Change One Thing About Yourself

Whilst procrastinating on buzzfeed I came across youtube video (watch it here) which was both funny and sad. 50 people were asked one question: "what would you change about your body?" And whilst the adults were very quick to list flaws, the children were a little slower. Some couldn't find fault in their body, whereas others opted for wings and mermaid tails. It left me with the sinking question: when did we learn to hate ourselves?

I think social media obviously has a huge role in this for both genders. For a long, long time there has been the 'picture perfect' ideal of what we should like like - and whilst we all know that this is largely an unattainable goal, we all still strive for perfection that can only be achieved by filters and photoshop software. Body shaming is rife. How often do the words 'fat' and 'lazy' accompany each other? A recent viral photo clearly depicts the unrealistic body images that we're faced with daily.

The girl on the right is a size 8/10, and as you can see the mannequin has legs so skinny you could probably drive a truck through her thigh gap. My younger sister with her infinite thirteen year old wisdom confined in me that her legs were ''childhood sweethearts'' and she wasn't going to ''try and separate them for the sake of fashion''. I don't know what I was more proud of; her healthy attitude or her use of extended metaphor. 

But it's not just 'fat' people who are subjected to feeling like they ought to change. Two current chart hits have something in common: they body shame skinny girls. Nicki Minaj in 'Anaconda' repeatedly shouts ''fuck the skinny bitches'' whilst Meghan Trainor reminds us all that boys ''like a little more booty to hold at night'' and it adamant that all the ''skinny bitches'' ought to know that she's got ''curves in the right places''. Well, what if I don't have curves in all the right places? Why does my arse become a comfort blanket for a man at night?

So if we're to believe the media stereotypes:

fat = lazy 

skinny = bitch

What does that make me? My body has been likened to that of a false widow spider (seriously), and I have curves but I'm not sure if they're in the right places at all. Like most of us, I'm my harshest critic - but when did I get so negative? When did we decide that we weren't good enough in our own skin? And most importantly, are our attempts at looking 'perfect' impacting our health negatively?

So fuck it, the next time someone asks me what I want to change about my body I'm not going to list several things. I'm going to tell them I want a magic tongue that speaks all the languages in the world, and matching ears which understand them. Sounds more useful than a flat stomach to me. 

Vienna: Friends and Family

There were a few things that we noticed immediately about Vienna: their concept of waiting in line is very different to the British queuing ideal, it's not that ethnically diverse as a capital city - especially when you compare it to London and a lot of people seemed to stare at Harry.

Caroline's family was SO welcoming, and it was very easy to settle in and feel at home. Her sisters are absolutely fantastic - hint to my sister who is currently not responding to my messages on facebook! As we were seeing Vienna on a budget we had a lot of meals in with them, and they were trusting enough to let us cook - a brave move which they may have regretted once they saw Gyan's bacon. And on one night we were fortunate enough to be treated by Mr Lang's infamous schnitzel and secret carrots! His top tip for schnitzel was use pork instead of veal because it has more flavour - and remember to season the meat before you coat it! After dinner we played this game which is like air hockey.. but without the air.. and goals.. I still don't really understand it, but it was a nice way to end the evening. 

This is just the type of hungover food I need right now. 

The face of concentration! 

We were also fortunate enough to have been included in Viki's birthday celebrations! Vienna just seems to have the best things for entertainment ever: remember those soft play areas that you used to go to as a kid? The ones with ball parks? Okay, so imagine that in the pitch black WITH LAZER GUNS. 

Fuelled with adrenaline and alcohol we jumped back on the U and went into town in search of more gin - which we were lucky to find after being blinded by Harry's glimelight. 

Feeling a little delicate the next day we got ready to board our flight home.. It got a bit emotional. 

And then we let EasyJet take care of the rest.. 

 See you soon Vienna - I'll be back!

Vienna: Arrival and the City!

I'm a bad, bad blogger - seems my posts have just dwindled into nothing. And this isn't for lack of trying; I've started and stopped several posts.. But nothing seems to be working - and then a good friend of mine came up with the perfect solution: a travel post!

Coincidentally, it was this good friend that I went to visit. 

I can't quite remember who had the idea to go to Vienna, or at what stage of the night it came up. In fact, I'm not even sure I remember much about that night at all. But unlike many alcohol fuelled statements; Harry, Gyan and I actually followed through on this one - and went to Vienna!

Viennese Midgetz 

The fun and games started at stupid-o-clock in the airport. After a lengthy bus journey and hot chocolate disaster I arrived at Gatwick and met up with Harry, Gyan and Gyan's fanny pack. 

