland, or even have had the opportunity to meet. That's the thing about Northern Ireland: despite its wondrously friendly people, it can become a bit of a bubble...not that Durham exactly screams cosmopolitan, but it allows you to meet such a wide range of people. That, I think, can only be a good thing.

I forgot to mention to you that you are now hearing from a nineteen-year-old Melissa. Nineteen is one of those weird, somewhat boring ages, since you are no longer 'just an adult' and so the excitement of being able to do things legally is long gone and yet you are still, in theory, a teenager so you have to pretend to associate with spotty, 'oh my god my boobs are growing' thirteen-year-olds. To be honest though I'd rather be an immature teenager again than be twenty and having to think 'in five years time, I'm going to have to start wearing anti-wrinkle cream.'

My Birthday was really nice this year, very different from my karaoke limo and posh dinner 18th birthday, but it was just as good in its own little way. Basically everything that could potentially destroy a birthday celebration occured: some of my friends are still at Uni so, for obvious reasons, couldn't be there, Catherine got a weird bug and had to drop out last-minute, and Nikki had a band concert in Dublin. But, Saz and I, being the hardcore alcoholics that we are , though that there was no point in staying in just because it was just the two of us...*cue song*. So, like true students, we bought some cheap, but still relatively classy, booze from M&S, got a chinese( not so classy), sang some songs, acted a bit silly, and had a a really good time before going out to Box where we chav danced under strobe lights just like old times. We also managed to let ourselves get enveloped by the local sleazefest, which consisted of a stick-like giant who was swaying from side to side with each beat of the music, and what looked like a primordial dwarf, who just thrusted whenever he felt like it. He also freakishly positioned himself just behind me so he could grab onto my waist continually and then, when I turned round, he would look at me each time with a look of delusive apology and murmer 'oh sorry.' Meanwhile, I'm thinking 'yes, I'm sure you are, moron. It's so easy to grab onto a girl's waist. I wish my hands were less uncontrollable too.'

Oh and we can't forget raincoat guy who somehow thought it feasible to wear a parka inside a nightclub, stumble around the place looking like he was mentally unhinged and then chew the face off some chavtastic whore. If you want to get a boyfriend, I recommend you come to Northern Ireland. If you want to get a boyfriend who isn't weedy, spotty and unfailingly perverted, then I'd stay well shot of the place.

Thank God for England.