07.04.13- Easter Break, Poetic Pilgrimages & The Mysterious Disappearance of Spring

Oh, I'm not keeping up with this very well am I? And the next few weeks don't look promising; hardcore study sessions start from tomorrow. The library is about to become my second home again all too soon-- I can taste the crappy vending machine coffee and feel the presence of sleepless zombie students already. I was going to "FINISH THAT POETRY PORTFOLIO IF IT KILLS ME" today, but alas my little brother decided he wanted to follow me around with a mouthful of French Fancies and repeating "Nat's got a big bum" over and over again, which makes it hard to focus and leaves me feeling less than poetic. Instead I had a good gym workout and had one of my mum's amazing chicken dinners, which overall was a much more appealing way to spend my Sunday than research and painstakingly analysing Othello.
My brother did however try to contribute to my Shakespeare revision; he flipped to the section on Titus Andronicus in my Norton Anthology of Shakespeare and summarised the plotline for me: "One Sunday there was a bear and he goed home."
I think he may be slightly off there but he did try and that's all that matters.

"Othello" according to my brother

Last week I was treated to the most thoughtful surprise I have ever received. My mum and stepdad drove me to Laugharne on Friday, parked outside the cemetery and walked me to the grave of my very own poetic hero Dylan Thomas. I am renowned for being absolutely shit at reactions, but apparently my face lit up, which is a rare and impressive feat for anybody trying to surprise me. My mother and Chris should be very proud of themselves just for that.

Hangin' in Laugharne with the ultimate
Swansea LAD

It was a beautiful day. Dylan Thomas had such a simple headstone of a plain white cross and somebody had put a miniature bottle underneath it. But I liked the simplicity. What I found absolutely touching was that despite Dylan and Caitlin Thomas' infamously turbulent relationship (Caitlin had apparently yelled, "Is the bloody man dead yet?" when Dylan died), they were buried together with Dylan's name on one side and Caitlin's on the other. I want to be buried likewise with my cats.
When I have cats.
The boathouse was so small but so pretty and cosy. I also loved his writing shed. I want one. I could just tell everyone to piss off and then I could go to my shed and write mean things about them.
We then went to Tenby, which is one of my favourite places ever because it reminds me of all the wonderful summer holidays I had there when I was little. Just the sound of the seagulls and seeing all the coloured houses and hearing the clop of the horse and carriage is instantly soothing and takes me back to the days where my sister and I dressed in the same Disney outfits and built sandcastles and threw sand in each other's eyes and made each other cry. I miss all that (though we still throw things at each other now and then; unfortunately the objects became heavier as we entered our teenage years. By 70 we'll be onto bricks).

In the days where we looked alike

My brother had a great time there too, but fell backwards off his chair in the chip shop and cried, which was hilarious.
I still have most of my single Easter egg left from last week. I just don't like consuming huge amounts of chocolate. It's a common misconception that diabetics can't touch chocolate; when I first got diagnosed at 8 this was true, but with the more recent Basal-Bolus insulin therapy diabetics can eat pretty much anything they want provided they take enough units of insulin with it. But I've got so used to not eating sweet things in large quantities and eating healthily to support my fitness regime that I'm not even tempted to go all Augustus Gloop and sit about watching shit films (I'm perfectly capable of making a small Milkybar last me 3 days). I'd much rather stick my eggs in an omelette (...is it just me, or does that sound dirty? It's not supposed to anyway) and go for a long run in the Spring sunshine. Which I did. For 11 miles through Clyne and Mumbles, which was beautiful, but by the time I reached Verdi's there were too many people and I hate people so I nearly lost my temper and ran home.

That's my dessert sorted for a week

However, I did give in to my main vice, which is wine. I figured this was okay, because even if I'd stuck to water for the Bank Holiday, Jesus would have wanted me to turn it into wine anyway. So Easter Sunday night was spent "grooving away" for lack of a better term at Mozart's followed by a trip to Whitez, where we were treated to the sight of 3 guys in awful tie-dye shirts dancing like earthworms having epileptic fits across the carpet just for us.
Some men have really nailed it with the art of seduction.
Despite the beautiful sunshine this week, it has been so cold that my Rowntree's Fruit Pastilles actually went hard (this is not a euphemism for my nipples; I keep Fruit Pastilles in my running jacket pocket for a blood sugar boost on long runs). It is April and there I was at 5.45am on Saturday defrosting my car like it was a frozen chicken breast (though if from Tesco, this could be anything from a chicken to a small pony). Why am I still in bed with my hot water bottle? This time last year I remember strolling along Swansea Bay in my shorts. I also can't believe it's been a whole year since I had a relationship lasting more than a week or two. My cats would be disgusted if they could see me then.

Some guys just really know how to score the ladies
with their "sweet moves"

Now a year later I am cold and alone. Which is fine. More bedspace, less headwork.
It would be nice to start wearing t-shirts and taking my notebook to write on the beach though. I may hate swimming but I love being near the sea, which is one of the reasons I was never tempted to leave Swansea to go to University, except to apply to Exeter. I think I will always need to be near the sea. Being in a city like London would make me feel too caged-in. Where would I escape to? I appreciate being just 2 streets away from the bay; whenever I need to clear my head, nothing makes me feel better than an evening stroll along what Dylan Thomas would call the "sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboatbobbing sea." That is fun to say.
I sound like Will Ferrell in Elf.
Yesterday I also totalled up the donations from my 5K, 10K and Half Marathon. The grand total was:
£623.32
which I was absolutely thrilled with. I am going to send it to Singleton's Leukaemia Ward tomorrow. For once, I think I can actually say that yeah I'm proud of myself for that. I've helped a good cause and if I've helped somebody or made someone's day better then I've done what I want to do. Making others happy is what brings the smile to my face.
I applied yesterday for an even bigger challenge: a 75-mile, 24-hour walk to raise money for the Ray Gravell Fund. There are only 20 places available for the challenge and hundreds and hundreds of applications but I would love to get onto this. It is the distance from London to Brighton, will take from 12 noon on the Saturday until 12 noon on the following day and will be the hardest challenge of my life so far if I get onto it, but if it's to push myself to my limits to help a local charity then I'm more than up to the challenge.
If however I don't get a place, it's okay. I'll stay home and gorge myself on like, half a Malteser.