Once we'd stopped taking the piss out of him, and finally boarded the plane - only briefly upsetting an Air Hostess - we settled down and discussed sensible things like: if you were a superhero, which one would you be? Before we knew it, we'd arrived! 

Vienna is one efficient city - if anyone knows how to run an airport its them. With hardly any waiting or queuing we were in and out in a matter of minutes - taking the U (basically a tube) into the city centre. Not only is it one of the most efficient places I've come across there is also a huge, permanent amusement park in the middle of the city called The Prater. The sun had come out to welcome our arrival, so we went straight to the Prater - which I absolutely loved. Not only was there a decent selection of rides; but the whole atmosphere was lovely. Unbeknownst to us, Gyan isn't a massive fan of rides... But we made him go on them anyway. 

 After an eventful day of travelling and roller-coasters, we settled down and celebrated our arrival in Vienna the only way we know how!

There's no way else to put it, Vienna is a stunning city. I could wax lyrical about the architecture and huge stone buildings. They legitimately have the fanciest H&M I have ever seen - with a marble and gold front it was certainly a lot fancier than any British high street I've come across. The buildings tower over you, and it's difficult not to feel like Thumbelina as you explore the city. And it's just so clean and spacious! 

The Hofburg

We also took a look at The Summer Palace, which is where Franz Joseph and Princess Sissi spent a lot of time. It must be an age thing, but I really enjoyed the tour of the house that we did. I turned twenty and now I suddenly like going on tours of historic houses - it's finally happened - I've turned into my mother! 

We also decided to buy some fancy cakes from Demel and take a paddle boat out onto the River Danube - which was absolutely gorgeous and a fantastic leg work out. The cakes are something else, we picked four different ones and shared them. The apple strudel was my particular favourite, although the Sachertorte was divine.  

I can absolutely see how Caroline's mother fell in love with the city, because I certainly did.. In the next post I'll talk about the fabulous company we enjoyed! 

Feminists Are Ugly

When the hashtag 'Feminists Are Ugly' began trending on Twitter, feminists began to tweet their own selfies - whilst using the hashtag - to prove that they weren't. I can't help but wonder if Emmeline Pankhurst is tweeting from the grave - or just turning in it.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/imaansheikh/boss-ladies-are-here

It has long been a stigma that feminists are butch lesbians who wear doc martins, shave their hair and have a burning desire to boil every penis they come across. They all have hairy legs, armpits and vaginas. They don't have any bras to wear because they burnt them all. They will shout in your face and crush a cupcake with their bare hands. Stereotypically feminists are an angry, volatile bunch that should be shunned. But haven't we realised by now that stereotypes are just complete crap? Do we really need a twitter hashtag to debunk it?

Anti-feminism hashtags have been all over twitter this summer:

• #IDontNeedFeminism
• #WomenAgainstFeminism 
• #FeminismIsAwful 

And with the website http://www.avoiceformen.com/ (a website for all the repressed and under-represented white heterosexual males out there) is claiming to have an increased traffic recently, I'm beginning to feel the increasing need to bang my head against a wall or step on lego. It's just all so frustrating. Feminism does not just liberate women; it also frees men by aiming to break down the standards which society has put in place for both sexes. Socially constructed rules cause everyone to be socially confined, not just women.

So when the hashtag #FeministsAreUgly came up on my newsfeed, I rolled my eyes. It just so clearly points out every that is wrong with our current society: where a woman's value is directly linked to her beauty. The word 'ugly' implies that you're not only munted, but have also failed to conform to society's ideal of 'beautiful' - something that struck a chord with many feminists on twitter. They began to post their selfies alongside the hashtag. Some women were just showing that they didn't fit into the (outdated) stereotype of what a feminist looked like, others were tweeting photos to tell people that they didn't care if they weren't societies idea of beautiful - and that in their own eyes they were gorgeous. And it was nice, it was really lovely to see women of all nationalities, religions, shapes and sizes proudly say that they were a feminist and this is what they looked like.

...And then the internet took over. It became a competition. Which feminist was prettiest? Which one had the most retweets? Which one was favourited more? Women began criticising other women. Too much make up? Well then clearly you not a real feminist and are just an attention seeking whore. Omg an eyebrow piercing!? What are you... An emo lesbian feminist freak?  It leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth.

Feminism is a social movement - not a beauty contest. 

Feminist (noun): Someone who believes in social, political and economic equality of the sexes. 

@IsobelSylviaAnn

A Girls Guide to Marrakech (2 of 2)

DAY THREE - WEDNESDAY

With Elena feeling unwell and deciding to stay in the Riad, Phoebe and I did the only sensible thing we could think of. In the midday heat we set off in search of the Koutoubia Gardens. It is very important to stay hydrated, especially in 42 degree heat... So phoebe and I set off with a small bottle between the two of us, when in reality we should have had a litre each.. Opps! After finding Koutoubia there was a little mix up about where the gardens actually were - and it took us ten minutes and a conversation with an overly friendly Russian man to discover we were actually in them.

Not wanting to go back immediately we decided to find the Henna Cafe that had been recommended to us. It's found just on the outskirts of the medina, and I couldn't recommend it more. Everything was so reasonably priced and the food was fantastic - but then again, we were two hungry, dehydrated travellers so anything would have seemed good at the time! Simply sliced orange and cinnamon is my new favourite pudding - so refreshing and fragrant! The henna is much better than the stuff you get offered in the square - and is its natural brown rather than being dyed black. What makes the cafe even better is that its a non profit organisation, and all the proceeds go towards the education of locals. Well worth a visit: http://www.hennacafemarrakech.com/ 

We spent the rest of the day by the pool, recounting our stories to Elena and hiding from the sun. Every evening we went into the square to eat - which was such good value. Moroccan food is so interesting, the depth of flavours from such simple ingredients is really interesting - I'm trying to figure out how to do a student budget friendly tagine style thing!

The square was as you can imagine: busy yet pretty:

DAY FOUR - THURSDAY

And on day four I realised why it was probably better to pay a little extra for your food. I'm not exactly sure what happened, what I ate or if it was just heatstroke from the day before.. But I spent most of Thursday afternoon lying naked on the bathroom floor, throwing up everything that was left in my system. I woke up in the morning feeling a little achey and generally under the weather with a sore throat - but I could not be persuaded to stay in all day - day four was our last day - our shopping day! 

I didn't take photos of the souks because it was a little intimidating: lots of men shouting at you in a variety of languages, each of them demanding you come into their store and buy their produce. We had been warned by a large number of people that as a group of three young girls we would be hassled more than normal, but in reality it wasn't as bad as we'd expected. I think by day four we were more accustomed to politely smiling and saying 'no thank you' - never once did I actually fear for our safety despite a disgruntled stall owner chasing us down the alleyway shouting: "IF IT WASN'T FOR RAMADAN  I'D SMASH THIS GLASS OVER YOUR HEAD" and repeatedly called Elena a "bad woman". 

Haggling is a encouraged by everyone, even stall owners! And whilst I'm very happy with the price I paid, I probably paid way too much. Lots of people will give you lots of different advice when it comes to haggling: pretend to not actually like the product too much, pretend you've seen it cheaper elsewhere, half the figure they give you, start a 100 dirhams cheaper than what you want to pay etc, and if in doubt - just walk away - chances are they'll come running after you. Personally I would always just aim to pay what you think is fair - there's no point in trying to be clever and get the cheapest price possible. Haggling for the sake of haggling is just boring - especially when everything is cheaper than what it would cost in the UK. 

So yes: the markets were busy, smelly and hectic. But if you dress sensibly and act politely it is a fantastic experience. I loved every second. 

OVERALL

I loved every moment of Marrakech, yes, even bringing up the entire contents of my stomach and running a fever so high you could have fried eggs on me - it was just so eye-openingly beautiful. A few people made comments about us being an all female group, and it did begin to get me worried, but in reality #FUCKIT - it really wasn't that bad. If you dress in a way that is respectful to the local customs (which a lot of tourists didn't.. which I felt was a bit rude) there is absolutely no reason why you can't travel as a group of women. 

So, things to remember:

1. Drink water - lots of it. 
2. Don't use the tap water to brush your teeth - another reason that could explain my explosive vomit. 
3. Cover your knees and shoulders. 
4. Drink mint tea, have as much of it as you can, it is gorgeous. 
5. Relax! 

A Girls Guide to Marrakech (1 of 2)

At some point in March Elena, Phoebe and I decided that we should go on holiday. We wanted sun, we wanted culture and we wanted a place that would make our parents raise their eyebrows. Just enough danger to be interesting, but not so much danger that we might actually die. Phoebe and I don't exactly have the best track record of travelling: she had her passport stolen in Uganda, and I managed to break my foot outside an airport in Guayaquil, Ecuador. In fact the last time the three of us were together we got so drunk playing UV Ping Pong that I actually dislocated two toes.

So with all this in mind, we decided there was only one place to go: Marrakech, Morocco. 

Having selected our destination of choice things were fairly simple. Flights were booked on EasyJet, and we decided to stay somewhere I'd previously been because a) I knew it was nice and b) the location was amazing. Riad Les Trois Mages (link at the bottom) was a hit - beautifully decorated, within walking distance of the medina and fantastically staffed.

We read the guide books, stocked up on suncream, bought maxi dresses and skirts so we would be respectfully covered... and totally forgot to check if we were travelling during a religious time... We were. It was Ramadan. After a panicked hour of googling and trawling trip advisor we were reassured that yes, we would be able to drink water.


DAY ONE - MONDAY

Having a ridiculously early flight has its benefits - we spent most of Monday in Marrakech which was nice. As we're three students it's always nice to get your moneys worth! We decided that we'd have lunch on the terrace:

Eating our body weight in food, we settled into the serious business of sunbathing before we went for our very first Hammam. A Hammam is a traditional Moroccan experience which basically involves sweating out every ounce of water and then having your entire body scrubbed and oiled. After a days travelling we couldn't think of anything more perfect. We were a little too chicken to try out a public one - and considering the uncontrollable giggles I got when it was just us three - it was probably for the best. Hammams are an extremely important part of life for the locals, and they spend hours there catching up with friends and sharing gossip. 

Having known Elena and Phoebe since I was two and ten, the nudity wasn't much of an issue - although much hilarity ensued when one of us had their disposable pants round the wrong way. We were shuffled into a steam room and stripped of our robes. There we lie exposed on heated stone surfaces whilst a series of lotions and potions were poured onto our bodies. I've never really ex-foliated before, and perhaps I should because I'll never forget the look on Elena's face as she hissed: "look how much dead skin is coming off you!" It was hot, and it was a little awkward. You know when you get the giggles in a situation when you're meant to be deadly serious, or calm and tranquil? And as much as you try, you can't suppress them? Yeah... I got a serious case of those. But giggles and dead skin aside, it truly was a wonderful experience - my skin has never felt so smooth, and it was a cracking bit of bonding with the girls... Here are our before and after shots:

Spot the three awkward Westerners... 

DAY TWO - TUESDAY

Tuesday was probably my favourite day, we went on a tour of Marrakech with a soft spoken guide who provided local knowledge and insight on absolutely everything we asked. I could give a boring lengthy description... But photos are more interesting! 

Koranic School 

Koranic School

Koranic School

Desperately seeking Aladin 

Moroccan Arts Museum

Bahia Palace

Bahia Palace

The Koranic School was stunning - the architecture and detail that goes into the building was just breath taking. The museum as a building was fascinating, the art inside was (personally) a little lacklustre, but I was perfectly happy looking at the floors and ceilings. And Bahia Palace, oh Bahia Palace, the place just stole my heart. Beautiful from head to toe, with these fantastic open squares in the middle.. Oranges just growing everywhere. When I'm rich, I'll have to go back and buy it... Because I'm determined to own something so stunning.

...and the rest to come later ;) 

Important Bits: 

http://www.lestroismages.com/ - where we stayed 

Photo credit - Elena Tucker and Phoebe McElhatton who take far better photos than I ever will. 

Can I be your Tinderella? [EXPLICIT]

If you haven't heard of the dating app Tinder, then you've been living under a rock for the past year or so. The idea is simple: you are shown a series of people who live within a radius of you, you see their photo and swipe left if its a 'no thanks' or right if you like what you see. If both people swipe right, then you are allowed to start talking. Forget love as first sight, this is the 21st century and its all about lust at first sight.

I downloaded Tinder as a joke with my flatmates one evening, and our time was divided fairly equally between belly aching laughter and squeals of delight. A few months down the line, and I still have the app on my phone. My intentions aren't to 'date' someone, and I'm certainly not using it as a way to find random shags - which seems to be the common use of Tinder. I rarely start talking to people, and have never met up with someone through Tinder. So why have I kept it? Boredom is probably an honest answer, a few minutes spent laughing at the profiles brings out the worse in me. Vanity is a more honest answer - it is an ego boost. The thrill of matching with someone who is astronomically fitter than me will always be very, very flattering.

I most certainly do not keep Tinder for the conversation. It seems to be okay to say all sorts of weird things to strangers if you're not actually talking to them. Check out 'instagranniepants' on instagram for a real look at the stuff men find acceptable to say. Common opening lines seem to be: ''sit on my face'', ''you're crying out to be spanked'' and ''when you're eating watermelon, do you spit or swallow the seeds?'' - and bizarrely some men are really confused when they get no reply.

 I'm not even shocked by what people type any more - I've had more eyebrow raising moments with the profile pictures some men have chosen:

For once in my life, I have been rendered speechless. I'm not even sure if they middle picture is medically okay?!

I worry. I worry that its become a social norm to ask a girl about her fellatio techniques and show her a photo of your penis before you've even asked how their day has gone. I worry that what has become 'acceptable' online will quickly become acceptable in real life. I worry that I've become more judgemental: I swipe left on people called Jerry or Gary because I irrationally don't like the names. I'm now aware that I'm more likely to swipe right on someone if they have a picture of them and a puppy, but if they're surrounded by loads of girls its an instant 'no'. Is the new world of dating really going to be conducted online? Perhaps I'm being old fashioned, a friend of mine is currently on a date with someone she's met on Tinder - and she hasn't texted me to rescue her so I'm assuming it is going well.

I'm not sure I like 'lust at first sight', but I don't believe in 'love at first sight' either. I don't want to be your Tinderella, and I'm not that keen on being Cinderella either... Can I just be Issy?


Check out this: http://www.buzzfeed.com/erinlarosa/people-that-shouldnt-be-on-tinder

From Enchanted to Endangered..

From the second we booked our tickets, my girlfriends and I were giddy with excitement to be attending the Enchanted Garden Ball. There we lengthy discussions about outfits, heated conversations about the necessity of coats, and on the actual day a huge panic about the lack of appropriate footwear. But we made it, and I think you'll agree, after a couple of hours in hair and make up: we scrub up pretty damn well!

The Enchanted Garden Ball is essentially Exeter's version of an End of Year Ball. It has a festival vibe to it: two music tents, fairground games, face painters, zorbing and a croquet pitch. The drinks were reasonably priced (£3.50 for a double), and I didn't get to try the food but it smelt amazing. I wont bore you with a lengthy description of what we did, and they say a picture paints a thousand words:

Despite being fun to pose with, cigars are actually disgusting. 

Educating Issy's one and only fan!

However the fantastic night soon came to an all too sour end. It was stated in the event that the last coach home would leave at 2am, but when the music turned off at 1:30am people began running towards the exit. Eager to get home quickly, like a bunch of sheep, we all followed blindly into what has to have been the poorest example of crowd management I've ever seen. There was absolutely no control. People began pushing and shoving in desperate (and futile) attempts to get on the coaches before they stopped. On a muddy surface it was only a matter of time before people went under. A friend and I saw one girl being lifted into an ambulance, and from what I've heard this wasn't the only time someone was rushed to hospital. You hear the expression 'crushed to death', but you never actually consider it until you're fighting for air as you're squeezed by the sheer weight of people's bodies. I just don't understand it. Surely at some point the event managers should have sat down and wondered: 'How the fuck is everyone going to get out?' - at which point the next logical step would be to organise something. It would appear this didn't happen. So why didn't the security do anything? They must have worked similar events before, they must have noticed that there was no prior planning for the exit. Right? Again, it seems no one even considered how they were going to ferry people onto coaches until the crush began.

It was just so utterly dangerous. I have bruises on my upper arms from where my friend had to physically hold me up, and I'm ridiculously thankful he was there to look after me. Not every girl had a huge rugby lad behind them, and we came across many who were crying: panicked, trapped, crushed and drunk. It's not the ideal way to end an evening.

It is such a shame. When I think about the Enchanted Garden Ball I wont remember laughing continuously for ten minutes whilst zorbing, or finding the secret bar, or going down a slide into the main tent, or all the other laugh so hard your belly hurts moments I had. I'll think about the time I was left shaken, bruised and incredibly frightened. And to think, it all could have been avoided.

I Survived First Year: How?!

Roughly eight months ago I started my first year of University. I kissed my parents goodbye, and watched them leave me to face the real world. Alone in my room: a bare pinboard, no internet, the worlds smallest single bed and exposed brick wall - I set about making it my room. I set up the internet, put the radio on and wedged the door open. After dealing with the duvet (moderately difficult), I began artistically arranging my carefully selected photos. There were a few wobbly moments when I questioned my photo choices: did I really want my new friends to know about the time I broke my foot falling off a pavement?! But I persevered and continued to lay out my nick-nacks. All of this happened with the door open, which is exactly what Student Forum had told me to do. Apparently all my new flatmates were meant to walk past my open door, hear the music, step inside and offer to help me set up my room.

They didn't say hi. 

In fact I can't even remember the first time we all sat down and had a conversation. But together we grouped and went around our building knocking on doors. Introducing ourselves to everyone, and promptly forgetting their names after we invited them down to our flat for the first pres of freshers. First impressions were made, nicknames created and courses forgotten. I didn't realise that roughly 7 other people in my building also study English until term 2. 

The first night out was crap. The second night I pretended to be Lucy Watson's cousin. Third night we watched The Great British Bake Off. Forth night I dressed up as a baby for a cheer social. Fifth night we covered ourselves in neon paint. Sixth night was a drama social. And on the seventh night we Lemmy'd. 

Remember to eat during freshers.. 

That was pretty much the extent of my freshers. It was an alcohol fuelled haze of meeting people and quickly forgetting them. Everyone was on their best behaviour, and conversation was on that line between awkward and cautious. Personally it was quite over-rated and the real fun began in Reading Week. By then everyone knew each other, friendship groups had established and we all felt safe in the knowledge that someone would hold our hair back when if we drank too much. 

SO what are my tips to surviving freshers week?

1. Bring condoms and use them. 
2. Actually sign up to the doctors before you need to go there. You will get freshers flu, and wont exactly want to remember all your GPs details whilst dying.
3. Bring a big box of chocolates/crisps and plonk them in the middle of your communal table. 
4. Bright bedsheets are the easiest way to warm up a bedroom. 
5. Photos are a must. 
6. Prop your bedroom door open, but don't expect people to say 'hi' first. 
7. Don't bring heels. 
8. CHEESE GRATER: in a flat of six only one of use thought to bring one. 
9. Plasters - although I have got through this entire year using my flatmates (I don't think they've noticed yet). 

And important things to remember?

1. Everyone is just as lost, and just as confused as you are. If they don't seem worried they're either good at hiding it, or really fucking weird. 
2. Smile. Breath. Say Hi. People will appreciate it if you make the first move. 
3. Go to a social for a society you have no intention of joining. The cheerleading night was one of my best freshers night. 
4. Don't worry if you've forgotten their name - they've forgotten yours too. 
5. Its okay to miss home. Equally its okay to get to the end of week 1 and realise you haven't even thought about home once. 
6. Suggest a night in towards the middle of the week. People will probably be needing a rest too. 
7. Things wont go to plan. Don't freak out when they don't. 
8. Someone broken your plate? Used your knives and forks? Welcome to communal living. Chin up. 
9. Say yes to everything - but avoid doing stuff that might kill you. 

Ultimately, you are about to experience one to the weirdest and funniest situations of your life. Never again will you be thrown into such an alcohol fuelled, hormone riddled environment. Embrace it. You may not meet your future best friend in the first week, you might not meet them in the first term, but you will make friendships that last a lifetime. Hazy memories will become anecdotes. Come on, who doesn't remember that time Lucy forgot his name, or Bryman's obsession with the letter C  or when Ailsa shared some food with the DJ and Holly at that house party! 

Or what about the time I threw up black sick, took my tights off in the middle of Arena, went to the Sexual Health Clinic over a scratch (better safe than sorry!), the time I cracked an egg on Liam's face. The time we all tried to limbo under a construction sign. The night we got into Arena for free with no queue. Doing cartwheels up Penny Road and ending up in a bush. When Bryman discovered how to make fire. The cheesecake disaster, but the triumph of the avocado cookies and pesto pasta bake. 

There have been tears, midnight talks and spooning. But there have also been so many times I've laughed so hard I couldn't breath. And these are the memories I'll treasure:

THIS is why you study in the South 

One of many Arena toilet pictures 

Beginning of Term 2

We may, or may not have just taken a bum selfie..

First Cheesy Tuesdays 

LADz

Chums!

Halloween 

The Arena man!

Because sometimes you need a cuddle.

Edgerton Park Road beauties! 

Every girls flat needs cake

Our first roast! 

Alcohol 

Alcohol #2

Our first photo!

Realising TP is full of dead people

Freshers Ball  

Edgerton Park Road do a Miley 

I forgot this happened... 

Before the blood

THE pasta bake

Christmas Dins

Girl. Oven. Fire. 

Because I did some work too...

Thanks for everything! I can't wait to see what Year 2 brings!